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Just like home?

Tags: Brev,  Gidon,  Scampre

Short Summary: Brev's attempts to blend in in Laketown work perhaps too well for Gidon's liking as he gains a new friend
Date (real-life): 2011-01-25
Scene Location: Esgaroth: Fisher's Wharf/Fishtale Inn
Date (in-game): Dec/Jan 3052
Time of Day: Night

The Market Square

  You have arrived in the two-hundred eighty feet by two-hundred eighty feet
open-air market known as the Market Square. Four buildings, brighter in colour
than most of the buildings in town, border the market and are filled with shops
of every kind, along with the taverns and other places people like to meet.
Hawkers walk about with carts peddling goods, and entertainers draw a few crowds
when the weather is decent. People from the outlying areas, and the occasional
groups of Dwarves or Elves, may be seen amongst the locals.

  The very center of the Market itself is a fenced-off hole spanning ninety feet
in circumference. A few steps descending through the hole leads to the Market
Pool, an area directly beneath the town. A few pulley contraptions bordering the
area might suggest that it is used as a means of transporting goods directly
from rafts into the market square.

Obvious exits:
 West leads to Center of Bowman Street.
 East leads to Center of Avenue of Tales.
 North leads to Center of Firespark Lane.
 South leads to Center of Merchant's Way.
 Market Pool leads to The Market Pool.
The Town Hall, Tavern, Gamer's Den, Armour Shoppe, and Weapon Shoppe

=-=-=-= Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Real Time: Mon Jan 17 15:14:29 2011 MST

Dale-Lands Time:
Sterday, midnight on a clear winter's night, December 18 of 3051
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service =-=-=-=

It's a clear, crisp evening, with the winter stars swinging high in the sky
above Esgaroth. The Hunter bestrides the skies to the south, whilst there in the
north, long and low against the horizon, snakes the sinuous form of The Dragon.
Is it an omen?

Northward is where Brev's path takes him this night, although he does not appear
to be stargazing. The newcomer treads the streets confidently, although his gaze
darts sharply this way and that, surveying buildings as he passes - or watching
for signs of trouble, mayhap. He has not been parted from his leather armour,
whatever the sign at the town gate might have suggested (did he even read it? He
did leave his spear with the guards, at least.)

[Nob(#16122)] "Where y'going, Brev?" asks his young companion. Gidon has no
armor, though he too has surrendered his hunting spear. But he still has his
sling. Barely a weapon that, in the eyes of grown men: a toy for a one-handed

Brev flicks a look back at Gidon. "Supposed to be some other Inn somewhere," he
tells the youth by way of response. "Hopefully some place we can slip in, listen
a while and slip out. Want to get as much information about these parts as I can
- and more, figure out how their folk /are/. Don't need to mess things up.
Coming?" One side of his mouth curls up in challenge.

[Nob(#16122)] "Course." Gidon looks around as they walk, more curious than
suspicious. "Seems like a nice place," he offers after a bit. "What sort of
'are' d'you want t'know?"

You travel a bit northward on Fishers Way, then down the wide ramp to Fishers

Fisher's Wharf

  This area is noticeably seedier than the walk above, and on most days smells
quite strongly of fish. From here, the daily horde of fishing vessels make their
way out onto Long Lake. Indeed, most fisherfolk live near or even on the Wharf
itself, housed in small dwellings built under the boards of Esgaroth proper.
There are still the ever-present warehouses, but most are obviously boarded up
and ill kept. Those that remain house small shops geared toward the fishing-
trade, or are fish-shops themselves, run by the families of those who capture
the bounty of the Lake to earn their silver. There are many shady characters
hanging about, in the nooks and crannies of the old wharf. At the end of the
wharf shines a single red light, and because of it, you can make out the
weatherbeaten sign of an Inn.

Obvious exits:
 South leads to Center of Firespark Lane.
 Dark Alley leads to The Underdecks.
Battered Door leads to The Fishtale Inn


Brev shrugs. "How they feel about the way folk look. How they act - what things
are done and what aren't. Given we're here for a season, might as well /try/ to
blend in. 'Sides, don't you want to know about your Ma?"

As they emerge from a little lane, the strong aroma of decaying fish hits them.
Brev's lip curls as he surveys the run-down atmosphere. "Nice." The sarcasm is
clear. And then, with a soft chuckle, "Reminds me of home." He squints toward
the single red light that suggests an Inn, lets his gaze flick toward a side
alley and walks casually forward. Equally casually, though, his hand brushes
against his hip as though he fears he may need to draw his dagger.

