Winter is almost over, the snow is melting slowly and the coming of spring heralds the coming of adventures, pillages or hard work in the fields, depending on one's profession.

It seems however that Nature has decided to give the people of southern Thuland a last storm before letting them go about their various businesses. While the air is warm enough that it is rain and not snow, the wind and the rain itself makes it rather chilly and there is too much of each for anyone to travel safely. The clouds, dark and heavy, keeps the light of the sun away and the mud formed by melting snow and rain alike is rather slippery.

That would explain why the village inn has been so full since the middle of the day, when the storm started. In the evening, those who had their home in the village had come back to their families but the travelers, having no choice, remained there hoping for the weather allow them to leave in the morning, having already wasted a day there.

A grumpy innkeeper, helped by his comely daughter, gives the patrons some mead in exchange for coppers, and whatever food he has (mostly bread and some sort of soup, it seems) to whoever asks for it. There are no bedrooms, so to speak, but for a few coppers, one can have a spot on the common room floor.

In a corner, a grizled old man tell tales of his youth (or did he make it all up?) to whoever will pay him a mug.


OOC: Feel free to RP some, I'll have something happen to get you all started eventually. :P

Near the fire sat a man in his early thirties, short, with bowed legs, a round, porcine face. When he raised his head from his mug, he gave furtive but lustful stares at the innkeeper's daughter. His feeble frame marked him as no warrior, despite the sheathed short sword lying against his chair.

 This really wasn't what Adonis had in mind when he headed north. The frontier was meant to be a place where he could hack down a few howling savages, stake out a demesne and scoop up some pliant chieftens daughter to seal the deal in a single afternoon.

 It's not worked out that way - his horse is currently occupying the bottom of a ditch some three miles outside of town, the victim of bad roads, potholes and the worsening cold whilst his saddle is sitting in a corner near the fire and gathering dust.

 On the other hand, there's honey wine, which this far north is something of a delight and revelation in itself given how hard honey is to come by, and as a result the somewhat-less-gleaming-than-when-he-set-out knight clad in good quality plate armour, wearing a sword and generally projecting a solid determination to get more cheerful by the end of the day is happily working his way through a jug, having already sent two mugs in the general direction of the old fellow who's been invited to join the knight by the hearth (it's the warmest seat in the house) and has divided his attention between swapping wild stories, flirting with the Innkeeps daughter and steadily making the world a happier place through the injudicious application of mead.

 Things could, on the whole, be worse.

The door opened with a bang,letting in chill wind, rain, flecks of hail and a sinister figure in dark clothing. He shut the door as swiftly as he had opened it, before walking over to the nearest table, reaching back and taking off the large greatsword strapped onto his back. "InnKeeper. Bread, water, stew. Now." Came the dry rasp from within the depths of the hood covering his face, as he propped the sheathed sword by the table. The hood was part of the dark cloak he wore, and as he sat down the cloak parted a bit to reveal links of a black chain shirt underneath. Shoulder length black hair, wet and ragged from the rain hung out from the edges of the hood as he turned and surveyed the roomm, the  Firelight glinting off the many bejeweled rings adorning his fingers.

Brakkus sits close to the fireplace, steaming slightly as he nurses his cup of mead. He listens to the old man's stories with a sour expression - he had been hoping to try that approach himself but arrived too late. As he stretches out his drink for as long as possible he ponders whether to risk the storm or to spend more of his rapidly shrinking wealth on a space on the floor.

[Private to GM: Let me know the cost of a mead]

As he waited for his meal, Arkemos took stock of the sorry lot gathered in the inn. His gaze was particularly drawn towards two strange characters hoarding the fireplace, none of which appeared to be from the town itself. One was an overweight, jowly man who kept staring lustily at the serving wench, while another was a crazed looking man witha tangly beard, who kept staring towards the storyteller with a sour expression on his face. Arkemos wondered what their sad story was, and also wondered if he truly cared to know.

There was also another out of towner near the middle of the room, obviously a high ranking warrior or a landed knight from the gleaming plate armor and well groomed features. Arkemos wondered if the pretty boy knew how to use that sword of his, for if he left the inn during the night he would need it; the expensive armor of his would draw the eye of every mugger within miles of this sorry place.

"InnKeeper, make that a mug of hot mead instead of water!" Arkemos called out with his trademark rasp, as he felt a chill running into his bones.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:05, Mon 10 Nov 2008.

 Three strange characters. Or possible two strange characters and one perfectly explicable one, it's all in how you define it - in any case, Adonis (the knight) is perched rather close by the fire as well, having (as is his natural right as a nobleman, be it of whatever lesser standing - his armour is good and all, but it's at least a generation out of fashion compared to the style favoured on the continent these days) grabbed the spot some time back and held it by right of birth ever since, whereupon he's distributed a certain amount of largesse ever since.

 Bluff, cheerful and possessed of a mind frighteningly unviolated by original thought, Adonis cherfully gestures the least objectionable enarby figure over in the form of Brakkus (mad, staring old lunatics at the bottom of the garden are positively all the rage these days down south) and offers to top up his cup from the knights own jug by waving it a little unsteadily and declaring cheerfully, loudly and with no malice whatsoever, "Ho there my good man, draw closer - it's a cold night for old bones."

The grizzled old man, happily happily drinking the offered mead, tells tales of his adventuring days when he and a man he refers to as 'Old Thorkel' used to fight side by side against all manners of goblins, trolls and giants.As the evening grows late, he lowers his voice and speaks of their most daring and terrible adventure. Their glorious battle with the vampire witch Fjonya.

"A one-eyed redhead, as beautiful as the sun but as dark as this very night, the undead witch came to the village in the middle of the day if you'll believe that,  to ask us brave warriors for our help in getting rid of a monstrous demon. When we went into the lair of the beast, we saw the woman herself, and fought her until we had no strenght left in our arms. My sword had been blessed in the blood of a holy man and was lethal to her, but old Thorkel had no such weapon and fell in battle!

The wench was beheaded and burned after I pierced her heart with a wooden stake I had to carve out from a tree out of her lair, but I had no heart to desecrate my companion's body and she had not bit him either. With our combined strenght, she had to fight with all of hers, using steel and magic alike, not simple teeth. I thought him safe and buried him.

Old Thorkel was heir to jarl who rules over this village, you know. In his stead, some stranger came on authority of the King and took up the castle and the authority. This happened just last year, if you'll believe me... I may look old, but I still had that fire burning in my veins until last year. But with Old Thorkel gone, I just don,t feel like it anymore... It's just not the same..."


As the man told his tale, a sour innkeeper gives Arkemos his meal and mead, shaking his head and grumbling about the new good-for-nothing king-appointed jarl, saying he never heard of the king appointing jarls this far south of Katorheim before.

OOC
Full meal: 1 silver florin
Jug of mead: 5 copper pennies
Spot on the floor to sleep: 3 copper pennies

Arkemos noded to the innkeeper, and set into the meal with gusto. He considered the man's tale in between bites, chewing thoughtfully and wondering what kind of a relationship the two fellows had that had kept a fire burning in their veins. He swallowed, took a sip of mead and then said, "A good tale to be sure old man. one less witch-vampyre in this world means only good things for the rest of us." Stabbing at a piece of meat with a knife Arkemos added, "But tell me more about this new Jarl. whats his story, and has he been offering any work?"