Installment 016 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment016.png]
The man was a hefty fellow who appeared to be made of muscles and gristle. His entire head was shaved smooth, and his arms marked with a few scars. He and his rough clothing were stained with soot. He was also quite tall, his face level with Gruntle's upper chest. The man's meaty fist struck there with a sound like a sledgehammer hitting a cow. It actually forced the larger gnoll back a half-step.
Gruntle steadied himself and bared his teeth. His jaws opened slightly to let out a barking sound like mocking laughter as he focused on his assailant.
Al was just starting forward with the intention of somehow calming the situation before blood was shed, but was stopped by a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Better off just letting them finish. They do this every time they run into each other. Loser buys the drinks." the tavernkeeper told him.
Al opened his mouth to say something, but there were no words. He watched Gruntle set his pack down and then inexpertly shift himself into an absurd likeness of a stance that a normal human-shaped pugilist would be trained to use. His punch back was awkward but fast, with much of his weight behind it as he struck downwards at the shorter man's chest. The man exhaled sharply as he was struck and rocked back, but held his place. He returned Gruntle's feral grin with one of his own, and squared up for his turn to punch.
Al slumped onto a barstool and dug the fingers and thumbs of both hands into his forehead as though he was trying to physically squeeze all of the aggravation out from his skull.
"Lately, I feel like there's a lot going on that nobody's bothered to tell me about," he muttered.
The contest lasted just long enough to start getting boring, though Wikwocket kept up the shouts of encouragement the whole time. After each punch was given and received, the two contestants would reposition themselves and go again. Things finally ended when Gruntle put himself a bit too close to one of the tables. He absorbed the man's punch easily enough but the slight step back as he did so was tripped up by a chair leg. The fall backwards was almost graceful, then somehow turned into a sudden flip forward and a snarling head-first lunge along the floor towards the offending chair leg. Jagged teeth buried themselves into the wood with a loud crunch.
"Hey, no breaking the furniture!" admonished the tavernkeeper. A low, menacing growl was Gruntle's reply. For a moment, the tavern went quiet. Then Gruntle snorted once, reluctantly unclamped his jaws from the chair, and stood back up.
"Well, the chair was asking for it." Al quipped, though he immediately wondered why he found that funny.
Gruntle eyed his victorious opponent. Then, hesitantly, he extended a fist towards him. Surprised, the man laughed as he tapped the fist with his own.
"Getting downright civilized now, are you?" he said, still laughing.
"I taught him that!" Wikwocket announced proudly.
The man turned to look down at her, then smiled and held his fist out to her as well.
"Oh? I'm Roderick, best blacksmith anywhere around here. And you are?..."
Wikwocket reached up to bump fists. "Wikwocket D. Flibbendorfer, adventurer, entertainer, thrillseeker." She pointed out Bote over by the message-board and Al sitting at the bar. "That's Bote and that's Al. We're gnolls, too!" she finished, with a mischievous grin.
"I...see."
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"It is an honorary status." Bote explained.
"Oh, so you three are partying with the vicious beast over there?" Roderick asked, pointing a thumb over towards the gnoll who was not-especially-viciously rummaging in his pack for coins.
"We are. I think he'll be a formidable fighter." Al said. He still wasn't so sure of this himself, but didn't feel right letting other people aim sarcasm at his party. Not even if it was friendly.
"Oh, I've got no doubt about that." Roderick agreed, wincing as he massaged his chest. "He was a lot easier to punch into submission when he was smaller. I win less often these days. I figure by this time next year I might as well just hand over the drink money right from the start." He brightened up. "Speaking of which, I'm sure you brave folks will need some equipment for your enterprise. I just happen to have a selection of tools and equipment made by the best metalworkers in town. That's me and my apprentices, by the way." he finished, with a hopeful look.
Wikwocket jumped in before Al could reply.
"I want magic silver knives! Oh, and maybe a magic crossbow, I know how to use a crossbow! Oh, do you have any of that special armor that the elves make? Can you make my sword magical? And maybe..."
