Miroslav is awake with the sun. After a small meal and a prayer to the Zorya (Slavic goddess of the dawn) the big Slav heads down to the common room where he posts an advertisement for a fighting crew.

After he does this he goes to several other establishments and does the same.

Once finished he comes back to the common room to wait for the others to come down and for perspective crew members to apply for the positions. He cleans his armor and weapons and sits fully armored an armed to greet any who may answer the call and he suggests that the others should try to look as impressive as they can as well to weed out the riff-raff.

Jaleh comes down shortly after Miroslav returns to the common room, an arch look upon her face.  She neither seems angry nor elated, rather she sits cross-legged after a brief nod at the other.  When the sleepy waitress stops by she quietly orders breakfast - once it arrives she will eat it silently and quickly.

Once done she pushes the dish away, quietly sips a small goblet of warm spiced wine, and awaits the others.

Loukas too rises with the sun, washes his face, dresses and doing his best to hide the hangover induced grottiness he feels he finds his way downstairs. Ordering breakfast and a mulled wine he nods and smiles half-heartedly to Jaleh, Miroslav and whomever else is present, but makes little conversation otherwise... Rather he relishes the wine, which reduces the pain in his head and helps clear his head.

Jean enters from outside carry a heavy canvas bag and several implements of horse grooming. He is stripped to the waist revealing a powerful chest and corded arms scarred from many sword battles. It is clear he has seen heavy exercise.

He passes through the common room and goes up the stairs returning a few minutes later dressed in full harness, resplendant in his tabard and shining helm.

Apparently he has already eaten as he crosses to where Mirislav has set up shop and stands behind him with his hand resting on Clou awaiting the first of the applicants.

He says nothing.

Early morning in Pereyaslavets, and Conn was up and about, eager to find something worthwhile to occupy his time. He had arrived here by fate, his ship bound for Constantinople from the west having passed it by in the night, due to the captain's overindulgence in alcohol and subsequent insistence that it still lay east of them. Conn had put him right in the morning, although they had sailed some distance east and north by that time, where they had put to shore at the first major port they could find - which was here.

That had been a tenday ago, and the ship had yet to give any indication that it would sail again - the captain was soaked up in some bawdy dive, and Conn was now looking for another ship, one that would take him anywhere. So, when he had seen a brawny Rus posting messages around the taverns and inns, he had looked it over, and then gathered his belongings and set about making his way to the appointed inn.

Arriving at the designated inn, he had strode immediately inside, his eyes adjusting from the bright sun to the darker interior. He was relatively tall, just over six feet in height, with dark brown hair and eyes, and quite an athletic physique (sometimes he wore a beard, but not often while onshore). Looking around, he spied the Rus he had seen earlier, and made his way across to him with an assured gait and a ready smile. Without taking a seat, he addressed the man in his native Rus/Slavic tongue.

"Greetings. I am Conn, a warrior and a sailor. I would seek a place on your boat, and service with your company."

Miroslav smiles when he hears the obvious outlander speak in his native language. He leans forwards and says in Rus..."You flatter me by speaking the language of my people. I appreciate this. I know you have Greek since you could read my notice. Let us continue in that tongue."

Switching to Greek he continues..."Tell us of yourself. you are not RUs or Norse or even German...I have never heard my own language spoken with such an accent. Tell us of your home and your experience at sea and at war."

Oleg, the young Varangian who left the service of Thorffinn to join with the crew of the Heart of Oak sits down at a table behind Miroslav and the others and orders some food. He also leans forward to hear more from this man with the strange accent.

"I mark him a Scot Captain, wild hill people that haunt the lands north of Briton."

Jean speaks in greek and there is barely any condecension in his voice at all.

"They are fighters."

          A somewhat wet Gultunga sits down at a vacant table and quickly
bellows his order to a nearby wench . . .

          "Strong spirits be wot I'm in wont of."

          Gultunga empties the salt water onto the taverns floor from his
drinking horn as he continues . . .

          "Wench this be wot I prefer to drink from and fill it to the brim."

          A salt water puddle begins to form under the sailors bench as
he waits patiently for his drink.

          The crimson haired stridesman can be heard uttering a Nordic curse
under his breath as he waits patiently for his grog.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:30, Mon 02 Nov 2009.

A'kos makes his way down to the tavern where approaching the table he scowls at Jaleh, but sits beside her nonetheless.

"You need not have done that to my smallclothes, woman.  Leather chafes!" he growls irritably.  "I said I was sorry..."

After his morning prayers, Roderychus arms himself fully and goes to the common room. He sits near Miroslav and observes the prospective crew members.

The Rus was both perceptive and welcoming, and Conn smiled and nodded at his suggestion to continue in Greek. Although he heard the Frank's comment, he did not look in that fellow's direction.

"I am Conn, of Skye, one of the islands that are part of the Kingdom of Alba, so your friend is correct in his assumptions. I have been a warrior and a hunter all my life, and for the past several years a sailor also. I have fought both against the Danes, and side-by-side with them. I have sailed the northern seas, and all the seas from there around to here. In other words, I know my way around a ship, and I can stand with anyone on a battlefield. You'll find none better, I can promise you."

Strong words, but Conn has no reason to doubt himself, sure in the knowledge that he speaks truly. Whether the Rus sees it that way remains to be seen, but he has a clear respect for the fellow - so far, at any rate.

The serving girl takes Gultunga's drinking horn and brings it back filled to the gold rim with foaming mead. As she hands it to the red=haired man she says..."I know not why you are here but these men over there seek a crew to sail with the Knyaz. By all rumors they will pay well."

"Welcome Conn of Skye! So far from home, I do not doubt you are tough. I have heard of your land which lays at the end of the earth where the sun goes to rest each night. No weakling travels this far in the company of Danes and looks so healthy at the end."

He looks back at the others before continuing..."Still I would test you..." Miroslav reaches behind himself and produces a large bowl shaped drinking vessel full of mead and hands it to the Scot and says..."Drain this in one gulp if you will."

The Rus was obviously well-travelled, and a veteran warrior himself, and Conn reckoned he would make a good leader, one worthy of his trust and respect. He had described the Scot well, and the test he would give brought a small smile to Conn's face. Without hesitation, he brought up his hands - his left moving from the hilt of his longsword for the first time - and took the bowl, lifting it up to his mouth. After but a moment's pause to take a closer look at what lay therein, he lifted the bowl and drank it down in one swift gulp, then set it back down on the table.

"Not bad, not bad at all. Just the sort of drink that any Scot, or Viking...or Rus...would welcome to begin the day."

He grinned at Miroslav.

Miroslav takes the bowl from Conn and says..."Brace thyself!"


Once the Scot looks braced, Miroslav punches his full in the chest as hard as he can in an attempt to knock the man down. Conn wobbles just a bit but has no problem retaining his footing.

The Rus smiles and claps the man on the shoulder and says..."You pass muster with me brother...some of the others may have questions or tests for you but you seem stout enough for me!"

A smaller man, presumably one of the Rus was watching at the door of the inn. Perhaps he was there to apply for the position but as soon as he saw Miroslav punch Conn, must have decided this was not the crew for him and he left with much haste.

The next order would have been something of a surprise to many folk, but not to Conn, familiar as he was with battle-hardened people, both those of his own country and that of the Danish Vikings. He set himself quickly, and then took the full force of the Rus's blow - it rocked him slightly, but Miroslav had some strength in him, and a lesser man would have been knocked to the ground with ease. As it was, Conn relaxed and let out his breath, and grinned widely at the Rus as he welcomed him to the crew.

"My thanks, brother. I look forward to serving in thy company."

Conn looked to the others, and awaited their greetings - or whatever reactions they may have. Then he moved to an empty seat nearby, and waved to one of the serving girls to bring him some mead, while he got to know his new companions.

Loukas nodded impressed that the Scot had passed Miroslav's test so easily. Holding up his own cup he smiles, "If you pass Miroslav's test, you've answered my questions, Scot. You are welcome as far as I am concerned!"

Jean merely nodded in acceptance.

