Grom's Mystery Slab Tour

A collective ringing of the city bells finds you standing atop the Trado, an arching bridge that crosses the canal with enough clearance for barges sailing into the bay. It's a busy waterway but the bridge is quiet with only you on it. Seagulls swarm over the warehouses that line the harbour drawn by the market you'd wandered through a quarter of an hour before. You're on time but your tour guide is running late.
When you'd met Grom, a cheery dwarf that munched on an endless supply of sausages, he'd been standing on the dock attempting to talk to everyone that walked past him but no one had stopped. Something about his earnest smile and trustworthy face had made you slow down and glance at his sign. He immediately launched into an over rehearsed speech about somewhere called 'the Slab' and how, for a small fee, either he or his brother Grarl could show you around. Intrigued by the dwarf's obvious enthusiasm for the place you'd stopped to listen.
'You hungry?' Grom withdrew two sausages from his pocket and handed one to you without waiting for your reply. 'The locals are a tough bunch but The Slab's a great place to wander around, full of sights and sounds unlike any you get out here. Normally any outsider wouldn't make it past the dodgy market but I'm well known so I can go where I like even to The Heart of the Slab.'
The glint in his eye lured you in as he continued talking about the Slab.
'The locals, right, have nowhere to build but up. They can't grow outwards because the canal blocks them in on three sides and the bay on the other so they build their homes on top of everyone elses and in some cases inside. Front doors open onto bedrooms and beds serve as roofs for kitchens. It's a maze of ladders and tilted floors that might be walls. No map exists nor cartogreopher capable of the task. In fact if one was made it would be immedietly locked away in the mage's guild because anyone that looked at it would be driven mad. The slab is a mystery just as the contents of that sausage are.'
Feeling a little queasy you'd enquired about the golden temple and whether the healing doors were any good for an upset stomach. Grom had leant in close and put on a stage whisper that carried further than his normal voice.
'The golden temple is older that Dragsmund, some say it belongs to a Marsh Elf god and that Harmen the Brute tried to knock it down only for it to pop back up during the night. Whatever the truth it's a magical...' there was a pause while Grom read the line on his own advertisment, 'it's magical, mysterious, and miraculous place where all that ails you will be cured.'

At that point Grom had popped his right boot off and wiggled a hairy toe through a hole in his threadbare sock. 'I had a boil the size of an acorn on that toe but I rubbed my foot on the door and it fell off. The boil not the toe.'
Three hours had passed since that meeting and now you stand alone on the bridge waiting for the rest of the tour group to arrive along with the guide.
A bracing wind barrels down the canal biting at your exposed skin, leaving you with the sinking feeling that you'd been conned out of five pennies but just as you're about to leave you spot a ruddy faced dwarf racing along the opposite bank. He sprints past the merchant offices and warehouses that line the eastern side of the canal before bounding up the bridge. The planks shudder under your feet and the entire span starts to sway as the dwarf gets closer to the middle.
"You're here!" Grom managed before slumping over the railing and taking a deep breath. Sweat ran from under his tattered leather cap to gather in his beard. "I didn't think you'd turn up, no one else does. Most people take one look and turn around."
So far you'd avoided looking at the buildings behind you, partly in the hope that Grom would lead you eslewhere but the dwarf straightened up and spread his arms. "This is the Slab. No finer people exist than you'll find inside its walls but that being said tuck your coins out of sight and keep you fingers to yourself because there's a small chance you'll lose a few of each."
The facade of the Slab extends right to the water's edge and in a few places beyond it. Blackened timbers hold up crumbling walls and roofs jutt at odd angles. None of the windows have glass and only a few shutters, the rest are open to the wind and the rain. Candle light flickers within and you get the first glimpse of life as a man tosses the contents of a bucket, along with the bucket itself, out of a window not bothering to watch as it soars through the air, narrowly missing a barge navigating the canal.
"Every year the Builders Guild petitions the king to tear the Slab down but they never get further than the entrance. Those timbers are black because they set fire to it last year but the locals see them off every time. A mother with a stick is more dangerous than man with a piece of paper, royal warrant or not."
Houses crowd the bridge so that the last few steps are in darkness. Crumbling roofs blot out the sky and it takes a moment to get your bearings. A baby crys somewhere above you while a two men argue on the otherside of a thin wall their words muffled by a thousand drips of water bouncing off every surface. Rats scurry around your feet until a large ginger cat drops down from a high window and chases them off. You get an almost overwhelming sense of decay as the stench of rotting wood and mould hits your nostrils. A sense of panic grips you but a friendly hand grasps your arm and pulls you deeper.
"It's a bit much, ain't it?" Grom asks with a chuckle. "Guess I'm used to the smell. You'll get over it quickly, no choice if you want to reach the temple. But first the market and hopefully a drink."

