Mareneth's Pride, the "finest" inn in Celik.

[DM Bob]

The "finest" inn in Celik.

Cue a spit & sneer.

Crowded, dirty, loud at times or eerily quiet at others (generally when a particularly mean group of folk were about), there was little rhyme or reason to the place. Dwarves, soiled from bridge work. Ex-slaves sporting new Mareneth colors, trading one master for another. Men and women and elves in garb betraying hard life, many with recent cuts, scrapes or worse injuries - likely gotten from pushing into the ruins across the bridges or maybe in the bar fights that tended to erupt here on occasion. The rare kreen, nikaal, mul or halfling as well could be found. They (and you) have one thing in common.

They could afford to be on this side of the wall. Or had pledged themselves to the House Mareneth's cause.

Things were very expensive for those who were not allied with the House. Very, very expensive. Forty ceramics for a quart of water expensive. A silver to pass the walls for the day. Near double that for a tari. They didn't much like the tari around these parts.

You have a table here today, the group of you may decide how you wish to fit in (consider your fees to enter waived this once). If you wish to be indentured to the House? The minimum time is a year's service. You will have tasks to accomplish though. Things will be cheaper (at least on this side of the wall). Training will be easier to come by as well.

Tari have their own community on the other side of the city in the snarl. Their water source is one that is too tainted for general consumption - but the rat-men are immune to the spoil.

Otherwise, the sprawl of poor expand outside the walls. Water is hard to come by. Bandits prey upon the weak.

Speaking of weak? The broy here is watered too. Only House members gain access to the better libations.

There is one more oddity here, a law that no one breaks for fear of death. Nothing, no service rendered - no matter how small, could be done without a fee. Even a bit would suffice. If this Law wasn't followed? The Grey Man would appear and throw the offender into the dry river bed and to their death, to be torn apart by the animals and monsters below.

Oh. By the way. Anyone who wants to proclaim indentured servitude will be going through the process on the morrow.

[ascieszl]

Ibubesi regretfully informs the others of his *indentured* status.

[Niachi]

The usual din drops. Heads turn to a dwarf flanked by 3 Maraneth guards looking surprised to be challenged on their turf, hands on weapons. The rookie is trying hard to be a badass. The dwarf wears Draaj ornamentation - cheap stone gauges in ears, a back-alley tattoo outline of a sun -or is it an outstretched hand with stubby clawed talons - across his grimy face. The guards raise their voices, asserting, eyeing the odds. "So that's a NO, little man?"

"Mokka lookin' for work, yaa. Just not a bleedy YEAR tied to your grubby nads. You got my last coin, I got 2 broys and whatever passes for dinner round here to uh- THAT booth. I'll be employed when I walk outa here. Now outa Mokka way!"

With a jaszt's agility, he weaves away and trods to the corner booth he noticed, sporting a handful of miscreants. He plops down. The din resumes.
Suddenly his hands are on the table, each gripping a strange bone axe with a screaming bird's head as main blade and impaler-style wing tips on the other end. They disappear just as fast under the table.

"Mokka...Mad Mokka. What need killing?"

[Attilius]

[Bob do we know what entails in this indentured servitude? Meaning what are the specifics of the process? Some spell or psionics that are placed on the person for a year, etc.]

"Aye, Heya Mad Mokka and Ibubesi. Names Hawkings..." the young (late teenager) halfling says cheerfully as he twirls one of the hot pink feathers in his hair between his right hand fingers.

[Coden Rokos (Jesse H.)]

"Look, all I know is, I can't really wait any longer," says a half-elf man who, to all appearances, seems to be a simple craftsman. "I'm itching to get across one of those bridges and find my fortune. Maybe some day I'll own my own business!"

[DM Bob]

The only thing observed in your brief time in the city, is that there are no outright identifying markers, tattoos or visual ties to the House indicating indentured status.

Yet they, the Maraneth, all seem to know each other on sight.

Asking any of those under terms? Elicits nothing but silence on the matter or a grumbled, "That's House business."

[Attilius]

"Think I'll tag along with you Ibubesi, to see what all the hub bub is about..."

[Sambar/Berf]

Sambar shuffles into the crowded barroom and claps the dust off himself and his meager possessions. He pulls a small pouch out of his cracked leather satchel and rummages, finding a few ceramic coins. He shoulders his way up to the bar and orders whatever the keep want to pour, then turns around to observe the scene, where he quickly catches wind of something welcome.

