Day 2, Afternoon
You’re spending time with your fiancée and merchant friend, Graffor, as well as Graffor’s wife, Emrold. Unlike your companions, you’re not staying at the keep. Graffor has a house not far from The Iron Circle, and Lorelei has a room with a king-sized bed…
Your only foray into the streets was to do some trading with Immerstal, which oddly enough, led to a boxing ring where a rather inebriated Dandelion challenged you to a match. You didn’t even break a sweat.
You’ve spent the rest of the day in the shade with Lorelei, gambling, eating, sipping some fine wine, and talking with your non-adventuring friends. Graffor fills you in on the latest news from the capitol, “A third emperor has thrown his hat in the ring. This one’s name is Geoffrey Tilden. He’s a general and has the support of the army. Could make things interesting.”
You also learn of a new edict, banning the trade of jewels to Vagria, one of the other human kingdoms. Graffor speculates a “collection party” will be showing up soon. “Damn bastards will come in demanding everyone turn in their gems in service of the empire. Can you believe that? Let them come I say. With the governor now gone, they’ll be in for a rude awakening. Why just yesterday, the idea was brought up in council to declare Dennovar a free city-state. That’s how bad things have become.”
Tonight, you have tickets to see a comedy showing at Velorian’s. Box seats no less! Luckily for you, Lorelei packed your favorite outfit, the black one with the silver trim. What a good woman...
Day 2, Evening
You and Graffor spend some time catching up, sharing a bottle of Lentrian Red as you wait for the girls to finish getting ready. “I remember the first time I tasted this,” you recall.
“Oh, there’s a story here,” Graffor prompts, settling comfortably into his armchair.
“Made a good friend that night…”
“As wine is often wont to do!” he interrupts.
“Indeed,” you agree. “I was at a little keep on the edge of a vast and dangerous wilderness. I was naïve and headstrong, secure in my immortality.”
Graffor chuckles, “I remember those days. Then again, I’m an old man. We old men refer to those times as the good old days. You on the other hand are young. You should still be living your good old days.”
You nod. “If only that were so. Unfortunately, too much has changed.”
Feeling a sense of maudlin setting in, you change the subject. “Anyways, the friend turned out to be a jewel merchant. And it has become a profitable friendship, both in camaraderie, as well as coin.” You smile as you see realization land upon Graffor’s face.
“Kord’s balls man! You speak of Frandor’s Keep!”
Fortunately for Graffor, he’s saved from further embarrassment as the women descend the stair. Emrold is dressed in a flowing gown of rich blue and creamy white, a necklace of sapphires draped at the base of her neck. As lovely as she is, she pales in comparison to the woman behind her.
Lorelei wears a snug black dress, accentuating her hourglass figure and shapely legs. It’s sleeveless, clinging to her body by two fragile straps covered by an elegant scarf entwined with silver thread. A pearl necklace draws your attention to her neck which is further accentuated by the way her hair is tied up, leaving a few wayward strands to fall about her like golden raindrops. The outfit is completed by a pair of black satin gloves stretching to her elbows, leaving deep richly tanned skin exposed to her shoulders. “Wow,” is all you can seem to muster.
“How do I look?” she asks innocently.
“Sehanine herself would be jealous,” you answer.
The playhouse is quite literally across the street from Graffor’s house, which is a good thing considering the chill in the evening air. It’s a grand building, and you can’t wait to enter as you mill about the courtyard waiting for the doors to open. Fortunately, between the open fires in the corners and the magically imbued stone of the patio, the air is comfortably warm, and you pass the time with tasteful appetizers and another glass of wine, making small talk with your fellows.
