'Critical Fail'

The noblewoman stepped forward, in-front of her protectors, and curtsied. The lady was clearly a member of the elite in the city, extravagance and quality poured from every item and accessory, her etiquette was well practiced and her body-guards appeared to be highly professional. And expensive.

The rag-tag band naturally returned a formal bow, some with an accompanied ‘M’lady.’ All except our little gnomish friend, clearly not awestruck. He merely coughed up an indirect ‘Hello.’

‘Do not be alarmed, my company are just here to protect you and I. Please, there is no danger here.’ A degree of the tension was cut between the groups and smiles and handshakes were shared.

‘Let me explain my summons and I shall gladly answer any questions, or quell any fears you may have regarding this task.’ She nodded. ‘The pay is non-negotiable at forty gold pieces a head, also; you may keep any treasure you find, provided you return the item I am seeking.’ She paused. ‘Do you know what a ‘key stone’ is?’
The ‘small milita’ turned to one another quizzically. They turned back to the maiden and shrugged in chorus.

‘Ahem,’ the princess began, ‘the key stones are a series of precious stones imbued with powerful enchantment magic. Interestingly, they are tied to a particular location, in our case - within the walls of the city of Waterdeep.’
She continued, ‘This underground system that we’re currently occupying, had recently came into my attention and collection. My excavation team and I had been exploring the depths in a curiousity for knowledge and good business.’ she smirked. ‘Progress had been going well, until something happened. News of the discovery of the key stone came at a grave price.

Only one escaped.’
…

Swine, not being a natural below-ground delver, displayed a degree of indignation at the developing situation. ‘Maybe someone should keep watch? What if it’s a trap?’ he frowned.

‘The doors locked. The job was publicly advertised.’ replied Emlyn as she descended.

‘If you’re scared, you should consider switching those butter-knives of yours to something a little bigger, perhaps. How ‘bout you hold two shields?!’ Ox guffawed, following the rest of the group. Swine choked a sarcastic chuckle as he joined the rest of the team. Into the deep. Into the dark. The danger. The claustrophobic, awful tunnel of misery.

The passage, the dwarf proudly described ‘was made of the finest dwarven carving, albeit aged somewhat,’ and soon led to a large rounded stone room. Similar and evenly distributed torches line the patterned walls, giving the room a familiar warm flickering orange glow. Opposite the passage lie a closed and ornate portcullis, and to each side lie a collection of freshly broken stash of wooden crates; the contents of which were unknown. The dwarf was greeted by a group, standing in wait and reception of our adventurers.

A large (even by Ox’s standards) and scarred half-orc wore equally impressive and pristine plate armor as his considerably shorter comrade; a wicked crooked grin crossed his face. In his hands he wielded a great orcish double-axe, as per tradition of the people. He leered at Ox, almost mockingly.
A hooded robed figured, finely dressed with a splashs of red and numerous ornate buckles of unknown purpose. One hand gripped a large and glowing tome, the other a humble and simple quarterstaff. His body language appeared quite protective of the obscured character behind him.

’Welcome, and thank you for coming so quickly.’ a fair women’s voice called out.
…

They turned to view the address that they had been instructed to visit. Curious eyebrows were raised. The house was near identical to the long line of run-down terraced houses, overlooking the wake of the coast. The house had one exception however, a single and out-of-place torch, freshly lit.
‘This doesn’t appear to be promising.’ frowned Brave-Axe.
‘Looks can be deceiving.’ responded Sparks. He gave a firm knock to the strong wooden door. No reply. A give-away vein appeared upon the brow of Sparks. Another knock.

A large wooden slit in the door clunked and slid open, and a pair of unfamiliar eyes stared out at the intrusion. Saying nay a word.
Perplexed, a voice spoke out; ‘Uh, hello? This the place for the job?’
The eyes shifted from left to right. ‘Who said that?’ (The voice; rough, deep and masculine.)
‘Me!-‘
‘Don’t worry about him, he’s just a little on the short side. The job on the tavern notice board.’ Swine displayed the now-frayed parchment.
‘Very good.’ The voice replied.

An audible clanging and sliding of metal locks and secures rang out. It appeared that the door was very well secure indeed. The door opened, the hinges creaked and moaned. ‘Come on in.’
Holding the door for the party was the stout and hardy dwarf that they had encountered previous, at The Spoon. He peered out to the street checking left and right before closing the door behind him and performing the unlocking procedure in reverse.

‘This way.’ His armor clattered, echoing around the empty, dirty, darkened rooms. The windows had been boarded up securely. The stairs leading to the inevitably similar rooms, off to the side, had collapsed in dusty age. Light was supplied by thin rays of light piercing the fortifications; dust dancing visibly.
The space adjacent the entrance appeared to be the main room. A broken dining table guarded the center of the room. The dwarf shifted the inconvience and revealed a subtle trap to an area that lie below the floor-boards. He opened it and began to climb down a rough wooden ladder. Torches lined the passage way.

