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Penny's Dungeons and Dragons: Submission Holds

Zima's kick lands true. With a wheeze, the air rushes out of his lungs and the strength goes out of his body. He doubles over in pain and takes two stumbling steps away before the red-haired man roughly shoves him over. He lands on his side with a long, low groan, both of his hands clutching himself between his legs. A moment later, the barmaid runs up to kick him hard in the midsection.

"Fucking gods-damned motherless asshole bastard shitfucker prick!" she exclaims, but the man only whimpers and curls up into a tighter ball. The barmaid seethes, her body shaking with anger, when the middle-aged woman steps up to her, holding out one hand to gently get her attention. The barmaid takes a deep, shaking breath, then turns towards the older woman.

"Yes?" the barmaid asks quietly, holding herself together with great effort.

"When you've got a moment, can I get another drink?" the middle-aged woman asks, slurring slightly.

"That was some good work," the red-haired man says, stepping over to Zima. He extends a hand downward to her. "Are you - uh..."

He suddenly looks sheepish as his eyes scan over Zima's body. Embarrassed, he averts his eyes, though the hand remains extended towards her.
 
Zima saw the fruits of her effort as the group of those around her finished off the final thug. The barmaid even coming in to deliver a kick of her own after the fight was decided. Zima started to relax as the fight drew to a close, and the details that Zima could ignore while she was in the middle of battle came rushing to the forefront. She was mostly naked at this point as the thugs managed to remove both her top and her skirt. Zima could feel the man who was acting as her ally in the battle scanning over her body as she looked to get up.

With her rage now over, Zima's face turned flush. She was embarrassed by the state her body was in. It was as if all the embarrassment Zima should have been feeling as her top was ripped away to the present moment all surged and boiled over as Zima tried to find a piece of her skirt that was freshly torn away moments ago. Zima wanted to respond to the comment that she was given, but her mind was racing to find some semblance of decency as she could not manage her present state of being.

Zima rolled herself to the side a little to allow herself to grasp and pull free the section of her skirt that she was able to find flailing her hand nearby her body. This section of her skirt was enough to restore a semblance of modesty as she could cover her chest enough to extend her hand forward to the man and allow him to pull herself up off the ground. Zima not quite able to speak as she was helped up, eventually would reply with her name if the man, woman, or barmaid properly introduced themselves to her.
 
"Ahem," the red-haired man says, looking away even as he pulls Zima to her feet. "Anyway."

As Zima stands, a man in a stained apron and on the far side of middle age peeks out from the kitchen. He carefully scans the room, then steps out. "Everything alright here?" he asks.

"No thanks to you!" the barmaid snaps. "These motherless bastards didn't want to pay me for a night's work and thought they'd take it from me right here! They'd have done it, too, if it weren't for them!"

She points at Zima and the red-haired man, then corrects her finger to point directly at Zima. "Mostly her."

The man in the apron looks at Zima, then moves to the counter. Leaning over, he glares down at the unconscious drunks before giving a disgruntled sigh. "Damn out-of-towners. Alright, go get the sheriff and tell her what happened. These boys'll have some explaining to do. I'll take care of things here."

The barmaid leaves, muttering angrily to herself. The other woman sips her wine and watches the procedings with interest. Meanwhile, the man in the apron turns to Zima and the red-haired man - his eyes scanning up and down Zima's body, despite her attempts to cover herself.

"Thanks for your help, strangers. Your meals are on the house today, and if you're interested in staying the night, that'll be free, too."

"I, er, should be going, actually," the red-haired man says. "I need to be back in Waterdeep as soon as possible. Don't worry about paying me back for the drinks, I'm fine."

"If you say so," the man says. "And, uh - ma'am?"
 
Zima hesitated a bit as she was not sure how to respond. One part of her wanted to rush off with the other man when he mentioned that he was going to Waterdeep. Then again, Zima did not even know that man's name. This was the option that Zima inherently dismissed as she extended her arm out to the red-haired man in a belated attempt at a greeting. Zima was struggling with maintaining her modesty during all this, and the two men were elevating her level of embarrassment more with every passing moment.

"Name's Zima, and perhaps I'll see you in Waterdeep as I am headed there myself. I'd offer to travel with you were it not for this situation.." Zima tried to emphasise her point by attempting to adjust her top so that her chest was as covered as it could be given the situation. Before the fight, Zima might have been able to leave and might have made her way to Waterdeep, possibly with the red-haired man? Now that was not an option as the pressing issue of having nothing to wear was a problem that Zima needed to address as soon as possible.

