A man with a worn face stares at a piece of parchment in the group of Mercs. Clawing his messy hair away from his eyes he mouths it's contents to himself silently.
"Seems like this is the place..."
He grumbles to the others, including himself.
A half-elf woman in a long brown leather coat tries to read the parchment as she stands a few feet away from the man holding it.
"Did we get a name... or a description? I hate contracts like this, it's like a blind date without all the fun. I just want to know what to do and where to do it.
Let's find this bloke and get to work."
Vaelron:
You hear a soft tune being played on an old lute. The melody has a familiar and cheerful ring to it, slightly distracting the group of mercenaries that are trying to find out where they need to be. The sound comes from a half-elf man that looks more like an entertainer than an actual hired blade. He stops playing and approaches the half-elfish woman.
With a gentle smile he speaks in a tongue not many understand followed with a small, yet elegant bow.
“Fret not! These situations always unfold the same way as they always do. At least it is nice to see someone of the same kind. Greetings sister, my name is Vaelron.”
The man turns to the entertainer. As he approaches you see he is donning a half plated suit of armor, the plates are on his chest, arms and greaves they are tinted blueish-grey, below the plates are sturdy grey chain mail fitted and tailored a fine suit of armor. Carrying a buckler on his left wrist and a Bastard sword on his back.
He quickly appraises the man and recognizes him as a fellow Merc. After the appraisal he turns away from the Merc and directs his attention to the half-elf woman. The turn away caused the man's face to be illuminated by Daylight.
The reveal is a face of hardship bereft of respite. Wrinkled skin like leather he wears a permanent scowl that's unfortunately accentuated by a bulky scar covering the left side of his face from cheek and nose to chin. The scar's pattern is that of tattered pelt, flecks of hair, stubble and healthy skin separated by scar tissue. The man must have frightened many young maidens or sheltered youth with a face like that. Scars like that are shaped by cruelty found only in the wilderness or the blackest hearts of man, only they can forgo all sympathy. His hair is a dusty grey colour with strands of glorious blond hair sway side to side in the wind shaped into a greasy Mohawk.
"Glad you could make it Vaelron. Aye, everything's on the parchment."
Vaelron turns to the towering man with a confused frown, yet his facial expression quickly changes to a more beatific one.
“Ahhhh. How intriguing! A man who knows the ancient language of Golarion. You don’t see those quite often. Not at all! What does one call you…” Looks up and down “…Warrior. ”
A rugged looking man watches the small group from his cross-leg seated position on top of a tower of squared hay bales; The man seems to be analysing the actions of the group with a blank stare.
Changing his facial expression almost immediately, the man jumps down from the tower of bales, and makes his way over to the group. You can clearly see that he has sparse clothing; composing of a basic bottom half, waist garb and shoulder pad; on his back you can see a Bo staff and backpack, a cloak covers his Torso.
The man addresses the group of mercs with a cheeky smirk and then performs a deep bow to the group, right fist on his chest while doing so.
“It’s about time you guys arrived, I’ve been waiting since sundown! You can call me Kál, the pleasure is all mine.”
"Greetings to you too, Vaelron and Kál, my name is Vylreene, and the big guy over here is Vitor."
Vylreene adjusts her coat and gives everyone a nod of acknowledgement followed by a light smile.
"Well then, I'm sure Kál doesn't want to wait any longer than he already did. Anyone else who decided to take on the job is either a no-show, late, or already at the tavern.
In other words...
She gestures towards the path into town.
...off we go?"
“Lead the way. Here’s a little tune for the walk.” The musician merrily produces his lute and starts plucking softly on the slightly worn strings made of the most exquisite dried cat intestines.
“This writ, from the [Contract Guild of Golarion], designates you in a contract with us. You have chosen to participate in [Mission: 1375-A]. Your service is to be payed by our [contact] in your designated area. You will receive your agreed upon [payment] at the meeting with our [contact] and the remaining reward when you report successfully to them when you have concluded your [mission].
In this [mission], you have been assigned with several other individuals who have accepted this mission. You are expected to complete your purposes as a team and as by our regular contracts; a loss in the team will not result in higher payouts for remaining involved individuals.
The mission itself has been designated to only be divulged to you upon meeting the [contact]. Please present this writ to your contact located at the following location:
Galt,Woodsedge, South District, Rusted Rat Tavern.
Your designated contact is:
Callus XXXX, Human. He is a man of short stature, old in looks and has short, greying hair. Callus will be wearing his black cloak with a small insignia of our Guild on his chest. He has been informed of your names and will validate your writ for the purpose of your payment.
The Contract Guild of Golarion,
Dispatch Administrator; Garul Heevon”
To the [North side] lies the [military barracks], nestled tight against the closed community of [nobles] and surrounded by [pricey shops] and [resturants]. Behind that rises the [capital building] of [Woodsedge]. Perhaps but a shimmer of the one placed in the grand capital of [Vigil], but truly defining of the political climate in [Galt]. Towering, but easily toppled the next day.
