Thread: Whom the Gods Annoy (Advanced Dungeons and Dragons): Chapter 1. The Stars of Destiny

Marl Marl had risen early as he was taken to reviewing the previous days books for his nephews' smithy. He had finished consecrating the small shrine to Dumathoine at the entrance to the forge last week and had stayed to see that they knew the appropriate rituals for the little shrine to prevent befouling the site. It appeared that the nephews were not charging appropriately for their goods according to the local market. Yes, you could get pad this much for their services in the Hold, but not in a mixed community that wouldn't recognize their craftsmanship. They made nails that would last a century and hammers that would work as long. Their tools were higher quality, but the people around here didn't look that far into their future, hell most wouldn't live that long. He had noticed that business was slow, and for a dwarven smithy, idle time when they had skills as his nephews did, was a waste and a shame. He had encouraged his nephews to make staple products a grade below their current work, for the common man, still better than common fare, but charge the common price. Get their name out there. Sign some projects that they can honestly say their work went into. Then as their name spreads a bit, then pitch their higher quality to the true architects and craftsmen. Another idea was to branch into a niche service. Team with a trapper or ranger to provide exotic birds in beautiful cages, or something of the like. They needed steady currency, something that will allow them the leisure to work on their more industrious projects, their specialty goods. They needed something that would allow them repeat business or word-of-mouth advertisement. As it was they were spending more than they were taking in, and their product sat on the shelf, seen as too high priced for what people were wanting. The alarm arose as the last of his notes were drying. This drew the dwarf to the window, and as it came clear through the morning, Marl turned and began saying his prayers over his gear as he placed it on. He brushed through his muddy brown hair and beard, though he never once thought to braid it allowing it to flow forth. Presentation, the cryers were saying that the city needed people, ones who were not connected to the town. He had felt the wrong that lay over the town during the last month that he had lain within their walls, but had missed the crux as his interests were taken with the shrine preparations. Handing his notes to the youngest nephew, Aldor, he made his way to the door. May be in for the evening, might not. Save the cot fer me, and I will warm it as I can. If I be leaving, I will send word. Remember the rits now, for reconsecration will cost you and yer brothers their hides. And don't skimp the church, I ain't passin' the loan, but Dumathoine knows yer price. He growled as he left the smithy, he truly hoped the boys well, but they would keep looking to him every turn if he stayed here. He needed to make it obvious that he wasn't staying and that they needed to make their own decisions. He wasn't coming back tonight, even if he had to stay at an inn. Following the pages back to their master after the papers were sent to be distributed was nothing, and from there he found where to answer the call for aid.