"Allo, allo," says a voice then, and from the very alley that Brev inspects
there steps a scruffy-looking fellow. "What do we have here then? Looking for a
Ma, you said? I know lots of folks, I do..."

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon nods. "Aye," he says peaceably. "Wondered what /you/ wanted
though. You an' Caoimhe thinkin' on stayin' around here?" He is a half-step
behind Brev as the man walks forward.

"Lookin' for m'ma's folk," he corrects after staring at the newcomer for a long

Brev answers Gidon without looking at him - a clear sign that their surroundings
bother him more than he's letting on. "/Here/ she fits right in. Plenty of straw-
coloured heads and not one of them bats an eye." Which leaves aside, of course,
the question of whether he fits in.

An answer to that will have to wait for another day. As the figure emerges he
slides a little closer to Gidon, so that his knife-hand is protecting the youth.
"Looking for many things," comes his answer, in the singsong Common that marks
him out as foreign here as in Bree. "Trouble wouldn't be one of them. What folk
do you know, then?"

"Oh," says the other, "I know many a chap, and many a lass, and many of 'em that
breathe no longer. Name's Scampre, and I wager there isn't a soul that walks the
planks of Lake-town that I couldn't share a secret or two about."

The man digs his hands into pockets then, and grins widely. "Though, of course,
I do like a coin or two in my hand first."

[Nob(#16122)] "M'ma, she come from here, maybe," Gidon explains. "Da, he never
knew for sure. Only this was goin' on for twenty years past, an' she's dead
since I was four." This about coin though - he hasn't any. He shrugs a little,
and glances behind them - but no one's there.

Brev shifts slightly, so that his shoulder brushes Gidon's - reassurance, maybe?
His own gaze is never still, sweeping over the scruffy-looking figure before
them, the road ahead and behind ... no doubt he has already marked out the
various possible exits.

At Scampre's speech he arches one eyebrow. "Don't we all. Myself, I'd be happy
for the means to earn a little of that elusive coin. A man's got to live, after
all. I expect you know about that, too." His tone is dry. Presumably he must
have /something/ in the way of money on him, given he was heading for an Inn,
but his movements give no clue as to where said coin might be.

A laugh at this, and Scampre grins all the more. "Oh, I've had my ways of
getting it in the past. But then, I know well how to filch a pretty penny from
those that would rather keep 'em. What is it you do, if drinking in the famous
Fishtale will further it?" There is no small hint of emphasis placed upon the
name of the tavern; sardonic and mirthful all at once.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon is silent, letting Brev take care of the conversation. He
watches around; not so skilled as the older man in the vagaries of city lowlife,
but he can at least look for movement. And he listens.

"I daresay you do," Brev answers Scampre, the corners of his mouth twitching
slightly. "Though I'd choose my marks better were I you. I know well the tricks
of those who'd filch a pretty penny, too. And as for me, I turn my hand to this
and that. I'm good at patching things up. Handy with a knife, as well." That
particular comment seems to amuse him. "Need me to demonstrate?" He pauses a
moment for the offer to sink in, then tosses after, "Or shall we merely adjourn
to the famous Fishtale? If they'll take my coin, I might even buy you a drink."

Scampre moves not a muscle as Brev speaks, and his grin remains in place during
the outlander's talk of knives; a gleam in his eye that quickly fades away as
the tavern is mentioned once more.

"Aye," says he, after a long moment, and he nods. "They should take yer coin, so
long as it's real metal worth having. Get a lot of strange money up here in Lake-
town. But, uh," he adds, walking forward with a wink. "I'd keep yer talk of
knives to yerself, friend. There's a sort or two in yon tavern that might like
to see what you can do indeed, and show you what they can do an' all. Don't go
throwing yer weight around, if you want my advice..."

The man laughs then anew. "And that advice is free, so I'd take it if I were you.
Brev opens both eyes wide in a feigned innocence that works rather less well
than it had a decade ago. "Did I mention knives?"

There is a brief pause; as Scampre moves forward his hand tightens at his hip,
though when no more than words are forthcoming he does not draw the blade. "I
wasn't planning to throw my weight around. Do you have any more sage advice then,
 Master Money-Filcher? I'm all ears."

