A Thief, Woman, and Grey Boar

North leads to Kiern\'s Court <>.

West leads to Kierkgard Dun <>.

Pushing into road is a large fellow. Dirty and haggard. Over his shoulder he is lugging a large sack, full of something, which almost tilts the man over backwards. He grunts as he walks, a sweat and dirt mixture running down his face and off his chin on to a bare chest. Gotaj, as he calls himself, finally lets the sack slump to the ground with a thud. His maw opens with a toothy grin, well, a partially toothy grin, as most have long since gone rotten and have been ripped from his head, either by force, or by a hunk of meat.

A pack of children spots the dirty man first, and takes interest in the large sack upon his back. Like wild, hungry dogs, they come sniffing, curiously, though far too frightened and cautious to ever come /too/ close.

\"Go on! Get your chores done!\"

A young woman steps out from between the buildings to shoo them back to work. But she too eyes the stranger curiously.

Gotaj\'s body shifts as if to draw back his hand, but he does not as the children scatter like the leaves in fall. The man\'s eyes turn to the woman and his fading smile returns. \"Hey thar,\" he says, his dull eyes flaring to life. \"I got me some trinkets to sell. You buying any trinkets today? With, er, coin, or ... er, anything else you gots?\"

\"Trinkets eh?\" Saffron wipes her hand on her threadbare apron. She looks over her shoulder to bark out to the pack of children who are still staring from the shadow of the building, \"The eggs haven\'t been collected yet! Get moving!\"

The heads hide, but one by one, they reappear again by the time she takes another step towards Gotaj.

\"Let\'s see what you have. I might have something depending on what you got.\"

The man nods, \"Good, yer gonna like it, a lass like you.\" He turns, grabs the bag, and swings it between the two. The sound of the bag slams and rattles as it hits the ground. The man gives off a quick chuckle.\"

The man\'s meaty hands grabs the rope tying the bag\'s top shut. He rips the simple knot off, opening it up for the woman to see. Inside is a conglomeration of metal, wood, and all sorts of things. Dolls, simply jewelry, plates, tankards, cutlery, candlesticks, there is even a dead chicken in there. \"I got plenty trinkets for sale ...\" He gives her a not so descrete once over, \"How you gonna pay?\"

With a mixture of caution and curiosity, Saffron cranes her neck -- but still keeping enough distance -- to peer inside the sack. She can\'t quite see, so she takes a step closer. And another. And another, until she is standing close to the dirty man, and she is looking inside.

\"You have an awful lot of things to sell...\" she says.

\"I can sure use some new plates. Can you take it out of the sack so I can see?\" She then suddenly stiffens. \"I recognize that doll...\"

\"This old thang?\" he says, reaching down and grabbing the doll by the neck. He wiggles it a bit in front of the woman. The man then turns, jerks a thumb up to one side of his nose, and through the other blows a huge snot ball onto the ground. With the back of his hand he wipes off his nose, not even bothering to brush it against his shirt or pants.

\"These are fine plates, miss, you gonna like them. So, uh, like I said, how ya gonna pay?\"

Saffron reaches out to snatch the doll from his hands, but recoils when he shoots snot from his nose. She makes a face, then glances at the plates, leading her to do a doubletake. She stares at the plate, she stares at the man. She looks at the sack. She looks at the doll. She looks at the sack.

\"Yes. The plates are fine.\" She smiles. \"You stay here while I go fetch some money. Unless you take eggs? I got some fresh eggs.\"

\"Eggs don\'t by me ale!\" the man roars in laughter. \"Eggs give me the gut rot anyway!\" He drops the doll and grabs out two plates roughy. He looks to be near dropping one, or both, but gets a handle on them and puts them down on the ground beside him.

\"I am gonna be good and drunk tonight!\"

*Clip* *Clop* *Clip Clop*

The sound of a shoed horse coming through the main gate is unmistakable as it walks long the hard packed ground and cobbles. A large, old looking horse swaggers through the main gate of the city with several bags and traveling gear hanging from its saddle. Leading the horse, walking along side of it comes and equally old man.

The man moves with a slight limp, but that isn\'t surprising for his advanced age. A pale white skin color, bone white hair, and a pale white robe makes him seem almost as smoke from a fire with too much green wood in it. The horse\'s gear as several wrapped and bundled items which could be anything from fire wood, to swords, to tent poles. While the old man, travel weary, walks with help of a strange crutch. After only a second glance it is obvious its no crutch at all, but a long wooden hafted gravedigger\'s shovel. The man known as the Grey Boar has returned at last home to Dunland.