The offer of a free meal as well as a free room for the night was going to be the choice Zima opted for once her conversation with the red-haired man were finished. If for no other reason that she needed to handle her immediate problem that her clothing was pretty torn up. Her top was missing almost the entirety of the front as one of the drunks grabbed, pulled, and ripped it away from her. A portion of Zima's skirt was now being used as an improvised top as Zima tried to pin it to her body with one of her arms. When Zima finished her conversation with the red-haired man, Zima intended to inform who she figured to be the cook of her intention to take advantage of the offered food and board for the night. If they were to exchange pleasantries, Zima had no intention of missing the opportunity of getting her name out there to more people.

Aside from the offered food and drink, Zima now had to figure out how to handle her present clothing situation. As much as she wanted people to remember her for kicking the crap out of the thugs, there was likely equal chance that they were going to remember her for being stripped almost naked while kicking the crap out of the thugs. At some point, preferably once the men were away, Zima did want to talk to the remaining woman in the room who seemed content to do very little during the conflict. Something she could not do if she left to Waterdeep with the red-haired man.
 
"You're already going to Waterdeep?" the man repeats, shaking Zima's hand. He looks excited by the news, though the conversation is getting hard to read because he avoids looking directly at her. "That's great! - I mean, I have a proposition for you, if you're interested."

He gestures vaguely to the unconscious drunks. "You really laid those guys out. Have you ever thought about fighting professionally? Not as a mercenary, but for an audience. No weapons, no killing - just a pit, your opponent, and the crowd. Like a gladiator, if you've heard of those. Waterdeep has a number of pit fighting bars, you could make good money doing it. You'd just need someone to sponsor you."

He puts his hand on his chest and finally looks Zima in the eye. "Fortunately, that someone is me."
 
Zima was interested with the conversation and where it was going. Her intentions were to find some manner of employment, even if just as a dockhand or who knows what else. The aspiration of being a hero and going on some epic quest was an allure for most, and perhaps Zima had what it took? Were Zima to accept the offer, that was going to make things a lot easier for when she reached Waterdeep. Though many things started to race through her mind. The least of which was still what she was going to do about her now shredded and destroyed clothes. What happened if she was not good enough? Zima felt a bit of self doubt at this point as she might be setting herself up to repeat the exact things that she was looking to escape her homeland and relocate into Waterdeep.

Zima, for all that was racing through her mind right now, tried to stay strong. "I'd love to accept your offer.." Zima stated as she hesistated for a few moments. Then, Zima realized that she had never formally introduced herself. Trying to change the subject slightly now that the die was cast. "Name's Zima. Zima Volkov. In my language, it translates imperfectly to 'Winter Wolf' in the common tongue."

That was all Zima cared to offer about herself, as she went on to list the things that she was looking for. The least of which was the food that was on its way before the brawl broke out. Now that it was 'on the house', as well as a room for the night, Zima attempted to try and push her luck. "Unless you have pressing business in Winderdeep that requires you to leave immediately as you said, I still have a few loose ends, and a torn up outfit to tend to before I feel like I can leave."

Were the two to go their separate ways after this encounter, Zima wanted to know where she could go to find this red-haired man. Otherwise Zima would make her way to Waterdeep with the red-haired man tomorrow. Although if the red-haired man were convinced to stay the night instead of leave, Zima would insist on having separate rooms or at the least separate beds.
 
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"Good to meet you, Zima Volkov!" the red-haired man exclaims. "I'm Ranaer, which doesn't mean anything in any tongue, as far as I know. Winter Wolf would make a fine pit name, if you don't think it's too on-the-nose. Now, I can't stay the night, but when you get to Waterdeep, ask for the Neverember House. I should be there for - "

"Wait a minute," the cook interrupts. "Neverember? As in Dagult Neverember? Open Lord of Waterdeep Dagult Neverember?"

Ranaer grimaces before answering. "No, as in Ranaer Neverember. And you're talking about the former Open Lord of Waterdeep, by the way.

"Moving on...I'll be at Neverember House in the Sea Ward for the next few days. Ask anyone in the City Watch and they'll point you in the right direction. Don't get the Sea Ward confused with the Docks Ward - that's the rough part of town. Fun, but rough."

He reaches into his pocket. "They do want you to wear clothes there, so consider this an early investment." He holds out some silver coins to Zima, then realizes her hands are occupied and she doesn't have access to pockets anyway. Awkwardly, he places them on the counter instead. "I'll, uh...just put these here."

He moves to the door, calling out one last thing to Zima. "Remember! Neverember House in the Sea Ward!"

Then, he's gone.
 
Zima remarked a few times during their conversation about Ranaer and finally revealing his name to her. The idea of using her translated name as a persona seemed quite fitting after Zima pondered it for a bit. As the cook interrupted their conversation, Zima could be seen clenching her coverings tighter to her body in an attempt to cover her chest.

