It surprised Rambat that anyone addressed him to sit anywhere near him. And it was a woman, and not one dressed in the way other women in the town were... When Rambat grew up in the town after his parents came with him here, it was uncommon for other boys his age to say anything to him. The girls his age never did. He almost did not know what to say. "Um, no one is here. Go ahead, your welcome," he managed, hoping that would do. But he was not ready for any talk here. What would this mean?
As the various folk gathered, the City Hall buzzed with new energy. The locals knew the sight of the wild ranger who prowled their wood and many eyed him with nervous interest. Whispers swirled about, none directed at him but a few of him. Rumors of witches were known, some speaking of devilish hags, others of those who walked in wolf skins at night. The millers and farmers’ sons couldn’t make heads or tails of the strange woman in their midst. Cailín managed to slip into anonymity, at least for a while.
The pair of warriors were the last to arrive. A few glares were directed at the half-orc, but the knight was only met with reverent stares. The Count grew visibly more relieved at the sight of the plate-clad dragonkin. The clock on the wall made a clicking sound as 11 hit. The Count Greengarden strode to the front of the stage and the crowd quieted as he began to speak. His voice was raspy and low, but he waved his fingers and his voice was magically louder.
“My daughter… has vanished. My servants tell me a figure was perched at her balcony late last night. Tracks lead to the east, two sets. I have allowed the outer gates of my castle to open for you to see. Please, if you have any information, bring it to me.” His voice was choked with emotion. He took a deep breath and calmed himself. “If you can bring her back to me, I will grant you 500 gold pieces or the deed to a fine estate. Thank you.” He seemed to deflate a bit, and returned to his attendants.
A collective gasp went up from the crowd at the prospect of 500 gold pieces and the possibility of a good tract of land. Many of the gathered people were from the serf caste, the local peasantry. Images of a grand townhouse or a wide, fertile farm. 500 gold pieces seemed to pale in comparison somewhat, though many of the merchants and artisans’ minds were filled with images of a chest of gold coins.