Boris the teamster was still having trouble sitting, what with the ruptured testacle and all, so he had to stand leaning up against anything that qualified as a support. His apprentice this morning, a lad named "Pauls", was one of Pandora's favorite of the various humans on this trip. The boy had quickly jury-rigged a stool for Boris to lean on painfully, and took over as his valet for the day. The caravan was down to three barges, with the two ruined ones salvaged and left for a team to come and scavenge parts from. Those bollards were expensive.
"You know, Boris," the teen began, "We could get you one o' them gnomish seats with the big hole in the middle, eh?" Boris rolled his eyes.
"There's no su...ch" whimper "fuc...king" whimper "thing as gnomes, Pauls." Boris' very vocal opinion about the existence of gnomes, as anything other than a garden decoration, had begun its existence as a stentorian pronouncement. It had ended, however, with a real whimper that macho-man Boris just could not keep in, pride or no.
It takes the abdominal muscles to really bellow, of course, but his abs were busy trying to to keep his junk from jostling around.
Yelling was out of the question for poor old Boris, at that moment, and the thought quite obviously hurt him even more than his purple and blackened scrotum. He settled into a sullen silence that he only broke to give Pauls terse direction, now and then. The oxen that would be towing the barge, bearing new sets of scars proudly as they hauled their load, lowed and mooed placidly, like nothing had ever happened. And just like that, they were moving again.
Every so often, a team of oxen hauling a wagon the other way would pass; a perfect opportunity for what Boris called a gam. They would all stop for the rest of the day and night, and have a blowout of a party. Plume found it tedious, but Pandora loved it, even if only because she somehow managed to acquire trinkets and jewelry that fell from various careless pockets during the drunken sprawl of men and women gathered around the inevitable bonfire at the end of the night. The strangers' wagons always had super interesting stuff in them, too. Which was nice.
Three days after the Lead Line Disaster, as it had become known, was just such an occurrence. That particular gam had gone extremely well! Lots of stuff had fallen from lots of different pockets, and this morning was gearing up to be a doozy. Plume and Pandora arose early, perching themselves atop a tall stack of crates lashed to one of the anchored barges with a pitcher full of iced tea and a bottle of spiced rum Pandora found the night before. The sun rose as they toasted one another, and the two friends talked quietly for another half an hour as the people stirred from the awkward positions they had passed out in. "Oh, look, Pandora! Tits!" Plume was already having a good day. He had seen tits. It was not a sexual thing, for him; he was a tabaxi. His species was beautiful, and languidly feline in a way other races could never get quite right. He had quickly learned, however, that getting to see a strange lady's tits amongst these humans was a rare and beautiful thing, and that he should appreciate the moment thoroughly and appropriately. The naked lady recovered her clothes, and made away quickly after seeing the man she had woken up next to. "Aww! It looks like love was not to be, mate! Bloody galah, just lyin' there passed out as that beauty runs away? Bleeding drongo." Plume's native accent was curiously apt for mocking people. It was one of the things Pandora loved about him. It was like being friends with a walking musical instrument.