Grom lets go of your arm as you enter a cavern of sorts lit by lamps dangling from beams and borrowed light spilling from rooms. It's as if a giant had brought a hand down on an enormous house, ripping out floors and walls, leaving rooms exposed and doorways that led into thin air. The occupants of this destruction had consturcted walkways between these openings and propped ladders so they could get around. Market stalls fill the lower level and Grom leads the way pointing at various objects as he does so. Clocks and silverware sit alongside ladies dresses and stacks of books. A burly man nods at Grom and opens his long coat revealing rows of knives. Grom gives an apreciative nod but heads deeper in.
"This is the dodgy market," Grom says. "Anything stolen usually ends up here and people come from all over Dragsmund to have a look. Ah there she is. This will only take a moment."
Without further explanation Grom heads over to a middle aged woman surrounded by wicker baskets. She pulls her colourful shawl tight around her shoulders and gets up to greet Grom as he nears.
"Master Dwarf," the market seller says. "I looked far and wide for what you asked. It wasn't easy but I believe I have outdone myself."
"Let's see it then." Grom gives you a glance as the woman delves into a basket. "My mate the Count lost the feather from his hat a few weeks ago and he's been miserable since. It was all colourful like with this green eye at the end."
"And here we are." The woman smoothed the feather out as she held it up, turning it so that the lamplight shone on its length. "A geniune peacock feather, plucked from the king's garden at great expense."
Grom takes it carefully, his brow furrowing as he inspects the mud coloured feather. Some of the strands are missing and the eye at the end is more of a blob.
"Would you wear this in a hat?" Grom asks you and holds the feather out for you to have a closer look.
Be honest despite the pointed look from the market trader.

You shake your head and point out that the feather has been dipped in paint. Grom nods in agreement and hands the feather back. The woman scowls at you but promises to Grom that she'll try again.
"Thanks for your help," Grom says as you leave the stall behind. "My mate likes the shiny things but I lack the eye. Us dwarves would rather see the feather on the bird than wear it."

Shrug and stay out of it.

The trader gives you a pointed look and you decide to keep your opinion to yourself. Grom hands over his money and studies the feather as he walks away. You catch the unhappy look on the dwarf's face but he tucks the feather away and puts it behind him.

"Right," Grom says as he stops you in the middle of the thoroughfare. "Included in the price of your ticket is either a sausage or a pint. Your choice."
On your left is Walt's Sausage Shop and on your right is Trig's Tavern. Dubious smells emanite from both but Grom is waiting for your anwer as if it's the most important decision you'll ever make.

It's all about the beer
or
It's all about the sausage

by Chris Noonan

Plot type

Choose your own path

Parent Plot

Grom's Mystery Slab Tour

Subplots

• Grom's Mystery Slab Tour
• Swap the boat
• Chased away from temple
• Escort the doctors to the exit
• The wolf escapes
• The boy with the boat
• It's all about the sausage
• Keep your boat
• Hooligans
• You and Sparky find your own way
• Return ticket for you and Sparky
• The path turns soggy
• Smashed
• Sore Losers
• Dog or Pony?
• Take them with you to the temple.
• Heart of darkness
• The quiet dead
• Carried away to distant shores
• Go to the wedding
• Rat Food
• It's all about the beer

Related Locations

• Dragsmund
• The Slab