"Sure thing, stranger," says Scapre then, strolling past the Dunlending and
Gidon towards the door of the Fishtale. "But the rest'll cost you. Your round at
the bar, I think..."

A snorted breath signifies Brev's amusement at that suggestion. "Aye," he agrees,
 following after with Gidon at his heels. To the youth he murmurs softly, "Best
save your questions for another day. I've a feeling our friend here will say
anything in return for a coin or two."


A couple of weeks later ...


The Fishtale Inn

All along the walls of this delapidated Fishtale Inn there remains only the faded, smoke stained, and peeling suggestion of someone's poor impression of fantastical monsters of the sea -- this is sadly indicative of the whole place. The bar, the Inn's heart, bears a large and spreading split along half its length, and the very walls seem barely able to support the weight of the place.

The tables are all blackened, and sticky with indeterminable substances, and they look for all the world like jacks cast down by forgetful Giant children since there isn't any apparent order to their placing. The kegs and casks are in a similar state, though some of the bottles seem more recent acquisitions.

This is truly the kind of place that attracts those of ill repute; those who do not care about atmosphere so long as the drink is cheap and plentiful and the barkeep does not ask too many questions. . .

Obvious exits:

=-=-=-= Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Real Time: Tue Jan 25 15:52:11 2011 MST

Dale-Lands Time:
Trewsday, late night on a clear winter's night, January 10 of 3052
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service =-=-=-=

The midnight hour fast approaches in the fabled town of Esgaroth, but as the waves of the Long Lake lap against the boles holding it aloft, close to the Underdecks there is still revelry to be found. The Fishtale Inn, home to scoundrels, cheapskates and women of uneasy virtue is enjoying a fine old time on this clear night, and the barkeep seems unsure whether to laugh or cry at the amount of work he is having to do to keep his patrons happy.

Smoke and song fill the air, along with the laughter of successful gamblers and the wheezy cough of an old man in one corner, bend over the table in a fit of mirth even as he pounds his chest for relief. Oposite him sits the smirking figure of Scampre, rapping his knuckles idly upon the wood as the other fellow continues to appreciate his jape.

Bored however with entertaining his elder it seems, the well-known knave turns his gaze over to the rest of the room, seeking something or someone new.

And his wish is granted as Brev slips into the Fishtale, closing the battered door gently behind him. He's become a more frequent figure here of late, since he and his companions started renting a couple of rooms in a battered old building at the edge of Fisher's Wharf. Clearly all three have strong noses and strong stomachs - or just light purses.

He holds a finger up to the barkeep to indicate one drink only, pulls out a few coppers and then sees Scampre peering in his direction. "Looking for someone?" he enquires with lifted brow as he appropriates a nearby stool. "If it was a comely lass you were hoping for, afraid you'll be disappointed."

"Ahhh," chuckles Scampre, flourishing his wrist in counterfeit of the lordly actions of Esgaroth's noblefolk, and he counters: "Not unless your beloved is planning on joining us also? That's a sight to see and no mistake. You're a lucky fellow, Mr. Brev."

"Here, come have a rest of your legs," he invites the other, pushing into view stool with the toe of his boot.

Brev's eyes narrow sharply at Scampre's comment. "She's not up for barter," he states flatly, clearly riled by the rogue's interest. "And she's busy."

He balances carefully on the stool (several of the dilapidated items look close to collapse, and indeed he's repaired one or two already in lieu of coin) and stretches out his long legs. "Luck's relative. Won't be too lucky when the coin runs out, eh?" He pauses, then asks casually, "Don't suppose /you/ know of anything needing done? Last .. job", the slight hesitation is barely noticeable, "didn't last, and folk seem remarkably uninterested in my fine carpentry."

[Gidon(#29455)] Gidon was outside, heading back from somewhere towards their lodgings, when he sees Brev enter the Fishtale Inn - and heads after him. A few minutes after the older man has found a stool, the door opens again, and the lad stands in the entrance, hunting around for him.

"Well, says the other to Brev, and Scampre offers a wink, "in a town made of stilts and decks, it's not much surprise if folk are looking for someone with a local pedigree, as it were. Don't take it personal, my man. Trade's a wide world, but woodwork? That's pretty small. The Craftsman's Guild doesn't reach as far abroad as the Merchant's, as they say. But I might know a fellow or two that might have something worth a few coins. Assuming that's all your looking for, of course..."

