Sitting at the corner table Fenna watched as her friend and traveling companion Friya came into the common area from outside the Silverstone Bunkhouse. She was moving with confidence, perhaps she'd had better luck tracking down some way to acquire funds then Fenna herself had earlier that morning. As the Topaz Magister approached, Fenna couldn't help but marvel with a small grin as she remembered and compared the woman approaching her to the young girl she'd found and brought in safe and sound all those years ago to the Magisterium. She had grown well and strong, even under the strict structures governing magisters all across Valerick and certainly here in Suranth.

      A towering example of Koltani heritage, the human woman showed the bloodlines of her highlander ancestry, standing noticeably tall, easily two or three inches over six foot tall, if not more. She wore her twenty-six years well, lithe, strong and well built. She moved across the tavern with the sway and comfort of one of the highlands, a natural almost animal like grace that only accentuated the imposing, fit and impressive form she had. Her thick loam brown hair was worn simply, in a loose ponytail, with her bangs pinned back over her left ear with a singular raven's feather, a style known as a 'raven's tail. Her eyes matched her hair color at this time, though Fenna knew full well their true color, when she was touching Domhan, handling manna of Earth, were a brilliant topaz hue. Those eyes were sharp, showing windows into a deep intellect, as one would expect of any magister. Some would call her facial features cold, almost statue like, but that was incorrect by Fenna's own judgements. She was simply a calm and level-headed individual, and not prone to the emotional highs or lows of most people. Not lacking feelings, merely not as heavily beholden to them. She'd gone out in simple garb, tunic of soft brown with her burnished iron greaves over doeskin leggings.

      That was admittedly another unique aspect to Friya, well to all Topaz Magisters. They were very comfortable, unlike most any other of their fellows of the other seven orders, in armor and even with shields. Friya had wisely left her gambeson and mail overtunic behind however, along with her shield and weapon, keeping them all locked in her room. After all, not only would she not have need of them in Vorgistal, in a town this large, it was illegal for anyone not of the local police, or of military standing with special paperwork, to wander armed.

      Fenna's mind snapped from wandering and admiring the transition of her companion from the terrified young girl of only four or five years she'd met some two decades previous, as Friya pulled a stool up to the table, sitting close to Fenna's left side, and waving over one of the serving staff to quickly order a pint of amber and some smoked caribou and onion hash. As the young man headed behind the bar and out to the kitchen of the establishment, Friya spoke, gracing Fenna with a small smile. "So, I may 'ave found what we needed, Fenna m'love. Be a little less than a week's work, twenty-five gold suns each up front, another twenty-five upon completion. We'd be guarding a pair o' wagons heading from 'ere to Spruce Point an' back, for the Vorgi an' Sons granite quarry. Reason they want guards is 'cause the shipment will also include payment bein' delivered to the Evers an' Sons Logging company in Spruce Point for timber they provide. Apparently the Spruce-stone byway, the road you'd use fer such travels, 'as 'ad a bit of trouble the last couple weeks. Greenskins, goblins, I didn't get much in way o' details from the town crier I got the job off of, but tis there an' available. Anyone interested just needs ta come by t'e main office at Duni's Quarry, the big pit just outside the gates at the north end o' town an' meet with Banik Dorin, their head o' shipping."

      Fenna leaned back, thinking for a moment, as she flicked her bangs from her face. The dwarven woman had thick sandstone colored hair, with eyes of a bright amber tone. She was noticeably shorter, as one might expect for a dwarf, then Friya, though she was tall for her kind, a touch over four feet. She was strong as an ox, but lean as well, but that was not surprising for one so drilled. Fenna was a Storm-Lancer, a Templar of Sir Kartheart, even blessed with a bit of his holy power. She was rather newly inducted into the order, and on her 'Storming' basically her pilgrimage where she was to wander and explore Suranth and strive to become a hero of the people, a Shield of Suranth. Her face was smooth, almost as if chiseled out of granite or marble with skill and precision, as was typical of a dwarven woman's facial features. Strong jaw, no beards contrary to popular jokes across Valerick, and gradient features that whilst harsher in nature than humans, definitely had a softer edge to their shape than a dwarven male.

      She too had forgone most of her armor, though she still had on a proper tunic with the holy sigil of her diety, the Spear of Storms, emblazoned on its front. Given her religious position however, she was not unarmed, even whilst dining, wearing a simple arming sword. "That nae be exactly w'at I 'ad in mind when I said we was low on coin Friya." Fenna responded, keeping eye contact with the mage. "Nor am I thinkin' t'at mere goblins be the reason Kartheart guided me ta t'is place. There are at least 'alf a dozen Suranthi garrisons and fortresses within the Fir-Jeim Valley, nary counting those in cities and towns, just those that are stand alone, the big ones. Somethin' like two thousand troops are stationed all 'bout the region at all times. I finds it unlikely any goblins stirring up trouble on such an important road regionally would still be a problem a week later. I'd guess some soldiers from a nearby garrison 'ave sorted it by now."

