The Dauntless

Dorrak sighs and shrugs. "Well, that could have gone better," he grumbles before heading back to the main courtyard.

When morning breaks, you awaken to find a corner of the room you camped out in has had a tent of webbing quietly assembled in the middle of the night.

As Antoinette wakes up in the morning she notices the web tent and stares at it quizzically. She walks over to it. "Renali, this made sense in the cave but now that we're in the citadel it strikes me as a bit odd that you're still going with a spiderweb tent. Makes me feel like there's something you're not telling us. To be clear, it isn't like we're going to just kill you or boot you out if there is something more to you. I fight as half a crocodile, we just told a goblin tribe they can keep living in our basement, and the kobolds have a lair down there too."

There's a squeak from inside. "Uh... hold on." Several minutes pass as rustling can be heard from inside the tent. Finally, Renali emerges, looking nothing like she did the day before. She's two feet taller, with her body now covered in blue fur and her legs now spindly and ending in large, three-toed paws. Her head resembles that of a spider's, and the mandibles around her mouth chitter rapidly with embarrasment as she rubs the back of her head. "Sorry... I was going to tell you eventually, but not necessarily like... this. I just got in so late and was so tired I spun up a new web and didn't really think about it."

Antoinette shrugs and smiles. "Can't say I'm super surprised. I've never met an Anadi before."

"I'm surprised you even know what I am, to be honest," Renali replies. "My people aren't exactly well known outside Garund."

"I've never heard of them, but who you are matters more than what you are, and you've only ever been decent to my knowledge," Dorrak offers, sitting up from his bedroll after having been woken by the sound of voices.

"I am surprisingly well read," Antoinette says. "And to Dorrak's point, if you had any reason to act against us you've had more than ample time to do so. You're welcome here with no judgment."

Renali's mandibles flex in what looks, vaguely, like a smile. "Thank you. My people are often... misunderstood, even in our homeland. We've found it better to conceal ourselves around unfamiliar people until we get a better sense of them."

Dorrak shrugs and gets up. "Did you learn anything about the damage to the portal last night?" he asks.

Suki sits up, unwrapping herself from where she was curled around her fauchard in her sleep. Rubbing the last remnants of sleep from her eyes she looks over at the spider lady. Blinking a couple times she notes that none of her new companions are reacting any. "Did we get another houseguest?" She asks.

"Not as much as I would like," Renali admits. "Something destabilized its internal magical supply, but I'm not sure what. I can fix the symptoms, probably sufficiently that it won't malfunction again unless it's severely overused, but the root problem will still be there."

Suki considers for a moment, before reaching into her pack and fishing out the arrowhead. "Well this thing is the portal's key," She says, her eyes flashing red and slit-pupiled as she holds it up and examines it. "I'm no expert on ancient magical constructs, far from it, but I think we could use this to help repair it? The two's magical matrices should certainly react, we may be able to guide it back into form," She says.

Renali nods. "Unfortunately without identifying the root cause it'll eventually become unstable again. But I mean, that only matters if you plan on regularly using it. Personally, I'd just like to make one trip through and get home again. Anyway, I should have it fixed in... two months if I'm working on it by myself?"

"I'm not sure how much help I could be, but I'd be happy to help pay for someone from town to help, or maybe one of the others knows a thing or two," Dorrak suggests.

"I may be able to help," Antoinette replies. "Though we should hire workers from town to start fixing the castle. We've got a long way to go before it becomes truly livable again."

"I'm not exactly a handyman myself," Django says with a chuckle. "Unless the issue is something that can be solved magically or by faith I don't know how much help I'll be. I'm with Annie, I think we'd be better served hiring help to get the portal functioning again and maybe getting the stairs that lead down to the Ring rebuilt while we make this place fit for humanoid habitation."

With agreement on that, after devising a work schedule as a group, Dorrak sets off to hire a stonemason. On the way, he realizes his simple peasant’s gear with his sword at his hip might not give the respectful, professional approach he wants, so he stops in at Redwood Furs.

Redwood Furs is a quaint little shop on the south side of town, painted red with brown trim to match its name. The front room of the shop is expansive with several mannequins lining the walls, all displaying exquisitely tailored outfits of varying colors and practicalities from rugged-yet stylish-heavy jackets and wilderness gear to a beautiful red satin ballgown in the corner. From the back room emerges a human man in his mid-20s. "A new adventurer in my shop? Fantastic!" Without so much as a word of warning he rushes Dorrak, brandishing a measuring tape that he begins drawing along or wrapping around his various body parts. "What brings you in today?" he asks, not interrupting his work for a moment. "Sturdy clothing for the road, an important event, or just replacing your everyday wear with something..." he hesitates, eyeing Dorrak's current clothing with a critical look. "... less drab."

Dorrak submits to the measuring without complaint, waiting patiently for the tailor to stop talking. ”Mostly the latter. I’m looking for something to wear while I meet with some business owners about a job I’d like their help with. Just something a little more professional, but nothing extravagant,” he explains, speaking slowly and haltingly, having never really gone shopping for clothes before.

"Well that, I can do," Finney nods, although he seems a little put out at "nothing extravagant." "Let's see, for you I'm seeing a simple vest and shirt combination, something well fitted to emphasize your physique as a prominent physical feature. Lavender for the shirt and perhaps brown, approaching orange for the vest. Tan trousers and a pair of smart looking shoes and we'll be in business." He steps back and claps his hands together, measuring tape between them. "Alright, I have your measurements, I should be able to have that ready for you in a few days."

Dorrak listens to all those ideas, envisioning himself in his mind. It'd likely make him look like the head of a professional mercenary company or a guard captain, not a bad style for him. "That suits me just fine," he replies with a nod, extending his hand to shake. "Dorrak Hakdarson," he adds, realizing they hadn't been properly introduced.

The tailor takes the hand with a charming smile. "Winthrop Finney. So nice to meet an adventurer with an actual sense of taste. So, allow me to show you some cuts and styles so we can make sure you've got a look you're satisfied with."

After a little while of trying a few different looks, with Dorrak hardly able to tell the difference between some of them, they eventually settle on one that Winthrop says looks good, and Dorrak says feels good. With that and a price agreed on, Dorrak shakes his hand once more and promises to be back in a couple days, then he heads off to Tuskhead Stoneworking to meet Rorsk Axebane.

Tuskhead's main operations building is a small stone building situated on the water, attached to what looks to be a warehouse with a waterwheel attached to it. A sign on the front says "main building closed, see foreman in warehouse." In the warehouse itself, a muscular, tall (by his ancestry's standards) dwarf with thick, dark hair and a beard done in three braids, wearing no shirt beneath his vest, barks orders at a number of workers hauling and pushing at slabs of stone to get them stacked and organized.

"No, no, no!" he shouts. "That's granite! The fock do ya think yar doin', puttin' it with tha slate? What do ya think Ah'm goin' ta do when Vallindel orders a hunk o' granite fer sculptin' and thanks ta you idiots, she's go' a fat slab o' slate instead? Gah!"