A Morning At The Ox

Ox-Strength Tavern, midmorning

The awkward, early days of Spring sees that the Ox is often chilly early in the day, and thus the pot-bellied stove is in in use. The cheerfully warm tavern is relatively quiet, sailors have put out to see, and the Colosseum has no big ticket events currently. Mostly old codgers, a few sleeping drunks and the odd rogue or two are the place's patrons today.

Them and a loudly singing Goblin. She's settled in one of the comfortable chairs by said pot-bellied stove, with her feet propped up on the arm, settled comfortably on her back. Three empty glasses have been set aside on the little table between the two chairs, with Murder noisily slurping down curry chicken between verses.

At the foot of the chair is a unnaturally large dog, exhibiting many wolf features. Its expression is one of suffering, its ears flat to its head. "Shave his beard with a rusty razor, shave his beard with a rusty razor, shave his beard with a rusty razor, EARLY IN THE MORNING! Way hey and up she rises..." There follows a lengthy belch and laughter, while while the canine lets out a lengthy sigh. "You've sung that verse already.", Rose, the bartender, says, her expression similar to the dog's.

What a night. It's odd being on the other side of the coin, so to speak, guarding rather than thieving. But nobody asks too many questions when you're at least competent at it, and now Harshad has some coin in his purse. But it's going to be a long day after that all-nighter, and the half-oruch slips into the tavern, hood pushed back. Wearily, he sits down at the bar, and stares blearily at Rose. "Chicken, spicy. Something to wake me up." He rubs the bridge of his nose, before staring at Murder.

"What's the occasion?" he remarks to the bartender, tilting his head at the goblin. "Big score, or just happy the snows are melting?"

The barkeep does a two-step to the kitchen, yelling out Harshad's order, before returning to lean against the bar. "Shot of something strong, to help wake you up?", she wonders, before looking over to Murder, snorting. "This is her almost every time she comes in. Loves spicy food, drinks a little, sometimes sleeps here, sometimes staggers out. Wilfred sees her home, most nights."

Rose shrugs her shoulders. "Wouldn't know about a big score, but Murder hasn't lacked coin to eat and drink here on the regular."

She's -named- Murder? Harshad peers at Rose, shaggy eyebrows rising, but he doesn't ask. He ponders the question contemplatively, before shrugging. "Sure, why not? Probably going to try and sleep off last night anyways after this." He yawns hugely, rubbing his face. "Warehouse owner wanted extra security. Got some folks to watch the place sunset to sunup."

The aforementioned Goblin steps up to the bar a moment later, holding up her now-empty bowl. "More, please!", she practically yells. Quick as a cobra, the bartender reaches out a hand, grabbing Murder by the chin, fingers squeezing at the cheeks. "I'm right here, you don't need to yell.", the woman says firmly. A pout is attempted by the Gobbo, but is stymied by long fingers. "Sorry." Released, Murder rubs at her cheeks, turning to peer up, and up, at the Half-Orc. "Yeesh, your momma fed you well t'grow up that so tall."

Three shots are poured, one for Harshad, the Goblin and Rose. "Here, give this a try.", she says. Murder snatches hers up and downs it in a blink, before Rose can change her mind. Smacking her lips, she grins. "Ahaaah, that's spicy! Someone's going to regret it later."5r

Harshad snorts at Murder's behavior. "Like back home," he comments, picking up his shot. But then Murder makes the remark and Harshad... pauses a bit. A funny expression crosses his face, before vanishing again, quick as can be. "Guess so," he says shortly, before knocking back his shot and grunting. "Gah. I see you're using the finest of paint-thinners in your drinks." He smacks his hand a couple times on the bar surface, before subsiding. "Damn. Well, I'm awake -now-. Thanks."

Rose downs her shot with nary a twitch, and grins. "That's on the house. Much like vodka's made with potatoes, this one's done with hot peppers. I've been considering making a few dishes with it, mixing it into sauces and the like." The glasses are collected, with both Harshad curry and Murder's refile showing up a short time later. Something which the Goblin accepts enthusiastically.

The Barkeep chuckles. "Reminds you of home? Is that a good or bad thing?" The woman reaches out to whack Murder on the head, which elicits a frown from the Goblin, the wooden spoon getting gnawed in response. "Chew with your mouth closed."

Harshad looks cynically at Rose. "It's what it was," he says obliquely. He doesn't elaborate though, starting to eat his curry. Trying to focus on the food, not the curious stares or any further questions. Judging from his garments -- laborer's tunic under leather armor, trousers, boots, and patched cloak -- he's probably one of a thousand low-born sellswords here in Alexandria. Nothing remarkable, save for his distinctly half-breed traits.

