03/08/998 Ender's Run in search of..

As Antonin moves down the lane away from Momma Toki's, three figures catch up to him during one of his frequent stops to catch his labored breath. The Dwarf who spoke at length about planning, along with the fearsome Flind and the strangely silent man with the chalkboard each join the old man in his task.

Even in the bright morning light the district of Ender’s Run is a dark foreboding place. The streets are tight and winding, a true accomplishment for a finger of land so narrow one could almost toss a rock from one side to the other. The old ramshackle buildings lack proper gutters and rain-barrels collect runoff, while the broken neglected cobblestone roads are nearly mud in many places. The sewers of the area are likewise poorly kept and clogged with twisted grates tangled flotsam and jetsam. The baseboards of most buildings are rotted and jagged with age and the creeping advance of mold and mildew. A foul, fetid odor permeates many of the older buildings, whose once fine plaster walls are blistered and stained with years of decay. Ender’s Run is more the rotten underbelly of the city than even Blackbeam, a festering wound and blight on the great city in the minds of those in power, elsewhere.

As you approach the district the hustle and bustle of daily routines is obvious. Smoke from cooking fires and the clop of the wagon horse’s hooves on the occasional cobblestone mingle with the cool morning breeze off the bay which fails to drive the lingering stench from the streets.

The dock Sherpish runs is silent, a laden vessel waits patiently to be unloaded, some of her crew lounge around the deck listless and bored. You see no sign of any workers.

Grundun Gemcutter

Even in the city's underbelly, the city dwarf Grundun -- appearing for all intents and purposes as a blond Dwarven warrior -- moved comfortably, as if he'd been in places like this one many times before. As the group walked, he strove to make small talk with Antonin about the city, good places to eat and drink, and similar information that would be helpful to know... but not so helpful as to require payment.

As they approached their destination, he murmured, "I know it's a pretty cosmopolitan area, but we still stick out like a sore thumb. Reminds me of an old joke, a dwarf, a gnoll, a mute and an old man walk into a bar. Where are we headed... Antonin, is it? Is there anything we should know or plan out ahead of time?"

Antonin Zivelda

The old man known as Antonin Zivelda took in the scene with calm, quiet eyes. While his actual surroundings seemed to bother him a bit- Ender's Run wasn't a place you dilly-dallied, after all, unless you were keen on getting shivved and dumped in the river- Grundun's small talk had put him a little more at ease.

Antonin sighed quietly, took off his wide-brimmed hat and ran a hair through his grey-brown locks. He had the look of a man who had been expecting something quite different from what he saw, and thus wore disappointment like a hot, uncomfortable coat he craved to shed.

"I had planned to be dragging Kluh and Gregir to Miss Toki. Unfortunately, it looks like they are being to have other plans, too."

Hat in hand, Antonin marched down the jetty and over to the docked ship. He stood on the dock, faced them and cupped his hands to his mouth.

"Ahoy," he shouted, in an attempt to get into the maritime spirit of things. "When is dock crew returning?"

Ship Crewman

“Ifin ye must know, thisin here only unloads at night so I be figrin near ta dusk afore they crawl outta wherever they be.” One of the ship workers who seems more gregarious than the others answers. Most of the rest simply remain lounging about few even turn to look.

Jarl Spitesnarl

The gnoll speaks, his voice deceptively low for his size. "What condition are we looking to take these two back in? A sack or in one piece?"

He may be capable of beating some cooperation into someone, but picking a fight with a couple of thugs looking to spill blood and having to pull his punches wouldn't be fun.

momma wanted them hauled back to her she wanted to talk to them so it appears she wanted them alive

Antonin Zivelda

"Bah," whispered Antonin under his breath as he waved his hand dismissingly at the ship crew. "Useless!" With that, he slapped his threadbare hat back down upon his old head and trudged back over to the others.

"So they are being gone," Antonin said with a sigh. "Antonin was speaking with Kluh last night, and he was to say he would be here come morning, at end of shift. So, either we are late, or naughty dockworker is lying." His mouth tightened slightly. "Either way, is objectionable."

The old man looked off over Ender's Run for a few moments in quiet thought. What to do, what to do... ah, yes!

"Bah dareesh ka'di. If Antonin is any judge, Kluh and partner are now either in their cups, or sleeping it off. So! If it is former, Antonin knows where to find them. If it is latter..." Antonin chuckled. "Well, Antonin will find them soon enough."

It appears you may be late as all the workers are gone not just Kluh.

Down further south toward Deadman's Point, you see another dock crew working. Great hoists lift bags and palates of cargo form the hold while men carry bundles of something down the gangplank in a steady stream reminiscent of ants. A large well painted sign proclaims the dock. Kelvik Trade.

A block down from the mildewed and rotten docks of

the company that owns the dock where the boat sits awaiting offload and Kluh was last seen. Sherpesh's docks.

Klass Imports , it is a stark contrast.

Even at this distance you can hear a deep clear rumbling voice guiding the workers.

Antonin Zivelda

Antonin gazed off toward the company office, tapped his nose knowingly, and nodded to himself.

"Hmm... interesting." He pointed toward the relatively decent-looking dock, awash in a sea of decay and filth quite like a piece of soap drifting atop a puddle of pond scum. The jetty itself seemed to shrink away from the other structures around it, as if it was loath to touch them for fear of contracting some sort of architectural disease*.

"They are working in day, yes? Our friends work at night. This is because they are having things to hide. So," Antonin clapped his hands for added emphasis, as a sly grin split his lips. "Perhaps he will be to know where we can find dockmaster of this pile of driftwood. And then we are asking him where to find Kluh and Gregir."

The aged man casually rubbed his knuckles. "Nicely, of course." He paused. "At first, anyway."



* Possibly shingles.

As the group makes its way down the dock areas towards Kelvik Trade you begin to make out the nature of the workers on the dock. Goblins, hobgoblins, bugbear and an ogre are among the workers, the source of the voice you could hear is an old minotaur. A hulking brown mass of fur covered sinew, bone and muscle with large scrimshaw covered horns standing over eight feet in height. As you approach he looks up from something a lizardman has handed him as he immerged from the water.

As you reach the obvious delineation between this well kept dock and the surrounding area an odd looking women moves from the dock to intercept you.

heavily tattooed human looking woman, probably from Danuvia a southern tribal nation.

Nichir
“State ya bizness.” she says as the bustle on the dock seems to be stifled in one fell swoop all eyes turning your way. Many of the workers simply set their loads down and stand while others reposition themselves. The big minotaur looks your way appraisingly, but says nothing.