There was one fleeting moment of panic though. As you were standing there arm in arm with Lorelei and speaking with Abidon Warwick, a clothier in town, you heard your name shouted from afar. Turning discreetly, you saw Dandelion waving exuberantly, Nine standing stoically by his side. You ignored him and he quickly gave up, wandering north towards the market square. You feel bad that you didn’t even feel bad about it. No you don’t…
The comedy at Velorian’s was alright, though the actor portraying the main character could certainly have used some improvement. It was a story of a newly crowned king and his three childhood friends, all nobles. Upon his ascension to the throne they make a pact, dedicating themselves to improving the kingdom, and more importantly, to forego women and the dastardly problems they cause. Soon after the pact is made, a princess and her three ladies-in-waiting arrive in court, having recently made a very similar pact. As you predicted very early on, they all fall madly in love with each other and spend the rest of the play pursuing their entangled love interests while vainly trying to conceal it from the others. Lorelei loved it, and it was worth sitting through the boring bits just to hear her laugh.
It’s about an hour to midnight when the show lets out. “How about a nightcap at the Craven Raven?” Graffor suggests. You look to Lorelei who nods in approval. “Sounds splendid,” you say…
Day 2, Night
Because of its preceding reputation, you expected a certain level of quality and class from the Craven Raven, and that’s precisely what you found when you walked through the door. From the craftsmanship of the dark wood interior to the plush booth seats, from the heavy wooden tables with their lion-like carved legs to the multitude of chandeliers casting soft warm light, the inn and tavern exudes excellence.
A tall and lean man dressed in a black vest over a white shirt greets your group as you make your entrance.
“Mr. and Mrs. Bindlestick,” he says, bowing.
Turning to Lorelei he repeats the bow, this time adding a slight flourish. “Lady Donoghan. So very nice to see you again.”
Graffor introduces you. “Meklen, this is Lorelei’s fiancé, Wotan Hammerfist.”
“The renowned Wotan of the adventuring group, Fate’s Hammer,” he states matter-of-factly.
Again he bows, though you notice it’s not as deeply as with Graffor and Emrold. “The pleasure is all mine, I’m sure.”
There’s something about this Meklen. You decide you dislike him immediately.
Taking Emrold’s coat, he leads you to Graffor’s booth. It’s spacious and comfortable, tucked away in a far corner of the upper dining room. You’re just far enough removed from the minstrels to talk without raising your voice, but still able to enjoy the musical ambiance. Once again, the Craven Raven manages to impress. From the silken burgundy tablecloth to the opulent pewter dishes and silverware, it seems the tavern’s owner has spared no expense. “This place is more lounge than tavern,” you remark to Graffor. “No doubt about it,” he agrees. “Closest thing to a social club Brindol has to offer.”
You have a great time discussing the show over drinks and appetizers, but you get the feeling Graffor is itching to discuss more important matters. You flash a knowing smile but keep the conversation light, not wanting to bore the ladies.
“So what’s going on in Dennovar?” Lorelei suddenly asks. “Are you and your merchants going to plunge us all into chaos?”
Graffor coughs, completely caught by surprise, much to his wife’s amusement.
“Oh come now Graffor,” she says. “You don’t truly think you men hold a monopoly on gossip, do you?”
He quickly regains his senses. “Not at all my dear. Wine just went down the wrong pipe is all.”
You laugh, unwittingly drawing your fiancé’s ire.
“And just what are you laughing about, oh Hero of Fate’s Hammer? I deem it a perfectly suitable and valid question. After all, it’s my folks we’ve been talking about moving here. What kind of daughter would I be if I moved them from the only home they’ve ever known and plunged them into a world of shit!?!” “Pardon my language,” she adds demurely.
“Quite right. I apologize,” is all you can seem to muster.
“We’ll see what happens my dear,” Graffor says.
“Don’t talk to me as if I were a child,” Lorelei answers. “I may not be from here, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of understanding politics.”
“Very well,” he says. “Let me say this. Me and “my merchants” as you call them, are in fact, doing our best to save the world from shit. Briester and his toadie Lott have left the city, taking the last of Drenai’s soldiers and the treasury with them. I’m not sure what you know of the former governor, but Briester was more interested in maintaining his lavish lifestyle than managing Dennovar’s affairs. To say it’s a mess would be an understatement.”
“I see,” Lorelei says. “What will you do?”
