Faal approaches the Svirfneblin and greets him, quickly advising him that his coin-purse has been lifted by a thief.
“Sorry friend, he ran that way.” he says, pointing down the street.
The man eyes Faal suspiciously. “How do I know you’re not trying to throw me off the scent? It’s what I’d do!” He then pulls a knife on the well-meaning Elfblood. His voice is grating and harsh, like someone who has spent too long amongst soot and liquor.
“Easy now… How about I leave you to it?”
“I’m not sure I want to let you leave, now. You have my purse!”
A guard approaches, but a friend of the victim puts his arm around him and whispers to him. The pair assure the guard there is no problem and make their exit down a side street.
Faal shakes his head and frowns. ‘Not a pleasant place, I’ll make my stop here short.’ he thinks to himself.
He asks one of the guards for directions to the nearest inn and if there are any temples in the area, learning that there is a temple to the Taihun in the Northwest, and a local shrine to the Northeast, nestled into the mountainside. Heading for the Inn, he settle into the adjoining bar and listens for a while. He then begins to engage a few Orcs and travellers in conversation, hearing of the comings and goings of the city and places nearby.
Faal hears many rumours of varying degrees of interest, mostly personal grievances between citizens. However, he learns of a potential coup by an orc named Grolak, a mysterious ‘Overseer’ to the North guarded by giants and subterranean monsters, and another story lays bare the plight of an unlucky Half-Elf that recently passed through the city. He was performing a task for the chief of Gorgek (the city Faal is in), a person whose name is never mentioned, and at the last hurdle, just as he was about to present the magical gemstone to the chief, a plucky Svirfneblin named Kejermann, apparently a folk hero around these parts, swiped it from him and took off over the hills like a wild buck. This was days ago, perhaps a week or so, but already it has become a local legend.
As the day begins to turn to afternoon, the rumour-well runs dry. The two Svrifneblin from earlier pass by an open window, but appear not to notice the Elfblood traveller.
What do you do?