Then, a shout went up amongst the teamsters. Boris was yelling, then wincing, then yelling, then wincing, as his face got paler and paler. It seems he had found himself robbed! He was searching all of his pockets, patting himself down. His face was falling further and further when suddenly, his pat down landed upon something. Something that seemed to confuse Boris even more than normal. He withdrew, from within his tunic's inside breast pocket, what at first seemed like a handkerchief. A fancy handkerchief trimmed with delicate lace, perhaps. Boris shook it all the way open, eyes widening after a confused moment. It was, improbably, lady's lingerie. This had Boris even more confused than usual, but a sudden shout from within the pile of men and women on the other side of what had once been the bonfire rang out as a naked man struggled to his feet from under a pile of naked women. "Hey!" he repeated, much more loudly and intelligibly without a woman's breast covering his mouth. "That's my wife's!" The naked man was outraged, left hand akimbo, right fist shaking menacingly toward Boris. It took another couple of moments, but Boris eventually came around to the point. "No!" he began, but the naked man launched himself at Boris in a flurry of inexpert punches and ill-aimed head butts. Boris was, however, crippled in a way the man obviously did not know about until that moment. The bloodcurdling scream that escaped Boris' mouth when he was gut punched stopped everyone dead silent for a moment, the entire mob looking at Boris, who had curled into a ball on the ground. Another fight broke out nearby, though, as an extremely hungover woman discovered a pouch full of platinum trade bars. It was a staggering amount of money. There was a sudden explosion of outrage from the group as they discovered they had all, each of them, been robbed. The rub was, they each had something on them. It was always something of someone else's, but they all had something amongst their possessions. The grumbling roar of seventy-odd humans mumbling darkly to themselves began to ebb and flow in an oddly predictable sine wave of volume. It only took them a few hours to sort everything out, especially since many of the items that had first gone missing were found in Boris' quarters, which was nothing but a small canvas tent on the deck. Boris' sputtering denials took up another couple of hours, but they eventually worked out that Boris simply could not have been the one who had stolen their items, as he had been rolling around, weeping in pain, out in front of the entire crew at the time. The 'ling and catman had been cleared by simple lack of evidence...no one could remember if they had been anywhere near them during the thievery. The men were beginning to whisper and grumble about "fairies" and "wood sprites", and by the time the barges began making way once again, the humans were haggard and worn, sporting dark circles under their eyes. They were shooting paranoid looks at everyone and anyone that came near them for the last five days of the trip. For Plume and Pandora, it had been a no brainer to leave while the money was still available. They extorted fair pay out of Boris, and headed into the small, stockade town they found themselves in. Pandora looked doubtful almost immediately.
"Hammingburg? What kind of a name is 'Hammingburg'?" She asked, more to herself than anyone else.
"Human," spat a passing old woman. This prompted a response from a younger woman nearby who was playing with her two children.
"I'm sorry about that. And her!" She yelled after the retreating, bitter old hag, who just kept shuffling quickly away. "Some folks out here fight their own brains tooth and nail. It's called 'Hammingburg' on account of Hamish Skaalder, who grew up in a village that stood on this spot". Her blonde curls bounced as she laughed and snagged a stumbling toddler who was having trouble both giggling and running. A little blonde girl, who looked so much like her mother Plume was taken aback, screeched in glee and ran in for a hug from her mama. Little humans usually made his hackles raise, and the young ones even more so. But this mother and her children were another thing altogether. Plume had never had that happen, with a kitten of a human. They were usually just wet and sticky with dried snot all over the place. These children were wide eyed, yes, but there was something different...
Ah. They were looking at him curiously, but not judgmentally. Or fearfully. He looked at the mother with a renewed sense of curiosity. "She must have a story I'd like to hear," he thought with a little internal chuckle. Pandora was quick to ask, "Who was Hamish Skaalder?" The young mom bounced her laughing kids in her lap, one on each knee.
"He was a monk of Waukeen, who dedicated his life to making amends. He was sainted and everything." She pulled a coin amulet from between her bosoms. "He is the saint of redemption." Plume leaned forward to look more closely at the amulet. And her cleavage.
"Yeah, that's nice!" A man with his head bowed in prayer was depicted in profile on the coin. Her cleavage was ample and smooth-skinned.
He straightened and she re-tucked her amulet. "If you need a place to stay, the Gilded Goose is a good spot. I work there during the busy season," she said. Pandora looked around at the virtually deserted town square. Plume became very aware of the sound of crickets and grasshoppers. "It's right over there," she pointed at a big building with a farmer's porch surrounding the front and sides. It did seem cheery and welcoming. The windows were glowing with a warm, yellow light, and music came flowing out of the open double doors. A red headed kid walked in, leaping up the three shallow stairs like he lived there. Then, the aroma hit them. Their stomachs rumbled in unison so loudly, the young mother laughed. An airy, lovely little laugh, that brought everything back into focus. The halfling and tabaxi pivoted and walked in lockstep right up to the wide, shallow stairs. There was a wooden carving of an enormous goose off to the right side of the door as one walks in, entirely sheathed in bright golden paint. A chair stood next to it, for people to sit in as they are sketched with their arm around the slightly smiling goose. The music swelled steadily as they approached, and the scent was salivary as they crossed the threshold.