As Ranaer addressed the cook, Zima added a quip of her own though not entirely directed at the cook. "Is it going to be long for the guard to show up?" Hoping to get some kind of an answer while Ranaer and the cook were interacting with each other. After Ranaer was done with the cook, Zima again listened to his speech. Making sure to remember the Sea Ward and House Neverember.

Zima added in a quick quip once he finished the explanation, "Maybe you can show me around so I know where I should or should not go while I am in the town? I suspect this house of yours should not be difficult to find?" Not really expecting an answer from Ranaer, Zima did look down for a few moments at the mention of wearing clothes. "Thanks, I'll see to getting these fixed up." An awkward glance shared between the two as Zima and Ranaer tried to sort their last bit of business before going their separate ways.

As Ranaer made his way to the door, Zima made her way to the countertop where the coins were placed. Trying her best to keep her spirits up. She wanted to focus on the positives and that she beat the crap out of three of those thugs trying to take advantage of the barmaid who was taking advantage of them. Zima's moral compass did not really register much in that regard as she felt they were both wrong in their own way.

Zima was going to see if she could parlay some bit of favor from saving the barmaid while she waited both for the roast and the local authority to come by and handle the aftermath of the brawl. If anything, Zima decided that brawl worked up an appetite. In a few minutes, she was likely to start feeling the effects of being hit a bit more now that the battle high was starting to subside.
 
Zima said:
"Is it going to be long for the guard to show up?"
Click to expand...

The cook's mustache wriggles as he muses. "You mean the sheriff? I don't think she'll be long, but you never know. She could be busy, I suppose."

"Oh yes, I'll show you around," Ranaer says before leaves. "I can tell you where to find the best drinks in Waterdeep! And the worst - that's usually where you'll be fighting. See you then!"

The cook returns to the kitchen, grousing quietly to himself about drunken out-of-towners making a mess of his livelihood. After about ten minutes, he emerges with a generous side of pork roast swimming in gravy, accompanied by sliced potatoes, carrots, and other root vegetables. Another plate has three slices of thick bread. It's not the best food Zima's ever tasted - probably the consequence of keeping it "half-ready" for hours on end - but there's plenty of it. Given the way it threatens to spill out of her plate, the cook probably gave her a little extra for her trouble.

Shortly after her food arrives, the barmaid returns, looking just as irate as when she left. She's accompanied by the sheriff: a middle-aged human woman in leather armour that looks about as old, with graying hair and bags under her eyes. She's tall and broad-shouldered, but looks like she's starting to go to seed. Trailing behind her are a couple of younger, fresher, and equally large young humans who say nothing and follow her lead. All of them wear armour and carry a wooden club, short sword, net, and a buckler. Calling them "guards" would be generous; the sheriff probably does this as a full-time job, but the deputies are most likely farmhands who can be called into service when needed.

"These the ones?" the sheriff asks simply, looking down at the semi-conscious drunks. The barmaid nods, and the sheriff looks to one of the deputies. "They in that caravan?"

The deputy, a young man with more freckles than there are stars in the sky, nods. "Yes, ma'am. I saw 'em hanging around when my pa talked to the caravan master."

"Mm-hmm. Tie 'em up." The sheriff makes a hand gesture, and the deputies get to work binding the drunks' wrists. The sheriff looks around, then at the barmaid. "Where's your knights in shining armour?"

"One of them's gone, but she did most of the work," the barmaid says, pointing to Zima.

The sheriff comes over to Zima, leaning on the counter. Her eyes glance down at Zima's destroyed clothes before coming back up to her face. "You alright?"
 
Zima tied up a few loose ends from the conversations she had. Surveying the bar a bit as she took a look at her handiwork. Zima was a little surprised that the barmaid had not even so much as said thank you. At least it did not take too long for the roast to make its way to her part of the bar. The meal looked good enough, certainly better than trying to forage for who knows what if she made her way to Waterdeep. An acceptable reward for taking care of the lion's share of the thugs that were troubling the bar.

After what felt like maybe a minute to Zima, as she had just started making headway into the roast. The next scene started as the Sherriff and a few more humans made their appearance. The barmaid doing all the explaining that Zima figured she might have had to do as a half-breed. Zima mumbled a quick thank you, not particularly aimed at anyone or anything. For Zima it seemed the fight was over, at least for today.

With the thugs now taken into custody the sheriff now took interest in Zima. A simple question started the conversation, and Zima replied in kind. "Sure, a few bruises perhaps, but I'll be fine." Zima hesitated a bit as she was not sure she should mention the tooth that she knocked free from one of the thugs. Half considering if she wanted to attempt finding it and claim it as a trophy.