      "Aye that's likely Fenna, I can't deny that." Friya replied, a small smirk on her lips. "However ye said the Fir-Jeim Valley was where ye needed ta be. Sir Kartheart 'imself guiding yer pilgrimage and all t'at." At this moment the food and pints came, and Friya took out two of their last seven silver moons, thought about it, and handed the young kitchen aid a third, with a wink and smile. The boy pocketed the coin, mouthing the word thanks, before moving off. Friya picked up as she'd left off, "Well we ain't had anythin' else come up 'ere all summer t'at really fits yer whole purpose o' this pilgrimage 'ave we? Three wagons is notable, in only two weeks. Besides I ain't told ye the best part. Last two raids, there were survivors. I heard from one of 'em that he wasn't the only one. He just got away." Fenna blinked, tilting her head as she put together what Friya was saying even as the magister actually stated it aloud. "They takin' prisoners."

       Fenna shook her head slowly, then took a long sip of her amber, the strong ale crisp and pleasant, with notes of apple, black spruce, and honey. "Greenskins nary take prisoners." the dwarf stated matter of factly. "That nae be a thing they do. Or at least not unless they up to something beyond just raids. I nae know why yer smilin' Friya."

       "I'm smilin' cause for the first time in 'alf a season I seen the crackle o' the Tempest back in yer eyes. Ye've needed a sign, or at least somethin' t'at could be ta keep yer spirits strong, an' I found ye it. So that feels pretty good. Nae shall I tell ye the rest o' the details?"

      "I think ye should, aye. Wouldn't do ta go to take a job lookin' like I know nary a thing 'bout it nae would it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Through her mask, as she carefully vialed, then bagged and sealed in the false stone box container the last of the vile powder, Tulint sighed in self-disgust. Once she sealed the false brick, she carefully moved to the wagon with it, and slid it into position, closing the pallet with four real bricks to hide the last false one with the other five she'd filled over the last few hours. Lifting her mask only once she was safely out of the lab, the gnomish woman shook her head to herself, as she carefully stripped the gloves as well, tossing both into a sealed furnace she'd insisted be in the basement facility that vented out in the dark night sky. "One more shipment, one more deal, and one more betrayal of your own conscious Tuli." she reminded herself softly, as she left the basement, and headed out of the warehouse and quarry and back into town to her 'graciously' provided accomodations. "Then your debt will be paid, you'll be free of your damned foolishness and the debt you took on with the Vorgi. After that I'm getting out of this Ascended forsaken valley."

      As Tulint returned to her room at the Broken Pickaxe, a hole in the wall bunkhouse that she'd been holed up in by Vorgi's own orders, she strolled in front of the mirror the room came with. It was an old thing, the glass far from clear, but still useable enough. That damn dwarf had her feeling decades older than she was, though not looking it. The gnome who stared back in the reflection was both familiar and foreign to Tuli. Tulint Zittlidrosp was her full given name, a pharmacist, a chemist classically trained and formally educated in the medicinal arts. She had been born in the area, in Vorgistal in fact, but hadn't been back for at least a decade. Unknown to her, her schooling so far away in Valewyr, part-way across the world, had in large part been paid for not by savings her father had squirreled away as he'd told her, but with loans from one Kurik Vorgi, the founder of the Vorgistal quarries, and some might argue the founder of the settlement of Vorgistal itself. Debts that, when she'd returned home after nearly a decade of schooling abroad, she'd returned to find out her father and mother had both perished of frost fever two years previous. Waiting for her in their old home had been Kurik and a few of his thugs. They'd made clear in no uncertain terms that all the debt was hers. However in that threat, there was a promise. Give us just a year, not so long for the likes of a gnome or dwarf, a year of your skills and expertise, and all will be forgiven and repaid.

      Tuli chuckled to herself, as she poured herself a glass of wine. Its not like they'd treated her poorly, as she moved back to look at herself in the mirror. They'd kept her parent's old home in good shape, they'd kept her well fed and in wine, and all at their expense. They'd actually helped her sell her parents' old place and gotten a fair price for it too, hence why her service was only a year. However what they'd made her do well...she'd been one of the lucky ones. Originally she'd be responsible for a team of three chemists, the most knowledgeable of the three. However the other two over the course of the year, had at some point or another, let their state of extreme caution go lax. Once would have been all it took. All Tuli knew of what happened next to them was that their bodies were never found and the nights they'd been snatched up by some of Vorgi's men, there was some sort of flickering glow, like a big fire, from inside the quarry pit. She could take a guess however, and shuddered at the thought.