        The Stridesmans wet countenance beams upon hearing the wenches
revelation.  He adeptly downs the contents of his drinking horn and hands
it back to the serving wench.  Gultunga reaches for one of his secreted
coin pouches, opens it, reaches in, and places a gold coin onto the table
before him.

        Through slurred speech the wet Stridesman continues to address the
wench, "Keep Gultungas horn topped off with strong brew till the coins spent!"

        Gultunga rises from his water logged bench, saunters over to the one
whom looks to be hiring a crew (Miraslov) in order to speak with him.  The
Stridesman contiues to drip salt water onto the floorboards as he speaks
his mind . . .

        "Gultungas veteran Stridesman upon my peoples longships.  Only Gultunga
lost ship on a fools gamble.  Johann bet Gultunga could naught walk the gun-
whales edge in full gear as ship break waves.  Gultunga lost bet and nigh drown-
ed after longship fell into trough from high cresting wave that was as high as
two of myself!  Gultunga now knows not to stride edge of gunwhale drunk while
water gods are furious.

        Gultunga had much fun.  Sing song of it one day!

        Twas good for Gultunga that shore lay near.  Twas bad for Gultunga as
longship was caught in strong tide and carried far out to sea.  Good for
Gultunga that he get hired as Stridesman on ship in much need to man its oars.
Gultunga strong of arm and wit!

        What say you who hires for ship needful of crew?"

        Gultungas countenance brightens with a confident smile as he awaits a
reply.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:25, Mon 02 Nov 2009.

When the Gultunga finishes his tale Loukas looks down at his empty cup wishing desperately that it were full, This is how a looong day becomes looooonger, he thinks to himself.

Taking a bite from a crust of bread he motions for the serving wench and with a blank face glances at Miroslav.

"Thankyou," said Conn to the white/blond-haired man, and smiled plesantly. Neither that one nor the Frank chose to introduce themselves, but all in good time, he supposed.

Then the soaking-wet fellow who had been sitting at a nearby table stood and moved across to them, introducing himself - after a fashion - and apparently offered his services. Even to one fluent in Norse, Conn couldn't really tell what the man was talking about, or what he was looking for. Perhaps that one had over-indulged on the brew this morning...

From her seat Jaleh watches as the men go to their sport.  She rolls her eyes at the display and sips her drink, finally turning her head to ignore the display.  Unfortunately she turned her head and found herself staring straight at A'kos.  The Magyar looked angry...and abashed all at the same time.  She saved her secret smile for a better time as she raised an eyebrow and asked, "It seems you've found some companions - so will you go join your barbarian friends?"
This message was last edited by the player at 01:01, Tue 03 Nov 2009.

Miroslav catches Loukas's glance then turns back to Gultunga..."What says we, would be more appropriate. I only seem to take the lead since I am more acquainted with the sea than some of the others plus we are here in the lands of the Rus, my home. I think best is that you tell us why we should hire you. I have heard nothing yet to make me want to take you on. Drunken balancing does not impress me.

        The Stridesman continues in his attempt to sway his peers . . .

        "Gultunga has been borne at sea by my peoples longship for o'er eight
seasons without relent.  My oar caloused hands are toughed by a mix o' rigorous
rowing and the salts of the sea."

        Raising his palms towards his peers, Gultunga shows his hands to
prove his point.

        "Stridesman Gultunga has repeatedly tempered his battle skills
and swordsmanship against pirates and raiders along the coasts of Gaul,
Britania, China, Greece and other nameless lands.  The stars be my gable
and the sea my lave.  The stars guide my course and battle is my constant
companion.

        Talk is like the chaff in the wind, it means nothing.  Action bespeaks
truth."

        Gultunga rests his right hand on the pommel of his sword as he continues.

        "The life a Stridesman is for me.  If it is your desire to test the
metal of Gultungas blade, I shall fight one o' ye."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:45, Tue 03 Nov 2009.

Miroslav looks around to the others and says..."Are there any takers? Will any of you step up to this mans challenge? Though I would suggest a slightly less deadly for of combat be chosen over live steel."

As Miroslav speaks to Gultunga Loukas waves over Conn, "Come, join us. I am Loukas Ouranus."

The wet fellow is perhaps almost as soaked on the inside, as it appears no-one can make much sense of his ramblings. Conn had seen such folk before, and although he knew they could be useful warriors, they had their drawbacks too, which made some of them insufferable.

But one of his new shipmates called him over, the white-blond-haired fellow, and Conn smiled and moved across, offering his hand out to clasp in greeting.

"A pleasure to meet you, Loukas Ouranus. I am Conn, as you may have heard. How long have you served in this company, and who are your companions, if you do not mind my asking?"

Jean stepped forward slightly.

"There is no need for combat. We have but to look at his blade. If it is in disrepair then he is of no use to us regardless of figthing prowess and if it is well looked after despite his own condition then, by luck or by guile, he is man who will be of use."

Accepting the hand hand Conn offers Loukas grins, "Well... That is an oddly complicated question, let us save that until after we have this recruitment business complete. Until then..." Looking around the table he names the party members present, "Behind Miroslav is the indomitable Sir Jean of the Franks, next to me here is lovely Jaleh the Archer, next to her is A'kos the Lion of the Magyars, this is Roderychus Venturos the Holy, and, finally, Oleg the Vangarian. There are others, who you may look forward to meeting as they join us."

[OOC: Hope I haven't missed anyone present! Is so it was not purposefully!]
This message was last edited by the player at 22:24, Tue 03 Nov 2009.

Miroslav smiles at Jean and says..."An excellent test my Frankish friend!"

He looks to the Norseman and says..."So, let us see your blade Gultunga! I have noted your calloused hands but Jean here makes a fine request."

"My thanks, Loukas. I hope to get to know all of you better, in time."

Making sure to put a face to each name as Loukas introduced him to the others, Conn also kept an eye on the proceedings between Miroslav and the Norseman. When Jean stepped up and made his proposal, the Scot could not deny the logic of his words. It would be interesting to see what happened now.

Roderychus salutes the newcomer,and awaits for the result of Jean's proposed test.

        Through Gultungas drunken haze from strong drink, Gultunga realizes the
importance of asking one relevant question before commencing in any type of
swordplay.

        "Afore bringing sweat to brow and me steel to bear, how much coin will
one such as Gultunga get for his services, and what be Gultungas cut if there
be booty to split from our vanquished adversaries ships or domiciles?

         Gultunga treats his steel better than his women, just as it should be
and so shalt you soon see with envious orbs.  Above all else Gultungas people
rever their weapons o'er riches and the land itself!"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:04, Tue 03 Nov 2009.

"'Tis the falcon, Loukas - A'kos means falcon in the tongue of my folk," says A'kos, though he is distracted, his attention on the drunkard making a fool of himself.

"What proof those callouses weren't from playing with your blade," he shouts at the viking warrior.  "After all, what lady worth calling herself such would have anything to do with one such as you?"

        Gultunga turns towards the man that questions his word.  The Stridesmans
icey blue orbs stare at him in cold disgust as he replies in like kind.

        "Though Gultunga be drunk, tis obvious that one whose foul warbled
vindictive words of doubt roll from betwixt their tongue and cheek like bird
droppings should be so aptly named after a fowl.

        Ignorance is bliss sir Raven . . .  Common knowledge it is that even the
most ignoble of Stridesman has the salt of the sea coursing through their besot-
ted veins.  Assuredly Gultunga did naught get here by walkabout, but landed here
by longship, and one such as Gultunga doesn't man such a vessel without working
the oars or battling foes whence called upon to do so.

         If sir Raven is Captain of the ship needful of a crew, Gultunga shall
look elsewhere to give service as a Stridesman.  To diminish another without
just cause dishonors those whom point the accusing finger, and gains the
disrespect of their peers.  Leave the lampooning to skalds sir Raven."

         Gultunga turns back to Miroslav and continues to address him as though
nothing ever happened . . .

         "Once Gultunga hears an answer to his voiced concerns and finds them
fair, Gultunga shall gladly show his steel as requested . . ."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:14, Wed 04 Nov 2009.

