You wake up to a breakfast of Nal meat, glad to finish off the last of it. Cannibalism wasn't outlawed in goblin society (not surprising, given goblin society had precisely one law), but plenty had personal aversions to it. You'll stick to jerky until you can get something fresher.
You spend a little of the morning re-reading
Predatory Beasts, but you've digested what you can get from it already. One of the tricks you learned as a book-keeper in Swamprazor was how to absorb information from books quickly. After a suitable length of time, you adjust the bandages around your face, pull up your hood and hobble into town and approach the guards at the gate. Looking at them in the cold light of day, it is quite clear that they are both farmhands standing post to make a few extra coppers. One of them isn't even holding his spear correctly. He stiffens up as you approach.
"Halt!" he calls. "State your... Are you alright?"
[Liar: 19+4+2(charm)]
"Please forgive me, noble sir," you say in your most grovelling voice.
"I am but a humble leper, come to trade my wares and spend some time among people of fairer limb and straighter back. I do not seek to cause you trouble." The guard eyes the charm around your neck and makes a three-point gesture in front of his chest, a reflexive benediction. His comrade speaks up.
"Of course, poor brother. You are... safe, yes?"
"To the best of my knowledge, noble sir.""Then welcome. If anyone gives you trouble, tell them Fane Breakroots let you in. May Ornal's charity shine on you, who need it most. What is your name?"
"Locke, kind sir. Locke Withertemples."You head on into town and shuffle along toward the stables. You hear muted gossip from townsfolk as you pass, but from the distance they give you it seems likely that word has spread from the guards about the leper in town. You examine the little noticeboard where you stuck up your sign.
[Luck: 20] Someone has scrawled a note beneath it, answering back in Goblin.
Will meet two hours before sundown. Bringing a friend. You check to ensure nobody is looking, then pull down the note and scrunch it up.
Interesting. You have most of the day left before you need to be in position for that meeting, so you check up on the leads Snang gave you last night.
Your first stop is the square, where you make a show of spitting at the goblins. A teenager laughs and jeers at them with you. As he walks off he comments to a friend; "Heh, guess even lepers have people they can spit at. If you can call 'em people." You mentally mark that boy for death by boogeyman some day. Snang spits back at the pair of you, which attracts a bit of verbal abuse from the crowd. [Luck: 1] You catch a whiff of pungence on the air and notice the faint greasy marks over her skin. A quick check of the slave in the next gibbet confirms it; he died during the night. Snang must have used up the nightsbane you gave her already.
Damn it. I don't have long to act.[Persuasion: 5+4] You spend a little time trying to gather information about the village elder, Thothil Bootbristles. You learn that he does indeed live in a house overlooking the village square (a simple one-storey affair), but apart from a bit of gossip about him living with his widowed daughter (son-in-law died in a raid, grandchildren left for the big city etc) you don't pick up much news. The house itself is built of drystone blocks and has a chimney hole, one simple door and some secure wooden shutters for windows. Thothil is apparently quite busy meeting with the adventuring parties during the day, so he is not available for an audience.
[Persuasion: 6+4] You don't learn much more about the blacksmith, except that his name is Gognav Whitehay and he lives on the barge. Apart from the forge and anvil set up on the bank, most of his belongings are on the barge. You don't hear of him living with anyone else, though he does hire one of the village boys to pump his bellows when working. [Persuasion: 2+4] News on any new acquisitions is quite tight-lipped, so you don't find out anything about Snang's belongings. The questioning attracts a certain amount of explanation, so you try to explain it away as an interest in all these new adventurers.
There certainly are plenty of adventurers around, in fact. Mostly they look to be young thrill-seekers with new (or more commonly, battered and inherited) weapons or old soldiers and hunters trying to recapture their youth. The real adventurers are presumably camped out at the ruins themselves or have already plucked them clean. Most of the men here in the village are busy gambling or drinking instead of preparing for their trip.