Roderick's friendly smile didn't waver as he held up his hands as if to defend himself from her requests.
"Whoa, whoa, slow down! I can see you're a very brave and dedicated adventurer if you can afford that sort of thing and you're not already retired into luxury! I'm afraid I'm not an enchanter, just a very skilled smith. Tell you what, my smithy is just down the main road here right next to the market. Stop by later and I'm sure we can find some useful goods for you."
Wikwocket pouted. "No magic? Can you at least do the silver thing?" she pleaded.
"That, I actually can do, along with one of my apprentices. It's fussy work but we can do that in a couple of..."
Roderick was startled at this point by a mug unexpectedly put in front of his face from over his shoulder.
"GODS!" He looked incredulously back at Gruntle as he took the mug. "It's unnatural that someone as big as you can move so quietly."
Gruntle shrugged and lapped at whatever cheap wine the tavernkeeper had given him.
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Roderick joined the party at an empty table and they chatted for a short time. His workshop made axes for the woodcutters, mining equipment for the nearby lead mine, agricultural tools, nails, chains, and various other useful goods, he explained. It seemed they had a steady business going. He spoke favorably for his apprentices as well. Afterwards, having drained his mug and extracted a promise that the party would visit his shop, he left to get back to work.
Then, the party gathered at the notices board. Al took down the now-answered missive from Notamimic Manor as they contemplated the others. There were a few open-ended requests for people to guard travelers from bandits and/or goblins. The plea for help from Henhaven that had caught their attention on their previous visit was also still there.
> Village of Henhaven begs for aid!
> Hunt the beast that hunts us!
> It comes in the daylight to murder us!
> We are not wealthy but we will give what we are able as reward!
> PLEASE HURRY, WHILE SOME OF US REMAIN!
"I think this is our best option to start with," Al said, "it's only a day's walk south of here. There's probably not a lot of money in it, but then, there probably isn't a lot of money in most of these. These look like very small jobs, aside from the caravan-guard requests and this one down in Turnipseed."
> A simple request!
>
> Village of Turnipseed
>
> Flowers to be laid on the grave of an ancient guardian
>
> Annual tradition neglected, now we are punished.
>
> Tomb may be slightly dangerous
>
> Reward!
"That's not far beyond Henhaven in the same direction. Again, maybe not a lot of money but both of these are the sorts of jobs that make a name for freelance adventurers. It doesn't seem like this part of the kingdom has a lot of competition for adventuring parties since most of them head northeast where most of the action is right now, so I was thinking that if we hurry we might have an easy time establishing ourselves before anyone else shows up for these kinds of jobs around here."
"There's one right here in Silveroak if you're in a hurry." Wikwocket suggested, pointing. There were two small roughly-cut squares of paper affixed to the board. The top one said:
> There are rats in my basement
>
> I am too old and frail to kill them myself
>
> Won't someone help me?
>
> 1 cp per tail!
>
> Priscilla Smitherine
>
> 2 Cheesemonger Lane
Below this, a second, fresher piece of paper had been added since they last saw it. It said:
> Some of them are quite large!
>
> Please help me!
>
> 2cp per tail!
Al shook his head. "I think we can leave pest-control jobs to regular folk. If we agreed to a job like that I'm afraid we'd end up forever being 'the pest-control party'. Besides, we'll have already lost two days before we can leave tomorrow morning. It sounds like the matter in Henhaven is more urgent."
Bote reached out to touch the message from Henhaven. "I agree with Al. I believe we are meant to go to Henhaven." they said after contemplating for several seconds.
Wikwocket looked relieved. "I guess you're right, a story about how I spent a day killing rats doesn't sound very exciting. What about you, Gruntle?"
"They taste okay and crunch nice. Boring to hunt though."
"Well, it's unanimous then." Al announced, "We're running out of daylight, so let's go see what kind of beast-hunting supplies we can find."