"Mokka lookin' for work, yaa. Just not a bleedy YEAR tied to your grubby nads. You got my last coin, I got 2 broys and whatever passes for dinner round here to uh- THAT booth. I'll be employed when I walk outa here. Now outa Mokka way!"

With a jaszt's agility, he weaves away and trods to the corner booth he noticed, sporting a handful of miscreants. He plops down. The din resumes.
Suddenly his hands are on the table, each gripping a strange bone axe with a screaming bird's head as main blade and impaler-style wing tips on the other end. They disappear just as fast under the table.

"Mokka...Mad Mokka. What need killing?"

Sambar sidles over to the same table as conversation there begins.

"If you're fixin' to put somethin' together, I'll join," he says in a crackly squawk of a voice.

[Skrye [AC3; 48/48HP]]

- Agree, I'd like to own mine as well some day - A feminine voice replies to the comment of the scrawny half-elf ​in a low-mid tone.
Valmera is a young elven maiden with olive tanned skin, green eyes and long black jet hair wearing a sandy colour hoodie vest - Would you mind if I join you? - Smiling to him before keeping an eye to the others around and nodding to the last comment raised by the Pterran, an unusual breed to Valmera's eyes

[neujack]

From a shadowy corner at the end of the bar, a dirty young looking tari hears the commotion coming from the table with the confident dwarf. He works up the bravado to approach the mighty dwarf and the people assembling around him.

"Oya Mokka bruv. Youis lookin for a scout, yeah? I'm the gucci, mate. Call me Baxby."

[DM Bob]

Some conversation is had over flat, watered broy and poorly cooked food. It seems that whatever they call meat here (better not to ask so close to the fightin' pit) charred sometime recently; minced a-top neep that has been cooked and pounded with oil into some sort of paste. Unleavened, stale faro needle flour flatbread accompanies... it lacks depth. Easy enough to nibble on though.

It's early evening today and some of the regulars begin to appear - not that you'd know 'em by sight yet.

One particularly creepy, grey skinned dwarf-man (or dwur as they call themselves) walks in wearing a wide brimmed, black inix leather hat. Multiple tattoos run up and down his visible skin. His dark brown leather outfit and boots sport many, many pockets and odd bulges betraying a remarkable assortment of tools, knives and various decoration. Strapped to his back is a wide wooden sword or paddle, festooned with razor sharp blades of black-gold obsidian. His look is unsettling, much like a creepy-touch relative at an awkward family get-together.

The regulars quiet a bit at his slow confident entrance. He makes to talk to the human male tending bar, who nods in your direction. The dwur sneers and mutters, the barkeep or innkeep passing him a clay cup that he fills from a vessel from behind the bar.

[Niachi]

Mokka nods to his tablemates as if he knows them, or just does not care. His eyes stop on the talking vermin -he covers his plate with an (empty) hand and grumbles
"Baxby. Maybe...  You know sumthin?"

When food and drink arrive, he appears he has not eaten in a while. First broy goes down in a few pulls.  No belch. 

"Mmm. The good stuff." As the newcomer appears, he looks up, idly toying with the empty tankard. He tries different grips on the thing, each configuration a new way to hurt something. 

"Who's Greyboy there? I could use a sun hat."

[neujack]

(DM: can I roll an Information Gathering check to see if I know him?)

Baxby notices his shifty behaviour, and is not surprised. But he could use the work...

He says quietly: "My boy saw him coming into town the other day innit. But we never seen him before yah? I can ask though..."

[Attilius]

Aug 13, 2021 4:41:12 GMT Niachi said:

"Who's Greyboy there? I could use a sun hat."

The little halfling snickers then suddenly stops playing with his hair feather's
"See that sneer? See it? See it? Did cha see it? He already doesn't like us."
Hawking nervously says as his eyes study the dwarf's many many pockets intently...

[DM Bob]

(You may always roll for something; saves time if you just make a habit of it and tag the result in the post.) rolz.org/dr?room=dust_blood_of_athas Our dedicated die room or our Discord are the permitted choices for in-game rolling. discord.com/channels/854802653565419550/854802653565419553

***

"Voi." Softly mutters an elf nearby. This triggers memory something Baxby had heard with his folk in the Snarl.

This dwur is one of House Maraneth's highest ranking non-blooded partners, dealing with expansion within the ruins and repurposing the spoils of such endeavors. A mean reputation, but apparently very proficient in his work. You can assume Voi's sneer is at the perceived quality of new blood that he may have to eventually take under his focus.