Her smile is almost too sweet. \"Well you just sit. Right. There. And I\'ll be back with yer coins. But you know, my eggs bring a good price.\" She smiles again, and slowly starts to walk backwards towards the building.

\"I will be Right. Back.\" She says again. \"Just think of that ale! Mmm mmm mmm!\" Then she hurries away, herding the children as she goes.

The herd of children go running through the street and the old man pauses as they sweep past him. The old man smile, \"Ah children, what a delight, so innocent.\" He pauses standing there to watch the woman Saffron with the children and then follows her path back to the man selling things from the street. He narrows his eyes and sighs. \"Somethings never change.\"

The filthy man looks up from where he is sitting and sizes up the approaching stranger. Seeing his white hair, Gotaj cracks a toothy grin. \"I think I got even something for an old man like you... if you can pay.\" Gotaj eyes the various sacks upon the old man\'s horse.

The Grey Boar keeps his distance from the filthy street peddler, \"Really? By the looks of you the only thing I could get from your are fleas.\" Shaking his head he remains out of reach of the peddler, leading easily on his shovel, his horse\'s head down snorting and crewing on some cud its had in it mouth for the last few miles.

A passing glance is given to the old man as people walk past. Some exchange quiet words among them. One elderly man with a curved back and gnarled hands looks up from his daily walk and stares at Vardaen, his dull eyes coming to life with recognition. He starts to make a nonsensical moaning sound from his toothless, drooling mouth. \"Stop that yammerin\' grandpa, and keep movin\'!\" The stout woman shoves the old man.

At the same time, Saffron comes out from behind the building, bringing with her two, burly men, seemingly itching to fight. \"There he is! The thief!\" Saffron points at Gotaj.

\"I think I like it right here peddler. I wonder where you came by those trinkets in your bag...\" then it happens, Saffron and to other men come out from behind the building shouting at Gotaj. The Grey Boar then moves with speed that belies his old age, and hints at a once truely master of the art of swordplay. His shovel, comes up and sweeps forward in one quick strike at the stree peddler Gotaj\'s left knee. The head of the old tool turned weapon bares a few dents, and a few questionable stains, but that doesn\'t slow it from going where Vardaen tells it to go. The attack is aimed to knock the peddler down giving the much younger burly men with Saffron time to close on Gotaj.

Smelling blood, the two burly Dunlendings rush past Saffron in an attempt to get a few punches and kicks in before attempting to grapple the thief. Later that night at a lively tavern, \"Gotaj the Thief\" in the story would turn into \"Gotaj the Giant\" in the tale these two men told it. But for now, they have their hands full.

*** SAFFRON DESC ***

Saffron

Bewilderment of the world around her is reflected in the gentle pools of brown that make up her eyes. Soft waves of brown hair touches her shoulders, curling inward to hide the slim neck. Shorter than most, slighter than most, with the blush of youth well behind her, there is nothing exceptional about this soft-spoken woman.

Clad in a well-worn dress of brown, held tight by a bodice of faded red, Saffron nevertheless maintains a cheerful demeanor, explaining that the patches on the elbows were made when her great grandmother wore the dress.

*** GROTAG DESC ***

Gotaj(#6174POnA+c)

Dirty. Dingy. Haggard.

These three words can easily describe this fellow. His hair a thick and black, coated with greese and dirt. His face is similar, dirty, and unwashed. His face is flat and wide, with a large head, and small ears. Each have been pierced five times, at least, with rusty steel hoops and spear-like javelins.

His clothes are no different. Grungy, ugly, torn, and tattered. His shirt is open in the front, baring his massive amount of chest hair that pops through. His pants are brown, maybe they were a different color at some point, but today they are brown. His boots have holes in them, ripped pieces of leather and string. Upon his waist is a rusty longsword, hardly in any shape to do much damage to anyone. Who knows where he got the weapon from ...

*** VARDAEN DESC ***

It takes two glances for most to believe their sight when looking upon this ancient man. He is average in height and weight for his kind, but it is his color that sets him apart. For he is bleached and pale, a milky white in skin tone. Brown eyes stand guard to the reason of his discoloration, for he is not oft to talk about it. Most think him only old, and he is, easily in his early sixties, and his face shows many wrinkles, both \"laugh lines\" and \"crow\'s feet\". His hair hangs loose, like the white spray from some misty waterfall that has come to rest along his shoulder and back, a few loose bangs wave gently before his brow.

In his hand or hung off his belt, like some kind of strange weapon, is a long wooden handled gravedigger\'s shovel. The shovel looks old and dented and like it\'s cracked a few heads in its day as well as dug plenty of graves.

An observant eye might notice a simple band of gold on his finger clasps within it a tear drop red stone.