The road, as Honil had said, runs close to the inner side of the wall.  It's also crowded with locals, most of them probably going home at the end of their day, though there are a few beggars still plying their trade.

A Watch patrol makes its way along the road, coming from further within the city.  Their surcoats bear the arms of Bard's Gate - a gate house, surmounted by a harp - and their arms and armour look well-maintained.  They pass the group of adventurers without a second glance.

The group reach the market square, which is still crowded, even though most of the stalls are closing down (or have already done so).  An old man (a street cleaner, judging by the state of his clothing and the aroma of manure which lingers around him) provides directions to The Full Moons, but also adds that he prefers The Pig and Whistle, which he is also happy to point out.

The former is a large structure, well maintained, and with its front wall sporting banners and bright lanterns, while the latter is a smaller establishment of somewhat... shabbier... appearance.  Apparently the food and drink at The Pig and Whistle are cheaper, and the accommodation is adequate, while The Full Moons caters to wealthier patrons.

At the far end of the square stands what must be the town hall - an imposing building, its large door standing open and guarded by more watchmen.

And close to the town hall stands a shop whose window is filled with flasks, bottles and jars containing a wide variety of fluids, unguents and powders in every colour of the rainbow, with bundles of herbs suspended from cords above... the apothecary.

Eilieen drops off some of her coin with the beggars - copper pieces, the like.  Enough to account for probably five silver's worth.  It's the least she can do.  After that, she takes in the town, squeaking loudly with glee at the sight of the large inn.

She already knows which establishment will be garnering her coin.

"Well, shall we agree to meet somewhere for dinner?  I should inspect the apothecary, stock up on herbs and unguents.  And perhaps find a temple.  Oooo, and a clothier."

"All those willing to put up with that, please let me know!" she happily chirps.

" Sounds like we have the same itinerary!" Ozzy says with a big smile, " Well, without the temple. I guess I can go pound a few ales with Aarnr while you're prayin'." he adds. He shifts the bundle from the crook of one arm to the other, eager to be rid of the tail and to fill his coin purse.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:19, Tue 11 Nov 2014.

Colwyn goes along with the rest of the group, happy to be in a city again.  He glances about as he walks, taking in the sights of Bard's Gate, and it's (probably) just coincidence that many of the sights feature open windows and somewhat flimsy-looking locks.

The market is a disappointment, since many of the stalls appear to have closed down for the day.  "Back in Tsair, if'n I were wantin' a bit of grub, the market were bein' open 'til 'bout midnight."

Apart from the lack of late night shopping opportunities, the other issue that he notes is an over-abundance (by his standards) of watchmen.

And suddenly, something seems to concern him even more ftan the uniformed guards.  He wedges his hands info his belt, and follows his companions with his head bowed.

"I's fer the Pig an' Whistle." he mutters when the subject of an inn comes up...

Fergus, recovering from his battle on the road, climbs down from the cart when it reaches the market square.  To his eyes, the city is amazing.  He's never seen so many stone buildings in his life.  Not even when he was in Reme.  Admittedly the ones in Reme were cleaner, at least as far as he recollects.

And the market square looks to be almost as big as all of Fairhill.

The question of which inn to use seems more than a little irrelevant... unworthy of notice when taken alongside the architectural wonders of the vast metropolis.

Aarnr glowers down from his perch on the cart, not at all liking the press of people in this vast metropolis.  To his mind, you only get these numbers gathered together when you're on the battlefield, and undoubtedly war is being waged, though, typically for such decadent people, though the sly and underhand means they call commerce.

The number of guards annoys him too, but then again, any number of such creatures is too many as far as the priest is concerned.

Temples are a good place for the weak gods to hide, those who need to be flattered and who bask in the subervience of their followers ... on reflection perhaps best not to mention that to Eilieen who seems quite taken with the prospect of a good worshipping.  And the gods alone knew what else she was talking about, for the other people or places she mentioned defied comprehension.

"Pig and Whistle, aye."  Aarnr concurs.  Taverns were always a good bet for food, drink and, with enough of the latter to give the patrons courage, a bit of brawling.

Colwyn's enthusiasm for the city seems to have faded, as he looks about nervously.  "Yeah, we's needin' ter be gettin' inside, an' a bit sharpish."  He takes a few steps in the direction of the Pig and Whistle, before stopping to see if anybody is following along.

Fergus, meanwhile, is still standing, taking in the view.  Colwyn doubles back and grabs the big man by his arm, only to discover that pulling on that arm has no more effect than trying to move a mountain.  "Fergus, mate, let's be gettin' ter that there inn.  If'n yer's wantin' ter be lookin' at the city, we can be findin' yer a nice window ter be doin' it out."

