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Hustlertwo or DM only. All others will have their eyes ripped out and served to the Big Boss
the slums are in the extreme northwest of town. In fact, it's beyond the city walls. Even the Docks, the other "city district" outside the city walls has shunned it. Which is pretty sad considering that it's the run-down seedy part of town. It seems to be populated almost exclusively by the "undesirables".
Wilstaff walks along with his companion, still in high spirits despite the setback.
We're going to have to think of a good cover for you once we decide to go back to the city itself.
The skeleton looks at its master in silence.
Wilstaff regards him with derision. Tell them you have a skin condition? What, that it all rotted and fell off? That's a pretty serious condition! In any case, we'll keep that on the back burner. First we get the money, then we buy our way back into high society. We still have to work out the specifics of Operation Up, as well.
Seeing the state of his surroundings, Wilstaff doesn't even bother looking for a guard. He simply sets off in search of a pub or tavern, assuming in an area like this it won't take him long.
it takes his two seconds to locate one and ten to walk to it. There is no sign in the front naming it, but a trio of drunk goblins staggering out of the place plus the smell of stale alcohol could be nothing else.
Wilstaff greets the goblins in their native tongue as he passes. Hullo, inebriated quasi-kinsmen! We wish you luck as you go about the process of selecting a gutter in which to pass out!
He then passes into the establishment, goes up to whatever passes for a bar, and throws a silver down onto it.
We desire no food or drink, merely information. My friend's feeling a bit shy, so I guess I'll be the one to ask whether anyone has some work to fatten our meager purse. If so, this silver could turn into a gold piece rather quickly.
The half orc bartender takes it, bites down on it to ensure it's real, and pockets it. "The only one with much money around in these parts is the Khan Drogo. He's the hob who maintains order in these parts. He's always hiring talent if you got any."
He eyes the gold greedily and says, "He's got the biggest building in the Slums. You can't miss it. Has a sign out front that says, 'Drogo's'. All the goblins with a blue hand sigil are his. They'd love to show you the way."
Once he points it out, you notice that most of the goblinoid patrons in this place sport such a symbol.
Wilstaff releases the coin and turns to his follower, then nods at him. Good point. My friend here says if it's so hard to miss, we probably don't need anyone to help us find it; there's a limit to how many people we can tip before we have to start panhandling. In any case, thanks for the tall, cool glass of knowledge. I enjoyed meeting you, I hope to see you again, and if you're sending me into an ambush I'm going to come back here and have Bennett carve your face off. Toodles!
Wilstaff exits, and scans the horizon for the large building mentioned. If for some reason he does not see it, he'll re-enter the bar and approach the weakest-looking blue-sigil-bearer he can find.
It could be reasonably argued that all the streets in the slums are dark alleyways. However, none disturb you as you approach. The building itself appears to be nothing more than a large tavern.
You step inside. An inside which is no fancier than the outside, but quite comfortable. A stark contrast to the harsh-looking hobgoblin whom you assume is the kahn. He seems to have spikes growing out of his skin.
He takes note of you entering and says, "Well, what's this, another new hob come to town and got thrown out? What's that pet you have behind you?"
About a half-dozen hobgoblins are standing around armed and armored, each looking to have been selected for sheer brawn above any other quality.
Wilstaff motions in a calming manner to the impassive Bennett. Whoa, easy now, he didn't mean anything by it. And you need to hold your nonexistent tongue, we're trying to get this one to hire us! Indignancy is a luxury of the rich!
Wilstaff turns, and bows slightly in the slumlord's direction. He then addresses him in Goblin. Greetings, esteemed Khan. You surmise correctly; I was ejected from Aldhaven by narrow-minded policy that says a man must choose between his oldest friend and their grubby old town. We have come to you in search of any tasks you might wish accomplished. We can be a somewhat formidable pair, and were hoping to find some light bounty or collections work to boost our purse. Which, and I can't stress this enough, is far too depleted for anyone to worry about robbing us right now.
He shouts this last, eyes darting around furtively with a rustic's inbred nervousness of urban life.
Oh, and while I doubt this guy attacks me, as a general heads-up the current equipment state is Bennett holding a flail and a fastened heavy shield, and Wilstaff holding his composite bow in his off-hand.
Wilstaff lists off his skills on his fingers. Let's see...I can whistle, touch my toes to my nose, bullseye raging badgers with my specially made arrowchucker here, out-karate chop your average monk...anything else?
He looks at the skeleton expectantly, who continues to look forward at the Khan instead.
Ah, right, I can also bend the laws of space, time and reality at will. Observe!
Wilstaff turns to his undead compadre and blasts him with a thin beam of chilling energy. It has no effect beyond coating his bones with a light layer of frost, but is pretty to look at regardless.
For the record, I can do more impressive things than that. But I'd rather not waste it on idle displays. Plus, Bennett is never a fan of being used for target practice.
Didn't roll an attack roll for the Ray of Frost, since it won't impact a skeleton whether or not it hits with their cold immunity.
He bursts out laughing. "Bwa ha ha! A mage with a sense of humor. I like you already. If you're willing to be initiated into the Blue Hand Clan's Inner Palm Cabal, I'll pay you well and often for good service."
"First off, take a load off and relax. I'll have Grumptshly come by in a bit and start you in your initiation. Bennet's welcome here any time and I guess you can tag along too. And tonight, the beer's on me, as in yours and Bennet's meal."
Sounds good...just so long as you don't mean work as in actual work. I never would have decided to risk almost certain death as an adventurer if I could stomach the idea of an honest day's labor.
Wilstaff indulges himself that night, likely disappointing his potential brethren when they realize that while inebriated, Wilstaff becomes a rather serious-minded individual who find the prospect of his undead minion conversing with him utterly ridiculous.
He wakes bleary-eyed in the morning, ready to battle anything, including his hangover.
Wilstaff falls in line behind the hobgoblin, with Bennett just in front of him. Righty-o, following away. But was that a yes or a no on dosing up full of arcane go-juice before the festivities commence?
Very well. Bennett says thank you, and to let you know that you can call us Master Blaster. I have no idea what he's talking about, sometimes he's downright esoteric. By the way, how tall are the ceilings?
Before entering, Wilstaff quaffs a Mage Armor potion, casts Shield, and False Life for (1d10+5) temporary HP.
Consumed spells and item marked on sheet. Current AC: 23, Touch 15, FF 19. Current HP 38/24.