Begin a Session
Sunlight streams through the window of my room, awakening me from depths of my exhausted slumber. I blink away the blurriness of my vision and rub the sleep from my eyes. A emerge from my bed with a yawn, stretching swinging my legs over the side of the bed setting to work pulling on my pants and boots.
As I stand I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the bowl of water on the table nearby and can't help but be caught a little off guard by the face that greets me. My wild, bushy beard is gone, a tasteful mustache and goatee taking its place. My hair is not a tangled, matted mess, been trimmed to a medium length then brushed and cleaned. I look presentable, like a man with something to lose. It feels good.
Smiling to myself, I pull on my new clothes and am pleased to find they fit very well. Fane, my new tailor, did an excellent job making them fit like a glove. I test my range of movement and am rewarded with no tightness or chafing. I feel like a king even if I only look like a well-off dandy.
I can't ignore how out of place my broken blade looks amongst this ensemble, nor how primitive my improvised dagger looks. I make a mental note to find a smith who can repair my blade, or sell me a suitable alternative. I'm not entirely sure what to do with the spider fang dagger, but it's a worthy trophy if nothing else.
My contemplation and reflection is interrupted by a soft rap at the door. Gregory, the innkeepers voice calls out
"Master Stone, are you decent?"
I take a quick glance at my drastically improved reflection before I reply
"Never better, come on in!"
The door swings open with a creak and the innkeeper shuffles in with a small tray of fruits and fresh bread buns. When his eyes meet mine his face brightens as he proclaims
"Well well well, you're a gentleman after all! Quite the stark contrast from the flotsam that came stumbling into my inn yesterday."
I nod, somewhat ashamed of my first impression but too grateful for his hospitality to deny his assertion. "All the credit belongs to Portia, she's the one who helped me find this refined man under all that wild hair."
The innkeeper chuckled and nodded in turn. "That girl has a habit of bringing out the best in the people around her. She's my pride and joy, even more so than this inn."
I grab a grape from the platter and pop it into my mouth as he talks, it's an explosion of juicy flavor so early in the morning. I fear at this rate any food I find on the road from here on out will be wholly inadequate by comparison. I snap back to the conversation.
"Indeed, she's a fine host. I can see why she was so busy last night when I came in, she must have many regulars who visit for her company."
The old man shot me a wry look
"Yes, I have had the occasional regular who has needed reminding of the employee/customer relationship boundaries. Thankfully most smarten up once sober and apologize. Those who don't are often shown the door by my other regulars. They're all rather protective of her as it turns out."
I raise my hands in from of myself in a disarming gesture
"I have no intentions of causing trouble, I assure you. You've been extremely accommodating and I find myself as charmed by your inn as I am your daughter."
The old man laughs, a proper, full throated bellow and claps me on the back with surprising force for his frame.
"Ha! Good answer. She was late to return from visiting you last night, she told me the two of you had a good chat and she reckons you might find work as a bardic storyteller if you need coin.
I inwardly wonder if that was something I had ever done before, in the forgotten times before I washed ashore.
He mistakes my downcast expression for embarrassment and nudges me with his elbow and adds in a knowing tone.
"Cheer up lad, that's a good sign. Truth be told, she's always had the freedom to court who she likes, she's just never had much interest in the folks around here."
I look up in alarm and begin to correct him when he interrupts me.
"Don't treat me like a fool, it's nothing to be ashamed of."
I fall silent, not wishing to insult him. Besides, he wasn't exactly wrong: Portia was quite fetching, even if I was in no shape to court her.
After a moment of silence, the innkeeper stands smiles apologetically and gestures at the platter on the table I had momentarily forgotten about.
"Forgive me, I didn't come up here to put my nose where it doesn't belong. Breakfast is served, even if it is a few hours past when I normally offer it. Eat up and regain your strength. When you're done eating, come downstairs and let's talk. I think I may have a job for you if you're looking for work."
"Thank you, I may do just that."
I ate my fill, sating a hunger I didn't realize was so strong until I had cleared the platter of food. Not the for the first time today, I feel a strong gratitude for the small comforts of this place.