Before deciding on if she wanted to reveal the location of the missing tooth, Zima remarked about her clothing. "My outfit on the other hand, could use a bit of work." Zima tried to keep herself mostly covered though there was only so much she could do with the remains of her top that she could recover strewn about the table nearby to where her roast was. "Bhin slaughs* tore my clothes up real good, though."

Bhin = young human male, Slaugh = pig.

Presumably if the sheriff or others do not know elven then Zima might reference the thugs in a dismissive manner. Biir = garbage, another possible term Zima might use to refer to them.
 
"They sure did," says the sheriff, giving no indication whether she understands the Elvish or not. She looks at the thugs for a moment, then reaches down at the one closest to the bar - the one Ranaer knocked out. His wrists aren't bound yet. She grabs the collar of his jacket and pulls it off his shoulders, then tosses it onto the bar next to Zima.

"That should last you until you can get more," she says. The jacket is old leather and has seen better days, but wearable. "I'll spread the word around town what happened, so at least people know why you're walking around in tatters until you can get your hands on something better.

"I hope you don't think less of our corner of the world for this. Sometimes caravaneers on the way to or from Waterdeep think they can act out here. I'll be having a long talk with the caravan master. Anyway, thanks for the help. Things could've gone worse if you weren't here."

"They would have gone worse!" the barmaid protests testily. "She fought them almost all by herself! If it weren't for her, they'd have raped me for sure."

"Yup," the sheriff simply says, then turns to her deputies. "We done here?"

"Yes, ma'am," says the freckled man, standing over the drunks. All of them are tied up at this point.

"Alright, get 'em out of here." She turns back to Zima. "You need anything else from me?"
 
Zima let the scene develop in front of her, as she learned that a wandering caravan seemed to be responsible for causing the melee in the bar. Probably nothing of note, though if they were going to Waterdeep it might make an awkward reunion. Zima accepted the jacket so she could have some semblance of modesty instead of continuing in her present state of toplessness. "Appreciate it, thanks." Zima said as she was not sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that the Sheriff was going to put a notice out about Zima.

As the conversation developed further, Zima allowed the barmaid to speak for her. The barmaid remarked how poorly things could have gone if neither Zima or Ranaer got involved. With the thugs about to hauled off, Zima tried to get a bit of information. "You know anything about that Ranaer? The man that helped me. Neverember I believe his family name was, seemed to hold himself as someone of importance in Waterdeep."

With the whole scene mostly settled at this point, Zima wanted to get whatever information she could. This part of the world was almost all unfamiliar territory to her. "Oh, and before I forget, where is a good place in town to handle this situation?" To emphasize her point, Zima reached out and grasped a piece of cloth she recovered from her torn apart top. Finding any information she could get on Ranaer or a cloth weaver was going to help after the tavern settled down a bit. Zima had the roast waiting for her on the table, as well as a room to keep her through the night.
 
"Ranaer Neverember?" the sheriff asks. "Yeah, I know him. Comes around here every so often, for some reason. Good enough kid."

"His father's Dagult Neverember!" the cook calls from the kitchen. "Open Lord of Waterdeep!"

"Former Open Lord of Waterdeep!" the sheriff shouts back, loud enough for the cook to hear, before turning back to Zima. "Dagult was originally from Neverwinter, but moved to Waterdeep, got into business, and got rich. Eventually they made him the Open Lord of Waterdeep. Waterdeep's ruled by a council of Lords, and they're all anonymous but the Open Lord."

"'Cause he's the only one of them that deserves any respect!" the cook calls. "He cleaned up the city!"

"Yeah, but he also sold noble titles and put a tax in place. Then he made himself the Lord Protector of Neverwinter. I guess the other Lords thought he was getting too big for his britches, because they chose a new Open Lord - Laeral Silverhand. As far as I know, this just means Dagult's not Open Lord anymore, but I hear he hasn't been back to Waterdeep since, so there's probably something else going on. Anyway, his son still lives in Waterdeep and is still rich. Like I said, he pops here every once in a while. Don't know why, though. We don't got a lot to offer nobility like him.

"Anyway," the sheriff continues, "talk to Bettany if you want something to wear. She makes the best clothes in town. Usually it's by commission, but she should have something lying around if you're in a hurry. I'll let her know you might be coming by.

"See ya." The sheriff gives a vaguely goodbye-ish wave of her hand before leaving the room, followed by the deputies and the restrained drunks.

With the sheriff gone, Zima is able to enjoy her roast. After a couple of minutes, the barmaid comes by again to refill her drink, then reaches into the pocket of her dress and places a silver piece and five copper on the counter next to Zima's plate.

"The meal's on the house," the barmaid says coolly, leaning over the bar. As before, Zima has a direct view down her cleavage. "Room, too, if you want it. Tonight, you get everything in the tavern free."