‘Coming?’

…

There were no fanfares, no festivals, no celebrations to covet our unknown heroes. In the right circles; they did not pose any threat, they did not even classify as intimidating. But they were together! A unified force of unknown potential. Untested. A world filled with opportunity for fame and fortune for those that seek it.

The streets were busy with the sound of commerce and prosperity. Labourers laugh and jest in the glorius midday sun, enjoying their well-earned breaks and on their way to the nearest taverns. Others hurriedly wheel rickety wheelbarrows of various goods in the general direction of the Market District. Children laughed and played in the many cobbled streets of Waterdeep; some approached and joyously circled the adventurers. Spiralling around, chorused by the bright youthful giggles and calls; the children imitated the group, practicing out their own heroic deeds of the future.

‘Down here,’ the gnome peered over his shoulder and pointed as he led the way through the city. The atmosphere in the urban expanse changed. The busy and prosperous area around the lucrative market district turned to something scarred with deprivation. There was little joy to be found in this place. It appeared they had arrived to the area they were seeking. The buildings appeared run down and decrepit, as too the poor who roamed the streets.

‘Doesn’t look like there will be too much to pilfer ‘round here.’ jested Shade, attempting to break the looming silence. Few chuckles were held.

The gnome came to an abrupt halt, the parchment lowered from his gaze.
’We’re here.’

…

(Sorry I haven’t written for the past couple of days; I’d like to try and keep my posts fairly regular, like a good habit. Just had to do some travelling; but that gave me the opportunity to write. Huzzah!)

‘Good idea, Shade.’ nodded Swine, addressing his roguish co-hort. ‘So a vote then; a show of hands for this “mystery job”?’
The clear majority of hands were shown; the adventurers appears to be quite attached to the idea of a quick, big haul. Being well accustomed to such low concerns such as risk and the potential for danger, or disaster. Sparks, our resident gnomish sorcerer added in a matter-of-fact fashion; ‘If worse does come to worse, and we do get into something beyond our capabilities - we could always look elsewhere for work. There’s no harm in looking.’

‘Beyond our capabilities?’ laughed Ox, ‘Speak for yourself, gnome. We’re the size of a small militia! We’ve every right to feel confident.’ He pounded his rough leather chest guard stoically.

But there remained one. One detached from the vote and any participation in conversation. Pre-occupied with search for supposed ‘sacred’ items on the wooden floor of the tavern, and in every nook and cranny; was the dark-skinned, drow cleric of Lloth. Luth.

As the adventurers gathered up their equipment with eyes of fire and dreams of vast seas of gold, they turned to their distinctly confused and curious friend and asked with a smile; ‘Coming, Luth?’

‘Oh, yes.’ he replied in a dry hiss; interrupting one of his many strange incantations and pleas to the dark goddess. He plodded along after the rest of the group.
Swine also noticed, with a wry and crooked smile; Shade. He took a quick a quick scan of the tavern looking for any valuables begging to be subject of his attention. With a subtle shake of his head, it was confirmed. Nothing of value. Swine chuckled softly and thought to himself; ‘What a suitable welcome into the world of adventuring. Everyone starts at the bottom of the food chain.’

Little did the group know; that was prescisely right.
“Bottom of the food chain.”
…

‘Interesting. I’ll share this with our table.’ he prompted as he tore the sheet from the wall. Tankards and smiles were raised as the two joined the table. Coming from the direction of the bar; with rounded arms filled with even more sloshing mugs, walked another newcomer. Human. Built. Could be helpful.

‘“Brave-Axe” they call me. I want in.’ He said with a reassuring smile. ‘I’m new to these parts, if you couldn’t tell.’ He gestured to his out-of-place cold-weather gear resting in the corner. ‘And it looks like your group is pretty fresh.’ He confidently passed the tankards around the crooked table.
‘The more the merrier, I always say.’ A wry smile revealed under the feathered cap of our rather attractive bard; Emlyn.
‘It’ll be a pleasure. I assure you.’ Brave-Axe winked.

‘Ahem,’ Towli coughed audibly, drawing in the attention of the group. ‘It says that it is temporary work, and suitable for talented adventurers. There’s a reasonable degree of danger involved, but the pay appropriately reflects this.’
The looks of the adventuring team remained unwavered. Towli continued; ‘The only other information this provides is the address; does anyone know this road?’ he said as he passed round the advert.

A small hand reached up and nabbed the parchment as it was being passed across the party members, and immediatedly announced -
‘I know where this is!’ a misplaced, excitable and high-pitched voice exclaimed. The mystery person was greeted and climbed to take their space on a chair. On the surface, there did not appear to be anything of any particularly special to this travelling gnome, but an air of mystery and intrigue seemed about him.
‘It’s in one of the poorer areas of the city, almost a slum if I do say so myself. Not much work to be found there, in all honesty. I wonder why our employment would be there?’ he proclaimed in a puzzled manner. ‘Some things aren’t adding up. What’s with all the mystery?’ As the gnome mused over the situation, his view glazing over as he stroked his chin.

