Post by Milo Brightmane on Sept 17, 2019 16:03:55 GMT
[In collaboration with Ian (Menace) .]
In the Four Fair Winds a gentle susurration of conversation surrounds the two short figures, perched on the comfortable seats of a small booth on one side. The smiling tiefling faces the door, the red-headed dwarf faces the tiefling, as they speak in low voices, the dwarven language understood only by the few clan members passing by.
"Well," says the dwarf, raising his cup sullenly. "To a spectacularly wasted week."
“Not all still waters run deep after all,” the Tiefling replies, cocking his head to the side. "Sometimes all you discover is that giants are tall and are best dealt with by bashing their shins and skulls - in that order.” He chuckles, brought low by his own joke. “Was there a particular reason that you were so keen on finding out more about these giants of K’ul Goran?”
Milo sighs deeply. "I'm beginning to wonder that myself. When Mystigon told me about the Hill Giants being commanded by a Stone Giant, something felt off. But as you've heard, no one seems to know any more than me. Perhaps I've been asking the wrong people. Or perhaps I'm just being paranoid… But then at the start of last week, those Hill Giants taking captives, hostages even, that doesn't happen, I'm sure! But I can't seem to prove it one way or another." He frowns dejectedly into his drink, and takes a deep draught.
Menace takes a swig from his mug as well, smacking his lips appreciatively.
“Still, I think this has been a delightful week! I at least have learned a great deal: thanks to your kind tutoring in all things dwarvish, the words now pass my lips easily, and your delicious ale flows swiftly the other way. And you have made a new friend, if nothing else.” he treats Milo to his best winning smile, and throws a wink in for good measure.
The dwarf peers over his drink through bushy eyebrows at the toothy grin. "You don't have to do that you know. All the smiles and winks. I see who you are, Mace, underneath."
Menace remains quiet as he visibly deflates. “That is somewhat unexpected. And I admit, a bit hard to let go. You wear a mask for so long, you convince yourself that it has become part of you… or you of it? I don’t know. I hope you don’t think less of me. I do what I must. Learnt that the hard way, coming up in Port Ffirst.” He peers into his ale mug, as if to discover the answer to one of life’s deeper mysteries at its bottom.
"On the contrary! I understand. We all have our armour we must put on to survive. I don't know what kind of life you had before, somewhat less protected than my own I expect." Milo pauses a second, brief flashes of memory passing before his eyes - the high ceilinged caverns, the vast Foundry, warm soups and imported fruits in the winter, the comforts of home - before shaking his head gently. "But this is a community that works together. All types of people, from all of Toril, trying to make a go of it. If you would be welcomed anywhere, it's here."
Menace nods slowly, looking at Milo with appreciation and respect. “I think you are right. There is a future here for you, and me, and people like us, in this land. I am trying to build something in Port Ffirst. It may not be the best of places, but it is my home, and I will not abandon it, or be pushed out. I have people… family there now that depend on me. I conduct my business for their sake, as much as mine.”
At this point, the smile returns. “But never let it be said that one cannot pursue a healthy profit at the same time! For what is the thrill of business if not a thing well done, a deal well struck?”
Milo also smiles, as the mask that is Mace is donned once more. "Well said. Back to business then is it? I suppose this is the place for it." Many of the other customers at the Four Fair Winds are indeed involved in debates and deep discussion of various kinds. A gold dwarf and a human are poring over what appears to be a building blueprint; three gnomes dangle their legs from stools as they haggle back and forth animatedly, arms waving; a bedraggled merchant in the middle of a small crisis, speaking to himself in a low, increasingly desperate voice, attempting to make the numbers in his ledger add up.
"You wanted a selection of items to take on the road? What did you have in mind? More importantly, I suppose, what cut did you have in mind?"
“I think it should be a variety of things: tools, appliances, weapons. I want to show potential buyers the extend of what is possible once proper trade relations are established. I would be happy to buy that consignment off you entirely, no risk to you that way. Shall we say… 100 gold pieces?”
The dwarf purses his lips thoughtfully and nods. "100 should cover a fairly varied selection. Some basic blades, a shield, masonry equipment and tools, etc. I'll figure it out. Give me two tendays? How does that sound?"
Menace smile has grown into its accustomed shape again. “Most excellent! We have a deal!” and offers his hand to seal it.
"We have a deal," Milo repeats, taking the soft red hand in his own calloused grip. "And now we seal it the dwarven way." Raising his drink aloft he exclaims in a clear voice "Findar!*" before draining it to its dregs.
“Findar!” Menace yells enthusiastically, draining his mug in turn, but then breaking into a gurgling cough, spilling a good bit over himself. Milo chuckles at the sight, but hands the Tiefling a cloth.