To its [Eastern front] are [large wood yards] and a smidge of middle class housing. Some stone buildings are erected, but tend to mostly be for [construction] and [processing]. Many citizens find their day jobs here. Dotted through the houses are [café’s] and [inns].
Its [Southern bounds] are a sad sight to behold. Many stone walls zig zag through the common housings and many serve as backbones for elevated housing. The poor almost seem stacked and barricaded away from the rest of the city. While it’s borders hold many [guards], the actual [south district] will see the law to be lacking. Perhaps from isolation or simple debauchery, the south district finds itself overabundant in [bars], [cheap inns] and [special clubs].
Its [West flank] bolsters trade and a large [city square] with [gardens]. In its center one will find many small [trade shops] and always a small [festivity] going on. This district is thinly housed, but primarily by [lower nobles].
You find yourself at the [West Gate] into [Woodsedge]. Besides you are [Small Shops] and sign for the [Market] that you see ahead of you. Citizens and small patches of guards wander the area, many are seen discussing [Wares] held in their hands or just kicking the breeze. You can easily find the District that holds the [Rusted Rat Tavern] from here.
What types of wares are the people selling?
Does it seem like there are any festival celebrations going on here?
Many little tables and markets are spread over the large [City Square]. Many seem to be manned by [Citizens]. The stalls range from common [Household Items], to [Freshly Baked Food], [Small Armements], and articles of [Clothing]. Citizens sprawl around different stands, some in pleasent conversation, some in intense haggeling and others just window shopping.
The [Baked Food Stand] close to you takes your interest in particular.
Around the middle of the [City Square] you see a group of people crowded around what looks to be a small [Stage Performance]. Bright, coloured clothes flash in the middle the crowd in the distance and slight cheers can be heard over the regular roar of the markets.
Distracted from the ‘sound’ coming from his new colleague’s lute, Kál catches a warm whiff coming from freshly baked food nearby. Almost immediately, Kál feels a low rumble in his stomach, and proceeds almost instinctively towards the stand.
With a pleasant smile Kál approaches the stand and says:
“Hello there, your baked goods smell so enticing!”
Kál is looking over the stand at the various goods with a slight smile on his face, before meeting the owners gaze
“May I ask what it is you have baked today, I am very interested!”
As the bard sees Kál wander off into the lively little town square, he quickly finishes the little diddle on his stringed instrument. As if he has done the same movement a thousand times he hastefully straps the lute back on his rugged backpack and finds himself also distracted from his primary goal. The small stage is tempingly calling him and he simply cannot fight the urge to watch what is happening and why the people are cheering on so much. As Vaelron walks towards the happy sounds he quickly notices Kál again standing by a stand called “Bondurf’s Fresh Bakery”. While Vaelron approaches he speaks up with a joyous ring to his voice.
“ Greetings Mrs Bondurf! How’s the daily hassle! I’d love to have one portion of chicken stew if it’s on the fire! Also a piece of bread with that! Oh..and give this man Waves to Kál whatever he wants. As long as he doesn’t take the caviar!"
Vaelron chuckles with a kind grin
The rugged Monk seems slightly taken back by his new companions kindness towards him
Kál lightly taps the small of the bard’s back and says:
“That is very kind of you, friend. I won’t forget this kindness so soon!”
Kál returns his gaze to Mr Bondurf
“If it is available I would like the same meal as my companion, good sir.”
The artist smirks. “What better way is there to get to know your fellow colleagues than sharing a hearty meal. Also, there happens to be a performance right over there at the stage. I would love to grab a bench and eat while watching whatever is happening.”
"Welcome welcome! Say, you look like you could do with some freshly baked goods! Please, have a look!" As you ask her your question, she wiggles her fingers slightly and lets out an almost squeakish noise.
"Ah, today we have a little specialty going on!" From behind the stall she fetches a small tray with almost button sized, round pieces of bread. She cheerfully hands you one and gives a small wink. "Go on, try it! I haven't made a name for these cute little snacks yet, but maybe you can help!"
Mrs. Bondurf continues; "Oh oh ooh~ You know how it is. Early to rise, early to bake." As she gives a wholehearted laugh she places 2 loafs of bread on the counter and turns back to both you and Kál.
"Oh, don't worry about money for now, I'm just joyed that you deceided to come visit again!" Holding her hands at her hips she lets out a small, bolsterous laugh as she turns to the on-going performance just further down the square. "Or was it the music that lured you here? Haha!"
Eye widening on the food like a feral cat about to pounce, Kál looks to the stand owners once more
“Thank you for the generosity, is there anything you need doing in return at all? I could lend a hand lifting some heavy crates if need be.”
With arms crossed and food in his hands, he flexes slightly while speaking
Kál takes notice of the performance on stage with many cheering onlookers with curious eyes.
“And, Excuse my ignorance but, What is it exactly that these people are celebrating, storekeep?”
Vaelron passionately bows towards the loving people of the picturesque bakery stand.
