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Darkening Shadows

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Wildfire:
Darkening Shadows

Duthash Gyth Basque VY 237 (May 29)

OCC: This thread picks up after Once Home

The clothes Laren wore seemed clumsy. They were relaxed enough to offer a healthy amount of movement but the cloak, the pants over his pants, and the shirt over his shirt made him feel like he was wearing blankets. Gurden could see it on his face.

“Dunna ye be thinking that ye can be goin’ without this extra fluff. By the time I be done with ye, you’ll be a spitting image of Oddy...smell o’ him too.” Gibble had informed Laren that a clothing shop down near the docks, Hefters Finery, owned by Gurden Hammerhill-a tailoring loving dwarf-was the place to go. While Gurden wasn’t in the “family” he could be trusted to not ask questions and not answer them either- The Hawk Ring made sure of that.

Gurden, like many of his dwarven race, was a thick and sturdy fellow. His black beard, while not unkempt, seemed a bit wild as was the horseshoe of hair that stretched from ear to ear. He wore simple functional clothes and a tailors’ measure around his neck. At least three of his fingers had thimbles on them and Laren could swear at times he saw four and sometimes even five. Gurden was a tailor for laborers, fishermen, and laymen and he dressed the part.

Laren noted that the disguise clothes he was wearing over his own weren’t new by any stretch. They had rips, patches, and stains of food and mud that created a rainbow of crusty filth. The smell of the clothes, while not completely overpowering, stunk of rotten fish that had been left to bake in the sun. If, in fact, anyone that wished him harm could recognize Laren through the disguise they might have difficulty getting past the stench fog that was surrounding him.

“I have to admit…this be some o’ me good work!” Gurden said with a wide smile and a juicy sneeze.

Griznuq:
OOC: I was a little confused by: "Laren noted that the clothes he was wearing weren’t new by any stretch." I thought you were talking about Gurden's clothes.

Laren was no novice to disguise, but it'd be a very long time since he had to do it. He used to do it frequently, just to keep in practice and prank friends; back when life was simpler. Lately though, survival required more of Laren's other skills. He'd been relying on his fighting prowess and reflexes so much these past months, he was nervous being so encumbered. If the disguise failed, he'd have to fight, and these were not fighting clothes.

Still though, as uncomfortable as it was to wear the disguise it was much more comfortable than walking around in his own skin where someone might recognize him.

Of course they'd recognize you, he thought to himself wryly. Who could forget a handsome devil like you?!

He threw a sly wink to his reflection in the large mirror, grinning silently to himself. It was a relief to be in a different frame of mind. Already he felt invisible, and was looking excitedly forward to shuffling around the side streets without fearing the unseen.

"Your work is masterful," he said. "You've got Oscar pegged, right down to the smell of fish." The smell of invisibility, I hope. he thought.

Then a thought crossed his mind that he wished he'd thought of sooner... Gee, I hope I don't run into Oscar!

Wildfire:
OOC: edit for clarity in above post by Griznuq was made

“Thank ye laddie. It’s not so easy to be mimicin’ some folks…especially if they be known. Yeah, and Oddball Oscar…he’s a known fella ‘round here always beggin’ fer a fish with his tricky speak.” Gurden stated as he crafted the finishing stitches. “I ain’t be seein’ much o’ him though…not lately at least. So yer probably safe in yer dupin’ so long as ye dunna cross the threshold if ye take me figgerin’.”

Gurden seemed genuinely concerned as he presented his advice to Laren. He didn’t know many of the names of people in the Order of the Hawk but he knew them to be of honorable intent- even if their actions appeared to be otherwise. To Gurden, Laren seemed too young to know what evils may be found on the streets of Kurr. He reasoned that was what probably made Laren all the more dangerous to anyone that might single the halfling as an enemy. Members of the Order were not to be taken lightly when it came to their work.

“I dunna know yer dealin’s or yer intents…and I ain’t askin’ ye neither ye see. Just ye be mindful out there in what ye do. Seems obvious to many that advice does I know. An’ I feel like a damned fool for sayin’ it to ye too!” Gurden said with a chuckle. “All too often I be hearin’ o’ folks…good folks…make the mistake o’ thinkin’ with their anger or their bravado or worse yet, their be stinkin’ pride. They dunna usually meet good ends when that happens.”

Gurden found himself standing in front of Laren with a wagging, thimbled finger lecturing him as he would a child. Realizing his patronizing mannerisms he cocked his head and stepped back. “Pardon me for that. It ain’t me place to say such things to folks I dunna know nor do they know me.”

The aging dwarf righted himself, tugged on the tailors measure around his neck, and declared, “If the fishmongers canna’ make o’ the difference than not a one will methinks. I think ye be ready laddie!”

Griznuq:
Laren looked himself over in the polished metal mirror. He was indeed an image of Oscar. "If this doesn't work, I don't know what will," Laren said more to himself than to Gurden.

He bowed graciously, and stepped down off of the small box he'd been standing on. The movement stirred the air, and Laren got the full brunt of "Double-O's" stench. His heart went out to that fellow and anyone downwind.

One step completed. I can only hope I get what I need today, so I can get out of this disguise! he thought to himself.

As the shop's door swung closed behind him, Laren realized he really didn't have much of a plan in mind. He had realized that a disguise would be a good idea, and just rushed off to get one before really thinking about what he'd do next.

It was late morning, and the streets were busy. Laren was already drawing side-long glances, followed by quickened paces from the passersby. As his cheeks gave way to a small victorious grin, he remembered who he was now. The grin stretched into the semi-intoxicated semi-demented grin only "Double-o" (and Laren) could grin!

As he stepped down off the small door step, he intentionally turned an ankle and came crashing down. He threw out an arm to stop himself, and it went splashing down in the horse trough. He stood back up jerkily, and dusted himself off.

"Oh blast," he said loudly. "I've gone and got a clean spot on me sleeve! That shall ruin my ambiance!" He laughed Oscar's wheezing laugh as the small crowd that was watching shook their heads, some in disgust.

Only one place to go, he thought, pointing his shambling course to the Half Pint. If he could fool Ol Gibble, he could fool anyone. Acting drunk is a lot easier when drunk too.

"I'd love a gold piece," He shouted to no one in particular. "But if you don't have one, a platinum will do just fine!"

If nothing else came of this day, Laren was at least going to have a good time.

Wildfire:
The streets of Kurr were bustling this day. Laborers toiled on replacing broken and missing cobbles, barrel filled wagons bumped by with a constant racket, and street peddlers shouted out the deals they had for passer-byes. The trades section of Kurr was always busy and always moving.

Laren got random looks of sympathy and some of disdain but mostly people just ignored him-or didn’t notice him-as they would any “street-lifer”. The folks in this part of town were hard workers with calloused hands and seemed to not have time to pay to someone that did not significantly impact their life as there was work and business to be done! As Laren ambled his way down the street, now soaked and just as smelly, he passed by a four troop of guards with worn armor. “Yeesh, I haven’t seen Oddy around for a while…wonder where he’s been?” remarked one of the guards. “Honestly private, does it matter?” answered the troop sergeant. The others laughed at the comment except the curious guard. From the corner of his eye Laren could see the questioning guard look back in sympathy and “accidentally” drop a *griffon.

*the name of a silver piece in the Tri-State of Vychia (Kurr being one of the three states)commonly called a “grif”.

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