Röc the Warrior

Victorious, does Röc roar, shriek, or silently appraise the aftermath?

The way to the gate is open.

Proceeding, Röc after about ten minutes reaches an unguarded opening in the tall white bony wall of the city. It literally was built from dragonbones, apparently, and to have so many big bones the fire lizard must have been immense!

Peeking through the gate as he approaches, Röc sees dozens of people moving along the street. They all are significantly shorter than he, although notably taller than Diffin. Not what Röc believes to be "human normal size" people. They're pretty thick-looking too. Keen lizard ears pick up sing-song, sibilant speech. Perhaps these are … dwarves?

(Entering "Little Grendus" from the Boneyard)

The dwarfs in the streets are not blind, and they give due attention to a bipedal lizard twice their height and carrying a very war-like maul. Especially as the cannibal lizards of the southern delta are a well-known trope in children's tales.

Nobody steps up to Röc until he comes up under a swinging sign: a flat wooden panel portraying the bloody severed head of a lizard much like himself. Smells of food waft to his nostrils from the open door, and he can both hear and see the dwarfs eating, drinking, and loudly talking within the building.

Röc has to significantly duck his reptilian head to enter the tavern. When he does so, the general conversation continues for a few moments. Then silence spreads.

He approaches the bar. The bartender looks at him with a wary expression. After Röc pauses for a moment, questioning whether to attempt a casual lean, the bartender speaks: "Uh. Yep, you're a … yep. Huh. Well, ok then. Do you drink or eat dwarf food?"

Not too near Röc, but fairly close along the waist high (on him) drinks counter, a drunken dwarf wobbles on his stool and laughs. "Hhonest?!" he exclaims. "In Li-il-il-il Gren.Dus?" He waves an empty mug above his head, a broad gesture toward the room at large. "Does we a look like Hhonest dw-wa-warfths?"

Someone in the silence chuckles, another one guffaws, and abruptly the room is filled again with conversation.

The drunkard bleers his eyes direct up at Röc: "Iz-a worrier, oncest," he says more quietly. "Hah! WARyur." He taps his empty mug on the counter. "Is you … from the … southerrern marshEZ den?"

"Donny…yz is hhiring," slurs the dwarf. "I'm Kaalish. By the way."

Still slurring his speech, the dwarf slides off his bar stool and gestures Röc to follow him. Out the back door of the tavern into a dirty courtyard paved with large rectangular pavers, a square bronze drain grate at the middle. Momentarily, Röc expects to be led down the grate. But instead, Kaalish continues across the courtyard and knocks on a dilapidated wooden door. There's an odd pattern to the knock …

After a few moments, Röc's keen lizard organs perceive footsteps shuffling toward the other side of that door. Then there is a bolt drawn back, and the door is pushed open to admit Kaalish and Röc. Another dwarf stands just inside the door, holding a lantern; the passage is windowless and dark. Röc has to duck down low to fit, the architecture is dwarf size, he nearly is on all fours.

The passage leads to another door, which opens outward onto another courtyard. Several dwarfs are seated on a pair of low benches at opposite sides of a tea table, and the mugs and pot on the table suggest they are in fact drinking tea. There are griddle cakes, and honey, too.

All five of the seated dwarfs look up as the escort dwarf gestures Röc and Kaalish forward.

"Well, now," says the most-bearded dwarf. "What have we, Kaalish?" His beard is luxuriously silver and his voice is deep and melodic.

"Fresh soljerer," Kaalish slurs.

"Good on ye," the silver-bearded dwarf replies. "And what's your name?" he gazes keenly into Röc's lizardy eyes.

"I'm Dennis," says the silver-beard. "You know that the mayor of this good city has made a deal with necromancers, to let their minions guard the streets and businesses?" he demands.

"Yep," chuckles Dennis, "those bastards don't say much. Just grab and bite when they decide you've done wrong or been in the wrong place. Supposedly the Grey Society offer amulets to keep them at bay. But ya gotta get on a list to get an amulet, and there's some kind of vetting process. So most folk just try to avoid the patrols." He looks quizzically at Röc. "Reckon some of them words you might not know?"