Big City Darkened Nights

Inside the city its streets are muddy and as citizens seem to be avoiding the damp day, quiet. With a plan in mind Carr heads straight for the armorists’ shop, a long wooden building near the city’s barn.

Inside he finds the smithy sitting behind an L-shaped counter, polishing a metal breastplate. The heavy-set man glances at Carr’s tattered Dragon scale. Pressing the door closed Carr turns to the man.

Continuing to polish away the smithy remarks, “Your armor is in a sad state. I don’t think it’s worth repairing. There's some finished pieces behind you.”

Only leathers and a couple metal plates Carr’s not interested and approaches him, “I’d like something light and durable.”

Picking a piece, the armorist feels appropriate for this patron points to it with the polishing rag, “There’s a nice studded leather for sixty-five gold.”

Not to offend the man Carr gives it a better look, “Yeah, it is nice. I was hoping for another suit of scale.”

The smithy raises a hairy brow, “Scale, eh? That’s expensive. I do have the materials.”

“Oh, yeah?” With peaked interest Carr digs for coin pouch, “How much and how long will it take?”

Hesitating the armorist gives him a complete once over, seeing only a young, poor unworthy scoundrel, “I’ve got other orders to do. Could be a month before I could start.” He flips the plate over polishing the inside for no reason.

Frequently hearing such things Carr knows how to win the man over, “I can pay and make it worth your time.” From the coin pouch he pulls out three large gems and places them on the counter.

Pausing the polishing the man leans forward eyeing the stones, “Well son, if you’ve three more like those, I could get started in the morning.”

To show the man he’s serious Carr sets the open coin pouch on the counter, “Keep those three in good faith. I’ll pay you the rest when it’s finished.” He knows the price is a little steep, but the gems are stolen.

Peeking in the bag the man’s eyes widen. He stands up right away, dropping the plate loudly on the floor, “Have I got something for you.” Tossing the rag onto the plate he heads into a back workroom.

Seeing him duck behind a hide covered, doorway, Carr ties the pouch. Putting the pouch away he listens to the man rummage through things.

“This is pretty fresh too.” The smithy comes out with a large piece of brightly colored dragon scale, “Some of the King’s men killed this one.”

Laying out the section of hide on the counter, the smithy displays its’ green scales with black stripping, “Great pattern, they say it was bigger than a draft horse.”

Carr feels the scales, “It is a nice pattern. The color is better than paint or dyes. It sounds like it was big.”

“Just a maturing one. The hide is in perfect condition for forming and working with. The older they get the tougher the hide.”

Not knowing a whole lot about Dragons Carr inquires, “How old is mature?”

Looking at the hides’ scales the man estimates, “Best guess for this one, fifty, seventy years.”

“Really? Older then me,” Carr’s drawn to the coloring of it, “How long would it take?”

“Seven days maybe.” smiling thinks of what he can buy with the gems, “Let’s get to it. I’m Zei, what do you go by?”

“Carr.” He shakes hands with Zei, “I’m ready. What do you need?”

“Measurements and ideas.” Kneeling the armorist retrieves a piece of dark leather hide from under the counter; along with a length of marked rope and a thin slice of soft soapstone, “Do you know how you want it to fit?”

“Oh yeah…” Carr goes into detail about how he needs full range of arm movement; coverage around the arms and legs; strips to protect the waist and allow flexibility; plus, neck coverage.

The skilled craftsman completely understands using the soapstone to draw it up on the hide, adding crude measurements where needed.

They talk over the many ideas into the evening before both see it the same. Fascinated by some of Carr’s needs the armorist finds the project worthy.

Before leaving Carr suggests to Zei, “I noticed Halford’s army combat plate could use some of these changes. You should design a similar suit in plate and chain. Could bring you some real coin.”

The man was already thinking it, “I agree. Check back in a few days and see how it’s coming.”

“Sure, I’ll be at the Slaughtered Lamb for the week.”

Zei laughs once, knowing of the happening going on, “Won’t be sleeping there.”

“Why’s that?”

“Pack of Dwarf mercenaries, holding up there,” Zei informs him, “women folk have been complaining about the loud, drunk singing heard through the streets. Some say they scared off the minstrels.”

“Oh, yeah?” Carr can’t wait to see it for himself. “Should be interesting. Good night and thank you Zei.”

“Yeah,” Zei mumbles looking over the designs, “Be careful, I’m not fully paid yet.”

Carr doesn’t hear the last part exiting the building. He does hear faint singing echoing from across the lantern lit, open market.

Crossing the market notices fewer tents, then last time but some head to the southern cities in the winter. On rainy days, surrounding townsfolk stay home.

Down a back street the drunken vocals draw Carr to the Slaughtered Lamb. A local tavern known to most for catering to the area wanderers and mercenaries, seeking a large meal, good ale and or a brawl or two.

Passed out under the tavern’s covered steps a pair of Halflings for Carr to carefully navigate over.

Once inside the dimly lit establishment he notices it’s not overly busy. Complaining about their jobs, two tables of the city’s guards talk loudly.

Off to the left the band of forementioned Dwarves involved in an axe tossing match. Obviously drunk as no axes are on the target. Around the target many new marks, a couple hatchets and battle-axe are imbedded in the wall.