The question is left nonchalantly in the air between them as Scampre's eyes flit again, and he catches sight of Gidon. "Well now, your unbarterable lady might not have stepped out this evening, but what about your son?"

"A few coins and an unbroken neck at the end of it," Brev replies straight-faced. "Like I've said before, I can turn my hand to most things. Understand there's a few merchants needing spare hands and backs and no questions asked?" He lets his singsong Common end on a rising inflection, twisting in his seat as a draught of cold, wintry air reaches him. He raises one arm slightly, then lets it drop, never one for being the centre of attention.

Scampre's next words twist his lips into a sudden grin. "I look that old? No, he's my half-brother. Da was quite the wanderer." The tale - one not used in a long while - is delivered carelessly, accompanied by a wink.

A wide grin splits Scampre's features at this, and he nods. "Never saw the point in it myself. Stayed in once place, and still see most everyone I've ever met. Couldn't ask for a more honest, hardworking folk than the Lake-men, let me tell you. Why, every morning, the Long Lake shimmers gloriously as a herald, and everything."

He sniffs then, and takes up his tankard. "Aye, I know a few chaps, and they're straightforward people. Do the job right, and you'll have no trouble.

He takes a drink of his mug.

Brev chuckles softly at that. "Quite the poet. Honest, hardworking folk having more coin to spare, eh? I'll remember not to work /too/ hard, wouldn't want anyonegetting the wrong idea about me having riches." He glances round for his own drink - the barmaid is currently in the centre of a laughing, ogling group and Medhir herself busy breaking up some dispute, looks like he'll have a while to wait - and then gives up with a shrug.

"I always do the job right," he states loftily. "As to staying in one place ... folk get odd ideas. Sometimes it's wiser to be somewhere else, for a while." One side of his mouth twitches. "'Sides-" Whatever that was, it fades into silence.

Scampre studies the other for a long moment, before he chortles and takes a fresh pull of his tankard. "Never let it come to that, myself. Must be my winning ways, you know?"

He leans forward then, and as the old man smacks his lips drunkenly, Scampre adds: "Be at the Docks just before dark tommorrow, and be on the look out for a man with a grey beard. His name's Gadsun, and he'll be expecting you."

Brev ducks his head in a nod at that last. "Sure," he answers casually, seeming to take the words at face value and enquiring no further. "Any of those winning ways you wish to share? I'm happy to listen to a tale or two ..."

The grin of the rogue widens at this, and he shrugs easily. "All I can tell you is to keep your eyes and ears open, and be.. helpful."

He winks and takes another deep draught of his mug, ere setting it on the table; empty. "But I will give you something a bit more useful in the meantime. I notice you've been hacking away at your clothing with a needle, so I assume you're short on a few coins. Wouldn't do to put your lady-friend through harder times than they already are, would it?"

Scampre reaches into his pocket then and places a silver penny on the wood."

"It's a loan mind. Just so's you know I'm banking on you getting on your feet pretty soon, right?"

Scampre +gives you a Silver Penny.

The corners of Brev's mouth twitch at the comment about clothing, as though he found it amusing. Mention of Caoimhe brings the inevitable tension to his mouth. "She's hardy, she'll cope," he mutters shortly. The girl does have expensive tastes, alas.

At the sight of the coin, the man's brows shoot up, although he recovers quickly. "To be repaid with interest, eh? Else I'll find myself at the bottom of yon Lake? It's so easy for a man's foot to slip, midst wet wood and rotten pilings ..." He reaches out to lift the coin anyway, flipping it up and into his palm, and glancing surreptitiously to see if Gidon has noticed. "I'll take it," he announces confidently, his features shifting into a sudden grin. "Figure you'll be paid back in no time, Master Eyes-and-Ears of Laketown." He winks back at Scampre - the nearest he'll come to a 'thanks' - and heads off to see what has become of his drink.

And thus, so easily, is a man bought and services sold.

Gratitude does not seem to be high on Scampre's list of concerns. to judge by his grin as he watches Brev move away, and he turns back to the old fellow beside him with a nudge of his elbow. "Catch all that, Todger? When you chuck out for the night don't forget to tell your Edgur to go see Gudsen in the morning."

And with that, the night wears on cheerfully.

Date added: 2011-01-28 06:42:11    Hits: 82
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