Cyenannore: Chapter 10 - Haybrcg: Meeting The Locals

(Read the previous chapter here.)

System: Tunnels & Trolls
Tools: d30 Sandbox Companion; UNE; Midkemia Press Cities; RPGSolo.com

(The above contains affiliate links.)

<I’ve mentioned this several times before, but a lot of the details for the city of Habrycg comes from my playthrough of the mapping game This Virgin Land Of Ours by Lar Assmuth. (Watch this particular playthrough here.) For the most part, I’ve kept the names derived by the game, only altering the spelling or construction of some of the more “eccentric” name enough to better fit into the world of Barisea.)

[Scene 1]

With the coming of morning and new batch of guards, the party had no problems entering Habrycg.  Either the city wasn’t terribly concerned about travellers coming and going during daylight hours, or the guards on duty the previous night were just overly suspicious, obstinate, or both. 

Just inside the gate were stables for the group to board their horses.  While Kris, Dalen, and Nen saw to their horses arrangements, Sylralei inquired to the stable owner about a particular inn she was fond of from an earlier stay in Habrycg.  He verified it was still in business and owned by the same family. When the others returned she led them there.

Syl told Kris and Nen, who have never been to Habrycg, that the part of the city they were walking through was the common quarter, which explained the plainness of the buildings.  The north entrance to the city was actually considered the main entrance.  The homes and businesses just inside those gates were of a considerably higher class.  It was presumed, for whatever reason, that most of the nobility and aristocracy would come from that direction, possibly because there was much more of the world north of Habrycg.  It was also possible that with the proximity of the forest, hills, and mountains to the south, much of the traffic through those gates would be miners, hunters and other lower classes.  The town’s officials would certainly want to keep such extreme classes separated as much as possible.  That being said, the south wasn’t the poorest quarter, or the slums.  No one wants that to be the first impression of their town. Those homes were tucked nicely away from any entrance whatsoever.

The Fox and Dragon, the inn Syl led them to, was a well kept two-story structure built from timber and stone.  The front door opened onto a large sitting room,and just beyond that was a combination bar and dining hall.  Much of the wood on the chairs, tables, and other furniture was decorated with ornate carvings and scrollwork, the hallmarks of elven craftsmanship.  Dalen could see why Sylralei, being an elf, would favor this establishment. 

However, with all this unexpected finery around him, what made the dwarf most curious was the large painting mounted above the hearth.  It featured someone of his own race, dressed in dark clothes, his head covered by a hood.  The dwarf was on a dark street at night, peering around a stone wall and holding a dagger.  Obviously, the artists’ intent was to depict a dwarven thief or assassin spying on hit next victim.  Why the owners would want to feature that, Dalen could only guess.  Was the artist well-known and his work highly coveted?  Was it donated to the inn?  Or did it subtly suggest the owner’s attitude toward those of the short and stocky persuasion?

The Dwarf Was On A Dark Street

If it was the latter, the woman who greeted them as they entered showed no prejudice and welcomed them heartily.  Yes, they had room, but only three, so two of the party would have to bed together.  Food being served? Of course, but this early it was mostly breads and fruit.  However, the Fox was known for their unique cuisine and she urged them to come to the dining room for dinner and try their signature dish, liver sausage crusted pie.

The woman, Corette, motioned to a young boy -- perhaps her son -- and instructed him to lead the travelers up to their rooms. Sylralei and the others followed up the staircase and down a hallway, flanked by six doors.  Three were closed.  The remainder were open.  Without any discussion, Sylralei peered into all three and chose the largest.  The rest agreed that Dalen would have his own room, being the senior Kage Gordain member among them, and Kris and Nen would share the last.

<The name and most of the inn’s features and furnishings were generated using the d30 Sandbox Companion.