Althugh Thothil isn't available to talk to, you do get an audience with the local militia chief, a middle-aged man by the name of Emoth Hardbridges. You mention your need for a strong back to carry your wares and do heavy digging, as well as someone to beat occasionally, and inquire about purchasing the goblin in the gibbet outside. [Persuasion: 6+4] Emoth seems on the fence about the issue.
"I don't know," he says. "I'd need to talk to the elder. I don't doubt she'd make a good slave, but she needs breaking in."
"Oh, nothing a birch and some good chains won't solve. Come on, let me take her off your hands.""You seem pretty eager for a- for a man in your position. What's your interest?"
[Persuasion: 15+4] You shift your posture slightly to indicate a darker thought.
"When I was three, before the leprosy, I had an older brother. He was five, then. Snatcher took him. Could've been me. I've heard stories, you know? About what happens to 'em in those towers. Well, those might be stories, but there hasn't been a night since then they haven't kept me up. I'm not a strong man, friend Emoth. I can't go out hunting 'em, I can't go out rescuing slaves. But if I leave that gob with you she'll die horribly in the next couple of nights. If I take her away it'll happen over the next ten, twelve years."By the time you finish, Hardbridges has a very sober look on his face. He nods.
"Yeah, that'd be better. Still, it wasn't easy catching her. A lot of people want this scum dead in front of them, I can't say it'll be cheap to send her off with you. How much can you offer?"
[Negotiation: 3+4]
"On me? Eight coppers, some snares and bear traps, a lot of muckled swede and a rare collector's book from the elves. I can even throw in a jug of spirits for yourself.""Sorry, nowhere near enough. Gob like that'd fetch at least five silvers at Mudcups, let alone if you took her to Waterhills. Still, there's some odd sorts in town these days. If you can scrape together the money before she cops it, I'll be happy to make the trade."
You thank the militia chief and head off to the cottage where you stashed your books. You knock on the door and are met by [Luck: 8] a heavy-set man in a thick woolen shirt. He has the build of a farmhand or labourer and you see no reason to suspect him anything else.
"Who are - Oh. You the leper? Sorry, we don't have anything to give you."
The farmer moves to shut the door. You stop it with your hand.
[Persuasion: 17+4]
"Forgive me, gentle sir. I am not here to beg, I simply wished a moment of conversation with you, if you can spare it?"The farmer harrumphs, then pulls the door a little more open. "Well, if it's just a moment. Come in, I guess. I can give you a bit of bread if you like."
"Ah, no thankyou. Your words are kindness enough.""Well, that's alright then." The farmer seems a little glad not to have to give up some of his food.
"Have you been here long?" you ask. The farmer offers you a simple chair by an equally simple table. You take a seat and glance around at the cottage. The building is not much different from how you left it; bare drystone walls, shuttered windows and wooden flooring. The floorboards appear undisturbed. The farmer sits down himself and answers you.
"About four months, a bit before all these young lads came here to play soldiers. The wife was born here and what with the tower falling her lot said they could use the extra hand at the 'bane fields."
"I see." How horrifically dull. "Were there, say, any surprises when you got here?""I'll say! Whole bunch of sods already moved down here for the work, I had to sharecrop and hunt birds for most of winter."
"That's all? I mean, yes, bad luck there." You cough. The farmer shifts away from you slightly.
"So anyhow, I'm down here for trade, just picking up a bit of the local herb and such. I'm actually a book merchant, though." You bring out your copy of Predatory Beasts to show the farmer. He looks unimpressed. "Ah... have you by any chance come across any books around here?""You must be daft, looking for books in a place like this. You should try Mudcups, it's further downriver."
"No doubt I will, soon enough. Thank you for your hospitality, friend. Ornal's blessings upon you." You make to get up, then pause as if a thought has struck you.
"Perhaps you could do me a favour, friend.""What, sitting and talking with you wasn't enough?"
