Finding Good Help

Her immediate requirements satisfied, she made her way to a nearby tavern, glanced at the signboard of The Golden Lamprey, and pushed the doors open to enter.

Being lunchtime, the place was packed with customers, eating and drinking, and as she stepped in, all of them at least glanced her way and assessed her before returning to their meals. Clearly, these were people who remained aware of their environment in case it bit them; she'd come to the right place.

Settling at the bar, she proceeded to rather charm the innkeeper, whose name was Rutter. Learning what she wanted, he pointed out several likely candidates; a human warrior, another human also in light armour, an armoured dwarf sitting with the largest flail she'd ever seen leaning on his chair, a human in light tunic and trousers quietly juggling magical fire, and what she suddenly realized was a half-elf, eating quietly with a lyre resting on the table.

After some thought, she went and sat down with the dwarf and the ranger, bringing a drink and striking up a conversation. It turned out her guess was good; these were adventurers looking for a new expedition, each the sole survivor of their respective last ventures. They had actually made each others' acquiantance already, and were eager to find out more of what this bold elf-maiden had to suggest.

They asked the usual sort of questions; how large was the party to be (i.e. how many shares would the loot be divided by), what the job was, where it was, and what the likely pay-off was. Some of these Animir was able to answer, but not all; none the less, both were keen to join forces with her by the time she'd finished laying out the plan.

Akara himself caused some interest. "Kobolds, yes, fought those," said the ranger, Hossein, "never spoken to one though, only ever seen one come flying at me from the other end of a spear." Thorkil the dwarf agreed, and both ordered more drinks in a pensive fashion.

"So, when are we leaving, and where do you want to meet?" asked Hossein. Animir looked out of the rather grubby window; it was a bit late to start today. "First light tomorrow, at the Varensen Gate", she answered. The others left to collect their gear together, and the elf spent the afternoon sight-seeing this fascinatingly different place, so busy and yet so unharmonious after the cities of Viridor where she'd grown up.

Gonar, Northern Stryre, 7th April 1601

The next morning was beautiful, promising a lovely spring day, and Animir rode down through the city to the Varensen Gate with a high heart. Her new cohorts were waiting there as arranged, and together they rode out of town and southwards to Akara's hideout.

When they got there, the little kobold was not immediately in evidence, and Animir at length spotted him lurking behind some rocks, obviously terrified at the sight of an armed group of warriors. He began to look less worried once he recognized her, but then a broad smile broke over his scaly face and he came out of his hideaway and trotted towards them. With a jolt, Amimir realized that his gaze was fixed on... Thorkil. For some reason, he found the sight of a dwarf extremely reassuring.

As Thorkil dismounted from his nubbly pony, Akara reached him and addressed him in a language Animir didn't know. Thorkil was clearly flabbergasted at this, and could only gawp for a few seconds; then he began to respond, and the pair began a halting but functional conversation in whatever language it was they both spoke. Hossein and Animir looked at each other and shrugged.

After a few minutes, Thorkil broke off and announced that, for some bizarre reason, Akara not only spoke dwarvish but actually lived in a dwarvish mine; the "my people" that he referred to were actually dwarves! This did nothing to dissuade the group from proceeding, and pausing only to wedge the dubious Akara on behind Animir's saddle, set off towards the Vision Peaks.

Several hours later, as they were passing a large forest marked on Hossein's local map as The Wailing Wood, a body of five horsemen suddenly crested a small rise and charged towards them, blades drawn, as the sound of bowstrings among the trees heralded a flight of arrows that passed through the party without hitting anyone.

An ambush!