“My deepest thanks, Mr and Mrs Bondurf! The music did lure me in, yet the bouquet of your delicacies is far more powerful than the seducing magic of music! If I am allowed on that stage once again I’ll make sure to play you the “Bondurf’s Buns Song”. Vaelron snickers behind his long and beautiful hair. “The crowd usually loves it and it might give them the appetite around this hour of the day. They will go straight for the bakery!”
Vaelron then observes the monk for a second or two and says “This animated town-square sure is momentous, eh Kál!” Slightly amused by the turbulent monk
“Shall we grab a bench then and see for ourselves what is happening on the stage?”
He looks with you in the direction of the city square and turns back to you. "Ah, a small traveling band came by earlier today. They seem to be reciting and performing folk stories. Something about demons and rain earlier, haha, what a tale that was!"
The Monk nods,
"Yes, let's have a seat and see what's going on for ourselves, Vaelron. But we best hurry ourselves, our other party members seem to want to get right to work!"
He says, with a smile...Pointing in the direction of Vitor, and Vylreene then continues to find a bench and eat his meal with haste.
Vaelron gazes towards the direction Kál is pointing at "Hmmm. Yes, you are right. It would be rude to let them wait. Alas, it shall be but a mere peek at the stage" . The half-elf follows the monk to the bench and starts digging in, yet not for a moment laying his bright eyes off the stage.
As Vylreene gives every part of the city square a quick glance, she catches Kál pointing in her direction. She walks over to the bench and beckons Vitor to come along.
"Already taking in some of the local culture I see, taking it right into your stomach," she says with a smile, and sits down next to them.
Starting her sentence with a sigh of relaxation, she continues.
"I don't know about you two, but it's been a long and boring trip for me. Sitting on a boat staring at nothing but blue made me impatient. At the gates I was still eager to get to work, but now that I'm inside I feel it's for the best to take a quick break at least."
She grabs a piece of honey bread from her satchel and takes a bite
"It's always nice to see what locals are up to when you arrive in a new place, don't you agree?"
"A short break could never harm a soul." Vaelron responds. "A long and boring trip, huh. I see. From where have you fared if I may ask?" The minstrel asks with a curious frown.
Kál holds out his bowl and offers some soup to Vylreene, with a slight nod of his head.
"Would you like some soup with your bread, I have more than enough?"
"A small settlement in the north of Osirion, called Kikhesh," Vylreene answers to Vaelron.
She turns to Kál, who is holding his bowl out to her.
"No thank you, I'm just nibbling on my bread for the taste, I'm not really that hungry. Besides, I don't think the sweet taste of my bread would go well with that stew."
“Suit yourself!”
The monk then downs the rest of the soup in a matter of seconds. He wipes his chin after and says with a smile
“Where I come from, food is food. Tastes come secondary, but each to their own”
Kál then watches the conversation taking place between Vylreene and Vaelron.
Vaelron watches as the monk is stuffing his face with the freshly made soup. It almost seems as if the monk hasn't eaten for hours, maybe days, Vaelron thinks to himself. He turns his face back to the half-elven woman.
"Kikhesh....hmmm. How peculiar! Never been there myself. I've lived a year or two in Sothis, playing music in some desert inn called "Swalakhmund". Life can get pretty rough in those parts of Golarion. I was quite happy to escape the bloody heat if I can be honest. "
The Tall Vitor slowly lurches forward into the merriment as if awakening from a patient trance and with a hint of tension in his voice he announces.
"Where I'm from work is work..."
He slowly raises a fist and uncurls his lanky index finger towards the South District. He apparently thinks twice of this barbed comment and straightens his posture and lowers his arm.
"...Nevertheless I suppose a task is best done on a full stomach yet a speck of haste should not be lost upon us. You no doubt agree friends?"
He says as he once again relaxes and waits patiently.
Prancing men in red attires with twisted wooden swords jump and roll their way to a knight in a bright, silvery armor. With a few extravagant swings and a twirl the knight lays out the sprawling crimson cloaked crew. The knight pours a small bottle of water on himself and lets out a joyous cheer. The crowd joins in as the red clothed performers bring out a bright, circular cloth and wave it dramaticly towards the wet warrior. They laugh and cackle as the silver man starts to fall to his knees. For a moment he holds up his sword and slowly gets back on his feet. One of the performers holds up a large "sign" shaped like a scaled claw, almost three times the size of the knight.
The warrior rises on his feet and holds his sword forward at the claw. With a run he jumps at the limb and into the circular portal. Stage hands wave colourful banners around and twirl ribbons as the rest of the crew hides underneath a black cloth. After a moment of the crowd cheering, they all rise up and bow to the people. Even from where you are you can hear others around you clap a small bit.
Kal, acknowledges the Mercs statement and claps at the performance, amused like the rest of the crowd around. He then stands up and walks towards the large man.
“I suppose you are right, friend! I for one am sufficiently fed and ready to start the task we have been set. Where are we off to? The rusted rat tavern wasn’t it?”
With his last statement the monk lays his hand on the larger man’s shoulder and then walks out of the market square; in the direction of the southern district.