The party has spent the better part of the last month eating mushrooms, mining and adventuring in the Eastern Tunnels outside of Callebain. After looting a particularly rich set of dungeons you’ve returned for some much needed rest and recuperation.
The city feels subdued as you get back under the safety of the orichalcum dome. It’s quieter than you remember, people don’t look you in the eyes as you make your way to the Orange Turtle.
Inside it feels a bit more like normal. Music is being raucously played by a trio on the small dais. One plays a hand drum, one a hammered dulcimer and the third a penny whistle. Talinda (Tally), the bar maid, joining in on occasion and belting out a lyric or chorus line. “Who knew she was a bass?”, you find yourself thinking.
A rowdy group have formed a circle around a table yelling wagers at each other. In the center a large ruddy Dwarf and black-skinned Elf are arm wrestling.
As you grab a table you realize that through all the commotion your entrance did not go unnoticed. A pair of leather clad men follow you with their eyes as you take your table. They’re clearly discussing your group as they occasionally look your way.
Suddenly the weight of the treasure in your packs feels heavier. You’ve never had so much and a fight right now could mean losing much, if not all, of it.
As you discuss your options a new curve is thrown in to the mix. The door to the tavern opens and in walks some of the strangest beings you’ve ever seen .
A buzzing and grinding sound fills the room as a group of round creatures, no creations, enter the room. Each with one large eye in the center of their round mechanical torso. Small wings, spindly arms and legs jut awkwardly from their bulbous frame.
An even more awkward creation hustles in behind them. It looks like two crates stack on top of each other with the same spindly arms. It takes a moment to look around the room. Clearly taking account of everyone inside.
“By order of the Primus we are here to bring order to Callebain. Please refrain from accidents as they are clear indication of an incomplete plan. The noise levels and disorganized activities in this facility have reached dangerous levels. You are requested to lower the decibels or be arrested.”
With that the round creatures move efficiently out of the tavern with the twin boxed fellow doing a final accounting and leaving.
The room seems to catch its breath. After a few moments, at Tally’s urging, the trio starts up with a love song.
The arm wrestlers are doing their best to scream at each other without going much over a whisper. It looks like in the confusion that there was a winner when no one was looking.
The pair that had been watching the party have disappeared. A rather fat female hobbit now sits in one of their seats. She catches you looking and winks, giving a jiggle of ample breast and raising an overly large mug of ale in an offer of companionship.