Before going any further with the story, I felt this was a good time to look over the character’s Adventure Points and do some level ups.  As a refresher, a character may spend points equal to ten times any skill’s current score to raise it up by 1.  These are the advancements I chose:
Kris:  Spent 140 AP to level DEX to 15.
Syl: Spent 160 AP to level LCK to 17.
Dal: Spent 90 AP to raise CHA to 10, 130 AP to raise DEX to 14
Nen: Spent 140 AP to raise INT to 15

After getting settled, each character spent the remainder of the day doing their own activities.  I listed what I expected each character to do, then, one by one, played out those actions.>

[Scene 2]

“I’m going to see what’s up in town and possibly hit an inn,” Kristopher said to Nen once they chose beds and tucked their packs underneath.  “You comin’?”

“I don’t think so.  I haven’t had a chance to practice my spells yet.  I think I’ll stay here.”

“If that’s what you want. But I’ll be . . . somewhere.  Come find me if you get bored.”

Kris left and Nen sat on the bed.  The halfling took a deep breath and tried to relax.  Focusing hard, he spoke the words, “Hidey Hole.” Nothing happened.  Nen signed, preparing for a long afternoon.

<Full transparency, I once again altered the rules for learning spells and I’ve applied them to Nen current checks.  There’s no point in explaining why or how I changed the rules, only to say that coming up with a reasonable method where none previously exists is pretty much trial and error.  Note to new solo roleplayers: Don’t be afraid to change the rules. No one will stop you.

Regardless, the rule changes had no effect on Nen’s attempts. The results would have been the same, using either the old and new method. Without any assistance, Nen only had one attempt at each of his spells.  Hidey Hole at L2 INT SR: 6,2 + 15=23 fail.  Poor Baby at L3 INT SR: 6,4+15=25 Fail.

I did give Nen a 30% chance to decide to leave the room.  Roll: 47  He stays in his room.>

[Scene 3]

Kristopher left The Fox and Dragon with no particular plan in mind. Having been on the road for the past week, he was eager to get back into civilized life, even if only for a few days.  He didn’t plan on going far to avoid getting lost. Only far enough to check out some of the shops in the area.

His first stop was an armorer.  If someone needed a weapon fast and didn’t have time to deal with a blacksmith, the armorer is where they went.  Many of the items on display were of low to mid-grade.  Swords and daggers mostly, but there was also a fair share of maces, hammers, and pole type weapons.  In the back of the store was a whole section dedicated to used weapons, trade-ins Kris presumed.  He picked up a few better looking swords and took a few swings. In the end, however, nothing interested him enough to make him want to replace what he already owned.

Next, he passed by a jeweler’s and decided to have a look. The visit was more one of curiosity, as he was not one to wear trinkets himself.  Necklaces. Rings, Bracelets. Broaches.  Like the weapon shop, all were of moderate quality.  The really nice stuff, he knew, would be found in the shops on the north end of the city.  Still, he wondered if Sylralei would find any of these items to her liking.  He couldn’t recall her wearing much jewelry, especially when on a job.  If she did, however, Kris thought these might be below her.  The elf came across as demanding only the best. 

Suddenly, he laughed.  The most amusing thought crossed his mind.  He tried to picture Kelseen in any of these adornments.  She’d rather be dead, he thought.  In fact, he couldn’t remember ever seeing her in anything other than her armor or a plain work shirt and pants.  Never a dress or a skirt.  Her idea of “jewelery” was probably a set of steel bracers, or perhaps a spiked collar to protect her neck from reaching hands.

The afternoon went on and Kris started to get bored. <Significant encounter check: 1,2 on a d6. Roll: 6 None.> His outlaw past began to itch. It was time to seek out a good bar and maybe a game of cards.  He knew it was always a good idea not to gamble in the establishment where you sleep.  Too easy for an angry opponent to find and sneak up on you later.  So he found a promising establishment a street over from the Fox.

