Chapter 3: Stabbin' Westward

The moon above and the torchlight about town frame your view of the caravan town of Scornubel, a fairly large settlement with numerous homes and buildings about. Most of the goings-on can be heard from the marketplace, which seems to form a perimeter around the main part of the town. As you have arrived late, you would expect that the townsfolk would be fast asleep in their homes. In fact, it seems as though the Night Market mentioned by the militia man has everyone awake and active, embroiled in active trade and barter with numerous travelling adventurers not unlike yourselves.

There are several mercantile shops, lining the streets of Scornubel, with merchants selling wares and useful goods to all races and classes. One tent and covered wagon appears to be fully stocked with armor, its merchants extolling the virtues of light armor over heavier mails to a listening group of customers. An older dwarven male sits in front of another tent, with a spread of bladed and blunt weaponry neatly laid out before him, awaiting potential buyers in need of armaments. It seems as though anything you wish to purchase or sell can be done easily in this Night Market.

The militia escort that led you into town addresses the party again.

Militia man: "I present to you all, the Night Market; if you need it, there's few other places on the Sword Coast that can give it to ya. Is there anything in particular that I can help you locate? Supplies? Weapons? I have the inside track on the better vendors, let me clue you in."

Thokk looks down at his messy armor as he enters something he recognizes as civilization, or at least, people. Feeling self conscious, he begins to look around for a spot where he can clean up. A steam bath, a hot meal, and a little ale would put him back in his good spirits.

OOC: I assumed that the Night Market would have services like a kind of bath or bathouse. Is that assumption correct?

"Can ye point me to someone who'll buy some gems for a good price?"

Militia man: "Yeah, down the street should be the Red Hook Lodge, providing bed, bath, and beyond to all weary travelers! As for the trade of gems and precious stones, worry not, I'm sure any of the vendors here will accept them as payment... even that strange new merchant crew that pulled into town not long before you did."

He points his hand toward the end of the market street. A large wagon was being unpacked by two elven merchants, one male and one female, and a small table for trade was setup in front of it. This particular wagon stood out from the rest of the crowd; where other merchants would prefer to travel nondescriptly in wagons covered by plain canvas, this one seemed to intentionally stand out in the crowd with its coverings striped with a striking red and blue. Surprisingly, this wagon did not seem to catch the attention of any other adventurers, who continued to conduct their business with other traders.

Militia man: "I know all of our usual merchants that come to sell at the Night Market, and these two seem nice enough, but I've never seen them before. When I asked them what they'd be selling tonight, they mentioned specializing in 'small inventory goods artisinally sourced from a loving and supportive community'. I have no idea what that means, really, but it could be worth checking out?"

Thokk takes off for the bath. "Hey Innkeep, get some lavender soap ready for me! I have gold for lavender!"

Ezythyr nods at the guard while eyeing the strange wagon. He turns to the rest of the group. "I've a few gems t'sell and then I can share the gold I've found. Anyone else interested in checkin' out the shop?"

[Thokk, I'll assume you're going directly to the Red Hook; I will address the groups individually if you split up. - DM]

Thokk, following the militia soldier's directions, you follow the market path down a few blocks before you note a building to the right, two stories tall, with a red-colored fishing hook symbol displayed prominently in the window. This should be the inn.

You enter and give the establishment a quick lookover; the lobby is fancily funished, with crushed red velvet seating and oak wood tables and chairs spread about. A few human customers look up from their food and drink to note your entry into the inn, before returning their attention to their own meals and conversation. To your immediate left is a small reception desk, about chest high, where an orc woman appears to be updating a financial ledger and guestbook. She acknowledges your entry into the Red Hook Lodge, putting down her quill and closing the books.

Orc hostess: "Welcome to the Red Hook, where adventurers take a break and re-center themselves, are you looking... huh?"

She looks at your armor, still faintly irridescent and pulsing with neon green from the diseased rat's blood, and is initially disgusted, but quickly suppresses her shock and nausea to continue her introduction.

"... for room and/or board? I'm going to assume that you're going to need a bath, also, we have the finest facilities in the area for that. But... I'm going to have to ask you to remove that mail before you check-in, the goo from those stains looks kinda contagious. I can have the bellman take that armor to be destroyed, no extra charge."

"Destroyed?! I've had this armor since I took my oath!" He looks down and sees what she's talking about: he's gross, there's no two ways about it. "If you can't clean it, I'll take the bath and thank you to show me where I can get a replacement." He begins to strip the armor off "A paladin without armor is like a turtle without a shell. So I guess a kind of lizard."

Ezythyr, Eledriar, and Cordial, as you stand in the Night Market discussing your plans, a young woman approaches you. She appears to be a sort of herald, likely representing one of the caravan guilds selling their wares tonight.


Woman: "M'ladies, and dear sir, do browse the finest wares in the Sword Coast, as only the rarest wares are sold at the Night Market. Also, I have been advised by my masters to discourage you from patronizing the merchants of that red and blue-striped wagon at the far side of the marketplace, as they have not adequately maintained their guild membership fees and are in poor standing."

Orc hostess: "Well, to be honest, I can tell you probably cut up a few Diseased Giant Rats on your way into town, and I'm grateful for it; they've been roving the outskirts of town lately, and a pack of them killed my favorite horse a few days ago. I'll tell you what, I'll have the bellman see to your armors--he's got a magical touch with clothing stains, and can hopefully do something with chain mail--and you can proceed to the bathing rooms to get cleaned up. Will you be staying the night? If so, how will you be paying for your lodging tonight?"

