As is often the case, doing something expediently is much better than procrastinating to the point you may forget, or lose all motivation to finish your task, so you decide to head on out.

With a quick thanks for the company and the food, you grab onto the pocket watch. It’s heavy, definitely built for a dwarf, and seems to be solidly made, definitely built by a dwarf. The edges are dulled out, the box able to fit between your hands though barely. You can hear the ticking from this far away, and you can feel it shake with each passing second. At least you won’t miss the time with this thing being louder than your footsteps…

“Don’t open it up.” Calls our your mentor as you step out from the workshop. It wasn’t so much a call to challenge you to do so, it just so happens that the pocket watch has a dwarven lock on it. No doubt it has something valuable inside, though there’s no point in making an enemy out of one of the only other dwarves in town. The amount of dwarves in this town could be counted on one hand, and you may be one of the only people to have met them all.

Master Rocksmith, who was once a Prince before his clan lost themselves into infighting and he exiled himself until they could finally finish their quarrels. He was enigmatic, a relaxed yet charming fellow who would be more than happy to serve tea to you as he would stick an axe through your skull.

Then there is Rover Roamer, a dwarven lass of perhaps only sixty years old. She had appeared in the town one day and sang wild tales of the Eastern lands. Half the knowledge you have of the Eastern lands is from this boisterous bard. Her second name, Roamer, denotes the fact that she has abandoned her name. Very few dwarves do such a thing, for to abandon your name is to abandon your family. Even now you have no idea why she did such a thing, for no one would do such a thing even if their life is in greatest peril.

Then, finally, there is Rockhammer. A distant cousin of Rocksmith. He is a bit of a dick, which made him perfect as a Commander to the army. He makes sure the army is kept in tip top shape, though he himself is built like a tub of lard. Still, he can swing a maul like… well, like a proper dwarf!

Master Rocksmith lives towards the noble district, his small plot of land not too far away from the Margraves’ estate. The trek there is quiet, well as quiet as can be when considering there is a festival currently in town, but you slip away towards the noble district. When you approach one of the entrances to the district the two guards cross their spears to deny your entrance.

[Rolling D20]

Roll: (17+4) 21 -Success!

You explain that you are here to deliver an object to Master Rocksmith. You show the pocket watch to them, the heavy ticking within it doesn’t provide you any favours, but turning it around to reveal the seal of your mentor works in your favour.

“Just a moment.” Calls one of the guards, and she turns to leave you with the other guard.

They both wear silver breastplate armour, with capes of gold that fall down just above their knees. A shortsword at their side, symbolising the blades that the Silverbanes used to kill the first werewolf, and they held a spear within one hand. Each guard was ambidextrous, as these were the Silver Spears. The Silver Spears weren’t your typical guards, they were picked out from young to be trained as warriors for the Silverbanes and the other minor noble families within the city.

“Didn’t expect anyone so fancy to be a courier.” The remaining guard says, raising her brow. “Are you from the East?” She asks, eyeing up the outfit you are wearing. If you were wearing your uniform, or even perhaps typical casual clothing of the realm’s design, there would be a lot less suspicion.

“Can’t say I’m not envious though. It gets a little too hot under this armour.” She says, pulling the breastplate to allow more air to funnel into her outfit. After a moment the other guard returns.

“Master Rocksmith is waiting in the garden. He says he’s expecting a Rebeca Roamhammer, or her apprentice.” She says to her companion.

The other eyes you up. “Considering you don’t look like a woman or a dwarf, I’m guessing you’re the apprentice.”

“Keep out of trouble, won’t you?” The pair then step aside to let you in.

The noble district is far different than the other districts. Though each house varies in size, the one thing they have in common is the fact they have a ton of spare land that the occupants could do as they wished.

Almost immediately to your left you see a small cabin-like building that hides behind it a much larger workshop. This is Rocksmith’s home. It is obvious that this is his home because he sits not far from you. He looks like he’s enjoying a little picnic for New Seed as he is sitting on a blanket that lay on the grass, a tea cup in one hand, a book in the other.

He’s a fairly tall dwarf, that is to say fairly short still. His hair is coal black, as you know he powders it with a little coal, though his thick beard is a mix between dark grey and black, and flows down to his stomach. It’s braided on either side, though hides behind the bushy middle once it goes further down. His face is in a perpetual state of “this tea is delicious” and “my, I do hope no rain ruins my picnic”, which is interesting because that’s how his face looks even if he isn’t having a picnic, and if it’s already raining, and when he’s sleeping. Ah, you wouldn’t know what his face looks like when he’s sleeping, but I assure you, that’s the way it is.

You walk on over and give a traditional dwarven greeting. He places down both his tea cup and his book before returning the greeting, then offers you a seat.

“I see you have brought my pocketwatch!” He says, his dwarven accent near non-existent. After spending nearly a century here, he has assimilated quite well in nearly all ways but his clothing choice, which seemed to be half dwarven and half inspired by the Margraves. He wore bits and pieces of armour atop traditional dwarven clothing, which had bits and pieces of armour anyway. Yet he had to one side something most dwarves don’t, a shortsword.

He reaches over and waits for you to hand it over, as per tradition. You hand it over and he takes it, starting to gently rub at pieces of it until he unlocks it with a key that he keeps within his sleeve. The sounds of the watch grows much louder than you expected.

“Ah.” Rocksmith sighs out and then spends a moment listening to it. It looks as though he’s listening to his mother singing a gentle lullaby. “I feel much better now. Many thanks to you for bringing this to me, and of course to the good lady Roamhammer for fixing it.” He slides his thumb along the back, caressing it gently, feeling the ridges of the stamp of your mentor.

“Oh, right.” He produces a single gold coin and hands it to you. “For your quick delivery. I expected it in the evening, but you came to me even though the festival is on. Many respects to you, young master.” He chuckles a hearty laugh.

Inventory: +1 GP

“Oh!” He says, his eyebrows raising in realisation. “I’ve been waiting for this pocket watch before I… Well, I need to hand Lord in Arms Harold Blackburn his sword. He requested me to work upon his blade, since it is magical in nature, and I have yet to return it. He’s antsy without his blade, rightfully so, it did bring him great honour and fame during the war.” He chuckles quietly to himself, though you can sense there’s a little sadness within him.

“Would you mind accompanying me to hand over this blade? I would enjoy the company.” He continues to chuckle.

Would you like to leave to do something els e, or to accompany Master Rocksmith to see Lord in Arms.