The rogue glances back up at the front of a nearby structure, before letting go of Fergus' arm, and starting towards the Pig and Whistle once more.

"We'll need to watch the cart," Aarnr licks his lips at the prospect of a drink in the offing, but has been around city folk enough to know that they're all thieves and scoundrels.  "I'll go first," he offers generously, leaping down from the cart and looking for somewhere close at hand in the street to tether the oxen.  Something solid, and preferably not Fergus.

Fergus is, in fact, the first to spot a likely place to leave the cart.  As luck would have it, it's directly outside the Pig and Whistle, so it should be easy enough to keep an eye on the cart, and the oxen, from the window of the tavern.

So while some of the party head for the apothecary's, in the hopes of catching him before he shuts up shop for the evening, the rest of them make their way into the tavern with the intention of inspecting the quality of the victuals available therein.

The apothecary is still open for business, just.  He turns out to be a dwarf of somewhat advanced years, his long white beard and hair bound into a veritable serpent's nest of braids.  He regards the new customers with some interest as they enter, "Hello there.  What can I do for you young people this fine Waneday evening?  And before you answer, you should know that Oswestry's is a respectable establishment, and I won't be selling you anything to spice up your love lives.  Unless you can prove that you're married.  To each other."

The Pig and Whistle, meanwhile, also turns out to be respectable.  It's a lot less shabby on the inside than it on the outside, and fairly crowded, which indicates a degree of popularity.  The first round of drinks are bought and Colwyn, apparently happier now that he's indoors, proposes a toast...

"Ter the 'eroes what's goin' ter rob Rappan Athuk!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:34, Wed 19 Nov 2014.

"Goodness!" Eilieen replies to the Apothecary with a small laugh.  She has been despondant since the announcement of the Pig and Whistle, but this cheers her right up.  "Nothing like that, fine sir.  I am a priestess of Zadastha, and my supplies of healing tools are taxed.  I had hoped to make some purchases here - perhaps you might expound upon what wares are available?"

Hope springs eternal.  Hope for supplies...hope for low prices...hope she won't receive some comment about love lives and Zadasthan priestesses...

...there's always hope.

The hustle and bustle of the commons might be endearing to some, and uncomfortable to others. To Arkan it was simply uninteresting. He had long since blocked the noise and distractions out with a simple mental technique he had learned many years ago back home. He sat with his hood covering his head, casting his features into shadow as he mulled over an empty cup, with a medium sized platter containing the bones of some unfortunate bovine and crumbs of bread.

Suddenly, a voice pierced the chatter with the mention of a name that held great interest for Arkan. It was the name of a place he had traveled across a sea to reach, a name that sent shudders of horror into the hearts of men even thousands of leagues away, a place in which he sought to find something he had been seeking for a long, long time...

Rappan Athuk!

The name of the infamous dungeon was said by a weasley looking man with a mop of unruly hair topping a narrow face with a shrewd gaze. A party of rough and somewhat unsavory seeming characters were near this gentleman, though the last could be due to the fact that the dust of travel stained their clothes.

Waiting only a moment, Arkan collected his thoughts and quickly squeezed past the crowd as he walked over to the man, who Arkan now noted had oddly mismatched eyes. "Good day traveler. I am Arkan, a man from distant shores yet ever at home where a stout heart, a strong arm and a cunning mind might be needed," he remarked with a curt nod, as he folded his arms in front of the stranger and continued in a lower voice, enough only to carry over the din of the tavern.

"You appear to be one who has little time for nonsense, so I will get to the point. I have been seeking stalwart company to travel to Rappan Athuk myself. There is something within I greatly desire to find. It is known that all who return from the depths of that wretched place never want for anything again, such is the wealth to be found therein. I ask for little of the wealth myself, only that I be allowed to accompany your party. My skills shall be at your disposal for as long as the expedition lasts."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:13, Sat 22 Nov 2014.

"An' what's makin' yer think we's needin' 'elp?  Specially from some cove what we's not even knowin'." Colwyn asks, his words tinged with a faint hint suspicion, beneath a thick layer of outright hostility.  His right hand, casually, hovers near the hilt of his sword.

Fergus, meanwhile, seems less aggressive.  He offers Arkan a friendly nod, and a good-natured smile.  "Hello... Arkan, was it?  I'm called Fergus, and that's Colwyn, and Aarnr's over there... " he says, introducing those companions who are present, one by one.  "Yes, we're going to Rappan Athuk.  You want to join us?"

Aarnr is preoccupied.  Between his drinking and having to keep an eye on the cart and oxen in the hope that someone will attempt to take them, or even look as if they might, he has precious little attention to spare for the conversations going on around him.