The place looked like any other common drinking establishment.  The bartender stood behind a long bar, serving several patrons who sat along it.  Throughout the room were scattered several tables.  Many held people talking over drinks and unimpressive plates of food, but two or three were active with ongoing card games.  Kris moved close enough to see they were playing Baat, a game he was familiar with. Additionally, the bets were modest, with any single pot not reaching much more than a gold piece. He wouldn’t lose at this table . . . as long as the game was fair. 

When one of the players got up to leave, Kris asked to take his place.  In his experience, there were typically two types of tables.  One where you joined only when asked and were treated with either disdain or suspicion should you try otherwise.  At the other, you were welcomed almost without question, the existing players ready to take the money of anyone foolish enough to offer it. This was the latter, as no one objected.

Kris got off to a slow start, losing the first several hands.  This wasn’t a surprise to him, however. He needed time to observe the other players, learn their style.  Were they aggressive or cautious?  Could he tell if and when they bluffed?  By the fifth hand, things began to shift.  He won a hand here and there.  Several minutes later, he was breaking even.  After about an hour, and a few drinks for the table, Kris dominated, winning nearly every hand, frustrating the other three players.

It was about then that a dark haired serving girl set a mug of ale down next to Kris.

“Courtesy of Mr. Horzu,” she said, nodding to a table across the room.  “He wished to invite you to his game.”

Kris looked over, expecting to see a finely groomed gentleman or an imposing roguish character.  Instead, looking in his direction was a common looking  <Race: 1-human 2-elf 3-dwarf 4-halfling Roll. 4> halfling. Unlike Nen, or, for that matter, most other halflings he met, Horzu did not have a boyish appearance.  Instead, he looked much like a seasoned manager of a great business or wizened professor, except that he was barely three feet tall and dwarfed by the large chair in which he sat.

“You caught the Dirk’s interest,” one of his tablemates snickered. “Lucky you.”

“The Dirk?” Kris inquired.

“That’s what everyone calls him.  He’s small, but when you least expect it, he’ll cut you wide open.”

Kris’ eyes widened with concern.

“Figuratively speaking, of course,” the man assured him. “Well, you better not keep him waiting.  Oh . . . and good luck.”

The other two laughed with him as Kris grabbed his drink and left the table.

“My scouts have been watching you,” Horzu told Kris as he sat at the table and they introduced themselves.  “They tell me you know how to play Baat.”

“Isn’t everyone here playing Baat?”

“That’s my point, Mr. Miglward,” Horzu explained.  “They play Baat.  People like you and I know how to play Baat.”

And with that, the halfling dealt the first hand. 

Kris immediately noticed the antes and pots were several gold pieces larger than the table he just left, and he was glad that game increased his pouch a bit.  Next, it didn’t surprise him to realize that Horzu and the other two <odd> male humans at the table were much more competent in their playing. He quickly lost the first two hands before picking up on their style.  But even then, his skill only got him so far.  Kris couldn’t deny that several lucky draws spared his hand when he should have been beaten. 

They played for over an hour when one pot grew especially large.  Logic and his cards told Kris he should really fold.  The outlaw in him, however, thought, with the right strategy, he might steal the fifteen or so gold sitting in the middle of the table.  He increased the bet one more time with undeserved confidence, hoping to force the opponents out.  It worked, at least for two of them.  The Dirk just smiled as he slid in some coins, matching Kris’ bid.  Disappointed, Kris knew he had lost this hand and figured he’d have to watch his coppers for the rest of his stay in Habrycg.

Kris expected nothing as he replaced one card from his hand with a new draw.  Just a red tower. All he could hope for now was that Horzu didn’t raise the . . .  Wait!  A red tower. Kris hadn’t considered this possible combination of cards before now, but now realized his hand had improved greatly.  In fact, the red tower was the only card in the deck that could have given him this result.  Luck again.  With new bravado, he raised the pot one more time.  Horzu simply matched and hands were revealed.  As Kris has suspected, he would have lost had it not been for that draw.