Miroslav laughs and says..."A'kos my friend, you have a way of making friends! And Gultunga, while it is clear you enjoy the sound of your own voice...I think you may have forgotten who is applying for what here. We do not apply to be your ship mates, you are applying to join us! But for now I will overlook this, we split the booty even after expenses. If there is no booty then there is no pay...now the sword please."

As the group talks to the wet talkative one, another Norseman comes into the tavern and stands towards the door. He looks to be waiting his turn. This man is massive and hairy, in fact he could even be called massively hairy. He looks to be a bit older and his mail shirt is a bit old looking as well. He carries a large single bladed axe and no shield.

        Gultunga unsheathes his finely made steel double edged sword and
raises it into the high guard position for all to see.  The weapon appears
to be well cared for and shows no signs of wear or imperfections.  Intricate
runes are engraved upon the blade right next to its hilt . . . From what can
be seen of the swords pommel, it appears to be inset with ivory that has been
inlaid with silver.


        The Stridesman declares to one and all . . .

        "Giramir remains my closest companion, and none other may bear it but
Gultunga . . . lest blood be drawn!  Does Gultungas Giramir pass your inspect-
ions?

         If Gultunga and Giramir are fit in your eyes, then Gultunga is willing
to join your ships crew."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:05, Wed 04 Nov 2009.

The Norseman brings forth a fine-looking blade, when he at last shows it, but a playful smile appears on Conn's face as a (mischievous) thought comes to him.

"Nice sword, my friend," he says, before turning to Miroslav. "But who's to say he didn't take it from some dead, but worthier, companion? No-one questioned my skills, but on the other hand I did not arrive as a soaking-wet, drunken madman. Just a thought..."

In truth, Conn meant the fellow no ill-will. Gultunga appeared to enjoy words, but he did not appear to be able to place them in a comprehensible order - not today, anyway.

"If he did take such a blade by guile, and I do not believe that he did, then that too would be a skill of use to us."

Loukas nodded in agreement with Jean, "Aye, guile would be useful thing, but what about this fellow so far suggests that? Perhaps the story of attempting to walk armored during a storm on a dragonship's gunwhale?"

A little impatiently, "So, the blade is beautiful, but how worn is the handle? If the man's hand is war-weathered and the sword's handle matches, then odds are he's a meet warrior."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:03, Wed 04 Nov 2009.

"True enough. Nevertheless he has passed the test we set him. He has clearly maintained his weapon in fine condition through his recent trials. The rest can be determined at a later time."

He looked to Mirislav for final approval of the hire and then looks at Ulfr.

"We have many others to apeak with today."

When the discussion over the sturdy norseman's blade has finally quietened down, a slender dark-skinned fellow steps forward.

With a nod to the others, he directs himself to Miroslav "good sir, I was informed that you seek crew for a sea voyage.  Need all your crew be doughty fighters or do you require some who merely know how to handle a sail, a steering oar, and smell the wind?".

He speaks greek quite well, but with somewhat of a Persian accent.

A'kos grins at the drunk's mockery of his name before turning his attention back to Jaleh.

"Will you keep up this silence forever, then?" he asks softly so the others may not hear.  "It seems we've been set a journey, and I would not have you wroth with me."

Ulfr begins to walk forward but the small dark man beats him to the fore and addresses the one called Miroslav. His huge bulk shuffles back towards the wall. He looks like he is mad at himself for not being more assertive.

Miroslav catches Jean's look and nods..."Yes I think our sodden new friend here has passed his test. I said I noted his calloused hands since those are from an oar, I think he is truly a man of the sea. I can tell this jsut as A'kos can tell if someone is a horseman...it is easy to spot those most like yourself."

He looks to the large Norseman shambling back to his original spot and says to him..."You will be next, I promise."

Then to the dark man..."No not everyone needs be a hulking warrior. In fact it would be nice to have someone well versed in sailing along as well but of course you must be able to handle a weapon because there will be combat. Tell us about yourself and how you came to be here in the capital of the Rus."

Looking at the Falcon Jaleh grins, and reaching out she touches his nose with the tip of her finger.  Sliding her chair closer to the handsome Magyar she lifts his arm around her shoulder, and settles into the nook beneath.

"Never take me for granted, Horseman," she replies quietly for his ears alone, before turning her attention to the interviews that play out.

The sailor replies "I am very handy with a knife in the close quarters and rolling decks of a ship.  And I am fast enough to get out of the way when someone bigger comes along."

He pauses "Now as for why I am in this most vibrant of cities..."

[ooc: I have to travel for a few days... will finish dreaming up reply replying on Monday when I'm back]

With a raised hand Miroslav interrupts the dark slim man..."Just a moment if you please."

He looks first at Gultunga and says..."I am glad you have accepted our offer. I believe you will be an asset to the ship. I do expect to see you on the morrow, dry in all respects. I have no problem with strong drink but we need to know that drunk is not a constant state of being."

He then looks at the rest of the part then to the hulking Norseman..."I will continue to interview this swarthy gentlemen. I think it best if some of you move onto to the big northman by the wall. We don;'t want anyone losing interest and wandering off, especially one so big!"

Balthazar makes his appearance, his robes wrapped tight around him, not from coming downstairs but coming in from the outside.  He says to no one in particular, "My, that was a beautiful sunrise."  He hears what Miroslav says to Gultunga, sizes up the situation, and says, "I shall make Gultungua my personal project.  Gultunga, pleasure to meet you.  I am Balthazar, and I am an expert in drinking.  There's getting drunk the right way, and getting drunk the wrong way, and it will be my pleasure to show you the difference."

Then he summons the waitress and says, "Good day ma'am.  I'd like an order of what you consider the finest breakfast meal this establishment has to offer.  My friend Gultunga and I are hungry."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:46, Fri 06 Nov 2009.

The server nods her head and shortly comes back with a tray laden with warm dry sausages and a loaf of the blackest bread Balthazar has ever seen. Also on the tray are several different cheeses and a pot of thick cream and another of amber honey. "The owner of this establishment was given strict orders to serve this crew only the best at the request of the Knyaz."

She returns in a few moments with a pitcher of kvass, a slightly intoxicating drink made from fermented raisins ands black bread.

Jean approaches Ulfr with his hands hooked in his belt.

"You have manners it seems."

He glances around at A'Kos and Gultunga among others.

"You may not fit in very well hereabouts."

After a second to see if his jest has any effect he continues.

"Your certainly large enough. Can you handle that axe?"

Balthazar says, "I would be delighted to have you along as company on our journey. I am in need of a tutor in the art of swinging a scimitar, perhaps you could train me?"

(this said assuming Balthazar can see a scimitar at Barmak's side, as Nestor indicated)

Oleg the young Varangian leans forward and says to Balthazar..."If the dark man cannot or will not, I can teach you how to use a curved sword. I do not use a scimitar like the Persians but a tesack, single edged and very much like the Persian weapon. I believe some call it a falchion. Of course if he can teach you, I will still help as well if you are interested."

"Thank you, Oleg.  Falchion, scimitar, heh, I can't really tell the difference."

In reply to Sir Jean D'Arzillieres (msg #54):

After Miroslav's suggestion, Loukas follows Jean to where the Varangian is standing. Opting not to comment or react to the Franks comment on manners he does nod in agreement with his question to Ulfr about his ability with his axe and adds, "Yes, and what experience have you shipboard?"

The huge man steps forward, he does not seem to understand the nature of the other mans jest so he ignores it only offering up a slight grin. "I must admit that I have chopped down more trees than I have men and that I have spent much more time behind a plow than behind an oar. Still I have sailed south with my brothers, fought several battles and manned the oar as well if not better than most."

In reply to Ulfr (msg #59):

Loukas nods again, this time in response to Ulfr's response. He then asks in Norse, "How long since you came south? Tell us of the lands you have visited." After speaking he leans towards Jean and repeats himself in Greek while keeping his eyes on the big Northman.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:05, Fri 06 Nov 2009.