This one will be first up against the wall when my legions of terror return to this place. "Aha, yes. I am grateful for that. But as I was saying, I am looking for a place to stay tonight. I was going to sleep at the stables, but of course I make people uncomfortable. I was wondering if I might be able to sleep here, in your common room. Not the bedroom, of course.""Listen, I've been more than generous enough as it is..." The farmer gets up to open the door.
"I'll pay, of course." The farmer rests his hand on the door handle.
"How much?"
[Negotiation: 4+4]
"A penny, same as the inn.""This isn't the inn. Two pennies."
You sigh.
"You drive a hard bargain, sir.""And I'll want one now. Come back at sundown if you want to sleep here, and I shan't open the door if you're late."
You manage your most ingratiating bow, surrender one of your pennies and leave. You find yourself strongly considering coming back tonight just to murder this man in his sleep. Still, at least he seems unaware of the stash in his house.
You make your way back to the wagon and wait. A little earlier than two hours before sundown a pair of short, armoured figures walk up the hill.
Despite their clear family resemblance and shared blonde hair, the two dwarves could not look less alike. One is taller (for a dwarf), fairer-skinned and possessed of a relatively lithe and lean physique. He has a longsword sheathed at his belt and a buckler strapped to his arm, complemented by well-made leather armour. His beard is neatly trimmed and his hair immaculately groomed. The other is ball-shaped, built like a brick outhouse under the fat and has a battleaxe and tower shield strapped to the back of his heavy chainmail vest. His beard is tangled where it isn't done up in rough plaits and a dented iron cap hides his bald head.
The lean dwarf makes an elaborate gesture and bows. The fat dwarf belches loudly.
"Pleased to make your introduction," says the lean dwarf in a voice like rose-scented oil.
"Yeah, a pleasure," echoes the fat dwarf in a voice like beer-drenched pork dripping.
"And who might you be?" you ask, adjusting your belt so your hidden quill-knife is in easy reach.
"The gods' friends-" says the lean dwarf.
"-and the whole world's enemies!" laughs the fat one.
"We're the Victual Brothers-""-and you're not the first goblin we've worked for either. What's the job?"Vitality: 4 (Heavy bruising, bound leg wound. Slowly recovering.)
Full
Status: Bewildered
Kills: 2 human hunters.
Inventory: traveller's garb & hood
1 Ornal charm (around neck)
1 plain iron hunting knife
1 -iron quill knife-
1 writing kit
crude maps
1 medical kit (+4 to medical checks, 4 uses remaining)
a fire piston
8 days' beef jerky
1 jug of strong spirits
4 sprigs of nightsbane (in packet)
7 copper coins (Gilded Confederacy - badger / three barrels)
In the Wagon
1 lantern (w/ 3 pints of oil)
8 snares
3 bear/man-traps
ragged, formerly fine black clothing
several jars of pickled swede
Book - Predatory Beasts in the Velvet Jungle by Torn Washworthy
Expert Administrator
Proficient Historian |
Proficient Law Scholar
Skilled Geographer
Competent Negotiator |
Competent Persuader |||
Competent Liar ||||
Competent Judge of Intent |
Adequate Dodger ||||
Adequate Leader
Adequate Knife-Fighter
Novice Wrestler ||
Novice Athlete |||
Novice Wound Dresser
Novice Stealther |||
Novice Animal Handler |
Dabbling Butcher |
Dabbling Forager
Dabbling Pump Operator
Dabbling Biter |
Dabbling Suturer
Languages: Perfect Goblin, Fluent Human, Broken Dwarven, Poor Elven
Contacts
Rist Easespices - A gregarious Dunish trader operating in the Mudcups area.
Snang Cutthreaten - A goblin hunter/snatcher you found imprisoned in Pilemurk.
Bomrek Victualbronze and Olon Victualsteel - The Victual Brothers, a pair of amoral dwarven mercenaries.
Tip from the GM: Don't piss these guys off.
Author
Topic: Goblin (Read 13495 times)