Inner jubilation was quickly replaced by concern.  This is usually when your opponent accuses you of cheating and you either have to do some fast talking or fight your way out.  He kept his eyes on everyone at the table as he slowly gathered the pile of coins to himself. 

“I am very impressed, Mr. Miglward,” Horzu said, as a satisfied look came over his face.  “This has been one of the most enjoyable games I have played in a while.”

“Thank you?” Kris said cautiously.

“Most people I play tend to be timid.  I don’t know if they're concerned about losing too much or if they're just afraid of me.  I hear they call me “The Dirk.” This last bit he said as though he was sharing a deep secret with Kris.  “But not you.  You have a boldness in your play.  You raise when you should fold.  Luck helped you often.  Oh yes,” the halfling said, seeing a look of surprise cross Kris’ face. “I could sense your relief whenever you drew a card you weren’t expecting.  But you always played the next hand with confidence.  You are welcome to join my table as long as you are in town.”

<For the results of Kris’ gambling, I used the gambling table from Medkemia Press’ Cities Book, adjusting for Tunnels & Trolls skills.  I made one roll on the table for the entire day, based on 10 gp. risked.  Adjusted Roll: 92 = Player wins four times their bet. Kris won 40 gp above his initial bet.>

[Scene 4]

Dalen Dimflayer stood by and watched as a large group of young boys and girls ran around in circles playing a game called Tempoopkap. He didn’t know the exact rules, but knew it involved one of the children hiding a coin and the rest somehow trying to figure out who was the thief.  They played in a large grassy commons situated between Habrycg’s Town Council Building and the Great Library.  Apart from a few bushes and some stone benches, the only item of note in the square was a large boulder sitting in front of the Council Building.  What made it unique was the sword hilt sticking out from it. 

Dalen stopped one of the children, an elven girl, as she ran by.

“Gather everyone and bring them to the sword in the stone,” he told her.  “I have a story to tell ‘em.”

<Chances are good that Dalen is familiar with the city, its history and lore.  L1 INT SR 4,1+15=20.  He is.>

The girl gave Dalen a funny look, but he just waved her off to do her task and saundered over to the distinctive marker.

At first, her playmates seemed to dismiss the young lass.  But seeing the dwarf standing by the stone caused a few to become curious.  At first, only a couple of the children wandered over to see what this dwarf was all about.  Then a few more.  And a few more.  Eventually, Dalen had attracted an audience of fifteen.

Sword Hilt Sticking Out From It

“Do any of you know the story about this here sword?” Dalen asked.

About half of those gathered raised their hands.

“Aye, but do you know the whole story?”

Many of those who originally raised their hands lowered them slowly.  Whether they knew the “whole” story or not, they didn’t want to claim they did, then be quizzed and not know the answer.

<Does any city official object to Dalen’s public storytelling? (Unlikely) No, and . . .  + Event: Vengeance/Plans>

The dwarf launched into his story.  He told the tale of Dioquiss Habrycg who, nearly a century ago, led a tribe of his people on a quest for a new home.  Guided by the god Pokpu’naap, they wandered throughout the lands of Barisea.  The only hint to where they were going could be found in an obscure prophecy.  According to it, wherever the “traveler” drove his sword into a stone, that was where he and those with him would thrive.  Many time Dioquiss and his tribe camped in a place worthy to be their home. However, when he attempted the test, his sword would slide across the stone’s surface, leaving nothing but a faint scratch. Their wandering continued for nearly forty years.  The people begged Dioquiss to take them home, grumbling that he was only leading them to their death. But the god Pokpu’naap only chided them, accusign them of a weak faith and that returning home would only mean destruction. 

Eventually, Dioquiss and his tribe came to this very stone (Dalen rested his palm upon the stone next to him).  The adventurer lifted his sword, as he had done numerous times before.  But unlike those other times, the tip pierced the boulder and the blade sunk into the great rock.  They found their home and built their first hut upon that site.  Over the years, that small hut grew and was rebuilt time and time again, until eventually it became the site of the current Town Council Building.