She leans closer, her voice a cooing whisper. "Everything."
 
Zima tried to take all the info in that she could. The conversation between the sheriff and the cook had opened Zima's mind a bit on the opportunity that was afforded her in Waterdeep by Ranaer. As the sheriff shifted her attention to Zima, the conversation revolved around mostly finding Zima some new clothing to wear. The jacket afforded her was probably enough to cover her to and from, but Zima wanted to solve this issue sooner rather than later.

As the aftermath of the battle subsided the Sheriff went her way with the defeated thugs in tow. Soon after the place settled, the barmaid approached. As she placed the coins Zima previously gave her onto the tabletop, Zima pushed a few of the coppers back toward the barmaid. "You gotta make your way too." Zima remarked. Now that Zima was calming down, the aches and pains of the battle were starting to set in. Trying to not be dismissive, Zima was not sure if she wanted to take the barmaid up on her offer. "I have a few things I need to do and then I'll take advantage of the room. I am a little banged up from that fight, so.." Zima stopped there as she figured saying any more was going to cause a problem one way or the other.

Zima now had a pretty clear plan of action. Finish her plate and make her way to the clothier. Zima wanted to solve her present dilemma of having little more than scraps of her former outfit to cover herself with. Maybe even consider picking up some more clothes as she was not too sure about Waterdeep and how their customs might apply toward Zima's generally casual manner of dress. Once that was done, Zima intended to make her way back to the inn and call it a night. Ideally trying to relax and perhaps bathe herself. Anything that happened past that was more on how Zima felt at the time.

Kinda still under the weather, but I tried to make something resembling a coherent post. Apologies if I missed something relevant.
 
The barmaid looks down at the coppers, surprised but not unhappy at Zima's generosity. "I'm not starving," she says, "but thanks."

She sweeps the coins off the counter and pockets them. "You do what you need to do, hon. The room will be waiting when you get back." She gives Zima a wink, then goes back to her work.

Asking any questions about "Bettany" points Zima towards a house towards the center of town, not far from the tavern - it looked like anything that wasn't a farm was located in the center of town. A simple, hand-painted shop identifies the place as "Bettany's Clothes". Inside, the shop is very modest, but has several clothes hanging up for Zima's perusal - all of them simple, dependable working clothing except for a pair of wedding outfits, male and female, hanging on proud display on the back wall. Bettany is a middle-aged halfling with graying hair and smile lines around her mouth and eyes, and true to the sheriff's word, is waiting for Zima when she comes by.

"You must be the hero I've been hearing about," she says, giving Zima a warm smile. She steps around her, rubbing her hands together as she looks up at her. "Trials of Talos, those ruffians really did make a mess of you, didn't they? Don't you worry, though, I got clothes in your size. I was half afraid you'd be ten feet tall! Didn't you fight four men at once?"
 
Zima took her time with her food. The barmaid was starting to wear on her a bit. She was giving off a vibe that she was a piece of meat dangling herself out there. Perhaps it was just a matter of time before something like this happened. Though part of the earlier conversation they had before the brawl did make sense with Zima. All in all, Zima was going to explore this at a later time. For now, Zima put the jacket on and went for a walk. Thankfully the jacket covered enough of her body to not attract too much attention. Zima also tried to feel around to see if there were pockets, or perhaps anything inside the pockets of the jacket while she made her way to the center of town.

After some time passed, the locals mostly pointing Zima toward a specific spot which she found to be the clothier she sought. Bettany's Clothes was the place, so obvious that she could not have missed it if she wanted to. Not sure what to expect, Zima made her way inside and was serenaded by a halfling woman. Playing a bit to her own ego, Zima accepted the praise. "Seems so, though not all tales are tall." Zima remarked as she confirmed that she was the 'hero' of the moment. Though Zima did stop and correct Bettany at the mention of four men. Zima took down three of them, and another was responsible for the fourth.

"Ok, how does this work? Do I just pick whatever and go about my day or..?" Zima stated as she was not sure how much she could play toward her heroic status for the time being. Aside from the jacket and panties she was presently wearing, Zima did not have much of anything else with her aside from her coin purse. Coming to grips with her previous clothing being rendered useless, Zima's objective in the here and now was to get some new clothes. Zima preferred what might be referred to as a less is more approach, as she did not feel comfortable at all wearing any kind of armor. It always seemed to get in the way of what she wanted to do.

Yay being able to think again and write semi-coherently. Apologies if my writing is kinda sucks as of late. Just felt like garbage and trying to work my way through it.
 
"Oh, you only fought three men at once?" Bettany asks ironically. "Well then, I don't see what the fuss is about. But let's get on with it."