The mention of Rappan Athuk, however, a place dear to his heart, does rouse him from his reverie ...

"Thou sheep-biting, spongy tallow-catch !  We venture not to that haunt of darkness for froggin' baubles !  We go that we may slay and be slain by the hideous beasts that lurk therein !"

The priest drains his cup, eyeing Arkan.  "Thou has a fine blade, thou whoreson ... of course thou are welcome to join us !"

Arkan nodded graciously to the strapping young man. "My thanks for the greetings Fergus. Directing his gaze towards Colwyn again he continued. "I am well versed in the warriors arts, and arts stranger still. The very way to Rappan Athuk is lined with peril, you will have need of my blade and of my mind." Leaning closer he added, in what he hoped was a spooky tone and loud enough only for Colwyn and his companions, "I have been researching the dungeon ever since I came over to these lands across the Inland Sea, preparing myself to venture inside. I have some knowledge of what we will face there. Allow me to join and I will share that knowledge with you."

Before he could read anything in Colwyn's expression as to whether his little speech had a beneficial effect, Arkan was suddenly set upon by a most foultongued (and hairy bodied) individual. Where Colwyn was wiry, and Fergus was well built, this Arnar was a giant of a man, if man he could be called. He looks to be more like a bear...a wear bear perhaps? How interesting, this will venture further investigation, Arkan thought. Lycanthropy had always interested him for it's curious yet sublime melding of man and beast, with the benefits of both, and only a few unfortunate side effects.

"There will be hideous beasts aplenty to be found within, I assure you mighty...Arnar is it not, though I do hope it shall be us who do all the slaying. I think you for your welcome, and your blade appears to be quite well forged as well. I pity any who have been on the receiving end of it." he remarked with a half smile, gesturing at the hilt of the sword poking over Arnar's shoulder.

ooc: Arkan has a high Intelligence so his speech is a bit eloquent. Should provide an interesting contrast with Ser Hairybody Foultongue ;)
This message was last edited by the player at 19:12, Sat 22 Nov 2014.

"'cross the Inland Sea?  Oh... that's explainin' it then... yer's a wooly-back, what's comin' from furrin parts!  That's why yer's talkin' a bit funny, yer's not bein' from roun' 'ere an' yer can't be 'elpin' it."  Colwyn's expression softens as he realises that the poor benighted soul before him is a foreigner, and is not, therefore, privy to the finer points of civilisation.

"If'n Aarnr's bein' ready ter stand with yer, then I's ready ter be doin' it as well.  After all, if'n yer's lettin' 'im down, 'e'll be killin' yer enough fer the two of us."  The rogue extends an open hand towards Arkan.

The dwarf, presumably Oswestry, peers at Eilieen, and then bows his head for a moment, "Begging your pardon, Holiness.  My eyes aren't what they used to be, and I didn't notice the icon of Zadastha."

"I have a wide range of herbs, mostly grown locally, so a lot of them are still fresh.  Also most of the more common, rare, and semi-precious minerals.  I can powder them for you, if need be.  And I have a variety of animal parts and products, from otter nails to adder venom to leucrotta tongue, and dried bat guano."

He pauses for a moment, sniffing the air, before continuing, "If you prefer, I can mix potions, unguents and salves to your specification, for a fair price.  I can also sell you quills, parchment and ink, all of the finest quality, should you wish to create scrolls and other texts."

Another sniff, and... "Wyvern!  I smell wyvern venom!  Very distinctive odour, like a mix of vinegar, pepper, and mud from the bottom of a stagnant pond.  Oh, do tell me where you bought it!"

The codpiece sounds a lot like Bilfro, if less obviously mad, and as such might be considered clever and therefore not to be trusted at all.  Still, Arkan has a sword, which speaks well for his prowess, matter not what other foppish ways the frothy coxcomb has brought with him, and of course, what appears to be a morbid fascination with matters pertaining to Rappan Athuk which is reason sufficient to take a liking to the man.  But there's still one important matter to be raised.

"Thou has not got a cup !  This fat-kidneyed footlicker doesn't have a froggin cup !  Get the dewberry a cup !  We must drink to seal our new friendship !"

"Oh dear," Eilieen murmurs, putting two and two together (and, unlike Aarnr, coming up with four...literally and figuratively).  "I fear, sir, that the scent you detect is not from my own pack.  We encountered a wyvern - I think - outside the city.  Large beast?  Not unlike a dragon?  Only...smaller, I suppose.  In any case, it stung my compatriot.  I worked on the wound, and was able to leech the poison from him.  Perhaps that is where you scent...the venom..."