‘Was there anything else on the notice board?’
‘Yes, actually. An aged parchment describing a steady opening in protecting the trade caravans from and to the city. Good pay, see the world - that kind of thing.’ replied Towli.
‘Well, what are we going to do? I’m on my last coin, and I’m itching for something exciting to do.’ A shaded figure leaned forward, commenting on the situation. ‘Simple democracy; let’s take a vote.’

…

A rather large character stood up at the table loudly; unintentionally spilling the contents of several tankards - he’s not built for the modern urban tavern, you see. The gleam of his favoured great-sword reflected the bright midday sun into the eyes of his new adventuring team, much to their immediate discomfort.

‘Sorry.’ He mumbled roughly. The figure shuffled over to the tavern’s notice board, seeking the pamphlet, ducking under the low aged oak beams of the inn.
‘Excuse me, you, could you read this for me?’ gesturing toward the pinned parchment.

The two young commoners turned to reply to their speaker, as they did their smirks turned to dumbfounded awe. The pair slumped on their stools in natural intimidation to the tank of a man standing before them.

‘Could you read that for me, please?’, a sense of urgency and minor aggression flowed from the greenish half-giant. The youthful pair interpreted this as the correct time to scarper and avoid any unpleasant injuries suffered in the near-future.

A gentle hand was placed on the half-orc’s back as he turned to watch the literary help flee from the tavern.
‘It’s okay, Ox. I can read, let me help you with that,’ the peaceful and brightly robed character moved round to view the potentially lucrative lead.
‘Thanks, Towli.’ he replied, begrudging the actions of insignificant, prejudicial others.
Towli, the far-travelled and experienced Monk leaned in close and began to read aloud.

…

Some members of the troop may describe the coming together of such heroes as an act of undeniable divine intervention, that the gods themselves intertwined their destinies and fate irreversibly. Others may spin another yarn; suggesting it’s mere luck, and nothing more than individuals fairing their chances better with one another rather than the wholly less enjoyable alternative. One thing is for certain; these heroes lives will be forever changed through their camaraderie; for better, for prosperity, for companionship, or for worse. Possibly much worse. Possibly even death.

The group begin their humble origins huddled around a table of equal non-importance, passing tales and idle chatter of equal non-importance. The strangers were enjoying the day, the pleasant watered down ale, the few remaining gold coins and the new company they find themselves in. Easily the most intriguing group of people to collect in the tavern; a few concerned eye-brows were raised, but are shrugged off in little time - adventurers roll through here all the time. But it’s not often you see such people all together in one place in such a way; it’s like the opening to a ‘so the drow walked into the bar…’ cliche’.

The chaotic peace of the busy tavern was torn by a purposeful slam of the heavy tavern door; a heavy silence loomed as stern heads turned to face who, or what has caused such interruption. A heavily armored and armed dwarf walked steadfast towards the tavern’s local noticeboard, ignoring the many callous eyes that could have turned milk sour. The dwarf’s hair and beard was long and dark - the dwarfs features were strong and set and showed the early signs of aging and the scars of a battle-worn life. He wasn’t a particularly bad looking chap, but handsome would have been a generous compliment. His heavy plate armor was of the highest quality, and subject to the envy of every self-proclaimed warrior in the tavern. Not to mention the two large and beautifully crafted custom, runed dwarven war-axes resting keenly on his back in a crossed fashion, looking as if they could leap into use in a moments notice. Put aptly by one of the members of our adventuring party - “He looks kick ass.”

The dwarf placed a scroll upon the notice board and nailed it confidently into place and turned to address the eagerly awaiting tavern. His confident expression did not waver.

“Looking for talented individuals to aid in a urgent venture of my employer. Further questions can be directed to my employer at the address described on the note. Good day, gentlemen.”

In the conclusion of his short announcement; the Dwarf swiftly ignored questions and pleasantries and heel-turned for the tavern door.

“Hoi!” ‘Swine’, a rogue of-sorts, called out. His call fell on deaf ears as the Dwarf stomped audibly down the cobbled street and out of eye-shot amongst the busy streets.

“Looks like he was in quite the rush.” he concluded.

…

Bright afternoon sun gave a cheerful and sun-kissed effect to hustle and bustle of the popular Waterdeep tavern - ‘The Wooden Spoon’, whos doors are always warm and welcome to any passer-by looking to pass away their time lesuirely, or to drown away their sorrows; just until tomorrow, provided they have the coin, of-course. The tavern could be described as being distinctly ‘lower-middle class’; features and comfort aplenty, quaint but with a keen eye; the flaws are visible. It’s not a dive, but give it time.

The steady flow of banter and ale passed through the tavern just like any other day, but little did anyone know; the important role the humble tavern played in shaping the destinies of so many.

The tavern’s lively atmosphere had a reputation for bringing people closer together, and it certainly lived up to its name for our interpid adventurers.

(To be continued.)