The Return....

[Juniper Onyx]

On the eve of the 1st of Adras, a caravan arrived in town. 15 mules, horses, attendants and a few dancers proceeded through the city gates of Galmair. With horns trumpeting, sibanic petals being dropped on the roads, silver coins dropping and ale being poured to onlookers, the procession danced into the town square of Galmair, formed a circle, and stopped. A small, kindly halfling, who looked impossibly old, stepped down from his custom saddle to the ground, stopped the procession and raised his arms to the gathering crowd, simply saying, "I have returned!"

One of the townsfolk yelled, "Who are you?"

Aghast, the wealthy halfling merchant looked surprised and then with a look of serene calm, simply said, "I'm Bernie Bottoms, Grandmaster Miner, Grandmaster Finesmith, Master Blacksmith and among many other things, the favorite son of Galmair! I am returned from a trade mission to the Mainland!"

The onlookers looked confused and shrugged their shoulders, walking away sipping their free ale and counting their new coins.

Bernie looked about for some familiar face, but seeing none whispered, "Has it really been that long?"

((Feel free to respond, Open RP))

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Am Vorabend des 1. Adras traf eine Karawane in der Stadt ein. 15 Maultiere, Pferde, Diener und einige Tänzer zogen durch die Stadttore von Galmair. Mit trompetenden Hörnern, auf die Straßen fallengelassenen Sibanblütenblättern, fallengelassenen Silbermünzen und Bier, das den Zuschauern ausgeschenkt wurde, tanzte die Prozession auf den Stadtplatz von Galmair, bildete einen Kreis und blieb stehen. Ein kleiner, freundlicher Halbling, der unglaublich alt aussah, stieg von seinem maßgeschneiderten Sattel auf den Boden, stoppte die Prozession, hob seine Arme zur versammelten Menge und sagte einfach: „Ich bin zurückgekehrt!“

Einer der Stadtbewohner schrie: „Wer bist du?“

Entsetzt blickte der wohlhabende Halbling-Händler überrascht drein und sagte dann mit einem Ausdruck gelassener Ruhe einfach: „Ich bin Bernie Bottoms, Großmeister Bergmann, Großmeister Feinschmied, Meisterschmied und neben vielen anderen Dingen der Lieblingssohn von Galmair! Ich bin zurückgekehrt.“ von einer Handelsmission auf das Festland!“

Die Zuschauer sahen verwirrt aus, zuckten mit den Schultern, gingen weg, nippten an ihrem Freibier und zählten ihre neuen Münzen.

Bernie sah sich nach einem bekannten Gesicht um, aber da er keines sah, flüsterte er: „Ist es wirklich schon so lange her?“

((Fühlen Sie sich frei zu antworten, Open RP))

[Malchus]

A hulking man dressed in fur-trimmed leather armour leaned against a tavern's front wall, leisurely sipping a bottle of mead. As he gently adjusted his eyepatch, his one eye followed the bustle in the town square.
A throng of locals surrounded a recently arrived caravan as its leader, a diminutive figure on horseback, flung a fistful of silver coins into the air. A glittering rain of silver showered down on the cheering crowd, some jostling to catch the coins with their open hands while others crawled to grab them from the cobbled paving.

A single coin tumbled down the pavement and came at the tip of the one-eyed man's boot to a halt. He picked it up and gazed upon the shimmering coin in his palm. The smugly smiling profile portrait of an Albarian king gazed back.
"Comin' from the mainland, eh? Interestin'," the man mumbled to himself as he slid the coin into his purse. "Looks like a large 'nuff purse can even turn a midget into a great man."
Having emptied his mead bottle to the last drop, the man tossed it into a pile of snow, wrapped himself in his cloak, and disappeared in a dark alley.

[Amelia Rotholz]

„Miss Ami! Miss Ami! Everyone!“, called a young boy in very simple, yet not ragged cloths, running barefeet through the underground tunnels, where the children of Ronagan seek shelter, beneath Galmair. „You gotta see this! There’s a strange, rich man in town, tossing coins!“ As if that was a signal, suddenly a bunch of children showed up from different corners, gathering quickly and vanishing through the tunnels just as quickly, before the woman could say a word. Still reaching out, she called after them: „Be…“, she lowered her hand mid-sentence, softly shaking her head as they just vanished right before her eyes „…careful…“
With a sigh, the medico looked at the boy laying on a pile of furs, whose bandages she’d just renewed. „I’m sorry, but I fear you will miss that one out, my friend.“ She offered him an encouraging smile, along with some sweet apple pie, she brought up from her basket. „I know, it’s not a silver coin, but I hope this will cheer you up a little. Just a few more days and you will just run around with the others, again. I’ll return tomorrow morning, to look after you. Please, try to rest.“ She packed her medico supplies and waved, making her way back to the hospital, mumbling to herself: „ „Let’s see, what this fuss is about…“

[Clairette]

Noise! Not just light, but also noise! Too much noise!
She had been trying to sleep for hours. Now she was awake again.
The elfess buried her head under her pillow. "Rubyn, stop that noise!" she complaint half-asleep.