It occurs to Eilieen that she now smells like wyvern venom.  Vinegar, pepper, stagnant mud...  The priestess begins wringing her hands.

"A fine nose you have," she stammers.  "Do...do you have somewhere I can wash my hands?"

Ozzy chuckles from behind her, stepping around to set his small wrapped bundle on the counter, the obvious source of the smell. " One wyvern tail!" he says proudly. " Lopped this one off personally, made sure to keep the glands intact. How much would you give me for it?" he asks. " Potent enough to kill a strong farmhand."

Arkan clasped Colwyn's hand with a smile; indeed it felt good to be accepted in such stalwart company. "May our journey be blessed by fair weather, our feet with the swiftness of the noble elk, our arms with the strength of titans, and our purses with the weight of a dragon's hoard," he intoned solemnly to mark this momentous event. "Ah yes, and our blades with the blood of our foes." He added hastily, glancing at Arnar as the big man sought out a cup for a toast.

A new chapter in his life had just opened felt the young man, possibly the most important and certainly the most dangerous, if even half the things he had heard about Rappan Athuk were true. He brooded briefly if he would ever return to Bard's Gate alive after this. Only time would tell.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:12, Tue 25 Nov 2014.

"A wyvern's tail, you say?" Oswestry regards Ozzy with something akin to awe, "Intact, you say, complete with venom glands.  Oh glorious day, that I should see such a thing again.  Long has it been since a prize of this nature has lain on my counter, Sir.  Do you mind if I examine it?"

The dwarf's hands hover, twitching, above the bundle, as if he is afraid to touch it, but is barely able to resist doing so...

At the Pig and Whistle, Fergus finds himself in the unfamiliar position of yelling for more ale.  Somehow the excitement of finding a new comrade in arms seems to be sweeping him along with it, like dead branches during the spring floods.  And everything his father ever taught him, or warned him about, is being pushed aside by the torrent.

"Arkan!" he calls, "Tell us a tale of your journey!  Tell us of foes defeated and victories won!"

"Aye!" Colwyn adds, "An' coin what were took from the still-warm corpses."

" Of course you can look at it," Ozzy answers proudly, " Careful you don't get the poison on you though, it's potent stuff. Nearly killed a full grown human."

Arkan smiled at the young man's bashfulness. In his eyes he saw the same wanderlust he had experienced for many years before making his own journey to these lands. No matter the wonders one might witness at home, the ones far away always seemed brighter. Arkan suspected the boy had been either a farm hand or a blacksmith's apprentice judging by the broad shoulders and thick arms; bored with his life he no doubt had decided to make a name for himself in the dungeon, and perhaps while doing so find himself as well. Privately he wondered if the lad had bitten off more than he could chew; their destination was not for the inexperienced. More had been lost to the dungeon than had returned with riches, or so the tales went.

"I have not won many victories, at least not the type you wish to know about Fergus. But that is because I try to avoid direct conflict where possible. No need to risk one's life needlessly. Though some months ago I was traveling aboard the Kraken's Daughter over the inland sea. A few days into our journey, on an illomened moonless night, we were attacked by foul things from the dark depths of the ocean."

Arkan lowered his voice to nearly a whisper and leaned forward, his eyes pools of shadow inside his hood. "It was a coven of hags, foul witches as at home in the waters as we are on land. They had sagging skin like an old, old woman, large lidless eyes like a fish, and cruel pointed teeth like a shark. They had planned to slaughter us as we slept, no doubt by eating us alive. It was only by sheer luck the lookout in the nest spotted them as they boarded and raised the alarm, and we managed to drive them off with honest steel and bright flames."

Arkan paused, leaning back suddenly, his gaze fixated on Fergus and continued in a normal voice. "To this day I hear their maddening cackle, smell their rotten breath and see their vile faces in my nightmares. It will be a long long time 'fore I board a ship again, I can assure you of that."

Glancing at Colwyn he added, "They had no coin, not that any of us aboard would have touched such cursed gold or left it aboard, had it even been a kings hoard. And their corpses were not warm, but cold and dead as a rotten fish. Those we tossed overboard."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:53, Thu 27 Nov 2014.

"Full grown and hardy," Eilieen mumrurs, shifting aside (and surreptitiously sniffing at her palms).  With the dwarf well-occupied, she moves through the small store, glancing at objects, examining some more closely...searching for articles she might use in her healing trade.

"Well done taking that trophy," she notes as an aside to Oswald before going into her pouch and checking her current storage of coin.

