Immersive Ink

Most of another week has passed in Manfred's muddy encampment, but not a lot has changed. More refugees seem to swell the shanty town of tents and temporary structures with every rising sun; the more industrious sorts have even begun to sow crops around the camp!

Rumour of the embattled goblin-fort seems to have faded into nothing almost as quickly as it arose. But a few hardy dwarfs around the camp have not so easily forgotten the promise of gold...

Kianna the Elf Sister/Fighter/Medium, Freid the Fighter, Zem the Dwarf Fighter, and Zax the Gnome Fighter. You are here at Manfred's encampment, and your adventure begins... now!

Zem is wanders around the commons grumbling. "One week of making mud bricks and for what, you call this a fortress, bah. Where is the stone, if Manfred really wanted to improve these defenses he'd get those wagon teams to haul in some real stone that I can work with".

Zem asks at the local gathering spot, "Any news of the goblins?"

Freid says "No news of goblins, but that idea of hauling stone here is a good one."

"Let's go so the Boss and see if he'll pay us to guard a couple of wagons over to those hills and bring back some rocks to make the walls more sturdy."

"It ought to be worth a few silvers to Manfred to get some stone in here." Freid says with a grin, "Right! Who's with me?"

Zax sits in the mud, swilling the last of his whisky bought with the last of his coin, on what seems to be the last place on earth.

Having walked, ridden, shipped and crawled for over a year to reach the promised 'hinterlands' he had hoped for a little more than a muddy, goblin-infested rut, but then thems the breaks.

He probes his impressively reddened nose pensively just as a human bumbles past pronoucing something about goblins and wagons. The long-legs says something about pay, now that has a nice ring to it...
But wait up, theres one of them western stunties there proudly ranting on about stone like he knows it, hah. Still, he thinks, tipping up the empty flask, one must eat.

He pushes himself to his feet, hoists his ice-pick, and grunts "Wossis 'bout coin long-legs?'

"Just that I need some. Sounds like you do too!" Freid says with a grin, "If we can talk the Boss of this place he needs some stone, maybe he'd pay for us to guard his wagons when they go to get it and bring it back."

"This place," repeats Zax, sweeping an eye over the sea of tents, makeshift stalls, wagons and mud, "needs some stone."

He holds the long-legs' eye for a moment, then plonks himself back in the mud, leaning back against a stump and closing his eyes.

"Come back when yer got a real plan."

"Bah can't see this Manfred paying us to do any real work, wish I had been in camp the day that other group set out. Maybe that's what needs doing? Maybe we need to get a group together to search for these goblin holes." says Zem while scratching at the matted hair around his scar.

"Yeah, maybe so," says Freid, "But I ain't got the coin to go searching for goblin holes. Have you?"

"We'd need a couple o' weeks of food a piece, some things like rope, spikes, and such, and probably a pack horse to haul supplies out and treasure back...if we've lucky enough to find any," Freid says, "That takes scratch that none of us have."

"If we could get jobs guarding supply caravans or something we could earn enough to pay for an expedition out into Snork Country."

A patchy rain comes and goes all morning, keeping the tracks damp and muddy.

'Tis around lunch time when a travel stained but competent-looking band of trail-blazers amble into town. Looks like they've seen some fightin' action; one of them bears a body, and they seem to have a prisoner...

Zem being but trails off at the sight of the returning party "Just need some more lads with backbone and....wait a minute, who's this coming in?"