“Well. Contrary to popular belief, we are a council, not a monarchy. And I’m not a despot Lorelei. The council members are my peers, not my underlings.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to offend…”
“Nonsense,” he interrupts her. “It’s good to see passion. And I’ve always admired an inquisitive mind, especially one that has the confidence to ask the difficult questions.”
“Nevertheless, I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted. Now, to answer your question. Law and order is our first and foremost priority. Fortunately, we have a capable army to maintain it.”
“The Blades of Dennovar?” she asks.
“Indeed.” Turning toward you he adds, “You fiancée has a sharp mind Wotan. I hope you use it to your advantage.”
“A sharp tongue as well it seems,” you agree.
“Perhaps you should consider politics Lorelei?” Graffor suggests. “Anyway,” he continues. “Our second priority is food. The lake provides only so much and Dennovar’s population now pushes 13,000. This is chiefly the reason I am here. I’m to meet with Lord Jarmath tomorrow to present a contract for the purchase of their wheat surplus.”
Your conversation is interrupted as Meklen approaches the table. He announces his presence with a slight, “ahem.”
“Yes Meklen?” Graffor asks.
“A note for you sir,” he replies, handing Graffor a tiny square of yellowed vellum.
“Thank you.”
“I trust you find everything satisfactory?” he asks, avoiding eye contact with you.
“As always,” Graffor answers.
“If there’s nothing else then?”
“I think we’ve had enough,” you answer. As an afterthought you add, “from you.”
He bows and smiles before leaving, though his eyes betray his irritation.
“That was rude,” Lorelei admonishes you.
“Inadvertent if it was,” you play it off.
“I’m tired darling,” Emrold announces.
“Well then,” Graffor says rising. “It’s to bed we go.”
It’s around midnight as your foursome makes the short walk back to Graffor’s house near The Iron Circle, this time sticking to the roads rather than cutting through the darkness between homes. As you enter the market square, you’re surprised to find the party still going. Lanterns ring the perimeter casting a warm glow upon the entire cobblestone courtyard where a sizable crowd has gathered. Despite the invigorating chill in the air, around a hundred people sit and talk, eat, drink, or dance to the rhythm of a troupe of bards playing in the square’s center.
“How fun!” Lorelei exclaims. “I don’t know how they do it,” she adds. “I’m exhausted.”
“The power of spirits!” answers Graffor. “Keep drinking. Especially the ale and beer they’re passing about. You’ll soon find energy enough.”
“Yes,” you agree. “And pay for it tomorrow.” By the way she clings to your arm and sways unsteadily, you fear Lorelei may be in for a rough go the next morning already.
Fortunately, she has no desire to stay.
Navigating your way through the courtyard, you politely decline multiple invitations to join the fun. Turning the corner the sounds of merriment begin to recede, replaced by the peaceful silence of a winter’s night. Weariness suddenly descends like a heavy cloak and your little group falls silent, shuffling sluggishly toward home and bed. You’re almost asleep on your feet when a loud outburst of raucous laughter, applause and strident whistling sounds from the square. Curious, you turn back toward the noise to see four young men charging toward you, their arms raised and flailing erratically.
“Get back,” you order Lorelei, practically throwing her behind you.
“Wotan?” Graffor asks, steadily, not a trace of fear in his voice.
You ignore him, assuming a wide stance and bracing yourself for attack. Visions of burning bodies fill your mind as you begin to chant.
“No Wotan!” you hear Graffor order. “They’re just having fun.”
As your perceived attackers draw closer they pass under a street lantern and you can’t help but laugh when you realize… they’re naked.
Whooping and hollering they streak past you, wearing nothing but boots or sandals. Two of them have bright red hair, one of whom even has the audacity to slap you on the ass on his way past.
“Good game,” he yells, before slowing. “Eve’nin ladies,” he adds, bowing lavishly.
“Oh my,” you hear Lorelei say.
“Why I never,” Emrold adds amused.“C’mon!” one of the others shouts at him. And just like that, they turn the corner ahead of you and are gone from sight.
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