      She eyed herself up and down in the mirror again, to remind herself that she was alive, well, and unchanged, even putting down the wine and doing a very thorough inspection. Thankfully yes, the small gnomish figure staring back at her was in fine health physically. Only a little over two and a half feet tall, which was average for a gnome, though slightly on the lean side, likely from stress, likely on the low side of forty-five pounds. Her smoky-grey white hair kept trimmed to just below the shoulder, and as she wore it most days, it was up in a loose bun. She undid it now, letting it fall and shaking out her head. Her piercing oval eyes were a bright aquamarine, nearly luminous. This brightness was normal for gnome kind, though her hue and color were much more unique. She wore a simple dress and petticoat now, the lab gear left behind to burn. These clothes she wore now were splotched a little, showing mild burns and melding of their starry blue and soft yellow pattern, but those chemical marks held more pleasant memories from plying her intended craft. Her skin similarly had little spots and splotches of very pale, or very dark staining here and there, though nothing substantial, nor very much of it. Two marks on her face, one cheek, one near the jaw, from a solution she over heated in university during an experiment, another on her arm where she'd fumbled some acid when learning to make a specialized corroding agent meant to free petrifying victims, though the recipe of it escaped her these days.

      In fact, most all of what she'd learned in school escaped her at current, though she truly hoped that was merely trauma and stress of the last year of her life. The basics she did remember she held on to like a lifeline, a simple healing salve and potion, a general anti-toxin, and a few basic stimulants she knew how to make ready supplies of. She finished the glass of wine, and though she considered it, she thought better of another. "You have a few more days in this hell yet, Tuli, you'll need your wits tomorrow." she reminded herself. "Vorgi is insistent that you travel with this shipment, see it delivered, and see the coin delivered to him. Only then are you a free woman."

      As she laid her head down on the pillow, she did consider, as often crossed her mind, simply leaving. But she put that thought away. She knew to much and Vorgi had taken a bit of her blood and a lock of her hair when he'd revealed the details of what she'd be doing, promising they'd be disposed of at the end of the year, but should she betray the deal or his trust before then, well they'd be used to see her dead. Given what he was having her process and ship, Tuli had never doubted the dwarf's ability to arrange such a thing, and wasn't about to start now, so close to free. "One last shipment. Just see it through, and its all over." Tuli reminded herself once again, as she faded into a fitful sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

              Banik looked up from his desk with mild irritation in his eyes, the old dwarf clearly deep in focus, paperwork piles on both sides of his desk. "What is it!?" he barked to the human woman whom stood at the door-frame. "Open yer mouth Amelia, and get that tongue waggin', why ye disturb me!"

      "Many apologies Mister Dorin, however I've two people out here looking to talk to you about...the call for mercenaries issued on behalf of Master Vorgi and the mine? They claiming you are the person they are supposed to talk to." The young woman curtsied clumsily and was blushing, clearly not a fan of the bark that Banik had. The old greybeard leaned back, taking his spectacles off and rubbing his eyes.

      "Ach I'd almost forgotten 'bout that task. Alright girl, nae just stand there, send 'em in!" he told her, "quick-like too, I gots a lot of paperwork left ta finish this evenin'!"

      The door closed and then opened again and when Banik looked up, briefly his mouth dried right up, and his heart rate jumped. The first was a Koltani woman bearing iron mail and greaves with a reinforced gambeson, and full soil brown and amber tunic, likely he imagined with leggings to match underneath. The topaz toned markings on the gambeson and her small, but visibly humming with manna, topaz pendant, as well as the officious looking documents in her left arm, to which was strapped a targe, marked her. A magister, a Geomancer no less, one of the Topaz Order. Beside her, in full splendor a dwarven woman wearing a coat of plates. Her heavy shield, almost half her size, she carefully unstrapped and leaned against the wall just inside the door. The dwarven warrioress had holy markings all about her armor and dead center was the Spear of Storms, the sigil of the church of Sir Kartheart's elite templars, the most holy warriors of the faith, the Storm-Lancers.

      Very swiftly however, Banik calmed himself. He needed to play it calm. They hadn't barged in with force and simply snatched him up. That means they didn't know anything or didn't know enough. Either way he needed to keep his cool and be smart during this interaction. He rose, as was only appropriate, and stepped around his desk. "Lancer, Geomancer, this is unexpected I must say. I hope ye'll forgive my lack o' manners, me secretary nary mentioned I had such guests. In fact she implied ye were mercenary types, looking for work. We looking ta hire a couple of such folks to guard a couple wagons leaving on the morrow. What business brings ye to my door, how may I be of assistance?"