Dalen had no idea if the stone he stood next to was the original stone Dioquiss sunk his sword into or just a recreated monument to mark the location. It was even possible the whole story was just a legend, devoid of any true facts. But none of that mattered to the children seated around, listening to his tale. They were raptured by his words, as were the many adults who stopped to listen to his retelling. Dalen’s inner storyteller was satisfied with a tale well told.

“I’m impressed. You know our city’s history rather well.”

Dalen turned to the voice to see it belonged to a grey-haired man dressed in a plain brown robe.  The man gave Dalen a friendly smile.

“Thank you,” Dalen said.  “It’s great to see the youth entertained while learning something as well.”

“I am Marin,” the man introduced himself.  “I am the priest of the local Church of Pokpu’naap.”

“Pokpu’naap?  I didn’t realize he was still worshipped.”

“Surely, as you just related, this town was founded based on Pokpu’naap’s guidance. Why would you assume he was no longer worshipped?”

“Sorry for my ignorance,” Dalen apologized.  “I had thought Pokpu’naap worship would have been absorbed by the Church of Moro.  That Pokpu’naap was merely an earlier manifestation of the current god.”

Marin chuckled softly, amused at the dwarf’s words.  “No.  Pokpu’napp is clearly not Moro.  But you are not entirely wrong.  Worship has diminished over time, the newer religions being much more popular.”  He spat this last word with mild distaste. “It’s a shame that the people have forsaken who brought them here.  Which is why I came to speak with you

“As I implied, the church is small.  Only around one hundred congregants. We want to raise awareness, especially with Pik only a couple of weeks away.  So we are holding a public worship meeting <d3: 3rd day in town> two nights from today.  I was hoping you would be willing to share this same story at that meeting.  It might spark some interest among the crowd.”

Dalen did some quick figuring in his head.  If Sylralei stuck to her schedule, they weren’t planning to leave until the morning after the meeting.  Always willing to spin a yarn and having nothing better to do, Dalen agreed, but not before warning Marin that his travel plans might change.  While the two finalized the arrangements, Dalen couldn’t help but wonder if there might be an offering collected, and if he would be offered a share.

[Scene 6]

As the light dimmed outside The Fox and Dragon, Kris, Nen, and Dalen met in the inn’s dining hall for a dinner of unique offerings.  Dalen was the only one willing to try to liver sausage crusted pie Corette told them about that morning.  Kris opted for a thick mupmek steak, garnished with vegetables he had never seen nor heard of before.  Nen went simple, with a bowl of stew.  Kris paid for everyone, along with a nice bottle of wine, thanks to his earlier winnings. <Deducted 4 gp.>

The three ate, drank, and shared tales of their adventures in the city.  There was one question, however, that hung over the group.  Where was Sylralei?

[Scene 5]

Dirt.  Grime. Stench. Now that they were in the city, none of this would do for Sylralei. Her first order of business was to clean up.  Down in the meeting room, Syl found Corette and asked if she had a tub she could use. <(Unlikely) No, but . . .> She didn’t, but she did have a cousin, Janelle, who lived a couple of streets over with whom she had an arrangement for such services. Corvette handed Syl a note covered with strange symbols, telling her to show it to Janelle and she would take care of her.

Syl easily found the house, and as Janelle warmed water for the bath over the fire, the elf casually wandered through the living area of the home. Glancing in an open door, she noticed a small room with three torso mannequins and a sewing table.  Two of the mannequins held dresses: one white, one red.  A third garment of deep blue was in process, lying on the table.

“Are you a dressmaker?” Syl called out. 

“Yes,” Janelle answered.  “I know a woman who owns a shop in the nobel’s quarter. She sells them for a cut.  Her take is reasonable, though.”