She gestures to the hanging clothes. "Go ahead and pick out whatever you'd like. Most of the women's clothes should fit - there's a lot more people in town your size than mine. They won't be perfect, but unless you want to wait a couple days while I tailor something for you..."

She grabs the edge of the jacket and lifts it, revealing Zima's panties and that she has nothing else underneath. "...and I don't think you can wait that long."

She drops the edge of the jacket and points to some clothes hanging on one side of the store. "These are your ordinary working clothes. They're not fancy, but we don't do a lot of fancy here. Or in Waterdeep, I've heard, but I've never been." She puts a hand up to the side of her mouth, as if speaking in secret. "Frankly, I don't see why anyone likes the big city...but that's only me."

She points to the other side of the store, with a wider selection of clothing, jackets, boots, and other apparel. "If you want to be ready for anything in the wilderness, I make these for travelers. You probably won't need them between here and Waterdeep, but I don't know your plans. A full outfit will be expensive, though - usually around twenty silver. The basic clothes will just cost you five."

Zima's "new" jacket looks like the sort she'd find in the latter section, among the traveler's clothes. It does have pockets, but they contain nothing but crumbs of dirt or other detritus.
 
Zima chuckled a bit at the dig that Bettany sent her way. Who knows, maybe the tall tales told in the years to come will be that Zima took on 10 men all at once. Zima's general demeanor changed a bit as the tailor grabbed at the jacket. Though Zima did admit defeat on the aspect of time not being in her favor when it came to finding something more suitable to wear. Zima thought a bit, and wondered if it was worth her while to get a couple sets of clothes. If the bar brawl was anything like what Zima was potentially getting herself into, she might need to find herself a sewing kit, someone who knew how to use it, or invest her coin into a few sets of clothes and made do at that point.

"Thanks for the insight." Zima stated as she started to pick out two sets of clothes. Zima herself did not have much of a plan past meeting up with her newly found contact in Waterdeep after staying the night at the tavern. About as far as Zima dared to look forward to was the barmaid that seemed to want to throw herself at Zima. For now, Zima was content to solve her immediate clothing problem. Looking over toward Bettany as the clothes shopping was coming to an end, "So how much for these?"

Zima had picked a few things out, two tops and two bottoms. Figuring she had more than enough given the quoted prices from before, Zima planned to pay and head back to the tavern. There she could retire to her room and see how well her new clothes fit. As well as see what the rest of the afternoon and evening brought while she was at the Dancing Goblin.
 
"Hmm!" Bettany steps over to Zima and looks over the clothes she's chosen. "All those together? That should be an even ten silver."

She smiles up at Zima. "Now, those should get be fine to get you to Waterdeep, especially if you stick to the roads. Don't expect to wow the nobility, though." She pauses, then cocks her head to the side and gives her a smirk. "I wouldn't suggest getting into any more brawls, either. They're not made to handle that kind of abuse, even if you are."

By the time Zima returns to the Dancing Goblin, it is well past dusk, though her half-elven eyes are sufficient to navigate in the dark. The broken chair has been removed, though not replaced, and a couple groups of tired-looking peasant types are enjoying their late suppers.

The barmaid, currently transporting full steins in both hands, looks over as Zima enters. Her eyes light up and she grins. "Oh, you're back, hon! You've got the last room on the right down the hall there!" She nods at a hallway. "It's yours for the night - whatever you want to do with it."

She winks, then continues on with her work.
 
Zima made sure to acknowledge Bettany at the mention of the price as well as the advice given about heading toward Waterdeep. 10 silver was a decent price Zima figured, so there was no attempt to barter that might have made things worse given her clothing situation previously. With the exchange of coin for clothes complete, Zima considered stopping at the constabulary to discard the leather jacket she still possessed. It was not her jacket, save for it being given to her by the sheriff. Thinking it was not worth the trouble to head off into an unfamiliar direction, Zima retraced her steps back to the Dancing Goblin.

Zima noticed a new crowd already having made their way into the tavern. The only visible sign of the brawl that had taken place earlier in the day was a busted chair still missing. Aside from that, the place looked like nothing had ever happened earlier in the day. 'The place cleaned up well' Zima thought to herself as the barmaid began to converse with her. "Thanks." Was all Zima could manage as her head was somewhat in the clouds thinking about what she was going to do tomorrow when she made her way into Waterdeep. The previous battle in the tavern was starting to sink in as well, as Zima wanted to try to tend to a few of the bruises that were forming where she got hit.

Once Zima got a better look at the room she was provided, she'd have a better idea of what she was going to do for the rest of the night. Mostly interested in cleaning herself up and resting properly for whatever lay ahead. Perhaps there was some room for a diversion as the barmaid continually suggested in not very subtle ways. Were the little of interest, then Zima was content to bathe herself and call it a day. As much as Zima wanted to indulge the barmaid, it was possibly more trouble than it was worth. Ideally the barmaid found someone else that was eager to take advantage of her services offered.
 