"Are they here illegally?" Ezythyr asks, eyeing the cart once more. "Mayhap they need a bit o' coin to pay their fees. Perhaps a bit o' custom will set them right."

Woman: [in hushed voice]"Truth be told, master dwarf, I believe the guild membership fees are just more bureaucracy laid upon startup businesses, intended to stifle competition in an otherwise free Night Marketplace, championed by stodgy, old, rich men afraid of having to actually wipe their own hairy asses and present compelling goods to consumers of all income levels, professions, and races.

"If you want my true opinion, can't hurt to just take a look at the new guys' stuff, and shoot a nasty sneer at my guild masters as you walk past their garbage tables!"

The herald begins to walk away, but before leaving whispers to you.

"Psst, support the free market, topple the patriarchy!"

"Er...right." Ezythyr gives her a confused smile. "Shall we?" He asks the girls before heading toward the wagon.

"Well, I've got a bit of gold, some green leather armor I took off a small man. If my 25 gold doesn't cover it, I don't suppose you accept payment in the form of blessings?" Thokk has by this time stripped down to his underclothes and placed his armor in a neat pile beside him. He slings his bag onto his shoulder. His underclothes consist of a thin linen shirt and a pair of shorts with a print of a cartoonish Kobold on them. It appears the Kobold once had something it was saying, but the text has mostly worn away.

Thokk, the hostess did not expect you to doff your chainmail in the lobby... She does look you over from head to toe, however.


Orc hostess: "Twenty-five gold is more than enough for a night's stay, bathing, and armor service... Let me know if you're interested in anything else, I'm on all night. The name's 'Kayti', if you think of anything specific."

She hands you a key for room 3--which, based on your observation of the lodge's layout, is on the first floor, across from the baths--then takes your armor into the bellman's work room. Before you pick up your things and make your way to the baths, she pokes her head out and calls out to you.

"Nice Kap'n Kobbie shorts, by the way."

Cordial feels a kinship with outsiders and seems intrigued by the newcomers setting up shop down the street. She has been watching them and listening to Ezythyr and the woman's discussion about them. She nods at Ezythyr's suggestion and looks about at the other merchants before following him towards the newcomers' wagon.

Eledriar smiles warmly at her companions as they wander over to the wagon. "I like the sound of artisanal inventory goods... besides, like that lady said, I've never seen guild membership fees as anything but bureaucratic garbage." She steps up to the trade table by the wagon and greets the merchants casually in Elvish as she examines their wares.

OOC: sorry for being afk so long!

Eledriar, as you greet the elven merchants at the red and blue wagon in their native tongue--with Ezythyr and Cordial following close behind--the female elf raises a hand to you, indicating that you wait for a moment as she holds a Stone of Farspeech to her ear. The other male elf appears to still be busy, rearranging small crates in the wagon behind her, but acknowledges your presence with a nod and gestures toward his business mate. The female elf lowers her hood, and you immediately recognize her as drow by her darker skin and white, long hair. She continues her conversation over Farspeech...


Female drow merchant: "... we didn't bring much, just whatever we could fit into the wagon... Yes, yes, we haven't paid any guild dues, per your instruction... please, we don't want to have to sing the song to EVERY customer... Ugh! Ok, we're done, I'll call if I need your consul."

She lowers the stone and places it in her satchel, then looks up to you, Eledriar.

"Vedui' il'er... My apologies for the delay, I was just receiving updates from my boss. <takes a deep breath, then speaks in sing-song> 'Welcome to Fantasy Costco, where all your dreams come true, we got a deal for you'... ugh, it feels so dirty."

The male elf completes his work with the stock crates, and lays out a cloth on the table. He addresses the group.


Male elf merchant: "Gods, I hate that we have to say that to everyone. Welcome, friends, to our humble pop-up shop, franchised from our guild master Garfield. I am Odeeren, and you've met dear Nermalin. We have a carefully curated, feature-rich, limited stock, which I'll be laying out right now."

He moves quickly, back and forth from the table to the crates, and places several different items gently onto the cloth-covered surface for you to view: a warhammer, long bow, robe, bottle, gloves, axe, boots, scimitar and flintlock are all eventually displayed before you.

"Take your pick, this is certified fresh equipment! Ask away and be intrigued! We are very price-competitive, we'll take most anything in trade... and truly, sometimes we've taken ANYTHING."

Ezythyr marvels at the display. He's interested in a lot but feels he should focus on one at a time. "What's the story wit' the axe?"

Nermalin: "Oh that. Well, it's an axe that really... <opens satchel, pulls out a small piece of parchment, and reads from page> 'sucks the life out of your enemies'... He's really punishing us by making us follow this script."

Odeeren picks it up with both hands, and poses in a battle stance with the battleaxe.


Odeeren: "Yes... that man is beyond ridiculous. This beautiful, beautiful beast of a battleaxe, it rends the flesh quite well. But additionally, it siphons the vigor from your prey, sending both blood and energy flying out their body with the right cuts. If you don't kill in one strike, you certainly will leave them unable to defend themselves over time."

He puts the axe back down on the table, and smiles happily.

"This is a mover for sure, jump on it now for only 750 gold pieces, or let's deal!"

[The Life Drinker battleaxe is a 1d8 slasher or 1d10 with two-handed attacks. When you attack a creature with this magic weapon and roll a 20 on the attack roll, the target gains one level of exhaustion if it isn't a construct or an undead. You also lose one level of exhaustion you have. - DM]