OOC - Looking for stuff like healer's kits and the like, to assist with healing rolls.  ^_^

Oswestry carefully unwraps the trophy, then leans closer to examine it more carefully, "Not the cleanest cut, but I'd warrant that it was made in haste, though you did manage to take the venom glands, and the storage sacks, all undamaged.  And from the size of the stinger, the beast was almost full grown.  A nice job."  He ponders for a moment, then, "Would you take 500 pieces of gold for it?"

Eilieen wanders around the shop, looking for healing supplies. 

Colwyn pounds his fist on the table in appreciation of Arkan's tale, "Were a pity 'bout the coin.  But weren't a bad story, fer all that.  Like somethin' what Aramil would've been tellin'.  'Ags, yer's sayin'."

He shakes his head in wonder at the sort of things which live in some of the world's more dangerous spots.

"We was meetin' a dragon on the road terday.  Well, it were a sort of dragon, only it weren't 'avin' no fire.  Just a poison stinger on its tail, near as big as a bloody sword."

Arkan's attitude puzzles Aarnr who is a staunch defender of risking one's life needlessly and seeks out direct conflict as a way of life ... but the puttock does weave a good tale, full of death and swords and rotting corpses.

"Perhaps thou attract danger ?!!" the priest reasons with enthusiasm.

Fergus seems to be drinking more than is good for him, and in Eilieen's absence it is left to Aarnr to encourage this, calling for more ale for the table.

"It was just a little dragon," he notes, with no small measure of disappointment, displaying the fang he extracted from the slain creature.  "Perhaps with thou at our side we might entice a larger beast to challenge us !"

Ozzy peeks over the counter as Oswestry examines his trophy. Still fresh and intact he knows a little something of its value. " Knew a fella' by the name D.D. Wiki who claimed to be an assassin working with the Black Hand." he begins, opening the barter, " He claimed you could handle the stuff as long as you didn't have any open sores on your hands. Told me one o'these could fetch upward of three thousand gold! Mind you, this one is fresh, cut from the beast not more than an hour ago."

_{05:09, Sat 29 Nov 2014: Oswald Osbourne rolled 14 using 1d20+4 ((10)). Appraise.}

"Three thousand, you say?" Oswestry continues to study the trophy, "Well, I suppose that was somewhere like Tsair - a big city where there's a lot of demand, and a wyvern would never venture within a dozen leagues of the gate.  You say the beast stung somebody?  So the storage sacks could be depleted?"

"I might be able to go up to one thousand."

"Yer'll 'ave ter be un'erstandin'," Colwyn explains to Arkan, "This 'ere's bein' Aarnr.  If 'e's sayin' as yer might be attractin' danger, 'e's seein' that as a good thing.  So 'e's givin' yer a compliment of sorts, see?"

Fergus laughs and slaps Colwyn on the back, before removing his tunic to show the wound received from the monster on the road.

Ozzy nods his understanding of the alchemists concerns. " Aye, it was used, ...once. See, them Wyverns are more kin to dragon than snake. They aren't so ignorant of their own defense so as to dump the whole gland like a rattle snake. On the contrary, the portion out only what they need to do the job, all while making more." he responds, adjusting his barter accordingly, " When it hit Fergus it didn't even do enough to fully kill him. We was able to expel the poison before it took hold of his heart. Couldn't have used more than a third, maybe less... would you go 2200?"

"Aye, I get it. Arnar doeth seem to be the sort to ask questions later, and from a twitching and still warm corpse. Assuming there are enough pieces of said corpse left." Arkan said with a smile to Colwyn.

"I have good news for you Arnar, I do sadly appear to attract trouble, especially ever since I came across the sea; it must be my foreign accent and bearing. In any case, we should find trouble enough once we get to the dungeon. I have heard the entrance to the dungeon contains the haunt of a strange type of troll, one that prefers shallow waters to land. Which would make putting the thing down with fire all the more problematic, if indeed the rumor is true in the first place." He continued, recalling part of what he had heard about Rappan Athuk and it's environs.

Arkan took a slow sip of his drink, pleased to note the maid had remembered to spice it to his liking as his earlier drinks. He couldn't help but raise his brow as he saw the wound Feargus proudly presented. "My, that looks...freshly healed. What sort of weapon gave that wound? It looks to be from a barbed arrowhead, a rather large one at that."

"Trolls !" eyes shining and beard wet, the priest takes a large quaff from his cup, of course spilling most of it in the finest tradition.

"Thy accent is froggin' strange," Aarnr agrees equably, slamming his fist on the benchtop, "and many might take thee for a sheep-bitin' puttock ... but we will gladly welcome thee and whatever toad-spotted ills do come with thee."

He takes a moment to look outside hopefully, continuing his vigil over cart and oxen, but also on the off-chance that any of Arken's troubles are sneaking up.