"I lost my farm and family to Wendish raiders on the isle of Rugen. My two brothers and I having nothing to stay for signed on with a foolhardy captain a little over a year ago. We raided the Wends themselves before traveling to Novgorod in the Northern lands of the Rus. From there we headed south to Kiev, then south once again to the Black sea where we would land in Byzantium and hire ourselves as Varangians. Our foolish captain refused the advice that we needed to portage our vessels on a stretch of river south from Kiev. Almost all were lost when we hit the rapids. My brothers an all but two of the crew died. We three traveled south to the capital. I have since lost track of my crewmen and am here alone in this city seeking employment."

In reply to Ulfr (msg #61):

[OOC] Sorry, Ulfr's reply was in Norse but he speaks Greek well enough to understand the first questions and read the advertisement. I think he would prefer Norse but Greek is the language of the game so either is fine for talking to him. He also speaks the Wendish variation of Slavic.

In reply to Ulfr (msg #61):

Loukas translates Ulfr's words into Greek for Jean and Balthazar.

Continuing in Norse, "I am sorry for your loss. You have traveled far and seen much, but I will warn you now that if we accept you into our crew you will need to improve your Greek. That is the language we speak on the Heart of Oak. I expect that this will not be a problem for you, but wanted to warn you."

Turning to his fellow crewmen he speaks in Greek, "He seems to me to be a good candidate. It may be that he was once a farmer, but his story bespeaks a man who has great, if unfortunate, experience both at sea and in battle."

"It speaks also of honesty."

Ulfr responds in Greek "My Greek has gone without practice for many years. On Rugen there was a Priest who lived next to my family while growing up. He was a good man and even though a Christian, he did not try to convert my family. From him I learned the language. I will do my best to practice my Greek and stick to speaking it on the ship if I am hired."

With a smile, "Honest and not afraid of hard mental or physical work. He has my vote."

Balthazar shakes his hand, "I'd be happy to help improve your Greek Ulfr, and in return I hope to pick up a little Norse myself.  Many languages I know, but Norse is not among them."

A'kos is contented so that he does not rise to the Frank's bait beyond a small 'harrumph' of disgust.  Instead he focuses on black bread and sausage, and the lovely dusky woman curled in the crook of his arm.

OOC: Ah, romance.

"Then we agree!" Turning to Ulfr, "You a member of our crew, welcome aboard, Northman! Come join us, break you fast and quench your thirst!"

Oleg leans over and grabs a hunk of the black bread and dips it in the cream. After taking a big bite he ask A'kos..."I see many a Magyar wield a curved sword. Not so many straight like yourself. Why do you choose the straight over curved?"

"Easier to cut bread with," replies the Falcon.

After a moment's pause he grins at Oleg and winks.

"'Tis a keen blade, and light.  Easy to use on foot and on horseback, and wielded correctly it offers certain advantages, such as a piercing weapon when clubbing an armored foe is, ah, inconvenient."

He then shrugs.

"And I killed a Christian for it, so it was worth the effort of learning to use it."

His smirk is smug as he looks toward the Frank.

Jaleh elbows the cocky Magyar in the ribs.

"Play nice, Bird-Man," she snipes before settling back against his shoulder and closing her eyes.  She is warm and content to sit for awhile, letting the men haggle and pretend they have a clue about anything.

Having said quietly watching for a while, not wanting to pass judgement on others when he has himself only just joined the crew of the Heart of Oak, Conn nods and smiles at Ulfr's tale. Once the huge Norseman is welcomed to the crew, Conn stands and approaches him, then addresses Ulfr in his own language.

"Welcome, Ulfr. I am Conn of Skye, new to the Heart of Oak this very morn. I sailed with the Danes for a few years, and can speak Norse fluently. If you need help with your Greek, I can help you also."

A'kos enjoys Jaleh's close company as he watches the newcomers looking to join the crew.  He is bemused by the many peoples represented, not realizing that this place was a crossroads of sorts.  It seemed the young King had ambition, though A'kos had his doubts about his ability to overcome the Byzantine.

Leaving the future to its own pace he sipped his drink and looked on impassively, leaving the others to their machinations while he sat in peace.  Adventure, battle, renown - they would come at their own pace.

        Not wishing to have to deal with any more doubts or barbs from his
peers, Gultunga returns to his wet bench and continues to quietly imbibe
sparingly from his drinking horn.

The slight man ponders a while before replying to Miroslav.

"As for how I came to be here... as you may have surmised, I am a Persian.  Of the Mahvand family, perhaps you have heard of them?  " He pauses only momentarily and then continues "...or perhaps not, no matter.  Now for reasons of my own I came west to the Levant seeking employ on vessels which do more than simply trade.  However, after so many centuries, a Persian is not welcome in the Golden Horn - or at least not welcome except for dog's work.

"Therefore I worked passage on a small ship which took me to the mouth of this great river and walked the rest of the way.  The Persians and Byzantines both are old, old peoples, I will admit that - and even the vigour of the Caliphs which renewed them, is dimming now.  So I thought - perhaps these Rus folk are more full of spirit?"

[ooc: yes he is wearing a Scimitar at his hip].

"Perhaps that is the type man you can respect, eh, Falcon," says Jaleh.  "Seems he's been affected by the same wanderlust which afflicts you - and he's a longer road from home than you as well.  Perhaps a kindred spirit joins our group."

Balthazar beams at seeing all these strong and capable meatshields warriors join the team. "A toast, to our success in battle.  May half of us remain alive to make such a toast again next week!"

Taking a moment away from dealing with Barmak, Miroslav answers Balthazar's toast with a raised horn of mead.

Turning back..."Yes, we Rus are full of something...call it what you will."

He smiles and continues..."I have no test for you. I know many of your folk do not touch strong drink and hitting you in the chest like I did Conn will not prove a true test. I will a cept the great distance you have traveled and the obvious bravery you have shown in making it and proof that you are a worthy man to have on our ship."

Ulfr is a bit taken aback by the acceptance and the greetings he has received. So much has changed since he left home, he can hardly believe he is the same person.

He shakes hands, exchanges introductions and toasts to the voyage ahead.

Barmak nods his acceptance to Miroslav and steps back and a little to the side.  He calls for wine - will these Rus have heard of wine?

A serving girl is very quick to bring the newcomer a goblet of wine..."The finest green wine we have available."

Nerd moment...reading the old Russian byliny, they always speak of green wine. From my understanding, this is meant as freshly made. I don't think the Rus let wine age very long.

Halfdan strolls into the tavern where the notice said the applications were to be taken. He over hears someone call the big Rus Miroslav so he heads that way.

"I am Halfdan, you need me on your crew." re says gruffly.

Halfdan is a short squat man on middle years, showing some gray in his beard. He wears a chain shirt and a steel helm. On his hip is a longsword in a rather plain scabbard. He does not look like much but oozes confidence.

Joining in the toasts and celebrations, Conn downs his mead and then tries a drinking horn of the green wine that the serving girl brings out - it's not bad, not bad at all.

"Here's to strong winds and a full sail!" he exclaims, by way of an old Norse saying.

Miroslav also partakes of the green wine and echoes Conn's toast. He then turns to the newcomer..."So you say we need you...why is that?"

Even though the morning has gone well, it is clear by Miroslav's expression that he does not enjoy this process.

Oleg ignore the boast of the newcomer and turns back to A'kos..."Surely you have a good tale concerning this Christian you killed! I have killed a few myself and they always pass with a whimper...surely this Christian you killed was more stout for you to have adopted his blade."

Halfdan looks the Rus in the eye and says "You need me because there is not a man on your crew, if this be them, who could stand with me at battle or at the oar! From the look of them, most are still wet behind the ears."

Loukas toasts with Conn and turns to get a look at Halfdan. This is one for Miroslav to deal with, he thinks.

Turning back to the Scot, "And to strong shoulders and calm seas!"
This message was last edited by the player at 16:51, Tue 10 Nov 2009.

Jean raises an eyebrow at Halfdan's boast but speaks to Miroslav.