The Goblin settles onto a stool with a huff, her inhaling of the bowl's contents slowing. Rose nods, "So it goes, so it goes. Let me know if you want anything else." She steps away to greet one of the older customers, who's come up to get a few glasses refilled.

"So, doin' work for th'Guild?", the Goblin wonders between bites. "Can make a pretty penny iffn you are."

"Occasionally. Sometimes I just pull odd jobs here and there, like last night." Harshad is eating slower, but clearly isn't put off by the peppered burn of the curry. "Keeps a roof over my head and food in my belly; what else is there?" The half-orc turns to peer at the goblin. "Why do they call you Murder?" he asks.

"Oh? What happened las' night?", the wee woman wonders. "Indeed, it can pay out well, an some of the jobs are more exciting than others." She swallows noisily and then grins toothily. "What else is there? Uhhh... gold? Treasure? Adventure? Romance! Maybe all of those at the same time?"

Murder giggles lightly. "They call me that because it is what I am called. I named myself." One can almost hear her ego inflating. "Last of my tribe. Gonna get revenge some day. Hadn't been named before my parents died... we gotta live at least one full year afore we get named. Least, that's how my tribe did it. Da, the Orc that rescued me an' my sister, said I could pick whatever name I wanted an' that's what I chose."

Harshad listens, eating quietly, but he doesn't interrupt. "Hadn't heard that." He pauses, picking up the tankard Rose left for him, but he doesn't drink.

"Last night? Eh. Watchman job. Nothing fancy but it paid out decently well. Guy was probably smuggling, but as long as it wasn't something that'd cause trouble with the temples -- eh." He takes a drink. "There's some stuff even I won't mess with. That was what broke up my gang in Myrrish lands. We thought we were robbing a baronial mansion; turns out we'd uncovered a bunch of cultists."

"Ah, those are boring. Most of the time. Which is okay, I suppose. Can't always be dangerous and exciting." Murder continues with a few more bites of her curry before speaking again.

"Yeah, I hear ya, cultists are uhhh pretty wrong at times. Not necessarily scary, but you jus' know something messed up is gonna happen.' Her expression falls a little, her voice taking on a sympathetic tone. "They uh did you rough, did they? How many got out?"

"Boring is good. Every time I get involved in something -- like those damn Guild jobs -- it just gets weird." Harshad continues to eat, the mannerisms of a man who, no matter how depressing the discussion may be, is intent on making sure his belly is full.

"I don't know," he says, his voice heavy. "Most of us, I think. We scattered. You had the constables, temple guards, cultists, undead, and at least a couple of finger-wagglers in a brawl out in the streets. At that point, you grab what you can and you run." He picks up his tankard, taking a pull from it. "And here's where I washed up."

The Goblin's hand reaches out, pausing over the man's arm, before she pats at it lightly. "There are far worse places one can wash up, many of them are places where you'd be dead. In that light, this place ain't half bad." Gesturing at the tavern, before shrugging lightly. "The city's nah bad either. They dun care what you are, 's'long as you originally had a head, two arms an' two legs."

Murder rubs at her cheek, wiping away the splatter of curry found there. "You got a place t'stay?"

Harshad exhales. "Yeah. There's worse places. At least there's always work -somewhere-. Even if it's just something dull." He looks down in surprise at his plate being empty. "Huh, guess I was hungrier than I thought..." He takes another sip from his tankard.

At Murder's question, he grunts. "Yeah. Flophouse on the east side of the docks. Landlord's an oruch, so I kinda played that up a bit and he cut me a deal. I think he just likes having someone to complain to about his tenants."

Murder giggles, nodding her head. "People do like having someone t'complain to. An' I guess chatting helps the time go by. Mebbe because chewing means you waint talking." She snorts lightly.

"But uhm, iffn you need a place outside o'town to crash in, I've got a camp out in th'woods. Wouldn't cost ya nothing, 'cept for a bit of your time with chores. In case of ... emergency, yeah?"

Another light pat to his arm. "We Goblinoids do gotta stick together, right?"

Harshad looks at Murder bemusedly. "I'm... kind of a city boy, to be honest. I was never much of a woods type." A pause. "But... thanks. Nice to know there's a bolthole if I need it. Never know when things are gonna turn upside down again." He looks around at the relatively quiet tavern. "Even if it seems kind of unlikely here."