Sylralei approached the red dress for a better look.  It was long and elegant with sleeves that would cover the arms to the wrists.  Each sleeve was woven with intricate lacework, as was the bodice down to the waistline.  The rear was backless, and the neckline dropped low, a inch or two more than what Syl would have expected to see a modest woman wear.

“You are very good.  Have you thought about opening your own shop.”

“Oh no,” Janelle admitted quickly.  “I can’t sew enough to keep it stocked.  Besides, the dresses are too expensive for the women around here, and I couldn’t possibly afford a space in the nobel quarter. Your bath is ready, Sylralei.”

“I’ll take the red one,” Syl said, removing her cloak. “Is two gold enough?”

Janelle’s jaw dropped in surprise.  “Two?  I expect that dress is worth barely more than only one gold.”

“It’s worth it,” Syl assured her.  “Believe me. And this is a sale you can keep all to yourself.  Do you know a good tanner who can clean up these leathers?  I need them by tomorrow morning.  And after my bath, I will need a carriage. Five gold should cover all that and leave a little extra for you. Don’t you think?”

“Yes. Absolutely!”  Janelle responded excitedly.  She led Syl to the tub and helped her remove the mud encrusted blue leathers.  Gathering everything up, she rushed out the door to take care of the errands while the wizardess slid down into the warm tub, closed her eyes, and relaxed.

[Scene 6]

After her bath, it was still too early for a “night out.” To pass the time, Syl laid down in a guest bedroom and napped for several hours.  She welcomed the straw bed, especially after sleeping on the ground for the past week. Janelle had returned home while Syl was asleep and waited until she awoke to tell her that her other clothes would be ready by noon the next day and that arrangements were made for a carriage to pick her up when she was ready. 

The dress fit Sylralei nearly perfectly.  Running her hands down the sides, the elf admired the feel of the fabric as it hugged her waist and hips.  A long mirror revealed the faint silhouette of her legs through the flowing dress.  They were too dark to see any detail, but a woman who knew how to use the light could easily capture any man’s attention.  Syl appreciated this naughty side  of Janelle’s work, especially considering her plans for the evening.

Yet, it was for this reason Syl was thankful to be leaving from the dressmaker’s home instead of the inn.  She preferred not having Kristopher see her leave like this.  If Kelseen saw her, she would glare in judgement. Syl could handle that.  Kris, however, would frown in simple disappointment borne out of respect, which somehow felt worse.  He barely knew her, yet he treated her like someone of worth, not a shamed elf running from her past and using anyone to get what she needed. She had never known an outlaw to be such a gentleman.

But whatever Kris wanted to believe, that was not her. She was sure of it.

The carriage dropped Sylralei off outside The Scout’s Bush. Despite its poorly thought-out name <thanks d30 Companion> and the engraving on its sign showing a young lad peering over a bit of shrubbery, the establishment was one of the most prestigious taverns in Haybrcg. Syl visited it often during her previous stay in the city, shortly after her exodus from Cyenannore. She was a bit hazy on how to get to it from The Fox, but Janelle was able to give her directions while making adjustments to the dress. <Syl failed her L2 Luck SR to remember where the Scout’s Bush was located by only one point, so I decided she knew about this specific place, but needed some help getting there.>

She was just about to step inside when a rough hand took hold of her arm. She looked up to see the stern face of an urook pulling her back from the doorway.

“Not allowed!” the urook told her.  “Leave.”

Syl did not remember the Bush having a doorman the last time she was here.  “You speak good common for an urook,” she . . . flirted? “It’s okay.  Viktor is waiting for me inside,” she lied. “I’m sure he told you.” <L2 CHA SR to get in: 1,3=4 Auto Fail>

The urook stepped in front of her as she tried for the door again.  “I not know you!  Unless with someone I know, you leave!”

Starting to get annoyed, Syl slipped her hand in the folds of her dress to retrieve a few coins from her pouch.  Before she could pull them out, however, an arm reached around her waist.