Pushing aside the platter, I take a moment to consider my options.
I could get work from Gregory, whatever that might entail it could bring me some income while I sort out the rest of what I'm doing.
My eyes are drawn to the cylindrical case that rests on the table beside my bed. I could also investigate the odd codex, though I doubt I'll find someone who knows how to interpret it easily and even if I could I doubt I would be able to trust anyone who could with something so important or valuable it's the only thing I wasn't wearing that made it ashore with me.
I absentmindedly find my hand resting on the hilt of my broken sword.
That settles it for me: I need to get my blade fixed, then I can both focus on the codex and protect it from any interested parties.
Swear an Iron Vow(Heart)—5 vs 6|8 Fix my blade
I stand from my chair with a sigh, don my hat, and grab the empty food tray before heading downstairs to find the owner.
Gregory is cleaning some mugs at the bar when I exit the inn portion of the establishment and reach the bottom of the stairs in the deserted tavern. He greets me with a soapy wave when he spots me. On the opposite side of the tavern, I spy Portia wiping down tables but opt to leave her be for the time being.
I make my way to the bar and slide the food tray onto it.
"My thanks for the meal, it was a richness I missed on the road and will surely miss again."
Gregory nods his head in appreciation, a gentle smile on his face as he queries in a gentle tone.
"Of course, I'm glad it met your expectations. Have you considered my offer of a job? Or will you be leaving us today?"
In response I simply draw my broken blade and lift it for him to see.
"I don't expect to move on today, but I also can't take on work at the moment. I need to get this fixed before I can think of going anywhere or doing much. I have need of a smith, would you happen to have a connection here in town who you would recommend?"
Gregory's face grew serious as took a moment to consider, then replied
"There aren't many smiths in Ambervale, and most aren't up to making more than horseshoes and nails. If you're determined to get this blade fixed up and are up for a challenge, visit The Black-Iron Anvil. A regular of mine, Karadin Montfellier, runs the place, he's an exceptional smith but since his wife passed he's become a recluse."
I pondered the situation for a moment, then accepted the task.
"...What's his favorite? Maybe I can help get through to him."
Secure an Advantage(Heart)—8 vs 3|4 Momentum:7 → 8
From behind me comes Portia's upbeat voice
"Karadin? I know his order by heart, I'll whip it up for you. The poor guy is taking his wife's loss pretty hard so it'll be nice to know he's at least eating well."
The pair went about cooking up a grilled fish platter with some bread and seasonings, working in tandem like a well oiled machine. Their practiced movements prompted the question before I could stop it.
"How long have you two been doing this?"
Gregory was the first to chime in as he seared a fillet.
"Oh lets see now, Portia is 24 so we opened the inn here some 10 years ago or so?"
Portia rolls her eyes and corrects her father.
"Papa, I'm 27 now."
The old man chuckles and continues working as she addresses Cyrus with much more certainty than her father.
"It's been 13 years. My father here was a ship's cook before he settled down with my mother here. When she passed I took over helping him here."
I can't help but show my amusement at their dynamic, it was the first time I'd seen them acting familial in my time here, likely because I was the only one here at the moment.
"I see, well your experience clearly shows. I'm sure Karadin will be grateful for your efforts. I'll have to get you to make me this when I get back, it smells great."
Portia shot him a look, a twinkle in her eye.
"I think I could manage that."
My journey to the smith isn't long, his forge is only a dozen minutes away through the dense roads of Ambervale. The Black-Iron Anvil makes a fine first impression, even if it's not the biggest storefront on the block. Nestled between a carpenter's and a potter's in the artisan's quarter, the shop had its doors closed and curtains drawn. Despite that, as I approach I note smoke coming from the chimney and hear the sound of hammering metal.
Shifting the parcel I carry to my left hand, I knocked on the door.
There was no reply or break in the hammering.
I wait a moment to be polite, then follow the smith's lead and hammer the door with my fist to try and ensure I am heard. This time I do receive a response. A gruff man's voice from somewhere distant yells
"GO AWAY."