Gesturing with a hand, she snorts. "There's fights here all th'time. An' the city has had demon problems in the past, undead too, and the black plague started here. Also werewolf problems and cults infiltrating some of the temples. Th'place is always one or two steps from disaster, and it takes people like us ta keep a lid on things."

The Goblin doesn't seem troubled. "I gotta show you my skull collection. Gotta few demon skulls, includin' a vrock, which I managed t'kill ages ago. Also foiled a big demon invasion by pointin' out a flaw in the ol' spell cannon up on the mountain. Rarely a dull moment!"

At this recitation of woe, Harshad's expression becomes faintly nervous. "See what I mean about Guild jobs and shit? I got swallowed by a giant toad once, not to mention beat up by a plant-possessed -dragon-. I -hate- that crap. If it didn't pay through the nose I wouldn't even do it." He shudders.

Harshad peers at Murder. "Demon skulls? Aren't those... unlucky or something?"

Murder frowns. "Unlucky for the demons, you mean!" She bares a little arm, flexing to show off some good muscle tone for a three-and-a-half foot tall woman. "You make yer own luck." She nods to him then. "It is sometimes irritating, I'll give ya that. Sometimes ya just want ta sleep, or enjoy a nice sunny day swimmin' in the river, or making some stew. Then the screaming starts, and someone's on fire, and people are yelling "Murder stop burning the bad guys you're burning down the city!".

The Goblin rolls her eyes, "No one appreciates a good fire any more."

Harshad hmmphs. "No, I mean like... aren't you supposed to bury them at a crossroads or something? I swear I heard someone say that once..." He scratches his goatee. "It's been a while, I might be thinkin' of something else."

He smirks at the complaint about fire. "Yeah, but that's because while bad guys might be flammable, so's everything -else- usually. I've heard stories about gangs that set fires to cover for thefts, and that never ends well. The watch gets all pissed off, and the townsfolk are also pissed, and usually ends in someone getting hung." Harshad finishes his tankard and sets it down. "And they'd deserve it, too."

The Gobbo blinks a few times, and lets out a slow breath. "That's for vampires. S'posed stick a stake in their hearts, an' bury them ina coffin that's upside down, at a crossroads. That way if they somehow get the stake out, and git out of their coffin, they'll be digging down an' never reach the surface."

She pats his arm again, grinning toothily. "Ya should bring me along on yer next guild mission, I have lots of good info on what ta do with certain creatures."

"And..." Murder wiggles her spoon. "They ought to build cities out of stone an' slate only. None of this wood crap. Would be more permanent. I mean, lookit the Khazad! Carve everything out of solid stone, none of their cities have ever burned down."

Harshad looks confused. "I thought you threw vampires in the river, so they can't find their way back to shore?" He sighs. "...Yeah, I don't know this crap. I may have to take you up on that because I can do climbing, sneaking, and stabbing, but I'm no good at this book stuff."

He shrugs at the idea of building out of stone. "Takes longer. Some people need a house now, not next week or next year. Khazads got all that time to work with it, too. Can't always get 'perfect' solutions, y'know."

"Dun mean we can't at least try for perfection, and get as close as we can." The Goblin crosses her arms, and then leans against the man. "Sneaking and stabbing, you say? Hmmm, so you prefer to do your fighting nice and quiet-like, from the shadows? You should get some armor like mine..."

Murder pats at her black, studded leather armor. "Helps me hide, it kinda cloaks me in shadows a bit, blurs my outline and stuff, makes it harder for people to make me out."

Harshad peers at Murder as she leans against him, but doesn't say anything. "I got a coat I use. It's got mail sewn inside it, so it's less noisy, and it doesn't draw as much attention." He shrugs. "Magic's expensive, and it's not like I know a lot of finger-wagglers. So I get by."

He looks at his tankard and plate, and pushes them back with a yawn, before pulling out a few coins for the drink and meal. Harshad glances at Murder. "If you know someone who works a little cheaper than most, let me know. Maybe I'll get something like that put on my coat."

"It is, kinda. And I could introduce ya to a few finger wigglers." Murder wiggles her fingers a little. "I'm one, though I don't make magical stuff. Yet. Maybe I'll get around to it some day. But for now, I have a few useful spells and a whole lotta fire." Her eyes gleam a bright red momentarily.

"But, you're going to make a lot of coin working for the guild. So try t'save up as best ya can. You want stuff that'll keep your blood and insides where they belong, inside."

