A Brave New World

[Madfellow]

In the southwestern corner of the Republic of New Anglia, near the borders to Kebecca and Messipia, sits a large, proud city upon a large, proud river. This is the city of Philosport, and it is the center of trade in the borderlands of New Anglia. The river originates in the southern mountain range, beyond which lie the orc tribes of Messipia. To the west lie the hidden gnomish hamlets of Kebecca. Traders, trappers, and wayward travelers alike all pass through Philosport on their way to the larger world, or back from it. Because of that, it attracts all kinds of people; for better and for worse.

Along the river's edge, busy ports and bustling markets are always working away. In the more distant corners of the town, anything could be going on at any time. A neighborhood could be quiet because its tenants are contented, satisfied citizens... or simply because they don't want the authorities to hear their conversations.

In one such neighborhood in the northwest corner of town sits a small tavern, the Wayward Sailor. The sun has just gone down, and lanterns are slowly being lit all along the street and inside the pub. It is a fairly busy evening in the Wayward Sailor, and people of all types fill its tables. Someone has taken it upon themselves to paste a pamphlet to the window facing the street. Anyone walking on the west side has seen this pamphlet copied on every street. In big bold letters it reads:

Need Muscle For Hire
If Interested, Meet in the Wayward Sailor at 7:00 pm.

Outside the tavern, a clock tower reads 6:55.

[Fortis]

Amna quietly strode the streets of the neighborhood, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings. She wasn't used to huge cities like this. The elvish settlement she had come from, while large, was more dispersed and integrated with the surrounding nature and wilderness. This place just shoved wilderness aside, and grew a forest of buildings in its place. Still, it was a good place to start her journeys. Provided, of course, she could find a source of funding. Right now, she was down to just ten gold pieces.

As she walked along, something caught her eye. There was a tavern on the street corner. She'd seen plenty of taverns, but this one had something posted up on it's wall. There was a pamphlet, advertising a job. 'Need Muscle for Hire' was the exact phrasing. Amna knew she wasn't exactly muscle, but what did one need muscle for? Manual labor was one thing, but often it was for killing things too. The latter she could do thanks to her vials and concoctions, or at least make it much easier for someone else to kill them. And judging by the setting sun, it was nearly 7:00 now. If nothing else, she could use the break to rest her feet for a bit.

Walking into the busy tavern, she just found one of the few empty tables and sat down. Most of the patrons ignored her, aside from the few curious looks. For the most part, Amna tried to ignore them, though the whistles and catcalls from a few of the more drunken individuals made her blush. She scanned the various patrons, trying to spot the one that posted the job offer.

[Zakalwe]

I'm inside the city watch, i feel naked, without my weapons but i have little choice. My old friend Lieutenant Stonehold is about to give me the talk, for the umpteenth time. My head hurts, i must have had more than i thought last night, come to think of it i don't remember what i could have done to deserve my place in the cells!

"I'm sorry lad, we just cannot keep doing this. You roughed up the wrong kid this time, a little brat of a noble he may be, hell i wish i could have shown him up like you did....but the kids family have connections and those connections have clout here. Your making a habit of this, what is it now..hmm...5 nights out of the last 15! Too often my friend, the city is changing, power struggles grow and soldiers like you and I are not always wanted h..."

The haze is clearing slightly...

I'm sitting at a small alfresco eatery by the bank of the river. Watching the city live whilst enjoying a cool refreshing Hesperic wine. I'm startled from my good thoughts by the wailing of a child, looking over i see some contemptible oaf of a youth, all the colours of a peacock and all the brains to go with it, dangling a young human boy by the wrist about 2 feet off the ground, the child barely three perhaps.

" Get your filthy hands off my cloak! look what you have done, this is from the finest tailor in the city! You should show your betters more respect!"