"Well," thought Pandora. "I guess this is where all of the people are!" The place was, in a word, hopping. Literally. The people dancing in front of the stage were hopping up and down, flowingly dancing in their own little space, lost in the music. Pandora could understand; the band was fantastic! Two tortles were playing a guitar and a mandolin. There was a sunglass wearing human playing an upright bass even taller than she was. A half elf was leisurely playing a masterful accompaniment on a glass harp, and there were three Kenku backup singers. Two drummers Pandora could not make out behind their massive percussion kits kept the rhythm going with a tight, happy shuffle.
"Hey dears!" A blonde woman with bouncy curls, and a brown suede bustier laced over a blue and white dress, smiled at them and yelled across several crowded tables full of people happily eating and drinking. The top three buttons of her dress were unbuttoned; not immodestly so, no. Just enough to reveal a coin amulet with the symbol of Oghma on it. Plume was not sure, exactly, what Oghma was the god of. The symbol was a blank scroll, so he assumed scribes or librarians, or something equally boring. The smiling woman was wearing boots that matched her bustier, which were climbing to just south of her knees. The front of her dress and petticoats were hitched up allowing freedom of movement. She was wearing a white apron with two pockets stitched skillfully into it, and her sleeves were rolled up past her elbows. "Just grab a seat!" She had to holler a little bit, but Pandora could tell this human woman's voice could carry. A table by the window looked nice, so Pandora slid into a seat, and Plume curled up in a pool of sunlight on the other side of the table. They sighed in unison as the stress of the road drained from their shoulders, backs and necks. It had been so long since they had actually felt safe, they took a moment to appreciate it, silently. It was just a moment before the smiling blonde swept over. "Hi dears! I'm Avo." She plonked a large pitcher full of ale, another full of mead, and a corked-and-waxed bottle of both red and white wine. "Here's today's brewed booze. If you want dharak or mixed drinks I have to get them from the bar." A young busboy with a wide nose and close set eyes stood close by with a small, wheeled cart and a pensive smile. He wore a pair of black cotton pants and a matching shirt, with a long apron wrapping his skinny frame to the knee, had a joint of mint-and-orange spit-roast mutton served still on the sword. The drippings were being gathered in a copper tray, on the top tier of the boy's sturdy wooden push cart. Plume had unfurled himself from the table fluidly and was rubbing his hands together excitedly, doing his best to not lick his chops at the proximity of the huge, beautifully aromatic piece of meat. The server...Avo...chuckled low, and served it (tray and all) with an adroit lift and half spin. She was handing them knives and forks when Plume smiled at her, baring his teeth in a very Tabaxi expression of approval and thanks. It was instinctive, and many times humans thought he was baring his teeth at them, but Avo seemed to know exactly what he meant, so she paused with a smile. Plume extended a claw with a snap of his fingers, and delicately carved off a piece of the roast. The steam that rose from the cut was so delectable that Pandora could no longer restrain herself and cut herself a good chunk off of it, too. Avo bustled, applied pepper or grated cheese (where requested and in appropriate amounts) as needed, had the lad fetch a pitcher of water and a bottle of dharak, and made them comfortable with light hearted small talk the whole time. Pandora gave Avo at least three different fake names, finally settling on "Primhammer Galoot". If Avo had even noticed, she made no sign. She just chattered away brightly, and then bounced on away when she was satisfied that all of their needs had been met.
