As the group leaves the inn, the barman, smiles, before it slips for a moment. He runs to the door, little legs pumping comically, and yells down the street. ‘And don’t forget to give them my name!’ The group’s receding backs do not turn.
The way to the docks is not long, but it seems to take far longer than it should as the rain beats down. Water runs in gutterings down the tiers, besides the stairs which the group descend. The barracks mark clearly the second tier, a sheet flowing down off the overhang above it’s doors. They pass by, down the second set of stairs, to the first tier. A faint smell of rot wafts through the air from both the east and the west, one from the ever-present fish market, and one from the remains of the dragon carcass, which still lingers as none here can figure out exactly how to dispose of it. The road leads past a number of small shops, before the party veer into the very markets from which the sea’s odour emanates. Despite the hour growing later, and the weather growing worse, the stallholders still peddle their wares. A bang flashes through the air, and looking past the palace we can see the alchemist’s rock, fresh wreathed in smoke. A second bang follows, as in the same field of sight a single bolt of lightning, straight as an arrow, strikes the tip of the Queen’s tower. It silhouettes the group at the top of the cliff, marking the end of the city.
The stairs down to the docks are treacherous in this wet weather, but the group makes it down without incident. Once down, it is but a moment before the troll takes the lead. He passes by the fleets that provide for the island, and which bring it trade, and down to the very end of the furthest peer. A single battered Dwarven steamship lies moored here, rust marking its boiler and barnacles coating its hull. In the shelter provided by that same boiler, rests a deckchair. And on that chair rests a single dwarf, with a crossbow across his lap. He sees the group, and struggles to his feet, age evident from the required effort. Holding his crossbow at the ready, he lets them draw closer, until squinting, he lets the bolt’s point fall, and smiles. He moves the point towards a door across the deck, and nods at it, before moving there, using the bow as a crutch. As he pushes the door open, he motions for the group to follow him through, and they do so. They find the dwarf sitting at a low wooden table, perched on an even lower wooden stool. His back is hunched, and his hands shake as he reaches across to a stack of glasses and a bottle of firewhisky. He pours out six tots, and takes one, sipping at it gently.
‘Apologies that I cannot offer you a seat, but the sea air can only keep the bones strong for so long. And it has been more than a long time since I saw you last, Krom.’ He looks at the troll, a faint smile lifting his beard. ‘As you can see, she’s the same old ship, with the same - even older - captain. And are we after the same old route again? Let us hope if it is that this journey is somewhat less eventful than our last’’
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Topic: The Lone Isle RPG: The return (Read 23772 times)