Rove
Outskirts of Handport, Grasping Isle, a week since the attack
The Map of the Grasping Isle [https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/554030201789743105/1028654515798409237/Grasping_Isle_Final_V1.0.png?width=896&height=676]
Sipping from his stein, Rove kept a close look at the tavern’s entrance. The reason he was at this tavern, the Happy Duckling, was another job. A messenger delivered a sealed parchment scroll two days ago, bearing a wax seal. The symbols on the seal were unknown to him or any of his local contacts. Inside the scroll was a request to meet up in the Happy Duckling and to look out for an old woman dressed in bright crimson clothing, written in very neat and clear handwriting. No other information was to be found in the letter. He could see it was a foreigner with money in their hands. A cautious individual too, which was an admirable trait for somebody with money to spend. However, if they offered enough money, he was fine with working for anyone. Didn’t even matter that much what the job was if it was within his capabilities.
And he needed the money badly. It had only been a week since he and Brenstead split up. The problem was that he spent most of his earnings from Brenstead’s contract on getting treatment for the wounds he sustained on his last contract. His shoulder wound turned out to be deeper and more severe than he originally thought. To prevent the wound from festering, he visited a Spellguide. The magical healing was more expensive, but instead of being out of the running for a month and risking losing his arm, he was instead out of the running for a few days at most. It did mean however that he needed another contract fast. As good as his reputation was, increasing competition and rising prices the few healers asked for their services meant he had to land a contract fast. The alternative was finding another job to pass the time or starve, both of which didn’t sit well with him. As such, he was quite pleased to receive such a promising message at a time like this. This could prove to be a good day.
The Happy Duckling was your run-of-the-mill meeting ground for the local mercs and Herhors. The establishment had a modest selection of decent beers and food that both smelled and tasted good. The innkeeper, a thirty-two summers old woman named Lura, was reliable and skilled, plus the maids working here were pretty to look at. Not that he’d ever make advances on any of them, for reasons he kept to himself. The interior wasn’t anything special either, just your regular rough wooden walls and beams, with a solid oaken door leading outside.
Rove had used the tavern as a meeting ground for years. He and the innkeeper were on especially good terms, with Rove bringing in potential new clientele and hedging out any troublemakers while he visited the Happy Duckling. In return, the innkeeper kept an eye out for the Herhor and always granted him a secure spot where he could receive his clients. A mutually beneficial relationship that most other Herhors could only dream of.
A sudden shift in the Duckling’s atmosphere grabbed Rove’s attention. Wisps of gossip and soft conversation died away, the attention of the tavern’s patrons grabbed by something unusual. A small hunched figure, clasping a walking stick, entered the Duckling. A crimson cloak adorned the figure, the remnants of brown leaves clutching its edge. Brown robes obscured the rest of the body. The cloak’s hood obscured the old figure’s face, but he could feel the gaze sweep across the room, searching. Rove raised his arm, the scroll in his hand, the seal visible. Their gazes locked and the figure made its way to his table swiftly. Up close, Rove was surprised to see that his client appeared to be an old woman, one that he guessed was around seventy or seventy-five years old. Odd, she appeared to be in remarkable physical shape for someone her age.
“Well met.” He said. The woman didn’t reply but gestured Rove to help her get to the table.
He swiftly helped the woman into her seat, a gesture his client seemed to appreciate. Once he was seated again, the woman spoke in a soft, cracking voice, like old planks struggling against strong winds. However, a determination could be heard in her voice and her words seemed well thought out.
“I gather you my contact, young man? Rove, was it?”
“The one and only, m’lady… madam?” Rove didn’t know how to address such an old woman, as you didn’t see many of the elderly often around these parts. Old age was a luxury only the very rich could afford around here, and you didn’t see them entering such a place like this. Unless they were sly and hardy.
“Madam is fine.” His client responded. “The name you can use for me is Aya.”
Madam Aya coughed. “Could you order me something to quench my thirst and soothe my throat, young man? My old throat feels like sanding paper on a hot summer day.”
Wiping the surprise off his face took some effort as Rove’s gaze shifted to Lura, who was watching with interest. Most of the whispers and conversations had returned, and the inn’s patrons had lost interest. They knew it wasn’t wise to meddle with a Herhor’s business. Nobody was sitting close enough to try and eavesdrop without being obvious. Rove and the innkeeper exchanged a short nod. A maid was to his table, and the old woman ordered an ale for the both of them. In a short time, they were both sipping from their steins, enjoying their drink for a minute or two.
Finally, Rove spoke up, eager to see how much this client would pay.
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“So, madam Aya, what kind of job would you like to hire me for?”
Madam Aya put down her ale with a small sigh of contentment.
“The task I require of you is simple: I need you to guard me during my travels. I am planning to travel north, to around a day’s travelling downstream from the Clasp’s Spring. I will pay you handsomely, of course.”
Rove raised his eyebrows. The Clasp’s Spring, the source of the Clasp River, was around two weeks of travel over tricky dirt roads and through rough terrain. It would prove difficult for anyone, let alone for somebody with seventy-five summers under her belt.
“That’s a very difficult request you have, madam. The journey to the Clasp’s Spring is a long and difficult one. One must be rather fit to attempt it. And if I may be so bold, you don’t seem the most physically fit person to me.”