"By God if this bunch fights half as well as they boast we'll have nothing to fear from somthing so simple as the Empire."

"I say we take him just for having the stones to look around this room and say such a thing."

Miroslav lowers his head into his palms and massages his temples for a moment then stands grabbing the empty drinking bowl from the table behind him. He grabs a pitcher of mead and fills the vessel with the foaming brew and shoves it at Halfdan saying..."Let us compare you to Conn! Once you finish the beverage brace yourself for a blow to the chest!"

Halfdan downs the beverage in one mighty gulp and then trows the bowl-like vessel to the ground, cracking it in half. He then braces himself for the blow.

"Do your worst!" He shouts in defiance.

To Oleg A'kos grins, though his reply is thoughtful, "He was a margrave, or some such.  The blade was a family heirloom.  He told me such prior to his death, and with his last breath he bade me wear it with honor - he said he was the last of his line."

Pausing to reflect, his grin faded as he finished, "He was a worthy foe."

Shrugging, he gulped his drink and looked on at the growing revelry.

Miroslav does indeed do his worst. His right hand crushes the chest of the older man. Everyone in the inn can hear the snapping of ribs like dry firewood under the force of the blow. He seems to have hit Halfdan much harder than he hit Conn...perhaps he had no reason to injure the Scot but felt provoked by the Norseman enough to warrant this display.

Halfdan falls to the floor clutching his chest as Miroslav stands and motions to Oleg to grab an arm of the fallen man...the two of them take Halfdan and dump him into the street and then return to full horns of green wine.

       Upon observing Miroslavs devestating blow, Gultunga gulps down the rest
of his brew.  Froth spews forth from his lips as he bellows over the din of
the 'Drinking Hall' . . .

       "Deeds seen in plain sight, truely speaks the loudest.  Indeed words doth
not reliably give the true measure O' a man!"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:31, Wed 11 Nov 2009.

The growing revelry makes Conn feel like he belongs in this new group, and he smiles inwardly, feeling comfortable and welcome. When the one called Halfdan takes Miroslav's challenge the Islander watches with interest ~ most hardened warriors could down a bowl of foaming mead, though some would reel afterward, and this one appears no different. However, when the Rus punches Halfdan in the chest there is a clear and ominous cracking sound, and the proud man crumples like a poorly-built croft house. Conn is rather surprised for a moment, and then watches with indifference as the fellow is dragged and thrown into the street outside - it was the way of the northern warrior peoples. Those that could not stand alone were of no use to anyone.

The realisation of what he had withstood also made him feel proud, though he gave no show beyond a small smile ~ perhaps his colleagues would now grant him extra respect...

Loukas winces slightly, but quickly recoveres his formerly bland look, when the Miroslav's punch seems to crush the Northman. Note to self... he thinks.

Standing he raises his glass once more, "And to rich mead, iron ribs, and our Captain, Miroslav the Bear!"

Jaleh watches the violent display and shakes her head in disgust.

"Men!" she mutters angrily.  "Always thinking with their muscles and showing off."

A'kos grins and laughs at the little woman.

"Ah, Jaleh, we men are simple, and not prone to overcomplicate things like you womenfolk.  'Twas a fine blow by Miro, and likely needed as fair warning to any who would join the crew...including the Norseman now face down in the street.  If he decides to join us like as not his boast will now stand, if for no other reason than to avoid another blow from the big Rus."

Ulfr, who is normally very quiet, finds himself caught up in the moments and raises his drink and says "To Miroslav, the bear!"

Miroslav drinks a toast to himself as well as he waits for the next wave of applicants to come through the door...and through the door they come. It seems like for the most part, the best applicants were those who were willing ti rise with the sun. Of the next five who apply, all get the same treatment as Halfdan and all five fail, most after just drinking the bowl of mead but none seem to fail as bad as Halfdan did.

At one point, what looks t be a royal messenger comes into the tavern and hands Miroslav a note. Miroslav reads it and tucks it into his belt and continues on with the process of finding one last crewman. There are a few men in the tavern who have not applied, perhaps they are afraid to fail or just uninterested.

When it seems that no one else will step up, a stocky man in a mail shirt approaches the benches where the party has taken up residence.

         Gultunga cannot ausage his curiosity and soon finds himself approaching
Miroslav in order to pose an important query . . .

         "What manner of vessel will we be sailing upon?"

Miroslav eyes the newcomer for a moment as if the man seemed familiar. He then turns to Gultunga and answers his question..."We sail in a smaller vessel your people call a snekke...she has been name the Heart of Oak after a song sung by Loukas when we first captured her."

"Indeed, I find it quite distasteful as well. Much better to have tested their aim in a contest of archery."

          Gultunga nods upon learning of the type of ship he'll be sailing
upon.  The Stridesman replies . . .

          "Miroslav I hath sailed upon both Longship and Knarr.  As long as
I'm at sea . . . I'll be happy!"

Barmak sips the fizzy wine slowly, even though it has not the strength of the rich reds of Shiraz, he can see that the hefty fellows are more than a match for him at the cups.

[ooc: green wine is indeed lighter, about 9% normally vs. 12-14% for normal wine.  A bit bubbly as well but not as much as champagne]

He does not raise an eyebrow at the excessive displays of general manliness but secretly hopes that once underway Miroslav will have the sense to keep these fellows from wrestling each other over the side.  When the sea is angry it does not matter how big your fists are.

Jean takes a seat and relaxes enjoying the wine and happy to see the back side of the tedious process of hiring.

Jaleh shrugs.

"Always with the contests," she replies to Balthazar.  "Women are more subtle in their rivalries...and deadly."

She smiles sweetly at the Hedonite before turning her attention back to her beau.

After his toast Loukas looks about the table and gives Miroslav a meaningful look, That seems to have passed without much comment... he thinks.

With a bit of chuckle he tops off his cup and grabs a piece of bread of which he takes a bite. To Jaleh and Balthazar says, "I agree with what both of you say, yet you seem to miss the point: We saw in our last fight that regardless of excellent archery things almost always come to melee at sea, so our crew's strength is as vital as its endurance.

"As to the deadliness of women, well, only the most foolish men are unaware of this, which explains why women are most deadly in competition with each other. Men who attempt to 'struggle' with women are doomed to either broken hearts or victorious loneliness. Neither state is one I would prefer!"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:53, Fri 13 Nov 2009.

"She will tell you next that all men are foolish whether they are aware of such or not," replies A'kos to the young man.  "Those men who are aware of the peril still wade into battle, and the ones who are not are easy prey!"

"And which are you, Falcon?  Aware or not?" asks Jaleh, looking up at the Magyar with a touch of frost in her eyes.

"Ah, little princess, I walk with eyes wide shut," grins A'kos, though his eyes are inscrutable as he returns her look.

The moment passes and he adds, "Though I never make assumptions."

Loukas had started to respond to A'kos's comment, but with Jaleh's question he stopped, took another sip of wine, and a bite of bread and chews it intently. As if there was nothing more important in the universe than the bread in his mouth...

"But not all struggles with women lead to broken hearts or victorious loneliness, Loukas...although that may depend on the women you have been chasing!"

Conn grins at his new friend, and continues.

"As A'kos said, 'men who are aware of the peril still wade into battle', and that rings true for women also!"

        Gultunga continues to drink.  "Wench the pangs O' hunger have
struck Gultunga, whats the tasties dish in your fine feasting hall other than yourself," bellows the Stridesman.

The newcomer squints his eyes as he looks at the Rus before him, "Ah, so it is you! I saw the name Miroslav and thought that it might be you but half the people in this accursed camp share your name! Do you remember me? I am called Radvila, we sailed together many years ago on the Baltic sea."

Radvila is short an powerfully built, mid 30s, wearing a chain shirt and carrying an axe. light brown hair and dark eyes peer out from under the coif of mail.

He leans on his axe waiting for a reply from Miroslav.

A smile slowly spread across Miroslav's wide face and he says..."Radvila! A man so ugly that I intentionally forgot his face!"

