Tavern Rumors

[DM williamfredrickson]

On a clear and frosty night, the frequented tavern known as the Elfsong is particularly full. Travelers and citizens alike crowd amongst the bar, sipping their drinks to stave off the cold, while nearly every table in the common room is full. Even the small chambers for private conversations are full, and the crowdedness of the tavern at this time makes it a perfect opportunity for any adventurers to pick up on the latest local rumors…

“Oi, Harold, have you heard what happened to that young merchant Derrian, near the docks?”, barked out an elderly sailor to his friend a the bar.

Harold took a long drink from his tankard and belched loudly after. “Aye, I heard… stabbed in the back, eh? Sad way for the lad to go… but he did have a lot of enemies…”

The sailor shrugged. “Oh, he had a few… but did you also hear about that paladin of Helm fellow? Nearly had his head chopped off in the very Church o’ Helm itself! Can ye believe it? Heard there was blood all over the floor…”

Harold frowned and set his tankard down on the bar. “Aye… I heard about that too… nasty business that.”

The sailor, evidently well informed, continued to speak to his friend. “And just last week, Fathan, the old soldier who owned one of the farms up near Jorn’s… shot in the throat with an arrow, and hidden under the hay in his own barn! And his poor wife Melissa a widow now!”

The sailor’s friend wiped a stain of ale off his shirt. “Poor lass,” he agreed.

“And then we can’t forget the death of that noble fellow, eh? Lord what’s his name… It began with a ‘D’, or something…”

Harold shook his head remorsefully. “Aye, a lot of killings lately…”

“Killings?!” The sailor shook his head knowledgably. “These ain’t killings, Harold. These are assassinations! Mark my words, these killings were done by hired hands!”

Harold scoffed. “How can you know that?”

The sailor winked conspiratorially, and leaned back in his chair. “I just do lad, I just do… and if I were you, I’d be careful who I crossed these days… I wouldn’t want to be a target for what ever group is being hired to assassinate the good folk of our city…”

“You’re full of it,” laughed Harold. “Assassins? Bah! You just want to scare me!”

The sailor shrugged, and picked up his tankard. “You never know lad, you never know…”

[Inomed]

Kierran was leaning on a tree, one of the fews in the Fields of the Dead. His hood was removed, thrown to the ground next to him, and he enjoyed the cool winds, not minding the scent around him. Hardly anyone walked the roads, and if they did, they did not want to stray from the road, not far from his hiding place. He opened his eyes and a faint, unamused smile danced on his lips as the took a swing from the wine bottle he had brought with him. "So.. It begins, huh.." he spoke and turned to look on his somewhat grim partner. The man had been dead for only gods know how long, impaled by a short sword. The sword was stuck on the tree itself, and he did not make any moves to remove it from his "friend". "So... What do you think.. How will this end?" his words were whispers as he spoke to the dead man. "The rumors are starting to spread now, and soon everyone will know we are here... I guess we will make more enemies than friends, eh?" he let out a small chuckle, and waited for a moment, as to listen if the dead man would really answer his questions, but there it sat, dead, empty eyes watching to the grey fields. "Tsk.. i guess you are right.. " Kierran mumbled and took his eyes to the not so faraway road. "It will end badly.." suddenly he started laughing, a ominous sound in the middle of the dead and decaying, he took one last drink from the bottle, standed up and watched the corpse. "..Here... Take this... You need this more than i do, my friend..." Kierran placed to bottle next to the dead man, and took his eyes back to the road, where he saw a dark figure walk alone. A member of The Blades. "Wish me luck..." he said, picked up his hood and headed down from the hill, to meet the person. The dead man was left alone, watching the scene with his empty eyes, but still, Kierran felt the stare on his back. It was the nature of this land, his nature, and he was not afraid to succumb to it.

[sel]

As a man sat quietly in the Elfsong takin a drink from is tankard, he listens to drunken men around talking of rumors and continues to gossips.

He say's to himself' "Some people don't know when they step on there own tongue."

[sel]

Sel sitting in the Elfsong drinking a mug of ale, hears a rumor about a man named Bael and another breaking out of the Fist prison.

*He slams his Mug down on to the table with anger*

"Damn the man!" "What was he thinking the FOOL!?"

*He quickly grabs his cloak and covers his face well with his hood and storms out of the Tavern throwing a few coins to the bar keep*

Looking for a direction he heads towards the palace place.