"After that, then think about stabbing an' cutting things. Maybe some healing potions and holy water and alchemist's fire. All stuff you can drink... okay not the fire but the other two, and you can throw them where needed."

"Yeah, I saw -that- once. Guy got his vials mixed up, almost drank a bottle of acid. Good thing he smelled it first." Harshad looks wry. "Make sure you can identify your bottles in the dark -- even if you can see in the dark, it's not a good idea to identify by color." He hmms. "I'll keep that in mind though. Been wondering how expensive a magicked blade is. I know you need a good quality one, and I've got one -- well, two, it's a matched set -- but I gotta find some jobs to make that kind of cash."

"Oh yeah, I have a solution that helps even in total darkness, just gotta have hands. My alchemist's fire is sealed with a plug of wax, while the holy water and healing potions have corks. Just gotta feel one and ya know which one /not/ to drink." She chuckles, "Though the look on someone's face drinking fire might be amusing, I'd not want ta do that."

The Gobbo nods then. "Ah yeah, a good set of magical blades is a good idea. Not too expensive, actually, if you just want them ensorcelled. But if ya want it to fly, catch fire and scream death at yer enemies, that gets really expensive, fast. Start simple. Get cold-iron, for fey and demons, and get them blessed, t'hurt undead. Then yer good for lots of situations."

Harshad nods. "I spent a little time tying thread around some of my bottles in a pattern, and I know which one is which. Same principle. And you don't want to smash a healing potion over something you wanna set on fire, either. Never turns out well."

He blinks at Murder's description. "Uh... you can get swords that do that? Do they make 'em to order, or is there like... a warehouse somewhere?" He can't keep a slight grin off his face as he makes the remark.

"Oh, like, little knots and stuff? That's an interesting idea! Maybe I'll try that." Murder swats at his arm in a camaraderie-like fashion. "Thanks, I'm stealing that idea!"

She giggles and snorts. "Uh, a word of warnin'. If there iiiisss such a place, whatcha think will be guardin' it?" The Goblin taps at her temple lightly. "But no, I doubt there is a warehouse of magical weapons waitin' for the bravest thief to break in an' steal 'em. They're made t'order, they have to be personalized, you know?"

"Can't blame a fellow for dreaming, can you? Everyone thinks about 'the big score'." Harshad makes a face. "Of course, trying to fence a warehouse worth of stolen magic weapons... yeah. It's like stealing the crown jewels. Great, you've got 'em, but what do you -do- with them?"

He snorts. "You'd be surprised how many people miss that part. Coins are easy to spend. Loot, paintings and stuff? Harder, but doable. But not everyone's got the cash for a magic sword or a crown, especially if it's hot."

"It basically means ya'd have to open up yer own shop. In another city somewhere. So that people don't get suspicious, right?" Murder crosses her arms. "Ya'd have to bite down and bear it out, it'd not be a quick path to riches, yeah." She holds up a little finger. "But! If it was like, a stash of potions? Or wands or scrolls? Ye could sell those much more easily. And quickly. An' people would not look twice."

"We had a score like that, back where I came from. Crate of potions fell off someone's wagon." Harshad fishes out a long-stemmed pipe, and starts to pack it with pipeweed. "I think we actually fenced them back to the city watch through a cutout. They were chasing some bastard with a thing for knifing women, and wanted an edge when they caught him."

He grins, as he lights the pipe with a small tindertwig. "Y'know what they say: professionals have -standards-. And we had 'em too."

The Goblin's grin is full of teeth as she listens, her interest definitely piqued. "Oh yes, wagons are such silly things, always dropping stuff. Evne when they have escorts." She nods, "Ah, so a decent score t'people who weren't gonna ask questions. Good work!"

Another pat to his arm, and she whistles low. There's a scrabbling sound, and presently the large, wolf-like down is there, yawning and nosing at Murder. Murder fishes out several coins, and plops them onto the counter. "For mine and his grub and drinks, an' let the leftover change count fer any of his drinks after." A bright smile is offered up to Harshad then. "Oh... didn't catch yer name. An' this is Wilfred. Gotta head out, a few things I gotta get to. Traps and tending to a garden. See you around, yeah?"

"The best kind of score," Harshad agrees. "When nobody's too curious as to where something came from, or who got paid for it. Worked out well for us."

He blinks slowly as Murder picks up the tab, but nods. "Yeah, uh... thanks. My name's Harshad. You can find me down on the east docks, or in the lower trades." He offers Murder a wave. "Take it easy."