Short Circuit's Journal: AoR: Looking for Work

Ralek and Voltore are finished with the Arena. The next morning, Ralek looks at his winnings thoughtfully; He could really do some good with this.

"I need to find a temple of Moradin," he tells his companion Dwarf, "to make a donation."

"Fine, but I'm going to look for some more work."

"I'll go with you, but first let me get to my temple. I'll need a translator."

"Fair enough."

--

The city is huge, but the crime rate is low. Ralek and Voltore reach the temple without incident, though Ralek marvels at the sheer size of the place; it takes them three hours to make their way across town to where the temple lay. Ralek knocks.

"Yes? What do you need?" A voice from the other side of the door queries.

"I am a cleric in service of Moradin--"

"No grek."

Ralek pauses, then continues, "...And I wish to make a donation."

"..."

"I would like to donate 1000 gold pieces."

"Fine." The door opens slightly, and a hand waits expectantly.

Ralek is perplexed. Is this how they act in the city? It's not what I expected.

"Here you go." He places a rather heavy bag of gold into the reaching hand.

The hand retreats, and the door closes.

Ralek pauses, and then says, "May I come inside to pray?"

"There's a public alter around the corner. Now go."

Ralek gives up. He'll pray at the public alter. I've got to find a temple in a smaller town.

--

Ralek and Voltore are now at the constable's office, to ask about work. The constable doesn't understand Dwarven, so Voltore handles the negotiations, filling Ralek in, occasionally.

"He wants to know what kind of work we're looking for," explains Voltore.

"Charity. Wait, no. I do need to earn something for it."

Voltore and the constable talk for a few minutes.

"Ralek, there's convoy duty, and eliminating a thieve's guild."

"Thieve's guild? That sounds good. Thieves have no respect for the law. I'd love to get my hands on them."

Voltore says something to the constable, who nods.

"I've asked for the convoy duty."

Ralek stares, as Voltore and the constable talk some more. The constable hands Voltore a map, and they leave.

--

The convoy is to leave at 6 o'clock the next morning. Until then, Ralek and Voltore have to find a place to sleep; The Arena's sleeping arrangements are only available so long as they're fighting and drawing a crowd. Besides, the arena is across town from the West Gate, from which the convoy will depart.

Ralek and Voltore agree to stay at an inn near the west gate. When they arrive, they find three inns in the area, each with a different sign. For the first, a keg of ale is all the identification the owner chose to provide. The second has a beholder's skull, while the third inn's sign consists of a giant wooden axe.

"We should find an inn with good dwarven ale," recommends Ralek.

Voltore enters the inn with the beholder skull. Ralek follows.

Inside, they find a crowd of elves, halflings, gnomes and humans. Not a dwarf to speak of. A half-elf stands behind a bar. Voltore walks up to the bar. "Order one for me, too!" calls Ralek.

Ralek looks around. The tavern area is well-light, and the patrons are lively. Probably not lively enough for a good fight.

"They don't have any," Voltore calls back a minute later, "But they do have a drow variety. That'll have a kick."

"Ye Gods, no! A kick? That stuff would kill the stoutest dwarf that ever lived!"

Unable to find a decent drink, the two dwarves decide to visit a different inn. This time, they head over to the inn with the keg for a sign. To their delight, nearly everyone there was a dwarf.

They each buy several pints, and pretty soon they're feeling giddy. Ralek starts to sing.

Oh, there once was a merry dwarf whose beard reached down under his boots.
To keep it clean, he never walked in puddles or on mud.

He rarely ever went outside; He stayed down in the mines.
His pick never was silent; It always rang on time.

All the dwarves know this song--or the first verse, anyway. The first verse is always the same, but subsequent verses are made up on the spot. And they don't have to make sense. Ralek has provided the first verse and a followup; It's time for someone else to pick it up. An older dwarf with a black beard streaked with grey stands, raises his glass and continues:

His wife's tounge was even longer still; It grew with whatever she said.
And when he'd seen, he ran away. Why'da think I'm here today?

Laughter. The men clink their pints. A few women even join in. A young blond dwarf who can't be more than forty stood on a table.

Old Rik here thinks he's gotten away, but he ain't got no sense.
Her tongue, you see, it's grown miles long. Rik should be very tense.

Cheers. Congratulations. The young blond dwarf beams. He tries to do a little dance, but the table can't hold the weight. It breaks, sending the tabletop one way, and the young dwarf the other way. The blond boy falls on top of a dwarf standing nearby, spilling the entiriety of both their ales on the ground.

Cursing, the offended dwarf turns, and lands a punch square on the blonde's jaw. Cheers go up. The singing game isn't easy, but fighting is, and everyone can get involved. Dwarves quickly start bashing each other. Voltore joins in. There being no tenets in Moradin's law against fighting for pleasure (Even if that is really more of Kord's area), Ralek joins in as well.

It's an absolute brawl. Ralek single-handedly takes down twenty to thirty of the forty participents, and is the only one left standing in the end.

Ralek staggers to the bar, crossing a floor littered with patrons who've succumbed to alcohol, concussion, or both. He lays down 250 gold pieces--roughly; he can't count very well at the moment--on the bar. "Thhherrr. Thhhaht shld cver damagesh. Cannn I shhleeep?"

The bartender can't understand. "Thanks. But, sorry, what about sleep?"

"Where?"

"Oh, upstairs. Take your pick; You more than paid for it. Besides, most of these fellows will be out all night. I'll have them clean up in the morning."

Ralek sees Voltore on the floor--by someone else's hand, apparently. The staggering dwarf drags the unconscious one up the stairs and into a room. The upright dwarf finds a bed, and goes to sleep.

Morning comes, and Ralek wakes up with a hangover. There's still time before the convoy assembles and departs, so he tries to wake up Voltore. Voltore just groans and rolls over on the floor, where he's been sleeping all night.

The door opens, and a man enters. The newcomer wears the insignia of a convoy commander, but that's not what's striking about him. His eyes are what Ralek notices first: Solid black, almost like there's nothing there. The next thing Ralek notices are the small red wings sticking out of his back. His arms buldged with muscle. To put it simply, he looked very formidable. OK, I'll have to be careful not to mess with this guy.

Like a drill instructor "greeting" recruits, he shouts, "Get UP! NOW! You're not getting paid to sit around like a couple of lazy old dogs. You didn't sign a contract to sleep on the job! UP! NOW!

Ralek reflexively snaps to attention. Voltore, on the other hand, just groans a bit on the floor.

The convoy commander reaches for Voltore.