Situated on the Varisian Gulf at the mouth of the Chavali River, Roderic's Cove is a small town that serves as an alternative destination for merchants too nervous to dock at the pirate-controlled city of Riddleport. Because, you know, pirates. Roderic's Cove was founded about eighty years ago as part of the wave of emigrants leaving the city of Magnimar, led by the notorious privateer Sir Roderic. Most of the contemporary outposts of this emigration did not survive, falling prey to native creatures or the countless other rigors of frontier life. Despite attacks by the bandits and goblins of the nearby Churlwood, not to mention countless pirate attacks (because, you know, Riddleport), the town managed to flourish. Approximately twenty years ago, the pirate captains of Riddleport finally decided that Roderic's Cove was too juicy a plum not to pluck, and brought the town under their titular control. Sir Roderic went missing during this time, assumed slain. Fortunately for the inhabitants the town has continued to flourish, as the pirates of Riddleport have spared the town and allowed it to continue in relative freedom, taking their share of the town's income, but not so onerous of one to cause a violent revolt. Port-Governor Larenza Thort leads the city, with a town council of merchants and prominent citizens as her advisors.
Today is the town's weekly tradition of organizing the Circle Market, a gathering of merchants and families in the town's central plaza where locals trade household goods, traveling merchants hawk their wares, and hopefully lucky shoppers hunting for unexpected bargains.
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Newly arriving to the city are a trio of travelers from afar off, footsore and in need of a stiff drink. From the view of the locals one looks like a gentleman, or perhaps a wealthy merchant, with a duo of guards protecting his person. A few shoppers veer towards the newcomers, hoping for gossip and news from the outside. They suddenly veer the opposite way after they approached from downwind, as the wildling has a very ... strong scent. The travelers stop well outside the crowd, the burly feral-looking girl looking skittish.
Braver or stronger of stomach than the rest, a local codger leaves the Circle Market to trundles out to them, with a cart piled high with barrels. "Welcome, new friends!" He smiles, revealing a mouth missing most of its teeth. "Bimmer Coots is my name, but my everyone calls me 'Possum'." He pats the barrels he is carting around. "That's 'cus of my possum punch, the best drink around. Care to quench your travels?" He draws out three leather mugs, shaking them hopefully.
... ... ...
Not drawing any especial attention are two others, who if they had just walked into town would have been practically surrounded with curious onlookers. They certainly got their share of stares and curious rumormongers, but neither of them happened to waltz in during the Circle Market. Strutting about town on all fours is what appears to be a silver dragonling, although one with custom-made pouches and backpack. Peeking out from the pack is what appears to be a fancy letter, as evidenced by the heavy card stock and calligraphy indicating her as the recipient. She is fresh from scaring off some potential bandits, coming to meet the person who wrote the missive. Another striking individual, this time for beauty and class rather than exotic dragon-ness, walks with confidence in finery that not even the Port-Governor would wear outside of formal events. Both their destinations - the Creekside Tavern and Inn. Situated alongside the circumference of the Circle (hence the Circle Market), they have moved operations outside on this lovely day, serving food and beverages to tables drenched in afternoon sunlight. One of the tables is occupied by a petite half-elf with a dancer's build, lounging in her chair with a drink in hand. Opposite her is a chair, but in addition to that also a bar stool that sits much higher, as though expecting a friend of considerably shorter height.