There was an astonishing variety of ethnicities here at the Gilded Goose. The band notwithstanding, there were tortles and gnomes, and right next to them was a table of stocky, bearded fellows pounding down tankards of beer and mead the likes of which she had never seen. Although, their style and aesthetic seemed familiar, but she could not place it. There was a large bar along the far wall, enormous shelves made of the same walnut wood as the bar itself were choc a bloc full of uniquely bottled liquors. Barrels of what must be ale and mead were visible every time the door behind the left side of the bar would flap open with a boom! The bartender was an enormous blond man who had a giant beard and who always seemed to have a clean mug or glass in his hand, polishing it to a crystal sheen with a soft towel. He was speaking with a tortle and a human man on the corner of the bar. His booming laughter rang out through the place often and jubilantly, so infectious that Plume started giggling a little himself. But that might also have been the dharak. There were three wooden targets along the northern wall with crossbow and axe wounds drawing cheering throngs of drunken folks, so Pandora was looking in that direction when the fox walked in.
She was a human; at least, the woman was the right height, had the correct number of legs, heads, hands and fingers, and she wore a topknot, which was a uniquely human hair style from out on the eastern frontiers of the Kingdoms. It was also obvious that she was a 'she' in that she had the kind of bosom that human men seemed to always suck their guts in around. But she wore a mask, that of a red fox, replete with ears and whiskers. She looked around languidly, and catching Pandora looking at her, she smiled and winked cheekily with a crooked smile that was both endearing and terrifying. Pandora needed to know more immediately, and motioned for the fox to come over for a drink using a conglomeration of hand signals, head nods, jumping up and down, and shouting. The red fox laughed, her blue cross-front robe adjusted itself in a very interesting way, judging by all of the stares men close by had levelled on her, with their eyebrows perched atop their wonder-wrinkled foreheads. Her robe flared out slightly, layered as it was with the robe and tabard she wore which was, again, a stylistic choice more common out on the eastern frontiers of the Kingdoms than here in the Western Wilderness. She smiled at Pandora, nodded to Plume, and sashayed on over to their table. Plume smiled at her, teeth bared (with some roast mutton making an appearance, but if the fox noticed, she said nothing about it. "Hello! That's very nice of you!" She sat across from them, fished her own mug out from under her robes somewhere, and filled it half full of ale, and half full of wine. Pandora liked her immediately, and Plume was delighted! Most of Pandora's impulsive invitations were fucking disastrous. The massive glaive that the fox leaned up against the next chair over was not intimidating at all, to either of them, they tried to convince themselves.
"I'm Cryptic, what are your names?" Direct. To the point. Plume liked that.
"Well, I'm Plume, and this here's me mate Sheila."
"Ah," the fox started nodding, "you're mates. How long have you been married? Are the children tabaxi or halfling? Or half and half like a half elf?"
Pandora looked so horrified so quickly that Plume could not help leaning over and putting his arm around her shoulders. "Nah, mate, no kids yet. We're still in the lots of sex phase of the relationship." The fox nodded understandingly, taking the answer as the end of the question, but Pandora turned beet red and started laughing nervously, trying to collapse in upon herself, which sent Plume into gales of coughing, spitting laughter. "Nah, nah nah! Nothing like that, we be mates as in, we are friends. Pandora here's a little too young for all that nonsense, I reckon, so I was just takin' the piss."
Pandora laughed shakily. "Yeah! No! It was funny!" She put on a face like she talked sex stuff all the time. "I was just playing along!" Plume turned to what was left of the mutton roast and casually slit off a fist side chunk of the small end. He handed it directly to Cryptic, tabaxi fashion. Cryptic, for her part, did not even think twice about taking it and biting off a delectable chunk. Avo appeared out of nowhere with a table setting, an airy smile, and a wink. The three of them watched her walk away appreciatively. Avo moved like a perpetually happy dancer.
"Or like a highly trained fighter," Cryptic thought to herself. They all turned back to their dinners and drinks, smiling at each other a little crookedly. This was going to be a great night.
They proceeded to party all night, rented a surprisingly cheap room, found surprisingly comfortable beds within them, and slept the sleep of the exhausted.