I arise slowly and approach the scene putting on my best limp and rubbing my chest, trying not to loose my temper. The youth is showing off his power to the small group of posturing morons who accompany him. He has a house sigil upon his breast but it's of no consequence to me. My blood is up, my good mood stolen and replaced by a longing for a scrap. Part of me knows it is foolish and beneath me, but the sight of the child, reminds me of what i lost and ... well i don't know perhaps the wine and heat were to blame too...

"Hey!, you!, yes you, the peahen, let the child go. He has done you no harm, all he wanted to do was touch your gloriously coloured cloak. I'm sure he finds it a wonderful sight! i myself agree, it would make a rather pretty hanky, a fine present for any deserving women."

The youth is sputtering in incredulity, egged on by his followers. I discretely show him my sword belt and he arises to the bait...

"...Hey are you listening too me?"
A hefty slap to the face rouses me from my memories.
"Look Castro, enough i am serious this time. You cannot afford another incident like this, you crossed the line and gave the kid a scar, you know how you humans treasure your beautiful faces so much."
I cannot help but smile as Thurgh does his human dandy expression, too much time amongst the taller folk i think.

" Look it has come to my attention that there is a job going that you may be suitable for. Take your mind off things, give you something to do, a goal perhaps. Help you find yourself again. Well?...."

"Look go clean yourself up, and make your way to the Wayward sailor on the north east side of town by 7, i must emphasise that the jail is not your personal guest house, now begone kid"

Its 6.00 when i reach the tavern, finding a corner table facing the door, i order some wine. Its not brilliant but good enough, i wonder whether the wench has had orders to water mine down, i wouldn't put it past the old dwarf, the fish stew though was good it filled a hole left by the jail gruel.. Regardless i am to keep my head and get this job, i owe it to Stonehold at least, the gods know i owe him more than this.

It must be nearly 7 when a young tiefling strolls in, she has an air of energy that reminds me of my youth, i cannot help but smile as i think about me at her age, though i quickly drop me head as she looks over.
To pass the time i start sizing up the other patrons, any duellists, who favour what leg when walking, their posture and how they react to the unexpected.

" keep that brain of yours going Castro, your a good man and a good soldier, do not loose that edge you had, one of my finest pupils"

[Madfellow]

The bar hosts a small crowd of patrons; laborers, merchants, militiamen, trappers, and even a couple of priests. Most everyone seems to be preoccupied with their own business. Amna doesn't notice anyone who stands out, or who looks like they're trying to stand out. A couple people take notice of her, though. One smug-looking fellow with a clean shaven face and a fancy vest approaches her.

"Why hello there," he says, "Are you at all interested in magic?" He reaches to her ear and pulls a silver dollar out of it.

Castro takes notice of the militiamen. Most of them carry muskets, but a few have swords. All of them are getting very drunk.

[Sol]

Friggins

With his longbow slung over his shoulder and quiver full of arrow-like contraptions, Jacob attracted more than a few eyes as he walked into Philosport.

It was only a two day walk from the town of Misthaven to the city, but he'd never made the trip before. Still, money was in short supply in the outer villiages, and some of the arrow modifications his master had taught him were costly. A city this size would offer plenty of opportunities, even if it meant doing parlor tricks like shooting arrows off of some terrified child's head.

No sooner had he passed under the west gate than he saw a sign that he had come to the right place. It read:

Need Muscle For Hire
If Interested, Meet in the Wayward Sailor at 7:00 pm.

Asking a street urchin for directions, he flipped the kid a copper piece and headed for the tavern.

Inside, he heads for the bar, takes an available stool, and orders a mug of cider.

[Madfellow]

At the bar a patron is complaining loudly to the barkeep about the quality of the food. The barkeep is a middle-aged man, either a short human or a tall dwarf. It's hard to say for certain. He is doing his best to ignore the complaining customer.

"That's two copper pennies for the cider," he says. "Can I tempt you with our house special? Rack of lamb and baked potato."

[Sol]

Friggins

Tossing the barkeep three copper pennies, Friggins nods assent.