“It seems” Menace says, trying to wipe some of the ale from his cloak, “that there are still some things about dwarven customs that I have yet to learn…”
*Findar meaning “good luck/ good fortune” in Dwarven
In the Four Fair Winds a gentle susurration of conversation surrounds the two short figures, perched on the comfortable seats of a small booth on one side. The smiling tiefling faces the door, the red-headed dwarf faces the tiefling, as they speak in low voices, the dwarven language understood only by the few clan members passing by.
"Well," says the dwarf, raising his cup sullenly. "To a spectacularly wasted week."
“Not all still waters run deep after all,” the Tiefling replies, cocking his head to the side. "Sometimes all you discover is that giants are tall and are best dealt with by bashing their shins and skulls - in that order.” He chuckles, brought low by his own joke. “Was there a particular reason that you were so keen on finding out more about these giants of K’ul Goran?”
Milo sighs deeply. "I'm beginning to wonder that myself. When Mystigon told me about the Hill Giants being commanded by a Stone Giant, something felt off. But as you've heard, no one seems to know any more than me. Perhaps I've been asking the wrong people. Or perhaps I'm just being paranoid… But then at the start of last week, those Hill Giants taking captives, hostages even, that doesn't happen, I'm sure! But I can't seem to prove it one way or another." He frowns dejectedly into his drink, and takes a deep draught.
Menace takes a swig from his mug as well, smacking his lips appreciatively.
“Still, I think this has been a delightful week! I at least have learned a great deal: thanks to your kind tutoring in all things dwarvish, the words now pass my lips easily, and your delicious ale flows swiftly the other way. And you have made a new friend, if nothing else.” he treats Milo to his best winning smile, and throws a wink in for good measure.
The dwarf peers over his drink through bushy eyebrows at the toothy grin. "You don't have to do that you know. All the smiles and winks. I see who you are, Mace, underneath."
Menace remains quiet as he visibly deflates. “That is somewhat unexpected. And I admit, a bit hard to let go. You wear a mask for so long, you convince yourself that it has become part of you… or you of it? I don’t know. I hope you don’t think less of me. I do what I must. Learnt that the hard way, coming up in Port Ffirst.” He peers into his ale mug, as if to discover the answer to one of life’s deeper mysteries at its bottom.
"On the contrary! I understand. We all have our armour we must put on to survive. I don't know what kind of life you had before, somewhat less protected than my own I expect." Milo pauses a second, brief flashes of memory passing before his eyes - the high ceilinged caverns, the vast Foundry, warm soups and imported fruits in the winter, the comforts of home - before shaking his head gently. "But this is a community that works together. All types of people, from all of Toril, trying to make a go of it. If you would be welcomed anywhere, it's here."
Menace nods slowly, looking at Milo with appreciation and respect. “I think you are right. There is a future here for you, and me, and people like us, in this land. I am trying to build something in Port Ffirst. It may not be the best of places, but it is my home, and I will not abandon it, or be pushed out. I have people… family there now that depend on me. I conduct my business for their sake, as much as mine.”
At this point, the smile returns. “But never let it be said that one cannot pursue a healthy profit at the same time! For what is the thrill of business if not a thing well done, a deal well struck?”
Milo also smiles, as the mask that is Mace is donned once more. "Well said. Back to business then is it? I suppose this is the place for it." Many of the other customers at the Four Fair Winds are indeed involved in debates and deep discussion of various kinds. A gold dwarf and a human are poring over what appears to be a building blueprint; three gnomes dangle their legs from stools as they haggle back and forth animatedly, arms waving; a bedraggled merchant in the middle of a small crisis, speaking to himself in a low, increasingly desperate voice, attempting to make the numbers in his ledger add up.
"You wanted a selection of items to take on the road? What did you have in mind? More importantly, I suppose, what cut did you have in mind?"
“I think it should be a variety of things: tools, appliances, weapons. I want to show potential buyers the extend of what is possible once proper trade relations are established. I would be happy to buy that consignment off you entirely, no risk to you that way. Shall we say… 100 gold pieces?”
The dwarf purses his lips thoughtfully and nods. "100 should cover a fairly varied selection. Some basic blades, a shield, masonry equipment and tools, etc. I'll figure it out. Give me two tendays? How does that sound?"
Menace smile has grown into its accustomed shape again. “Most excellent! We have a deal!” and offers his hand to seal it.
"We have a deal," Milo repeats, taking the soft red hand in his own calloused grip. "And now we seal it the dwarven way." Raising his drink aloft he exclaims in a clear voice "Findar!*" before draining it to its dregs.
“Findar!” Menace yells enthusiastically, draining his mug in turn, but then breaking into a gurgling cough, spilling a good bit over himself. Milo chuckles at the sight, but hands the Tiefling a cloth.
“It seems” Menace says, trying to wipe some of the ale from his cloak, “that there are still some things about dwarven customs that I have yet to learn…”
*Findar meaning “good luck/ good fortune” in Dwarven