"Hah !" the priest is generous in his praises where duly earned, "thou should have seen what became of the beast that spitted Fergus !  This apple-john fobbin' sliced it in twain ... with but one blow !"

Leaving the men to discuss the smelly Wyvart tail, Eilieen moves around the store checking out the merchandise.  Some fine objects for sale here; most above her price range, sadly, but she can certainly afford one of the healer's kits.

Pausing, she takes a surreptitious sniff at her hand.  Stagnant mud?  She can't tell, not with that tail in the same room.

Picking up one of the kits, she heads back to the front of the store.  "This will do for myself," the priestess confirms.  Hers still has some use in it, but it's always good to have a spare.

...in case someone else gets stabbed with a Wyvart stinger.

Oswestry sighs looking at the healing kit, then he says to Ozzy, "You're a lucky young fellow.  Business has been poor of late, and if not for you friend there wanting to buy this little pouch of poultices, bandages and ointments I wouldn't be able to meet your asking price.  Just one moment please."

The dwarf disappears through a door at the back of the shop, and returns a short while later with a small bag, which he places on the counter with an almost musical *clink*.  Then he takes Eilieen's proffered payment, adds it to the bag, and pushes it across to Ozzy.

"There you are, 2,200 gold."

Fergus shakes his head, grinning proudly, "No arrow this, but the sting of a dragon... poisonous too, by all accounts.  And Aarnr's right.  It won't be doing it again to anybody else."

"My scythe saw to that."

Arkan nodded in appreciation. "Ah a scythe, a most unconventional weapon. None can doubt it's effectiveness though, there is a reason it is Death's favorite weapon."

He took a sip of his drink with furrowed brow as the full weight of what Feargus had said hit him. " A dragon? Incredible! Where did you encounter such a dangerous beast, and how many members of your group did you loose to it's gaping maw?"

Before anyone could reply a sudden thought came to him and he added, "Though I have not heard of dragons carrying poisonous stingers, but then again things might be more different here than in my lands."

Arkan did not want to take away anything from the young lad's great victory, but even if he had fought a smaller cousin of the dragon family, even those creatures were extremely dangerous. And hopefully far away from civilization where they could not prey on good folk.

"It was a froggin' small beast," Aarnr repeats his complaint. "Mayhap thou can find us a bigger one !"

Ozzy almost feels guilty as he collects the purse from the counter. Almost. " Thanks! Now I can afford one of those, ...whatcha'macallits... uh, heavy? Haver? Haversack!
You wouldn't happen to know where a fella' could find a handy haversack would'ja?" he asks the alchemist.

Glancing at the window, and the market square beyond, Oswestry replies, "I'd say probably out there somewhere, though you'll likely have to wait until the market reopens in the morning.  Most of the traders will have gone home by now."

Fergus laughs, "I don't know Aarnr.  It looked big enough when I was staring down its gullet."  Then he concedes, "But I'm no expert."

"Were a 'orrible lookin' thing, an' no mistake.  Easy big enough ter carry off a 'orse." Colwyn confirms, taking another mouthful of ale.

"We met it on the road, not far from town." continues Fergus, "I used the scythe because it felt more right than the sword the priestess in Fairhill gave me."
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:23, Fri 05 Dec 2014.

Ozzy groans, hefting the sack from the counter and tossing it over his shoulder. " Fine, ...morning then." he says, turning away from the shop to seek out a hot bath and a cold beer. He could do his shopping tomorrow, it would give him time to daydream about the riches he would recover from Rappan Athuk. Then he could come back, buy out the shop and have it open 24/7! Such a 'convenient' store might set new trends in the consumers market!

"How many unmuzzled toad-suckin' guards do ye think this city has ?"  Aarnr asks Colwyn speculatively, with the air of a man considering sacking the place.

Ozzy and Eilieen exit the apothecary's shop, and head for the Pig and Whistle to rejoin their travelling companions.

Said companions, along with their new friend, are currently eating, drinking, and generally making merry.  Colwyn laughs at Aarnr's question, "It's bein' a fair sized town, smack dab on a main road where it can be taxin' merchants at the gate, meanin' as 'ow it's bein' a fair sized rich town.  So I'd be guessin' as 'ow it's 'avin' as many bloody guards as it's needin'.  An' then some more, jus' fer the sake of it.  So 'un'reds, most likely."

And at that moment comes a deep, throaty snarl from under one of the nearby tables, like the growl of some savage beast...

Out on the market square a drunk staggers in front of Ozzy and Eilieen, and stops remarkably quickly for a man in his cups.  His swaying gait also disappears, even as a dagger appears in his hand.  Three more men appear from the shadows of the nearby empty stalls, and the first one says, in a voice filled with false camaraderie, "Hello, Sunshine.  What's in the bag?  It looks heavy... perhaps you'd like me and my mates to lighten your burden?"