“It’s okay, Brukk.  The young lady is with me.”

Syl turned to see a handsome, well-dressed elf with black hair.  He wore a rather unique brown jacket. The right side ended just below the waist.  The left side, however, reached down to just past the calf, hiding the leg.  This unusual extension was pleated like a dress.  Syl recognized this jacket as a Soom, a garment unique to Habrycg, bestowed upon leaders of business, politics, education, and other notable professions or interests.

“Shall we?” the stranger asked, motioning to the door.

“Of course,” Syl answered.  “I began to think you would never arrive.”

<Before Sylralei attempted the bribe, I made an oracle check to see if someone might invite her in as their “guest?” (Unlikely) Yes, but . . .  While it’s unlikely Syl knows this person, she has been to the city before, so I’ll give her a chance.  L3 LCK SR (target 30): 4,2 +17 = 23 Fail
Using the Cities Aristocrat Table, I determined he was Gentleman, Lord.  Even/Odd for human or elf: Elf.>

“Thank you,” Syl said once they were inside.  “I was afraid I would have to give that ogre half my coin before he would let me in.”

The stranger laughed.  “Brukk take a bribe?  Never.  They pay him more than enough to guard our privacy.”

“In that case, again, I thank you.”

“Oh, it’ll cost you.” <the “but” rolled above>

“Cost me what?”

“A drink.”

“Aren’t you supposed to buy me a drink?”

“I can tell Brukk that I was mistaken.”

“Do you like ale, or would you prefer something stiffer?”

<For the upcoming conversation between the two of them, I rolled on UNE’s NPC Interaction Emulator. Unfortunately, I got “The friendly Lord speaks of comfort regarding the current story.”  Basically, it confirmed what I already established for Syl’s reason for being here.

I needed some sort of catalyst to start an adventure in Haybrcg, or else all the setup from the mapping game might go to waste.  I quickly made up a d6 table, creating seeds based on the lore determined in the game.  The result was that the gentleman was a supporter of the minority side of the town council.  Is he 1: the minority councilman, 2-3: a close friend of the minority councilman, 4-7: Not close, but a very involved supporter, or 8-10: in favor of, but not directly involved in any way.  Roll: Not close, but very involved.>

[Scene 7]

Over drinks, Syl learned the gentleman’s name was Crafir and, fittingly, he oversaw a number of the businesses in the crafting trade.  Just under half of the woodworkers and masons responsible for construction throughout the city were under his supervision.  After the first drink, Crafir graciously took over, buying the next round, as well their dinner.

“This is an unusual meat,” Syl said, savoring a morsel from her plate.

“It’s mantat. It’s an animal about this big.” Crafir held his hands a little more than a foot apart. “They hunt it along the banks of the Pass river.  It’s considered a delicacy.”

Syl took another satisfying bite. 

“More wine,” Crafir offered.

“Construction must be good for you,” Syl said, the wine he poured costing more than a commoner would make in a year.

“It does well,” he agreed. “Better now that Arndell is on the council. Hopefully things can get even better.”

Syl continued to chew as she raised her eyebrows, silently asking her companion to expound.

“For years the council members were very unfavorable to many of the businesses in Haybrcg.  To be more precise, they weren’t favorable unless they held a share in your business.  They didn’t completely shut down other businesses or block craftsmen from jobs.  They couldn’t unless they wanted a backlog in construction or an economic collapse.  But the best and highest paying work went to those who supported them.  They even convinced the wealthiest citizens somehow to shop primarily at certain vendors. People complained, but they could never seem to get them voted off the council.”

“I thought one council member was voted off every year,” Syl asked, recalling what politics she remembered of the place.  “It was some odd system.  Instead of voting someone to take the place of a leaving member, the citizens voted which council person they wanted to get rid of.”

“You’re talking about the Pik. The election that is only a couple of weeks away.  You're right. Every year one member is voted off.  What I meant was that their replacements were always sympathetic to their cause.  No one who felt differently would be put on the council, despite the city's growing opposition.”