       The pair briefly exchanged looks, but Banik did catch the glance that passed between them. They were suspicious, they must have seen the brief moment of panic on his face. The Koltani woman strode forward, offering her hand. Fighting his instinct to flinch, Banik gripped it firmly shaking it, whilst she spoke. He couldn't help but notice the dwarf craning her neck a bit trying to get a peek at the papers on his desk, though he felt no need to point out her rudeness. Nothing incriminating was out where anyone could see. Better to let them indulge. "Aye Master Banik, yer secretary 'as the right o' it. We apologize if'n our official garb confused or startled ye. We just wished ta display our credentials openly whilst we expressed our interest in answerin' t'e open call for aide. Me companion is rather freshly minted see, an' be on 'er Stormin' ya see. I nary nae 'ow familiar ye be wit' this tradition?"

      "Fairly familiar, milady, I've known a Storm-Lancer or two in me time." Banik replied cordially, keeping his cool.

      "Good, well then we should introduce ourselves. Me name is Friya Ostamore, an' t'is 'ere is Fenna Brondianionle Novikoal. The titles be unnecessary me friend."

       Friya continued speaking, explaining the Storming a little and without providing to much detail, the pair's friendship, which explained why they traveled together. "Nae we'd like ta express our interest in t'e job at 'and. I'd think we be more than qualified fer such a position an' if t'e roads 'ave been unsafe, well me companion sees it as a mandate o' sorts ta attempt ta help soothe t'at situation."

       Banik nodded to them both, moving back behind his desk. "Ye two are definitely more than qualified. Some might argue that yer over qualified, but I aint no damned fool human whom listens ta such nonsense! Nae offence miss Friya, exceptions fer every rule exist." 

       "Nary taken, Banik, tis a fair criticism o' many o' me kindred."

       "Nae as to this job." Banik began. "Ye need ta understand somethin' 'owever. We nae be wantin' heroes. The second wagon is somethin' of a sacrificial wagon on this trip. Ye run into trouble, fuckin' leave it if needs must. But the cargo on that first wagon must make it to Spruce Point, with nae exceptions. If'n yer thinkin' ta go goblin baiting or use our shipment as a trap, put the idea from yer heads. Ye can play hero on yer own time. The drivers know this to, so its not like they nae been informed of the risk."

       Fenna spoke up then eyeing Banik with a steely eyed gaze. "It's just stone an' coin though right?" she asked him directly. "That's the cargo? I just wants ta be sure I'm understandin' here."

      Banik nodded curtly, seeming to answer bluntly and honestly. "Aye that's it. Now if'n ye wants the job, tell me, otherwise kindly get out of me office. I still got a dozen documents ta get through tonight."

       The pair exchanged a glance, though were keeping good negotiation faces, Banik couldn't read them. Then Friya nodded. "We'll take it."

       Banik went into his desk and drew out a couple pouches, handing one to each of them. "Twenty-five gold suns a piece, another twenty-five when ye return, provided everything goes smoothly and the important cargo arrives whole and intact. Ye meet the wagons at the crack o' dawn by the big warehouse at the Spruceside Gate, the northwest exit of the city." Banik rose then, nodding politely but curtly to them both. "Nae I would love ta keep indulging company but I've got a lot o' work ta get done. Pleasure ta make yer acquaintances, and Kartheart willin' I'll see ye both in a touch less than a week."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

              Fredwick clocked the two men, human both of them, dressed still in Vorgi uniforms, specifically the thick jackets that marked them as coachmen, as they wandered into the Blackstone Alehouse. Even as his halfman fingers kept dancing along his beautiful willow and seal-bone ivory pan-pipes, the quick step jig number he was playing for the bar's near dozen and a half patrons reaching a bit of a fervor in its tempo. The little halfman was quite the showman, and was actually up on a table at this point in his performance, pleased to see that his jacket had more than a few copper and silver coins tossed on it by now, and that many were dancing and enjoying the music. As he finished the number he took in a deep breath, loudly thanking everyone for their kindness. "Thank you all, you are a generous bunch and this humble performer is graced by your kindness. I've had a wonderful evening, and hope I've made yours at least a little bit better!" With that he leapt off the table, doing a cheeky somersault as he did so, eliciting a few hoots and claps from the bar's patronage.

