Gryff was upset. He was interesting anomaly in Skullwatch, with his recent arrival to the Barony of Skullwatch, the population of his race, that of hobgoblin, had just increased to five. Of course, he was responsible for the other four so the arrival of him and his companions had caused something of a minor sensation within the barony. Being of goblin heritage, his kind was not beloved at all by the the very human majority realm of Cormyr at all. Yet, due to his exploits, he and his companions were either tolerated or looked upon, at least, as curiosities. Gryff and his accompanying racial kin were of large stature, being sightly taller and broader than humans and they had dark grey skin with ruddy hues. They were out of place for this region and being considered curiosities actually suited Gryff well, for the time being.
However, today, he had just heard the news coming out of the Barony of White’ Beard’s Landing that Rynskaald the Bold had just been slain. It had happened two days prior. The Baron of Skullwatch had learnt of the green dragon’s demise by carrier pigeons sent out by the Baron of White Beard’s Landing himself.
“Damn them!”, he cursed in his native tongue of High Goblin to no one in particular.
Switching to the Cormyrian tongue he yelled for more ale. Gryff needed to think. He and his company needed coins and gems and taking out an nuisance adult green dragon would have provided plenty of both.
Gryff’s adventuring company, or rather his elite mercenary company, was known as Gryff’s Band. Gryff was the captain and its mage as well.
He was one of five hobgoblins of great skill and intellect plus fifteen humans of equal capacity which comprised his band.
Currently, he and his band were garrisoning, so-to-speak, an interesting little tavern known as “the Skull’s Watch” and using the town and barony of Skullwatch as a base of operations. Operations intended specifically to bring down the exact dragon that had just been laid low at White Beard’s Landing.
Therefore, the precise reason for his being in the Duchy of the Northern Marches had just been rendered moot.
And this was precisely why Gryff was not happy.
A moment later a fat human, the proprietor with the name of Llewellyn appeared with the demanded ale. Gryff quickly bowed his head in a gruff manner of appreciation, drew half the flagon in a single gulp and smiled as a thought emerged.
The dragon was taken at White Beard’s Landing. Of course, his hoard was not there as that was not Rynskaald’s home.
Gryff slammed his palm down on the table with a resounding thump “Gods and Whores!”
Gryff was irritated that the obvious had not dawned upon him earlier.
The damned fool’s at White Beard’s Landing had just made his job that much easier. He quickly rose and flipped the fat human several Falcons.
“Quincy!”, yelled Gryff with a glint in his eye and a fang filled smile.
“We need to go to Dragonspear to see the Count, then we ride for White Beard’s Landing. All of us!”