“Sounds like someone was controlling who the replacements were,” Syl suggested the obvious.  “But I never figured that out.  If the people vote off a council member, who chooses the new one?”

“The people do.  Throughout the year, citizens vote at the Council Building for who they think should sit on the council next.  They can choose anyone, and as their minds change, their vote can as well. Up to once a month.”

Enthralled by the conversation, Syl had all but forgotten about her food.  “Sounds like it can very easily be manipulated.”

“True,” Crafir agreed. “But we have safeguards.  See this coin.”  He placed a round metal disk, approximately one inch in diameter, on the table.  The face of the coin was etched with a complex series of figures and several characters. “Everyone who is qualified to vote gets one, and every coin is unique to its owner.  You have to present it to vote, and the clerk makes an impression next to your vote as proof that the vote was made and belongs to you.  Keeps others from making a vote in your name and keeps you from voting more often than you are allowed.

“At least, that’s how it's supposed to work. But like you said, many of us suspect the council was somehow manipulating the votes to make sure their preferred citizen always was named to the council.”

“So what changed?” Syl asked.  “How did they lose the seat?”

“To be honest, I don’t know,” the dark-haired elf admitted.  “There were rumors.  Some said evidence was found of vote tampering, but to keep it quiet, the board agreed not to challenge Arndell’s election.  Others claim that those closest to Arndell figured out a way to alter the votes themselves.  However it was done, the old guard’s grip on the council was broken and things are starting to ease up on business owners.”

“So everything’s fixed then,” Syl said, taking another sip of wine and returning to her food.

“Not quite,” Crafir warned. “The Pik is in a couple of weeks and the majority can win their chair back.  But that’s not all.  I fear they might have a hold on the Tot market.”

“The metal?” Syl asked.  She had only seen a few pieces of Tot jewelry in her life and heard they were more valuable than gold or silver.

“Yes.  It comes from ore found in Lake Netnuup, just west of the city. The full name is Netnuup’s Tot.  The fact that the lake is its only source makes it valuable, as is.  But recently the Toknik has returned.”

“The what?”

“Toknik.  It’s some sea creature . . . or lake creature.  It’s supposed to be a swimming lizard with a long neck, something like that.  Legend says it has lived in Lake Netnuup since before time was recorded, but it hasn’t been seen for hundreds of years.  Now suddenly, for some reason, it’s back and guarding the ore.  Mining, which was already difficult being on the bottom of the lake, is now even more dangerous.  You would think the result would be an increase in the value of Netnuup’s Tok. Not so.  Proceeds from the sale of the precious metal are the same as always.”

“So what do you think is happening?,” Syl asked.

“I think the council, at least the majority members, have their hands in the Tok mining industry and are somehow keeping the profits for themselves. But I’m sure you didn’t come here all dressed up to talk stuffy old politics.” Crafir took a sip of his wine before letting his eyes wander down his companion’s body.  “I must say, Syl. You look exquisite in that dress.”

The wizardess’ lips turned up in a seductive smile. “I think what you meant to say was ‘you would look exquisite outside of that dress.’”

Crafir gave a look of surrender. “Why don’t we finish up and go somewhere more comfortable.  I know a fine inn nearby.”

“Inn? Why don’t we go to your house?”

“I think the inn’s a better choice.”

“Married?” Sly cast him a knowing smile. <(50/50) Yes>

“Well, the inn does have goose down beds.”

“That does sound much more comfortable,” Syl agreed conspiratorially.

<Interested in learning why this chapter was particularly difficult to play, or want to discover some of the story secrets that are happening “behing-the-page?” Join my patreon at the Appreciation Tier and also get early access to my next Solo T.O.O.T. video.>

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Deuteronomy 11:18-21

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Imagesource:  Dwarf (Alen Rocha, Artstation); Sword (Neil Owen, CC)