He stands and passes his horn of mead to the man and claps him on the shoulder..."So what has the most gruesome of all the Lettish folk been doing all these years?"

In reply to Gultunga Iverson (msg #115):


Although she is quite used to getting talked to in this manner the serving girl still manages to blush..."I am afraid the best we have to offer at this early hour is the dry sausage, cream and black bread your party is already dining on. I believe there is some beet stew from last night that might still be warm."

In reply to Conn of Skye (msg #114):

Loukas laughs, "You misunderstand me, my friend, I said those who 'struggle' with women... I did not mean that one should not attempt to love a woman, but once engaged one ought to understand that he begins as a disadvantage. So, if you are going to become involved, then you had best be careful about which parts of the relationship you intend to contest. Besides, if you think of love as a 'struggle', you are probably already doomed to failure."

The big man injects himself into the conversation about women. "I have found that some women thrive on the struggle, just as some men do." As he says this he warily looks out of the corner of his eye towards Jaleh.

"That, my friend, is because we lacked enough archers and enough sorcerers.  I still say that a battle is best won at a distance.  If you have to close to melee, you've already lost the contest in many cases.  That said, I'm still determined to learn how to use this scimitar.  I know I'll need it someday."



"Ah yes, the deadliness of women. It's because they are so darn attractive that we men let down our guard! Many Hedonites struggle with the concept of becoming slaves to their desires, but the advanced among us understand that it is our desires which make us strong, not weak, and a healthy desire should never weaken us.  Unhealthy desires ... must be cut off.  After a period of indulgence, of course."  The last he says with a wink.

Balthazar's comments inspires another laugh, "Yes, 'indulgence', quite. Well, you are probably quite correct on all matters here, Balthazar... But as your interest in learning to use a blade suggests you know that they are philosophical rather than practical. And philosophy is rarely useful outside the classroom, eh?"

"Our whole lives are based on philosophy, whether you realize it or not.  When it comes to adventuring, my philosophy is be prepared for any situation, hence my interest in the weapon."

He takes a sip of mead, then continues, "Loukas, there's a matter I'd like to discuss with you.  The other day, you got into a diatribe with our Knight here, Sir Jean.  This occurred because you drank too much, lost your inhibitions, and had not yet found an outlet to mourn for your Uncle.  As a Hedonite, I encourage the losing of inhibitions.  It allows you to be the person you really are, and I applaud that because hedonism is, above all things, about the search for one's true self.  Well, now that we've seen your true self, Loukas, I think you'd best keep it in check.  Frankly*, I sleep better at night about this mission knowing that Sir Jean is with us, and I will be quite sore if he is driven off by bickering.  Miroslav and the rest of the warriors here are quite fierce in combat, I am sure, but do they have the formal training and combat skills that a knight possesses?  I doubt it very much.  Let's not blow a good thing, eh?"

**************

* pun intended
This message was last edited by the player at 15:32, Fri 13 Nov 2009.

         Gultunga smiles at the wench and continues to address her . . .

         "Whats your name fair maiden?  Are there any available rooms for this
eve, and what may be its cost."

          The Stridesman gestures for the wench to lean towards him in order to
allow him to whisper into her ear . . .

          Gultungas countenance brightens with a warm endearing smile towards
his serving wench as he awaits a reply.

The serving girls giggles a second then leans in close and says something to Gultunga.

"We have been instructed to have rooms available for those who crew with Miroslav...they have been paid for by the Kniaz already."

In reply to Balthazar the Hedonite (msg #123):

Loukas was beginning to take a sip of wine when Balthazar spoke, but stopped. "I agree with you that one should never lose oneself in his cups. It is a matter of discipline at the least. I apogized last night for upsetting Sir Jean."

Radvila replies to Miroslav, "I have been north in Novgorod serving with Vladimir and his uncle Dobrynya. I am not as young as I once was and even though I hail from the Baltic sea coast, I need warmth every few years. I am just lucky I saw your advertisement but I think I could have signed on to a crew before too long though. I take it you still have room for one more?"

"Good, then let us speak no more of such unpleasantries.  Now, Loukas, let me tell you that the best way to mourn for your uncle is to pursue one of his passions.  Perhaps there is an unfinished painting or manuscript you could complete for him."  Balthazar takes a sip, then adds with a laugh, "Or perhaps there was a certain type of lady he was attracted to.  You could dedicate a romance to his memory!"  He high fives you, then adds after another sip, "That's certainly how I would like to be memorialized.  If I pass on, please liaise with a fiery redhead to commemorate my passing."  He drinks up.

Conn only smiles at Loukas, and gives him a wink. "My misinterpretation was quite deliberate, I assure you."

Hearing Balthazar's last comment, concerning redheads and memorials, he grins once more.

"Can we kill you now then, Balthazar? I'm all for liaising with fiery redheads...as long as they are female..."

He looks to Gultunga, with an amused smirk, and then drinks of his wine.

Balthazar spits his wine out and for once has no quick retort.  He gives you a sly smile, then says while trying to hold in his laughter, "Pretty good, pretty good. I'll be watching you, Conn of Skye."

In reply to Balthazar the Hedonite (msg #123):



Loukas stares incredulous at Balthazar throughout his speech, and when the Mage raised his hand for a high five he simply sat back in his chair without raising his own. He starts to speak several times, but each time something else the man says stops him.

Conn's jest finally breaks some of the tension that had been building in his body and he laughs and takes another sip from his cup, but remains silent.

Alternately amused and annoyed at Balthazar's speech and the theories and hyperbole of the others Jaleh asks, "What would all of you know of women - like the fat Hedonist there, all you think of is the urges of your loins.  Philosophy?  HA!  The philosophy of lust, and the taking of the maiden flower of such who choose to give it...or are unfortunate enough to have it taken from them."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:57, Sat 14 Nov 2009.

        Gultunga gently pats the wench on her rump with his left hand as he
continues . . .

        "I'll have the hard sausage, black bread, and cream if you please."

        The Stridesman grimmaces as he admittedly replies . . .
"Beet stew just isn't a palatable dish to Gultunga most fair wench!"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:51, Sat 14 Nov 2009.

He looks her straight in the eye and says, "Actually, I have made quite a study of the urges of feminine loins as well, so I would say I know a great deal.  Probably why I never got very far in my occult studies."

"What you see you think you know, though I daresay you know little beyond your own pleasures," said Jaleh.

"Miroslav, are we leaving soon?" calls A'kos to the big man.  "Might be a good idea before Jaleh gets it into her wicked mind to adorn the Hedonist's neck with a second mouth."

Miroslav looks at Radvila and says..."Yes we have a space for you on the crew. We are taking equal shares of the plunder. Now I have tested some of these men with the standard test we Rus like to pull on each other. I do not need to do that with you but I am sorely tempted to punch you for being so ugly!"

OOC really that picture is wretched!

He then looks at A'kos and says..."We have two days before we sail. I know you have no control over the woman. I have never truly known a free woman who could be controlled, as Jaleh is definitely free! I would suggest you just try to keep her busy until we leave so none of the crew fall prey to her and that wicked knife of hers."
Miroslav smiles at Jaleh, hoping she gets the humor in what he says so he is not the first to taste her steel.

"Two days, eh?" replies A'kos.  "I think I can find ways to keep her occupied, though it may have something to do with urges in my loins!"

A'kos laughs at his own crude attempt at humor before taking a large swig of his ale.

Jean stood up and walked across the room to an empty Ale barrel. Upending it he marked an x on the center of the barrlehead with a coal from the fireplace.

He uncased two throwing axes and shouting to be heard above the din he said, "Be silent and listen! Speaking of contests has given me an idea!"

"I challenge you all to an axe hurling contest! Whosoever comes closest to center will win a shirt of finest red byzantine linen, double stitched and plyed to support armor (ooc a really nice Padded Armor Shirt of the type that is worn under chain mail but nice enough to wear as an overshirt)! Should I win then he who comes second will aid in my training tomorrow morning however I may ask!"

"What say you?"

There was a nod, a smile and a raised drinking horn to Balthazar, and then Conn stood and made his way across to Jean.