The puzzled ratkin boy looked up from sorting clothes into a basket and gently added the last single sock to the pile. He brushed his whiskers nervously.
From on top of the balcony barking could be heard. Little Paw war greeting the arriving parade excitedly.
Rubyn looked back at the elfess lying in her bed, hidden under blanket and pillow, then he squeaked and scampered up the stairs to the balcony.
From there, on top of the balcony Rubyn would squeak and wave a spoon at the parade in a futile attempt to "stop that noise".

The third pet, Smelly Slime, a greenish slime blob, wobbled through the room over a pile of books.
It had just eaten the missing sock that Rubyn had been looking for, and it was greatly undisturbed by the going-ons outside.

Meanwhile, Clairette muttered more complaints in a odd elven language for quite a long time before she finally fell asleep again.

[1d20]

A young halfling boy covered in sawdust rips himself out of the workshop, his curiosity piqued by the fanfare outside. He waddles outside and dusts himself off, eyes widening as Bernie introduces himself.

"Oh sir! SIR!" The halfling yelps as he squeezes past the tall folks of the crowd, making his way towards the caravan.

"You're a wealthy merchant?! I have things to sell then! Wood stuff! You wanna see?!"

[Juniper Onyx]

As Bernie looks about, he spies another of his kind among the crowd and gives a welcoming smile to the young halfling craftsman. The young halfling carpenter approaches and Bernie says, "Well, hello young master. It's good to see a friendly face again! How may I serve you?"

The young halfling beams a smile of delight and begins to explain about his wooden wares.

"Of course, of course. I would be happy to trade with you. Perhaps we could meet some other time and you could show me your wares. I am always happy to assist a member of the craft to become the best that they can be!" With that, Bernie claps the halfling's shoulder in friendship and with the other hand, dismisses the dancers, pipers and muleskinners, who then begin the unloading of the merchant's wares and treasures into the Galmair depot.

Bags and Bags, brimming full of unknown delights, baskets that issue 'clinking' sounds as they are placed carefully in the depot, and armloads of ores, Gold, Merinium, Gems and others fruits of the Earth, too many to mention. Armors and weapons of fine quality, Tools and baskets of food as well, before the mules are finally unloaded and then themselves sold to the keeper of the stable. The crowd disperses and the streets begin to thin to normal. The sounds of rusty hammers and scraping gems emanate from the workshop again.

As they watch all this happening, Bernie sits with the halfling nearby, two mugs appear from nowhere of a sweet apple cider and the older asks the younger, "so, tell me about yourself young one." as he hands the young halfling a mug with a smile.

[1d20]

Excited to get the showrunner's attention, Pimpernell plops down on the log by Bernie and happily reaches for the apple cider, peering down into it. He takes a quick whiff, scrunches up his nose at the sweet, yet strong smell but forces down a sip to impress.

"My name is Pimpernell and I'm going to be the. BEST. carpenter there is or ever was." He states, very matter-of-factly.

"My pops taught me how to use the plane and carving tools and I've been making stuff ever since!" He explains proudly, before trying for another sip and immediately regretting it.

"Someone even bought 50 arrow shafts from me and they said they were the straightest they've ever seen."

[Juniper Onyx]

Bernie smiles kindly at the young carpenter, closes his eyes and remembers the years of carving arrows, handles, wooden bowls and plates (which led to lots of cooking) and the many blisters on his hands which hardened into calluses.

"Mmmm, yes, you are on the right path," said Bernie. "I am skilled enough to make special arrows and special bows and would be happy to buy the straightest arrow shafts and crossbow bolts from someone like you to continue my work. In return, I would pay you coin or special ingredients as you find new skills, such as Iron plates and ingots, silver, gold and merinium, or even pure elements for those wizards staffs you will soon be good enough to make!" and nods his head happily at the halfling.

"Do we have a deal?" says Bernie while extending a hand to Pimpernell.

((OOC: I will try to be in-game closer to your time Saturday and Sunday so we can meet and trade. Meet me near Galmair workshop, thanks!))

[1d20]

Pimpernell's eyes widen at the descriptions of iron, gold, elements and - did Bernie say WIZARDS?! Will he be paying him in wizards? Could Pimpernell have his own wizard? To conjure more wood, perhaps? Wait, that can't be right, I've lost track.

"Do we have a deal?" he hears, blinking out of his trance, Pimpernell plops the mug down with a splash and pushes off the log excitedly, extending his little hand to grab onto Bernie's.

"We have a deal sir! I'll get right on it!" Not too sure what he just agreed on, he darts off to the nearest depot, fishing out more planks than he can carry to drag towards the workshop.