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!"