A hot bath eases the ache of Zima's bruises from earlier, and afterwards, they are reduced to a dull throb that encourages her to climb into bed. She sleeps deeply through the night, undisturbed by the barmaid. When she wakes the next morning, the barmaid is nowhere to be seen - probably because her duties continue late into the night. The cook she met yesterday is in the kitchen and treats Zima to a hearty breakfast of eggs and hash browns - heavy on the hash browns.

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"It's on the house," he tells Zima, wiping his hands off on his apron. "We need more travelers like you. And less like them."

Zima spots some familiar faces on the way out of town. A visibly pissed off caravan master directs the would-be rapists as they load goods into a horse-drawn wagon, while the sheriff keeps a watchful eye. One looks over at Zima - the one whose jacket she's wearing. He watches her for a moment before the caravan master slaps him hard upside the head and tells him to get his ass in gear.

The walk to Waterdeep takes over eight hours, not including a break at midday for lunch. Occasionally, Zima passes (or is passed) by other travelers, or by armed and armoured soldiers on horseback. The latter identify themselves as the Waterdeep City Guard if asked, but unarmed and unarmoured as she is, Zima doesn't attract their attention unless she seeks it out. Eventually, the wilderness gives way to flat farmland, and she can see Waterdeep on the horizon before her. It sits on a raised plateau, making it easy to see, and three mountain peaks seem to surround the city.

Zima passes miles of farms, uphill, before finally reaching the city gates in the late afternoon. There, she finds a checkpoint manned by the Waterdeep City Watch, marked by a gren-and-gold lantern burning outside despite the daylight. Unlike the Guard she met on the road, members of the Watch are dressed in green-and-goldenrod doublets and tall steel helmets. Most carry a truncheon, dagger, and buckler. There is a lineup of people entering the city, but it moves quickly, as the guard waves most people through with the briefest instructions.

"Anyone who stays in Waterdeep beyond a tenday must register with a magister," a bored Watchman says as Zima steps through the gates. His voice is a speedy monotone; she heard him say this many times over as she waited in line, and he'll do doubt say it hundreds of more times before the day is out. "Arcane spellcasters must register immediately. Know that registration subjects you to monthly taxation. Assault of all kind including dueling or unlicensed sport combat is illegal within city limits. Welcome to Waterdeep and enjoy your stay. Next."

Past the city gates, Zima finds herself on a dusty dirt street, surrounded by multiple-storey buildings, most of which boast a business on the ground floor. Just inside the entrance, towering over her, is a wooden sign painted with the image of a mule standing before a field of red and white. Below the mule are the words, painted clearly in Common: Welcome to Southern Ward.
 
Being able to spend the night at the tavern allowed Zima to rest, relax, and refresh herself after the brawl that happened earlier in the day. As the new day approaches, Zima made her way out of the room, and was greeted by the cook. As a parting gesture, a meal was prepared for Zima to which she graciously accepted. The compliment was not befallen to dead ears, though Zima was more concerned about making a name for herself in the region. "Thanks, I appreciate it." was all the response that Zima gave to the cook.

Making her way out of the town and on her way to Waterdeep, Zima came across some familiar faces. Both the sheriff as well as a few of the thugs that Zima came across the previous day. It took a bit of restraint to resist responding to the group and trying to establish her dominance once more over the group. Perhaps were they not drunk yesterday they might have overcome her by the sheer numbers alone. Moving over toward the Sheriff, Zima asked about the jacket one last time. Technically speaking the jacket was not hers, so it felt a bit off to Zima to keep it now that she was properly clothed once more. If the sheriff made no issue of it, then Zima planned to carry on about her travel to Waterdeep.

For the most part it seemed that Zima did not get held in any regard by those who were patrolling the area. Zima had nothing to hide, and her lack of weapons gave no one any issue. The only thing of note that happened while Zima made her way to Waterdeep was asking to ensure that she was on the right path as she made her way to the city of Waterdeep. With how well patrolled the area was, Zima did not encounter much in the way of anything that might have been a threat to her. As the hours passed, Zima made her way to the farmland that then gave way to a view of Waterdeep itself.

As Zima approached the town itself, there seemed to be a watchpost screening those attempting to enter into the town. The most useful thing that the guard was saying had to do with a possible limit on how long Zima might be able to stay in the city. Did Zima need to register herself with a magister? Was Ranaer the magister that she needed to register with? The wording was all unfamiliar to her, though Zima was still able to figure out what a tenday meant at least. The whole bit about spellcasters had little to do with Zima as she had no spellcasting knowledge or abilities.