       With one last sweeping bow, the halfman moved to his goods, carefully returning his pan-pipes to their specialized carrying case he wore at his hip, as he swiftly pocketed the coins and got his garishly colored jacket and sash back on. Dressed in layers of fine silks and fabrics, soft greens, oranges, blues, golds and with but touches of purple and reds, the minstrel stood out to be sure. He slung his small haversack over his shoulders, moving through the crowd, accepting a few hands, and a pint, though he had to reach up to do it.

       Fredwick Rumster was tall for a halfman, almost tickling three and a half foot, and despite his demeanor of one well traveled, which he was, it was clear he had enough talent to burn that he rarely if ever went hungry, likely weighing near seventy pounds. The garish colors and multiple layers of thinner fabrics, marked him as a well traveled foreigner not just to Suranth but to the continet of Durol. That style of dress was the common style in Susma specifically, far across the Sea of Sails on the continent of Gavis-Lune. This was where Fredwick was from, and his heated and clipped accent gave it away cleanly. He was fluent in a number of languages however, a benefit to his worldly ways, and could imitate more than a few accents.

       The black and silver jacket he wore overtop his more outlandish garb was of somewhat local design however, a fine coat he'd picked up the winter previous in Geata-Iarainn, the nation's capital. Geata-Iarainn was his eventual destination even now, intending to winter in the city again, before likely catching a ship, train or sky-ship south to either Raechin or Depenwood come spring. However he was most definitely taking more of a scenic approach to this intention, hence how he'd ended up here in Vorgistal, well away from Grakensfjord, which had been his original goal after leaving An Pointe Thoir far to the south and east. Its just that Suranth was so big, and whilst dangerous, the peoples here loved music and entertainers were oft showered with gifts and wealth for making the effort. In fact Fredwick couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten so well in towns and villages. Not to mention the various escapades with particularly excitable individuals at almost every stop. Fond memories of candlelight, fireplaces, wine and the sweet scent of sex and sweat. However in spite of all that, it was with purposes towards travel he swung by the bar, springing four of his hard earned coins for two pints of Fireback Ale, and another two for a goblet of red for himself.

       Taking these three drinks, with a wink and a blown kiss to the barmaid, remembering the night he'd spend with her only a week before fondly, he strolled with purpose to the table of the two men he had clocked earlier. Sliding up to their tables, he placed the drinks in front of them, sitting opposite to them. One of them, likely the driver of the team, glanced across the table at Fredwick, who obviously was barely visible above the table on even on the stool. "Seems rude ta nae say thanks fer the drinks, but I don't seem ta recall askin' fer 'em or payin' fer 'em." the man remarked casually.

       Just as casually, Fredwick responded, after taking a small sip of his wine. "You didn't. I just thought the pair of you looked mighty thirsty after a hard day's work. Judging by the way you've been huddled up here and talking, and not yet ordered a thing, I presume it was a hard day with a promise of more of 'em to come."

       The man chuckled, wiping his hand and reaching out over the table, leaning low so Fredwick could take his hand and shaking. "Name's Gareth, and the big lad here is Tuathia, though we all just calls 'im Tiny. We caught the tail end of your performance. Ye play a damn fine jig halfman. The drinks are appreciated, and ye aren't wrong. We hit the road on the 'morrow."

       Fredwick pretended to be mildly surprised, as if he'd misread the whole thing, but in truth that was his exact reason for approaching these gentlemen. "I'm Fredwick, pleasure to make your acquaintance. I misread the situation a little then it would seem. I figured you'd just got into town, but it seems your actually just about to leave!" Fredwick had a chuckled, letting them sit for a moment before continuing. "What way you going to be heading, if I might ask?"

       Gareth seemed to think about it for a moment, and Tiny gave him a cautionary glance, seeming as if he didn't think it was a good idea to answer that question. However the Tantur did not protest as Gareth spoke. "Northwest, toward Spruce Point if ye know where that is." he replied. "Why ye ask?"

        Fredwick internally was laughing to himself, quite pleased his guess had ended so favorably, but kept his demeanor friendly and jovial, but without laughing, externally, and played the bit as if a little surprised. "My word, that is good fortune, at least hopefully. You see a traveling minstrel is an easy target for all manner of beastie or brigand. I do not enjoy traveling alone. However I too was intending to leave on the morrow, and was intending to head that very same direction. Would it be a bother to perhaps meet you at the gates and join up with you for the journey? I do promise I can make myself useful. I'm not strong or the like but I can keep a pretty good cadence if you like that sort of thing and I'm a damn good cook."

        Gareth tilted his head for a moment in thought, whilst savoring the expensive dwarven ale. As he finished it with a deep almost velvety belch, the man nodded. "Absolutely. Be at the Spruceside Gate just before the crack of dawn, as it is our intention to be on the road with the sunrise."