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Jamros Mageblood wrote:Tel. to Zorra, "I'm hurting over here buddy, she's good but trying to empty our pockets. get you a candidate and get over here.
Back to Vaca "I see where you're coming from, but my partners would certainly disagree." I look at her with a stern face and in a calm voice, "One gold a day, plus five when we depart, and five when we return. I like you, but I don't enjoy being taken advantage of. Besides, you aren't our only candidate for the job."
She barks a sour laugh. "Get your ass off my stoop then. I didn't come asking, you did. Want to trust one of these dregs to your hearth and home, well that's on you isn't it? How many of 'em can field dress thirty pounds of flesh ready for sale in the time we've been having this conversation? Look around, are any of them actually working, or are they just wasting the day away?" She slings some worthless entrails near your feet; it wasn't an accident. "And how many of them are sober this late in the day do you think?"
Tolr'ax wrote:[We'll say it was 40 of our 47 pelts, 10 casks of blubber, and 75lbs of bone; if he is getting 40 pelts only, 20 gold]
"Aye, Caelbir, sounds like the right stuff. Would ye' mind holdin' my wagon at yer warehouse for the night? Gotta sell the rest of my supplies in the mornin'. Wouldn't trust anyone else, I'll throw in a couple pounds o' bone for the trouble."
We head over to the inn. Chatting along the way about the two warring lords. My frustration with the whole situation is not hidden. As we move along the road. I take in the town's smell and sounds.
"I miss livin' in the city sometimes. The wood though, my farm, the openness...that's my true home though. I remember when I was a lad comin' up, the other children on the streets and I always dreamed of livin' in the mansions, drinkin' in the taverns whenever we wanted, throwin' gold 'round with no cares. Then, I was, eh, 'bout 10 I figure, I was thievin' 'round the market, gettin' few coppers here and there, when I cut a purse, and 3 gold fell into my hand. First time I ever held gold. I let out a gasp of excitement, then a hard fist came 'round and knocked me in the head and down into the dirt I went. I looked up, bloodied face, saw a man towerin' over me. Was the guy's body guard, Mercenary, he took the gold from the ground and gave it back to the rich fella. Grabbed me up and put his hand 'round my face and squeezed, said "I got some options here, boy. One, I stab ya in the belly and let you die in the dirt...that's the easiest option. Two, I turn ye into the guard o'er there, and ye hang or sit in a cell for a few years. Or three" then he got real quiet, whisperin'" so 'is lord wouldn't hear, said "I can let ye go, and ye follow us to the town gate, out inta th' wood, and we take this bloke for e'erthin' he's worth." He pushed me down to the dirt again and kicked me in the arse."
I chuckle. "Outside the gate, I followed 'em bout a mile. Just the merchant, the mercenary, an' the wagon driver. I snuck ahead of 'em and the mercenary spied me, soon as he did, he drove a sword through the driver's side. I jumped onto the wagon and grabbed the merchant's dagger, put it to his throat. Mercenary just put his sword right in 'is belly. Turns out, wasn't no gold in the wagon...just books. Mercenary thought they were chests full o' gold, cause the weight. We burned the wagon, took his purse, made it look like bandits. I got 5 gold from it all thought I was rich! haha...the mercenary was impressed with me. Took me in. Taught me bout the lands, took me all over the island. Taught me how to fight like a real man. Taught me how to survive in nature. Swords, longbows, spears. Taught me to be the man I am today. Never lived in the city again after that day."
I look over to Caelbir to see his reaction to my story. Doesn't seem like he was listening at all.....
[You decide how much you're willing to part with. Caelbir will buy any of it, just update your Farm almanac.]
Oh, he nods and makes noise as expected, the "oohs" and "mhmm" as your story went along. His eyes all over the place, occasionally waving or calling out to folks he knew. They were many. You get the impression he got the gist, but didn't care to get overly familiar with your person. Caelbir, though, wasn't one to just ignore facts. They were filed away for the future if needed. That much you know of this man.
You arrive at the inn, the focal social point of the city. As the farm market empties, the vast majority of men and women who don't head home cross the street to the inn for food and, more alluringly, drink. You two are merely a couple in a few dozen already occupying the inn's porch, bar, two-story dining hall, and annex. Numerous serving girls mingle with serving trays and toting dozens of drinks. The aroma is just intoxicatingly delicious - you can taste to stew in the air, the fresh hops of the ale, and the sizzling meat from the fire. Of course, mingled into that is the musty stink of mansweat.
Caelbir, recognized by the servers immediately upon entering, is whisked to a tall standing table and a few words later a huge pitcher of a black ale is joined upon the tabletop with two mugs, and a promise of the mutton in just a few minutes. Caelbir, by this point, has all but forgotten you other than to forcefeed you this ale he's so happy about. His celebrity is being pulled in a dozen directions, either by those who know him or those whom he'd like to know more at the moment. He's like that, and he seems to have something to say to everyone - about their health, their farm, their kin, their favorite food, the last time they spoke, that bastard over at the other table, the Counts, and more. All of this, facts filed away...
The black ale, however, is exceedingly good.