Sure. Walking in from Misthaven was hungry business. Any chance you know who posted the signs?

[Madfellow]

"I do, as a matter of fact," the barkeep says as he pours Jacob's cider. "He should be along any minute."

[Madfellow]

"Why? Are you interested in the job he's offering?"

Across the bar, one of the militiamen stumbles over in Castro's direction. "Friends!" he exclaims, looking around at the patrons, "Raise your glasses with me! Help me toast the bravest man I ever knew! To Claude!"

[Fortis]

Amna

A few more individuals were arriving, particularly the human with the bow. She glanced up, wondering if he was the person offering the job. But then he just sat down, and ordered a drink. It struck Amna like he was just waiting too. Perhaps someone else waiting to apply for the job. Either way, not the individual she was looking for. She couldn't guess which of the patrons would be offering the job, being unused to city life. Until the employer showed him or herself, she would just have to wait.

It definitely wasn't the smug fellow who approached her, and tried to impress her with a simple sleight of hand trick. One of Amna's own hands went down to rest on her coin purse. She wasn't sure if he was that desperate for female companionship to overlook her horns and tail, or if he had other designs. Or who knows, he could just be looking to entertain. Either way, it didn't hurt to not take chances, as something about this human made her a little uncomfortable. "Yes, but not that kind of magic." Amna said. "I'm a scholar by trade, and I'm interested in the history of magic. Real magic that can alter the physical word as we perceive it."

[Sol]

Friggins

Jacob raises his glass at the toast and takes a swig of his cider before answering the barkeep.

Might be, if it pays well enough. Can't really say if it's his job or another's that interests me, before I hear the details. Who's Claude?

[Madfellow]

"Oh. I... um... sorry." It was only then that he seemed to take notice of Amna's staff and pouches of alchemical components. "Oh."

"Claude, I believe, is an old friend of theirs. I'm not acquainted."

[Zakalwe]

Castro looks up and casts his eyes around the room, before settling on the man stumbling his way.

"To Claude" Castro says softly whilst raising his drink and giving a respectful nod.

[Fortis]

Amna just chuckled as the smug man lost his smug grin. Leaning back, she just got out the bottle of elvish wine she brought with her and poured herself a small cup and sipped at it. "It's okay. I appreciate the effort, but I'm not really here to seek companionship, or even to drink." Amna said. "I'm actually hoping to meet someone here about a job. I saw the posters asking for 'muscle for hire'. I was wanting to learn more about it, I'm a little hard up for gold right now. I figure what I lack in muscle, I can make up with my various concoctions. Do you know who was advertising that job?"

[Madfellow]

Outside the bar two men walk by. One is young and lean, the other is tall and broad. The younger man approaches the window and takes down the flyer and the two men enter the tavern. They walk up to the barkeep.

"I'm opening a tab," the lad says. "I'll start with some ale."

When he receives it he turns around and spots the militiamen in the corner. "Oh, was that today? Shame. Cheers, brother." He takes a slow, thoughtful drink from his mug.

Then the two men find a table and sit down. The lad lays the flyer down on the table for everyone to see. He takes another drink.

The smug man glances in their direction. "I think it might be him," he says.

[OOC: Alright, I'm going to kick things off now. Fortunato and Durham can jump into the conversation as soon as they show up.]

[Grumbles]

Durham hated coming this far into town for work. He was comfortable on the docks, he knew most everyone who regularly had business there. If work weren't so slow in his normal haunts, he never would have given the flyer a second thought, but things as they were...

He had arrived late, but that was never a problem at the docks. The only appointments that anyone was expected to keep there were the departure times for the merchant ships. As Durham was approaching the Wayward Sailor, he saw two men step in ahead of him and pull down the flyer. "At least I know who I'm looking for..." the half-orc thought as he pressed into the tavern.