Arkan couldn't help but laugh at Arnar's question and nodded at Colwyn's reply. "Indeed, Bard's Gate is the largest city in these part. It is why I made my way here in the first place, I thought if anyone knew more about the dungeon or intended to make their way down there, they would be found here. Lo and behold, I met all of you."

As he raised his cup to his lips to take another sip, Arkan heard a sudden snarl, like that of a beast! It seemed to come from under one of the nearby tables..."What in the hells was that? Don't tell me it's that dragon's mate come to take revenge on good Feargus here?" he exclaimed, his eyes darting about trying to locate the source of said disturbance.

Ozzy stands for a moment, stupefied. His imaginings included poisonous Wyverns, giant spiders, even bladder bursting orcs, but he had never once considered being mugged as a possible threat to his reality. Three against one half, the odds were not in his favor. He needed to rely on his talent if he were to walk away from this with purse and body intact. He starts with a little toe tap to set the beat, building into a backward shuffle stomp as he begins belting out the bluesy backbeats...

I'm gonna tell you a story
 I'm gonna tell you about my town
 I'm gonna tell you a big fat story, baby
 Aw, it's all about my town

 Yeah, down by the river
 Down by the banks of the river Chionthar
 (Aw, that's what's happenin' baby)
 That's where you'll find me
 Along with lovers, muggers, and thieves
 (Aw, but they're cool people)

 Well I love that dirty water
 Oh, Baldurs, you're my home
 (Oh, you're the number one place)

 Frustrated women (I mean they're frustrated)
 Have to be in by twelve o'clock (Oh, that's a shame)
 But I'm wishin' and a-hopin', oh
 That just once those doors weren't locked
 (I like to save time for my baby to walk around)

 Well I love that dirty water
 Oh, Baldur, you're my home (Oh, yeah)

 Because I love that dirty water
 Oh, oh, Baldur, you're my home (Oh, yeah)

 Well, I love that dirty water (I love it, baby)
 I love that dirty water (I love Bawl-durs)
 I love that dirty water (Have you heard about the Strangler?)
 I love that dirty water (I'm the man, I'm the man)
 I love that dirty water (Ow!)
 I love that dirty water (Come on, come on)

He hopes to sing, dance and back himself far enough away to reach a main road where he can call for the city watch.

Going to FASCINATE them with a little song. Will Save DC:17. 90' range.
02:58, Mon 08 Dec 2014: Oswald Osbourne rolled 17 using 1d20+8 ((9)). Perform check to set DC will save.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:06, Mon 08 Dec 2014.

Stunned by the massive amount of coin in the bag, Eilieen silently trails after Oswald.  Two thousand...by the goddess.  One could set oneself up for a long, long time with that kind of gold.  Dresses, a home, mirrors...shaking her head, she shifts her thoughts more toward the idea of opening some kind of small temple where one could bring the poor in for healing.

It wouldn't be easy - the initial outlay of coin would cover expenses, but she'd be dependant on people's donations.  Perhaps speaking with a lord of the city...

Reality crashes back in.

With the arrival of four men bent on perfidy, Eilieen's eyes go flat.  "Disgusting," she murmurs, readying her spear and preparing a prayer.  But Oswald steps in, and Eilieen pauses.  Obviously the bard has a plan of his own; she'll back his play and see how it goes.

OOC - Eilieen will hold her action for the moment.  If it looks like Oswald's idea is working, she'll follow along with him.  If the other people try anything, she'll start with the Summoning Of Doggie.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:19, Mon 08 Dec 2014.

"Un'dreds, eh ?" the priest considers Colwyn's response in a seriously disconcerting manner.  "Is that a fobbin' lot ?"

But thoughts of sacking the city are banished by the wonderful howl from beneath the tables.  "A wolf ?" Aarnr suggests in some puzzlement.  Would such a beast roaming the city have lost its soul ?  Should he pat it or have at it with his blade ?  And what were Eilieen's froggin' rules of war again ?!!  Give someone else a go ?  No, that didn't sound right ...

The awful growling sound continues, something dangerous and unspeakably foul is doubtless lurking beneath the table.  Fergus moves into position, and nods two Colwyn, who takes up a place opposite him.

"Ready?" Fergus asks, darting a glance at Aarnr, as the two men each grasp an edge of the table...

The bandit tilts his head to one side, "What do you... think... you're... oh.  That's amazing!"  His eyes take on a certain intense look, as he stares at Ozzy.  From behind the bard, one of the others says, "Never mind him, what are you doing, Jack?"  Another mutters, "Magic!", and there is a certain amount of shuffling of feet, which sounds to be moving in a sort of "slightly further away" direction...