"A second-hand coat, or some work as a punching-bag? Hardly an incentive for a challenge! But, as we have two days to pass, I will accept."

The man of Skye had some familiarity with the hand axe, and had used one often with the Danes, so he felt he could provide the Frank with a fair challenge. More importantly, it would perhaps allow him to get to know the knight better.

Jaleh plants an elbow in A'kos ribs with a smirk and says, "Your opinion of yourself has grown out of proportion with your abilities, Lover."

Standing, she addresses Sir Jean.

"I would contest with you, Frank, if you allow me the use of my daggers.  I'll take your linen shirt, fitted to size, of course.  Should you prevail I suspect I could give you all the training you could handle."

Jean allowed the loaded comment to pass by without response and said simply,

"For this purpose a dagger will serve as well as an axe."

"Ladies first, Conn of Skye," she says to the Scotsman.

To Sir Jean she asks, "Where shall I throw from?"

When Sir Jean suggests his contest Loukas's eyes light up. Here is an oppportunity to work off a bit of tension! "I agree with Conn that neither of your prizes are particularly compelling, but I am happy to pass the time thus."

Sir Jean sneers at his critics. "The shirt is of surpassing quality as I said. Purchased in Byzantium and never worn. As for the second it is no prize at all but a punishment. Second place is but foremost amongst losers and deserves no reward."

To Jaleh he says, "We will throw from this line." And he draws a black line on the floor with the coal.

"Wait a moment and perhaps a few of these other stalwarts may join our sport."
He casts a challenging glance around the room.

"Any other rules?" asks Jaleh innocently.

"Hmm...no magic, no interfering with others. Treat with your crew as you would have them treat you."

"Of course, ladies first, as you wish," says Conn to Jaleh with a smile and a bow, as she steps forth from her seat. He would have added, and I shall stand aside when one comes along!, but he felt he did not know her well enough as yet, and could not judge whether she would take the joke as well as Balthazar had the one directed his way, a joke over which he had been much more confident in it's reception.

Loukas joins Jaleh and Conn to take part in the contest, "Your rules are good, Sir Jean. I join this good men in line to await my turn after fair, Jaleh."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:21, Sun 15 Nov 2009.

Rubbing soar ribs A'kos laughs and calls from the table, "I've a gold on the Lady's skills."

Stepping to the line Jaleh draws two narrow throwing daggers from where they were hidden near the small of her back.  She catches A'kos and Conn of Skye admiring her backside and rolls her eyes, then turns and focuses her attention on the target.

With 2 quick flicks of her wrist she sends the blades speeding toward the barrel one after another.

23:59, Today: Jaleh rolled 22 using 1d20+2.
23:59, Today: Jaleh rolled 3 using 1d20+2. Target contest.

Two more different outcomes she could not have imagined.  The first knife sails end over end high above the barrel, sticking in the wall at the far end of the hall.  Against a live foe the second would've been a deadly toss as it speeds end over end and sticks directly in the center of the 'X'.

"Tosses as extreme as my moods," she says, looking at her handiwork.  "I'll be hard pressed to win this contest based upon two throws, but the one is as good as you'll get." 

Turning, she smiles at the Frank and makes her way to the table with A'kos.

"It's your fault," she says primly, reaching for her wine, but she fails to elaborate.

Great skill, or luck? Perhaps a bit of both. Conn nodded at the woman's efforts as she walked back to her seat, then took out his own hand axe and sized up the distance to the target. After but a moment's consideration, he drew back his arm and hurled his axe at the barrel. Unfortunately, he had misjudged his effort, and the handle of the axe bounced off the target, sending it bouncing half the distance back to him. Conn shook his head in disgust.

11:44, Today: Conn of Skye rolled 7 using 1d20+1. Target contest.

His eyes on the Scotsman's efforts the Falcon grunts acknowledgment to the mercurial woman.

"I've come to learn, little woman, that it's always wiser to accept blame from a woman than to deny it," he replies as Conn's axe skitters across the floor.  "What am I to blame for this time?"

Jean picks up Conn's axe and hands it back to him.

"Perhaps your second throw will be better."

Radvila smiles as he watches the younger crew members playing at their contest. He however does not take part, instead he pulls up a chair and goes about making up for lost time with his old shipmate Miroslav, and getting pleasantly drunk in the process.

When there is a space for him to squeeze his great bulk through, Ulfr toes the line and draws his own belt axe for two throws.

Neither of the attempts even stick and the big man looks a little embarrassed as he retrieves his weapon.

"Ah well, I have never been much use with this sort of thing anyway."

13:07, Today: Ulfr rolled 5 using 1d20.
13:07, Today: Ulfr rolled 10 using 1d20. target.

"How is this being judged anyway? Just out of curiosity since Ulfr is definitely out of the running.

When it is Loukas's time he takes a dagger -- not the one he gained from the Persian's effects, which is sheathed on his arm, but the one sheathed on his belt, and steps up to the line.

The first throw hits the target, but on its outside-most edge, nearly missing the target completely. He has to do better than this! His second throw flies goes even wider of the target. Marching to where the dagger falls he re-sheaths it, "Damn!", he mutters to himself, and rejoins the table trying to appear unaffected by his failure.

Barmak sits back and continues to sip his wine in a most moderate fashion, eyeing up the contestants thoughtfully and trying to size up who is genuinely good at what, once all the big talk is subtracted.

Miroslav tells the owner of the tavern to turn away all other applicants for crew and leans back in his chair and talks to Radvila about past glories and those yet to come.

He keep sa close eye on the competition started by the Frankish knight. He wags a sausage-like finger at Loukas when the lad fails at his attempts to win the shirt.

Sitting Loukas takes up his cup again and notes Miroslav's teasing finger-wave. Looking somewhat shamed he grins and shrugs his shoulders after takeing a drink, "Yes, I am fortunate that the punishment for losing is not losing one's shirt, while the winner gains Sir Jean's new one!"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:15, Sun 15 Nov 2009.

Balthazar gets up good-naturedly to take this throws.  "Axe, dagger, makes no difference, I suck at both."

15:02, Today: Balthazar the Hedonite rolled 12 using 1d20. target contest, 2nd throw.
15:02, Today: Balthazar the Hedonite rolled 9 using 1d20. target contest.

Each of those is -5 for weapon proficiency penalty and +2 for dex, so a 9 and a 6.  Probably breaks a nearby window or something.

"We're going to attack some town," replies the Falcon with a shrug.  "Any other details you'll have to get from Miroslav, as he was the one to talk to Sviatoslav yesterday."

Nodding in thanks to the Frankish knight as he hands him back his axe, Conn stands aside to let the others take their turn. When they prove to be even worse, the man of Skye finds himself smiling ~ perhaps the mead and wine has affected them more than they realise. Still, he waits his turn and when the time comes, he hurls his axe again - and this time strikes the target, just a little off-centre.

22:27, Today: Conn of Skye rolled 14 using 1d20+1.

"A little practice, Conn of Skye, and you might actually be dangerous to someone other than yourself," says Jaleh from her seat.

To the knight she says, "Alright, Sir Frank-man, your turn."

Once the others have had their chance Jean steps to the line and hurls his two axes.

The first strikes dead center eclipsing the cut made by Jaleh's dagger while the second glances off the handle of the first and strikes just inside the edge of the barrelhead.

"It appears we have both struck center Jaleh. We shall throw a single blade to break the tie. You may, of course, throw first."


17:36, Today: Sir Jean D'Arzillieres rolled 10 using 1d20+3. AC 8 edge hit
17:35, Today: Sir Jean D'Arzillieres rolled 21 using 1d20+3. AC 0 center hit
Target Contest.

Jaleh stands and steps to the line.  Looking at the knight she murmurs, "I'd almost rather lose..."

Grinning confidently, she lifts her arm and flicks her wrist and scores a nearly direct hit in the center of the 'X'.

"If you beat that, Sir Jean, I will train you willingly.  Your throw."

Satisfied, she steps away from the line, though she remains standing to watch the final throw.