Chuckling at the sight Carr passes the seated guards. Hoping to sit by the fire he sees the oddest mix of males sit huddled in front of the main fireplace. Hesitating him, a Minotaur, having never been so close to one.

Figuring they’re up to something Carr takes a stool at the bar. Keeping himself within earshot and right behind the Minotaur. Glancing back occasionally he checks over the rest of the party. An Ogre sits between two Humans. A pair of Orcs sit together closest to the fire. A Hobgoblin at the far end of the table is lost in the size of the others.

An unknown, Human, female barmaid approaches him, speaking like they’d met before, “Hello. What brings you here?”

Viewing the young woman, she seems pleasantly familiar to him, “Hello to you.” He tries to place the face and light brown hair, “The owner Elija and I go way back.”

“Is that so?” She smiles amused by his youthful reply, “I’m Sandra, I’ve been working here a couple weeks.”

Nodding Carr wonders how Elija’s wife allowed the hiring an attractive barmaid or even hire someone at all, “Hello Sandra, I’m Carr.”

She asks nicely, “Well Carr, what can I get you?”

Her voice sounds familiar, but Carr still can’t place her, “A pint of ale and a bowl of whatever is cooking.”

“Right away.” She pours out a pint, “Thanks for keeping it simple.” Setting the filled cup down she turns for the kitchen.

“Thank you.” Taking a sip Carr watches her walk away.

“Great shot!” A dwarf slurs out. “If you’re aiming for the wall.” Laughing at a comrade picking up a hatchet.

A slap to the back startles Carr, he turns to see the stocky proprietor, Elija.

“Well hello Carr.” Elija smiles at making the boy jump. “What brings you out in the rain?” He moves behind the bar.

Smiling Carr calms down, “Hey, Elija. I came for supplies. I’ll be here a week. Do you have any rooms to rent?”

Shaking a head, no, Elija refills some mugs, “Sorry the Dwarves took them. Try Harold’s lil’ place. He’s got new blankets.”

Passing the two, Sandra returns placing a large bowl of stew and a couple buns in front of Carr, “Enjoy.” Carrying on she takes care of other patrons.

“The stews good.” Elija lets Carr know, “The wife baked the buns this morning. How’s your mum?”

“She’s good.” Carr holds a spoonful of stew up to cool, “She wanted me to pick her up a red haired, male slave to do her bidding.”

Elija laughs out loud, “That woman’s something. Her and your Pa were a wild pair in their day.”

“So, I’ve been told.” Carr tries the stew, “It’s good.”

“Of course.” Elija politely offers, “tell your Ma, me and the Mrs. say hello. And she’s always welcome here.”

Carr shrugs slightly, “I can’t get her to come. But I’ll tell her anyway.”

Sandra returns with more empty mugs.

“Eat up.” Remarks Elija to Carr, “I’ve got many drinks to pour up. With these Dwarves I keep having to bring up a keg from the cellar.”

Halfway through his stew the guards get up, tossing a few platinum coins at Elija.

Younger guards utter rude suggestive comments to Sandra while leaving. The older men just shake their heads at them, saying good nights. Sitting quietly the group of wanderers observe the departure of the men.

After a couple minutes the strange group gets comfortable whispering and gesturing to each other. The noise created by the Dwarves makes it hard for Carr to hear anything clearly.

Perceiving Carr’s attempting to eavesdrop Elija brings another ale over with a wink, “I could use a hand bringing up another keg. Do you mind?”

“Sure,” Carr gets up to follow him into the kitchen.

Descending down a dirt staircase Elija whispers, “A few weeks ago King Halford’s army was part of a raid on Kapigorn. Their treasury was ransacked and the city left in ruins.”

Pointing to a full keg they both pick it up as Elija continues, “I think that group upstairs, was hired to break into Halford’s vaults to retrieve what was taken. Most likely whatever else they can carry.”

Back onto the steps Carr quietly comments, “that’s crazy. There’s only seven of them. How much can they really take? If they don’t get themselves killed trying.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Elija voices his thoughts, “I think the smaller Human and the Ogre are magic users, of some sort. Their burglar must be the Hobgoblin. As far as what they can carry, they might have a magic bag or two.”

They set the keg down at the top of the stairs.

Carr queries. “A magic bag?”

Elija gives him a funny look, “You’ve never heard of a bottomless bag?”

Carr tries to recall, “Bottomless? No.”

“And you call yourself a thief,” teases Elija. “Since mages are usually weak in muscle, they create an enchanted bag. You could put all kinds of stuff in there. Even a Dragon and it’ll only way a stone.”

A sly grin crosses Carr’s face, “I could’ve certainly used one of those.”

“We all could.” Removing the empty keg Elija warns him, “But they are said to be very dangerous. You could fall in and be trapped. And worse if the material is cut or torn, it’ll open a portal that demons can use.”

Motioning to Carr they pick up the keg and lay it in a wooden frame behind the bar.

Carr returns to his seat thinking.

Picking up a small cask Elija takes it to the Dwarves.

Setting the cask on the Dwarves’ table, Elija speaks to the oldest of them, “Strum, I have a freebie for all your patronage. This ale is from the Isle of Croup.”

“Thank-you generous host,” Strum motions to his men to badly slur out a Dwarven drinking song.

Throwing some coins on the table the party of wanderers rise, gathering up their possessions, quietly exiting the bar.