Durham made his way slowly to the bar, eyeing the other patrons. Mostly humans, some old soldiers reliving the past. Nothing out of the ordinary except perhaps the Tiefling, and even that barely registered. When he arrived at the bar, Durham motioned for a single ale. He dropped some coin on the bar in exchange for his drink and walked slowly to the table occupied by the men with the flyer. Still standing, Durham announced himself to the table.

"I'm here to see about some work. You the ones I need to talk to?"

[NorseItalian]

A ver small man in a very large hat sauntered into the tavern after most of the patrons has already arrived. Entering the building with his head in the clouds (something of a challenge when your head sits so close to the ground), he was blissfully unaware of any job offerings. He was here for one thing and one thing only: wine, women- two things- and song- three things, three things only.

Fortunato Bonaventura pulled himself up onto one of the tall barstools. "Bartender! Give a-me a short glass of ale, if a-you please." He grinned. Hearing Durham, he spun around on his stool and hopped down onto the floor, sauntering over to the table. "Hey, did I hear a-you say something about a-some kind of a-work? What kind of a-work are a-you talking about?"

[Madfellow]

"Yes, that would be me," the lad says. "Have a seat. What are you drinking? The next round is on me. I am Private Mason of the New Anglian National Militia."

Up close, Durham and Fortunato can now see that the second man, the larger and broader one, is in fact a clockwork golem. Its owner has dressed it up in a coat and hat as a kind of improvised disguise.

[Sol]

Friggins

Jacob asks the bartender to send his lamb out to him whenever it's ready, and heads over towards the table where the lad with the flyer has stationed himself.

Somehow, he finds himself third-in-line to speak with him, behind a half-orc and a gnome.

When the man looks up at him, he gestures at the half-orc and speaks:

I know I may not look like much "muscle" compared to this gent, but if what you need done requires as much skill as strength, my bow may be of assistance.

[Fortis]

As the two men walked in, Amna looked up. The shorter one seemed fairly normal, but something about the taller fellow seemed off. But more importantly, they seemed to be the ones who had posted the job flyer. She corked the bottle and tucked it away in her pack, before getting up and heading over to the two. It was midway over when she realized what was off with the large man. He wasn’t a man at all, but some sort of construct! Fascinated, Amna went up to the clockwork golem to look him over.

“Extraordinary… is this magic, or a brilliant assembly? What powers this man?” She asked, forgetting herself temporarily. When the human began talking, she reluctantly returned to the present. “Oh, um, hello. I was curious about the job as well. I don’t have much in the way of muscle, being a scholar and alchemist by trade, but I’ve other skills that can help out a militia. I can brew potions to keep the militia alive. I’ve other concoctions that will help out in a fight too.”

[Madfellow]

"Yes, of course," Private Mason says to Jacob, "Please, have a seat. It's been a while since I saw a bow. The last one I think was in the hands of an orc that the empire had convinced to join their ranks." He turns back to the barkeep. "Jordan! Bring out a pitcher and a handful of mugs."

Then he notices the tiefling woman hovering over the golem. "Please don't touch that. It's already damaged." He points at its eye socket, which has a large dent in it. He looks her over. "An alchemist, huh? Yes, it's always good to have a spell or a potion in a pinch." He glances back at the golem. "You're drawing too much attention. Wait outside."

The golem turns around and leaves.

"I'm not sure exactly how much of it is just cogs and gears and how much is hocus-pocus. All I know is that it costs nearly its weight in silver."

A moment later a serving girl arrives with the private's pitcher and mugs, as well as Jacob's rack of lamb.

[Grumbles]

Durham takes a seat and eyes the others who had come to the table warily. They didn't seem the type that normally turned up for a "muscle for hire" job. He had an unsettling feeling that this job was not going to go as smoothly as he was used to. The golem didn't help.

"You're a Private? So is this job menial, or outside the official business of the militia?" The question was direct but not confrontational.