19:25, Today: Jaleh rolled 21 using 1d20+2. Barrels.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:29, Mon 16 Nov 2009.

Jean steps forward and throws with authority. His axe hammers into the center of the black "X" knocking Jaleh's dagger to the floor.

"It appears we shall have to throw again."

21:31, Today: Sir Jean D'Arzillieres rolled 21 using 1d20+3. Tie Breaker.

"A toast to your skill, Sir Knight," says Jaleh.  "And for such a fine throw, I'll defer to you and throw second this round."

Jean throws again and the axe sticks but only a few inches from the edge of the barrelhead.


07:00, Today: Sir Jean D'Arzillieres rolled 10 using 1d20+3. Target Contest.

Leaving the throwing contest, Balthazar starts his scimitar training with either Barmark or Oleg, whoever is up for it.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:38, Mon 16 Nov 2009.

"There are many dead men who could already attest to that, if they could but speak."

Conn smiled at the woman, but his expression was for once rather cold. He said no more, then continued to watch the contest between the woman and the Frankish knight. It occurred to him that anyone who crossed their path had better be friendly...

Balthazar realizes that he is probably the only person in the group who has never killed anybody (directly), and decides to not mention it.

Jaleh studies the Knight's throw a moment before stepping again to the line.  She finds herself full of nervous energy - the thrill of the competition has grown!  Still, she's able to calm herself with a deep breath, release to halfway and concentrate.  Lifting her arm she flicks her wrist - not her best throw this day, but closer to the center than the knight's.

Bowing grandly to Sir Jean she says, "You are a fine competitor, Sir Knight.  I will take my prize now!"

Smiling, she turns to A'kos and winks.

 18:47, Today: Jaleh rolled 14 using 1d20+2. Contest.

"Well done indeed,well done."

Jean retrieved his axe and retired to his room and returned with the promised Gambeson. It was indeed finely made of red linen and embroidered with golden thread depicting horses on the run.

"I will have it altered to fit you as well as may be expected on the morrow if you wish."

"That will not be necessary," she smiles grandly.

Taking the proffered shirt she brings it back to the table and offers it to A'kos.

"A noble raiment for a stout heart," she says to the Falcon.

A'kos takes the gambeson and holds it up, studying it.

"A fine shirt," he notes, and looking at Jean he calls out, "Where'd you have this made?"

Loukas stands and raises  his cup, "To those who threw better than me... I am glad you are on my side!!!"

"It is the work of Thestrios the Weaver in Byzantium. His work is perhaps not the most visually appealing that is available but it far more durable and I find that such is useful in the garments of an adventurer."

Despite Jeans words the shirt is of very fine appearance.

Miroslav smiles from ear to ear, raises his horn and says to Jaleh..."Well played!"

He then drains the green wine from the horn and sets it down..."So, now we have our crew! In two days time we join Sviatoslav's fleet in the raid upon Khorsun. I would suggest you gear up now and take care of anything you might need to do before moving out with Sviatoslav."

In reply to Balthazar the Hedonite (msg #170):

Oleg is overjoyed that Balthazar has taken up his offer to help him learn the weapon he gained from the Persian. In a less rowdy corner of the tavern, Oleg draws his own weapon, perhaps a few inches shorter and slightly heavier than the scimitar, but a close match to Balthazar's eye.

First he goes over the basic grips and footwork to be used when employing the weapon, then the angles of attack and defense. A good basic introduction tot he weapon in a short time.

Balthazar has some trouble at first but warms tot he weapon and instruction fairly well.

For all of Oleg's crudeness he was obviously taught his skill at arms in a military or at least a disciplined setting.

"A fine gift, little woman," smiles A'kos broadly, "and well won!  You do me too much honor with your generosity."

With Miro's pronouncement A'kos sits and begins to plan a well thought out drunk, then perhaps a conquest of Jaleh in the later hours.

He grins to her and says, "Let us celebrate today and worry about tomorrow at the appropriate time."

When the crew have divided up in their various groups, Barmak approaches Miroslav. "We sail tomorrow, you say.  Might I take a look at our vessel even this night?  There is not a ship built that does not leak and I would fain have no sleep and do the repairs while she is still in dock, than discover them at sea."

He pauses for a moment, then adds politely "You may of course accompany me aboard while I look..."

"Two days, Barmak!  Mean's there's time enough to recover!" A'kos shouts.

Taking a deep drought of ale he smacks his lips happily as he cozies up to Jaleh.

        Gultunag quietly consumes his sausage and blackbread with cream.  The
Stridesman slowly sips his brew from his drinking horn as he patiently awaits
the liason with the serving wench later in the eve.  He quietly takes in the
goins on within the Inn without a word.  The future crews demonstrations of
their weapon skills do not impress the Stridesman . . . as target practice
is quite different than actual combat.  The true metal of a warrior can only
be demonstrated in battle.

Balthazar winces and says, "Even though you spoke it aloud, I could tell that you spelled it 'metal' in your mind, when in fact the word is spelled 'mettle'.  No worries, I'll have you educated in no time!"

;-)

Jaleh grins in vast amusement at the Hedonist's interpretation of the barbarian's thoughts.

Turning to A'kos she says, "You are welcome, dear."

Intrigued as he is to see the boat for himself, A'kos's reminder that there are still two days until they sail has Conn smiling, and he lifts his drinking horn once more.

"Here's to a good day's drink!"

Fast forward through the rest of this day, spent relaxing and drinking by most.

We are now just a day away from sailing with Sviatoslav.

Miroslav takes those interested in seeing the ship to the pier and gives them a brief rundown of the situation and the ship and what their duties will be. He is ready to field any questions they might have.

For the rest, this is your last chance to purchase anything at the markets, at these markets have everything. They rival the best markets of Byzantium. Sviatoslav chose this site for his capital because he called it the crossroads of the east and west...he was right, but it is also the crossroads of north and south.

Balthazar will take on the role of ship's cook.  Being the food lover that he is, he's quite a good one.

As for supplies, we need lots of arrows, pitch, oil, tinder boxes, flints, you name it, so that we can shoot flaming arrows at our foes.

Loukas does not need much personally, though he does acquire an extra tunic, pants, and cloak. He'll buy these while assisting Balthazar to acquire supplies for the ship. In addition to the materials the Magus has already listed, Loukas will check to see if any "capital" stuff ought to be stocked, like extra oars, sails, rope, etc. It's unclear just how well stocked the Heart of Oak was when we acquired it...

Barmak will check the caulking, the planking (and the keel if the water is not too cold), the bilges, the lines and make sure that on board there is a decent stock of wood, nails, tar, cloth and tools for performing repairs.

If they do not look at him to askance, he will try to chat to the existing crew if there are any to see how the ship handles.

Between Balthazar and Michael the Greek who has taken to almost acting like the Hedonite's servant, Loukas and Barmak, the Heart of Oak finds herself well stocked with both common and some extravagant items and supplies. No one will be going hungry for any time soon, thirsty either for that matter and there is a good supply of arrow/pitch to attack other ships with and plenty of supplies for maintaining and repairing the ship.

Barmak finds it hard to get a decent answer on how the ship handles...from both Oleg and Miroslav he hears..."It handles like it should." From the Greek farmers turned sailors he gets even less information.

Anything we need to finish up on this thread is fine to continue here with. The story will move on to the "Setting Sail" thread. Don't feel the need to make sure all your sullpies are bought and on your sheet. I am not a huge stickler for this sort of thing. I mean if some how you are claiminga ballista has been brought along without an earlier ref, then than it one thing but saying you have soap or rope is another. And as we know all good sailors have soap on a rope right?

        Once the wench is relieved from her duties and she has made her way
to her quarters, Gultunga follows soon afterwards for an eve of lustful
escapades.  Who needs sleep whence dropping anchor in a new port.

        The Stridesman knock on her door and is promptly received.

Gosh I almost forgot about him.  I wonder if he'll survive long enough to break out of the spell.  In any case, Balthazar takes Michael to the seedier side of town to give him one last chance to sow some wild oats.