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The next morning you awake with a little more knowledge of the world and a lot more hangover.

Not being native to the area and professing a dearth of knowledge of the land, the assorted patrons of your new and temporary residence had piously informed you as best their slurring allowed; giving you a picture of the local area about as rough as you currently feel.

Rolling to face the ceiling you lean an arm over to the other side of your spacious bed, feeling a regretful lack of presence on the other side of the sheets as you puzzled together last night’s events. Quite why this absence should disappoint you was…

…Ah yes. The beauteous half-elf you’d almost sweet-talked into sharing the night with. She was very helpful and free with her knowledge; even scribbled down a (frankly terrible) map of the surrounding area for you, noting the three cities closest to town- north and east of here. The paper had disappeared later, during more, uh, ‘intimate’ questioning.

Yes, a pity she was married.

Sitting up you imagine a shirt for yourself, smiling as you remember your sister’s bizarre fondness for real clothes, and stare out the window beside your bed into the dull haze of the morning plains- a fine view over the walls of the city and into the land beyond.

As you’ve been told, this half of Urgash was apparently more populous for being located in scrubland and not desert, but even here the citizens seemed to live exclusively behind the towering walls of magic-run city-states. The outlands were filled with raiding Orc tribes, magical oddities and pan-dimensional disturbances (likely from all the mages chucking spells at each other), so travel and trade always went abroad heavily armed- most of the adventurers in-house working as bodyguards to both. Protection of domestic investments and architecture generally came down to the arcane and divine more than strength-of-arms, circumventing local creatures advantages of strength without sorcery.

Umbaya itself received most of its protection from the Divine side of the spectrum- most everyone here was religious in one way or another, and every religion present had to do something to contribute toward town’s defence or they weren’t permitted to set up shop. For most this was simply a tithe they paid the governing council…though others, much to your personal aggrievance, pay their way in wards and shielding- the favoured form of payment for the newer churches to appear on the block.

How annoying- if he were a year or two earlier you might have gotten away with that drop. Ah well.

As quick as thought you dress yourself (some tasteful half-plate) and briskly open the door to your room, hoping to take advantage of any breakfast that may be prepared for residents before the clamouring din of the adventurers assembled below made off with it. And in time you were…just early enough to see the last sausage go into a halfling’s mouth. Even better; a halfling you recognize from last night.

“Ah, Victor!” Allandro munched, beckoning you over to his table, “Sorry, w’s ‘ungry. You know how it is. C’mon don’t look like that, have a seat I’ll wave ya a drink over.”

“Yes, fine, hello Allandro, “ You sighing in irritable acquiesce, slumping next to the ranger, “You’re rather chipper for a man who drank half his bodyweight in liquor last night.”

“Thrill of the hunt, what can I say?” He laughed, gesturing to a pleasantly buxom wench with some strong tea, “You’re a little late but you haven’t missed anything, pretty much everyone’s here and we’re all going to push off as soon as the start’s official- right now it’s just the usual lying and boasting about how many everyone’s going to kill and all of that.”

“Lying, hmm?” You smile, taking a sip of your beverage (ICED tea? Well well…), “I take it you got all of yours out of the way last night? Something about half the heads’ll be on your pile?”

“Ahh, well, last night drink was involved…and everyone knows you speak the truth when you’re drunk.”

Smirking yourself, you sit back and listen in to everyone else (some thirty In all) declaring victory for their gods and giving ever more extravagant claims of racing to the tribal grounds and culling a hundred of them before the rest of the party. An impressive display of arrogance even by draconic standards; and this is even without the aid of alcohol.

Finally, (the Barman) stands upon the serving table, bellows enough to hush everyone, then reads toward thedetails task at hand: Recovered bodies of dead carrier-birds with Orcish shafts in them, the location of the Orcs in question, and, most importantly, the terms of payment.

“A ‘head’ is recognized as either the full body part, a scalp, or other method of identifying a confirmed kill related to  singular person. Fifteen gold a head for the warriors, thirty for higher-ranking Orcs, a hundred for any sorcerers they might have and two-hundred for the Chieftan; obviously with additional proof on the burden of the hunter. In addition, ‘loot’ is permissible behavior but only AFTER the contract has been fulfilled to satisfaction, which is the dissolving of the tribe, wherapon you can keep whatever you can carry yourselves, or-”

“-Women an’ kids?”

“-Ah,” He pauses, checking it over once, “Doesn’t say, though there’s a lump sum to be divvied out for total removal of the tribe- and no it doesn’t say how many there are either, which in our terms means ‘too many’; so expect a full purse or to be dead if you’re not careful. Contract’s open from now until completion, an’ you’re all to head ouuuuut…right now! So get your asses following Hasir over here and remember where to spend your gold first when you get back, alright?!”

You fail to be as enthusiastic as the well-fed others in the cheer that came after, choosing to lean back and watch as everyone followed the Ranger out of the tavern and toward yonder prey, carefully sipping your frosty beverage. It was only sporting to give them a lead, considering you had more expedient travel at your disposal than ‘foot’…that, and once they’re off you can check out which way they’re heading and go on ahead of them.

Finishing your drink and standing to stretch, you lean out of the tavern door, hanging by the frame to peer into the town around you. Breakfast first obviously, then…perhaps visit a vendor for a weapon? If so, what kind? Chances are you’re going to need something plausible to say you’v beheaded things, if beheadings are on the agenda.

Either way, there was time enough for a little spending before raking in the coin.