With everything that had come to pass since the brawl, Zima made sure to keep one thing at the front of her mind. The Neverember house at the Sea Ward part of town. With the afternoon sun starting to recede toward the evening nightfall, Zima tried to make her way over to the Sea Ward. It had been almost an entire day at this point since Ranaer and Zima crossed paths with each other. Ranaer was Zima's only present lead, and now it was time for Zima to make her way to the Sea Ward and visit the Neverember house. At present, Zima did not know where that was. Feeling it should be simple enough to ask the guards on how to get from the Southern Ward, where she presently was, into the Sea Ward.
 
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"You want to give it back?" the sheriff asks, surprised, when Zima asks her about the jacket. "I don't figure he's got the right to complain about anything, but if you really feel bad about taking his jacket, he's right there."

She motions towards the man, who is still undergoing an verbal ass-reaming from the caravan master. "Can't say I care either way," she adds.

The Watchman processing Zima's entry, a brown-skinned dwarf, is happy to answer any questions and is clearly grateful for anything that breaks the monotony of his post.

"If a magister's on duty, you can tell by their black robes...and that the Watch hanging around them, most likely. Don't try to register with any one you see on the street, of course - if you see them out and about, they've got work to do. Just come to any watch post if you need to do that sort of paperwork. You can tell them by their burn green-and-gold lanterns. They burn twenty-four hours a day. Taxes are a shard a month, or a dragon a year if you set that up in advance."

He catches himself. "Sorry - that Waterdeep's currency. A shard's a silver coin. A dragon's a golden coin. Ten shards to a dragon. Easy, right?

"Anyway, the Sea Ward." He shakes his head with a sigh. "That's the opposite side of the city, I'm afraid. The long opposite. Take the High Road north until you reach Julthoon Street, then turn left. Once you pass Shield Street, you'll be at the Sea Ward. You can find street names on the signs on the walls of every building at a street corner."

He pauses, looking down at Zima's clothes, then narrows his eyes at her. "Sea Ward's a nice place. An expensive place. No offense, madam, but you'll look a little out of place there. You're sure your business is in Sea Ward?"
 
Zima returned the jacket that was 'borrowed' for a day. Choosing to return the jacket to the sheriff that gave it to her in the first place. "I'll leave this with you. Rather not get involved with them any further." Zima stated as she returned the jacket. Zima figured this was a proper way to move on from this town. Down a few silver overall, the cost was nothing compared to what she stood to gain by making her way into Waterdeep.

With the trip into Waterdeep relatively uneventful, Zima had engaged in a simple conversation with the guard. She gained some information about registering herself as a potential resident as well as the tax requirements of the town. These were things that perhaps Zima could negotiate with Ranaer when she found his place in the Sea Ward. For now, Zima had one question as she pulled out one of the silver, "These are good here, or do I need to exchange these for the 'shards' you spoke of?"

Zima, at this point, felt that she knew enough to survive while in Waterdeep without getting into trouble of any kind. Trying not to name drop Ranaer, Zima let the conversation with the watchman reach its natural end. "Thanks for the info, may I pass?" Zima stated to hopefully end the conversation, gain final clearance to enter into Waterdeep, and then try to make her way over to the Sea Ward. Considering her options, Zima wanted to try and forego heading to a watchtower to register herself. At least for now, Zima had no idea if she was staying past ten days like the watchman specified, so she felt there was no need to register herself as of yet.
 
The sheriff shrugs. "Suit yourself." She looks at the labourer, who is looking back at them glumly, and grins.

"She gave it back!" she calls to the man, holding the jacket up. "To me, that is. Now I just gotta decide what scarecrow to hang it on!"

Despite the sheriff's taunts, a glance over Zima's shoulder as she walks away reveals that the sheriff eventually throws it back in the man's face, after running out of jeers.

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The watchman gives Zima a probing look when she doesn't answer his question, but the sight of her money seems to relieve him a bit.

"That depends on what you'll be using them for," he says, looking from the coins up to Zima's face. "All payments to the city of Waterdeep must be made in Waterdhavian currency. That includes taxes and fines, as well as any bureaucratic fees. Vendors can accept whatever payment they want, but a lot of businesses will only accept Waterdhavian currency as well. You can trust it, after all, but you can never be sure how pure a foreign coin is.

"No offense," he adds after catching himself.

"Anyway, if you want to exchange that for local coinage, you can do so at the Palace of Waterdeep. You'll probably want to make an appointment. The Jeweler's Guild and the Guild of Trusted Pewterers and Casters make exchanges, too, but they charge a fee."

When she asks if she can pass, he nods. "Of course. On your way, then. Enjoy your stay in Waterdeep."
 
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