The hammering resumes as I furrow my brow. It was too much to have hoped this would be easy, so now I need to find leverage. The smell of something delicious hits my nose and reminds me that I already secured such a thing.
I raise my voice and reply
"Karadin? Gregory sent me with food, he tells me it's your favorite. He hasn't seen you around in a while. Open the door and it's yours."
Compel(Heart)—8 vs 3|4 Momentum:8 → 9
The hammering stops once more, a tense silence takes its place. Finally, I hear shuffling feet and the sound of the door being unbarred.
The door swings open to reveal a mountain of a man with an exhausted look on face. His eyes are reddened and his voice is hoarse.
"Give it here, I need to get back to work."
He extends a gloved hand before noticing and removing the glove and trying again. I place the parcel in his hand and he immediately turns and begins to shut the door behind him. I deftly slide my foot in the opening before he can seal the opening and petition him.
"Please sir, I need a moment of your time. My name is Cyrus Stone, I'm told you're the best smith in town and I have paying work for you."
His speech is slightly slurred, as he responds in an annoyed tone
"I'm not taking jobs right now, I'm busy."
Desperate to keep him talking, I inquire
"What on? Your friends at the inn haven't seen you in ages and they're worried."
My heart lurches in spite of my desperate situation as the smith's voice cracks and he rasps "My goodbye. I need to finish it for her."
He looks away and I hear him choke back a sob. I soften my tone, trying to figure out how to comfort the smith of brutish stature but the apparent temperament of a poet.
I remove my hat and apologize.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to rush your grieving, I just heard your hammering and assumed you were still taking work."
The smith sighs and steps aside, letting the door swing open.
I can see his forge from the doorstep, its glow casts a red light throughout the room. On a black-iron anvil next to it I can spot a half dozen small flattened metal sheets.
He gestures to the anvil with a sniffle.
"I can't say goodbye until it's done."
I step inside. Moving closer to the anvil I peer into the quenching bucket and see something metal reflecting the light from its depths. It's...a flower? I realize with a start that the metal sheets on his anvil are leaves and petals. I turn to look at the smith "They're beautiful. I'm sure they'll make a fitting tribute to her."
The smith's somber expression is only disturbed by a quivering in his bottom lip. Finally, after taking a moment to compose himself, he pulls the finished flower from the quenching pool. In the light of the forge I can see a socket within the center of the petals where something might sit. The smith places a huge hand on my shoulder and confides in me
"I can't finish any of them without the centerpiece but the courier carrying the old-growth amber I need is late. I'm in no shape to go and find him myself. Would you do me this kindness?"
Internally I groan at the delay, but externally I nod.
"If it will earn me the use of your services, I swear by iron to return with your centerpieces."
Swear an Iron Vow(Heart)—3 vs 8|7 Return to the Smith with His Amber Momentum:9 → 2 Momentum:2 → 4
Karadin's expression brightens and he nods
"Of course, whatever you need done. Just please find that amber and bring it back. The courier's name is Tamara Boros, she was coming from a small settlement along Derrick's river called Whittler's Den. It shouldn't be more than a day or two away so I don't know why she's so late."
I mentally plot the route. With luck I won't actually need to go all the way there and can find the courier along the way. I don my hat again and pat him on the shoulder.
"I'll see it done Karadin. Promise me you'll take an hour or two to eat and rest before you keep working, I can see that you could use it and you're no good to me or your friends if you work yourself to death. Besides, I'm sure you do your best work when healthy."
His brow furrows and he crosses his trunk-like arms, but eventually he relents with a sigh when I continue staring expectantly at him. "Fine. But only because she deserves nothing by my finest work for her grave."
I smile to him
"That's a good man. I'll take my leave my leave now. I'll be back as fast as I can."
I turn and go, shutting the door behind me and setting off to look for Tamara. Only couple days of wilderness to search, how hard could it be?
End a Session Reach a Milestone Fix my blade +1 (2/10)