[Zakalwe]

Castro waited until the queue for this "job" had died down. Seemed to be an odd assortment to take on as muscle, though he was certain the dark skinned gent had that in abundance, the others he could only assume met different requirements.

Oh well, time to pay me dues i guess, Castro thought. Knocking back his drink he grabbed his hat arose, and sauntered over to the table. The hefty fellow passing him on the way, Castro was hoping that guy was going to be on his side because he looked like he could pack a punch.

Reaching the table, he nods respectfully, to all seated at it. Before addressing the young man,
"Greetings, i gather your have a job opportunity that i may be suitable for.

[Madfellow]

Private Mason nodded to the newcomer. "The job is neither menial nor illicit," he said. "Allow me to explain. I am here on behalf of Captain Merle. It's rather embarrassing for the militia to be hiring people off the street, but well, we're sorely understaffed." He took a drink. "The war's over. Soldiers have gone back home, or they're helping with reconstruction projects, or they're dead or, like myself, just working to keep the peace. We are spread very thin at the moment. Captain Merle has started hiring people to help fill in the cracks. And like I said, it's an embarrassment for both the militia and the Republic, which is why we're meeting here instead of at headquarters."

[Fortis]

Amna looked disappointed as the golem left. Sighing softly, she just sat down, and declined the beer offered by the serving girl. Instead, she just listened to what Private Mason had to say about the job. "So, there's a new threat that the militia are too few to handle then? Or just an older threat that was forgotten while the war occupied everyone's attention?" Amna asked, as private Mason discussed the situation of the militia of New Anglia. "What exactly is the job?"

[NorseItalian]

Fortunato's eyes begin to glaze over as the man speaks. Militia work? Hardly his... forté. He chuckled inwardly at the small joke. His ears did perk up at Amna's words. A new threat? Something the militia couldn't handle? Well that made it all quite a bit more interesting. Grabbing his ale, he took a seat at the table. Invited or not, he was interested. He had been itching for some fun, and this might just be hit ticket to adventure. Sipping on his ale, he sat back and waited for the private to continue.

[Madfellow]

"Orcs," Mason answered. "The tribes have been gathering in the south, near a large settlement. The captain is concerned about a potential attack in the near future, and the republic is particularly vulnerable right now. Your job is simple: we just need you to scout around the territory a bit. Report on what kinds of numbers you see, how many different tribes, what kinds of weapons they have, what they're doing. That's it. And for your trouble, the militia can pay you seventy gold angels each."

[Grumbles]

Orcs. Durham shifted uncomfortably in his chair was suddenly acutely aware of his underbite and protruding lower canine teeth.

"I'll go." he muttered. "I'm from the South. I know the area well enough."

Durham turned up his ale and tried not to meet anyone's eye.

[Sol]

Friggins

Jacob tips the serving girl a copper penny and begins eating messily while listening to Private Mason. He frowns, though it's not clear if it's due to what he's hearing or what he's eating.

Between bites and gulps, he turns to the half-orc and speaks.

I should've listened to the gent at the bar; this is awful. Would you like some? he licks his fingers and continues eating hungrily.

When his plate is licked clean, he turns to the lad.
Mason, is it? What happened to the orc gent with the bow? I wouldn't mind meeting him, though it seems you'd rather test my bow against his....less tame brothers. So be it, I've tracked worse for less.

What happened to your construct? I knew a great inventor once, who taught me a few simple tinkering tricks.

[Zakalwe]

hmm, Orcs! Thought Castro. Tough and potentially very dangerous, though scouting for the militia would be step into the past again. Could be a needed change of pace in his life.

Well i am in, i'm sure there are a few more details to come? Now about this payment, the Angels i'm ok with, but i would also like to commandeer a musket for this mission, i'm sure the militia can spare one for a little while. I'll sign for it of course. what about provisions, who is providing them?
So paper contract, or are the militia too embarrassed to have anything so official? Either way i'll join you in a drink.

Castro beckons over a serving woman "Two of what our mutual friend here is having please "