Madam Aya handwaved his protest. “I’ve been told that the journey is manageable if one would take it slowly. You needn’t concern yourself with my ability to travel, Herhor Rove. I can assure you I can make the journey. Put it into our contract, if that makes you feel at ease. What I need from you is for you to protect me from the brigands and robbers along the way.”
Rove raised his eyebrow a tad higher at that.
“I hesitate to accept a contract like that with that little information. Please elaborate on your needs.” He said, staying polite. The old woman’s apparent refusal to share information was becoming slightly irritating though.
Madam Aya huffed softly.
“By Terraz’ Eyes...” She muttered before continueing after a sigh. “Very well then, if you insist. I wish to hire you for seven weeks. An oath of silence will also be necessary. I do not want the whole island to know what I desire from this journey.”
He swallowed back a sharp reply in response to Madam Aya’s conceited behaviour.
“I see. And what are you willing to pay, madam? You are making some strange demands without anything to back them up. It is not the custom to be bound solely by time.”
Madam Aya’s hands rummaged inside her robes and fished out a satchel, clearly heavy with coin as it clunk on the table with a thud.
“Would 20 gold Marlight hands be sufficient to make you shift your silly opinion on that?”
20 golden hands. A small fortune, enough to live from for the best part of a year. Half in a daze, Rove quickly glanced over the rest of the inn’s patrons. Two of the nearest tables went silent after Madam Aya mentioned the money. He had to act quickly before things got out of hand. This much money was enough to make a maniac out of any man.
“Lura, I want a private room for a moment,” He said loudly, a small tremor still in his voice. “My client requires it.”
Lura just nodded and pointed to the small storeroom they used for ale.
“You can use that,” The innkeeper said, “I’ll make sure nobody bothers you.”
“Thanks.”
It was likely she roughly knew what was going on by his unusual reaction and the size of the satchel. Nothing got past Lura in her Duckling.
Rove stood up, beckoning Madam Aya to follow him. The old woman picked up the gold, putting it back into the folds of her robe. With a bit of effort, she rose from her seat and followed the Herhor into the storeroom.
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It was a small chamber, about 8 times a man’s stride long and about as wide. The walls were lined with small barrels of ale and a strong, spicy smell permeated the room. A single crude candle lit up the room, half burned up. Rove eyed his client. The old woman appeared oblivious to the mistake she just made as she just stared at him from underneath that hood. A shiver went across his back before he spoke up.
“Do you think mentioning that much money was a good idea? 20 golden hands are enough to set a man up for a year of luxury. The men and even the women of these parts would kill for such an amount of gold. Your naivety has no place here.”
Madam Aya gasped and she let out a soft, “Oh...”.
At her genuine surprise and embarrassment, Rove felt a small surge of satisfaction.
“Just a friendly bit of advice, for free. You are lucky to be dealing with me, Madam. Let’s continue setting up our contract.”
Perhaps he could lessen some of the woman’s demands, now that she was shaken up a little. Getting some more gold up front for example, or shortening the contract’s timespan. However, Madam Aya seemed to regain her composure quite quickly.
“Yes, let us proceed. I offer you 20 golden hands to escort me for 7 weeks. We will start going north, towards the Clasp’s Spring. No questions asked and I will require a vow of silence after we are done.”
“I am willing to escort you for five weeks for that price.”
“That is unacceptable!” Madam Aya replied immediately, voice indignant. “20 hands should be plenty to cover your costs during that time.”
Her voice had lost the soft creaking it had in the barroom, making room for a strong, firm and strangely feminine tone. Rove made a mental note of that.
“You blew your cover as soon as you called your price, Madam. It will cost me quite a bit of coin to put any would-be robbers off our trail.”
This was a partial truth. It would only take a couple of silver fists to buy off Lura and some other patrons into sending ruffians the wrong way. No need for his client to know that, though, as she didn’t let him in on the details either.
Madam Aya seemed to think for a moment.
“Very well then. Six weeks.”
“And I want the money upfront.”
Madam Aya scowled. “I’d prefer not. I think giving you 5 hands up front will be quite adequate.”
For a moment, Rove thought about standing his ground, but he’d risk losing this potentially very profitable client. He’d give in a bit. He needed the money badly after all.
“15 up front.”
Madam Aya grunted but seemed to relent.
“10 is the lowest I am willing to go, Herhor Rove.”
Rove nodded slowly. This was good enough for now.
“Very well then, 10 it is. For that price I will do as we discussed, but only if you follow my lead and directions when enemies are upon us.”
“Of course. That is one of the reasons I am hiring you. Your experience with be paramount to my success.”
Rove went silent in thought for roughly a minute. The vow of silence and the unusual contract length didn’t sit quite well with him. However, he needed the money. And if he pulled this off, he’d be set for a very long time. The Herhor suppressed his doubt, setting his eyes on Madame Aya.
“Very well then, Madam. We have a deal.”
He stretched out his hand, and the old woman shook it eagerly.
“Thank you, Herhor. I look forward to journeying with you.”
Rove grunted something resembling agreement and he made his way out of the room, leading Madam Aya out of the room. Behind his back and invisible to him, a big grin appeared on Madam Aya’s face, which dissolved like snow before a summer sun when she stepped back into the common room.
[https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/492636828311093249/1025904548910485504/The_Grasping_Isle.png]
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