An Unexpected Arrival

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An Unexpected Arrival

Post by Fawkes » Mon Dec 18, 2017 7:01 pm

Furin Glasskiln sits up with a start, and rubs his eyes in an attempt to clear the early morning fog. A rough linen blanket piles up at his waist as he looks around the simply furnished room. When had he checked into this room? Furin pats the pockets on his shirt and pants. None of the items customarily lining his clothing are with him.

The young Dwarf places his head in his hands, clasping his fingers around his perspiring forehead. The probe of his mind ricochets from memory to memory, attempting to make sense of his surroundings. No memories return to Furin.

As he clutches his head, the sound of clinking dishes and muffled shouts reaches Furin’s ears. A grumble courses through his stomach as the faint scent of fried bread and roasted meat wafts through the gaps in his door. Furin rises from the bed, casting off the woolen sheets, and staggers to the window as he regains his sure footing. Overlooking a long east-west road is the front of the Inn. A leg of meat turns on a crackling spit in front of the building, watched closely by several hungry patrons.

Furin turns towards the doorway of his room. Propped against the wall next to the door is a long, broad greatsword. With a sigh of relief, Furin snaps his fingers and exhales in a measured, even breath. The sword silently leaps towards Furin’s hand, and he snatches it by the hilt and rests it on his shoulder.

Venturing tentatively downstairs, Furin hears little noise from the main chamber of the inn – most patrons seem to be gathered outside in anticipation of the roast.

Glancing from side to side as he nears the entryway, Furin snaps his fingers again, this time exhaling almost imperceptibly as he whispers. Torchlight from the sconces lining the walls of the inn pierces through the space formerly occupied by the Dwarf as the door to the inn swings open.
Among the group situated outside the inn, several heads turn as the door opens. The gazes of the hungry guests turn back towards the fire as the door slams shut – a trick of the wind, as no figure had appeared.

The Dwarf glances at the gathered townsfolk as he turns west towards the city. He steps over the outstretched leg of a sleepy-looking Halfling as he makes his way towards the gate, looking over his shoulder at the rotisserie breakfast with regret. He would find a meal elsewhere, away from prying eyes.

The bustle of the city is overwhelming at first. Elbows collide with Furin’s transparent body, drawing curious and confused glances from passers-by. Jostled by a nearby food cart, Furin slams headlong into a tall, bearded human man.

“WUZZAT??” the man exclaims, raising his hands into the air, prepared to strike at an invisible foe.

Furin snaps his fingers and whistles in a low, hurried tone. A gust of air catches his tail and urges him into a run. He struggles to keep his balance as he springs between the broad planks of the Benzor docks, but the gap before the stone landing of the city catches his foot, and Furin’s head slams into the cold stone. He coughs and spits gravel and dirt out from between his teeth. His beard is matted with dust and debris.


An unfamiliar, high-pitched sound comes from several feet above Furin’s head. He laboriously raises his eyes to detect the source of the voice and recoils in shock when he makes eye contact with a lavishly clad Gnome. He hurriedly looks down at his hands to confirm that his spell was in effect – sure enough, Furin sees straight through his hands to the cobbled ground.

The Gnome clears his throat again. He looks Furin up and down, and shakes his head.

“Can’t hide from a Gnome that way, I’ll reckon! Argyle sees through your simple tricks!” The Gnome claps, and Furin is revealed.
“In need of some work, are you?”

Furin, taken aback, holds still and says nothing.

The Gnome winks at Furin, and says,

“New around here, huh? Seems to me you could use an errand.”

Argyle grins a wicked grin. Furin wrinkles his brow as he feels his pockets, confirming that he is penniless. Gritting his teeth, he says,

“Name your task, Gnome.”

Argyle replies,

“I require a punctual person like yourself to deliver this Jester’s outfit to Clang in Benzor – Malk’s Seashell Elixers. Upon delivery, they will provide you with a receipt, which you must then bring back to me. Payment for completion of this task will be this 75 Gold Pieces.

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