Aarnr follows Fergus' lead and gets a good firm grip on the table's edge, grinning broadly in the face of what sounds to be quite awful peril.  "We goin' for height or distance ?" the priest asks, getting a feel for the weight of the table.

Could it be ... the nest of the terrible pheasant ?

Arkan stood to the side, both hands inside his cloak as he watched the others attempt to move the table out of the way. What could be underneath? A monster, an animal, a horrifying amalgamation of the two?

Colwyn decides that, with Aarnr and Fergus lending their mighty thews to the task, then his own effort would simply go unnoticed.  Instead he steps back and draws his blade, ready to pierce the heart of whatever beast is under the table (assuming it has a heart).

With a heave, the table is cast aside, bringing cries of dismay from other clients in the common room.  Underneath it lurks... Bilfro.  Fast asleep and snoring thunderously.

A voice comes from somewhere behind Aarnr, loud and angry sounding, "Oi!  Yer shower of bloody wazzocks! Yer've spilled me bleedin' pint, an' I'll not stand fer it, thou knows!"

"Uh oh!  That's not soundin' good." Colwyn mutters, and steps back a little further to avoid getting blood on him...

A figure pushes through the crowd of onlookers.  A huge man, tall and broad, with an enraged expression on his red face (at least the part that shows past his extensive facial hair).  Possibly human, but with at least a suggestion of troll or giant blood somewhere in his ancestry.

He carries a table leg in his massive right hand

A broad smile, approximating something of divine rapture, stretches across Aarnr's visage , replacing the look of disappointment that greeted the discovery of Bilfro¹.  While the priest could never be considered handsome by any accepted standard, that smile certainly does not improve matters, and indeed might turn a strong stomach.

"At froggin' last !  A proper welcome !  My thanks, thou pukin' knotty-pated skains-mate !  Thou have lost thy froggin ale ?  Here thou are, thou rank onion-eyed lout - with Bowbe's compliments !!"

Still grinning horribly, Aarnr grabs a cup from the hand of the nearest drinker and hurls the contents into the trollkin's face².


¹ One assumes the mad wizard is used that that, and most likely considers the worlds to be populated by the sour-faced
² Pretty sure that's exactly what Eilieen would have wanted him to do

From the counter comes a despairing wail, "No crossbows!  No crossbows!" before the owner of the tavern ducks out of sight.

The thrown ale hurtles through the air, to splash full in the face of the giant of a man approaching the group.  Unaccountably, it seems only to worsen his demeanor.  Meanwhile, the supplier of the impromptu missile swings a fist at Aarnr's ear, only to have its trajectory blocked by a large hand, which wraps it in a bone crushing grip as Fergus frowns at him...

Around them, the staff of the establishment scream, and run for cover...

OOC: Initiative rolls for those who want to take part in the brawl, please, and attack/possible damage rolls if you want to make them.  Don't worry about targets, given the way these things tend to propagate, there should be plenty to go around by the time you're looking for one.

Anybody who doesn't want to be exchanging blows with a number of pugnacious drunks had best be looking for a hiding place, or an exit.

Arkan peered suspiciously at the sleeping and snoring...man? It looked like a human underneath the beard, the robes and the pointy hat but Arkan was not sure. Arnar appeared to know him however (though he did not seem happy to see him), as did the others so Arkan began to relax...

Until the brawl erupted! Shaking his head with a wry smile, Arkan looked for the nearest drunk buffoon about to assault his new companions, and lashed out with a low kick aimed at the lout's knee.

"Cease thy aggression knave, or I shall be forced to inform the authorities!" Arkan shouted in a most authoritative yet cultured tone.

---

Initiative: 08; Unarmed Attack: 06; Damage (if applicable): 04
This message was last edited by the player at 19:09, Sun 14 Dec 2014.

Erista sighs and sinks a little deeper into the corner.

"Thou do an' I'll gut thee, thou pribblin', plume-plucked pig-nut !"  the priest warns the authoritative Arkan as he ducks under a punch.

Hoping their new friend comes to his senses about involving the guards in the evening's entertainment, Aarnr lashes out with his fists, pummeling whatever lout drifts his way in the ebb and flow of the brawl.

"Which of ye reeky whoresons and varlots is froggin' brave enough to fight me ?!!" he demands happily.

" Never mind him, what are you doing, Jack?"  Another mutters, "Magic!"

Ozzy takes it as another request, so he changes tone and tempo into another song waving for Eileen to follow,

Summer turns me upside down, summer
 Summer, summer, it's like a merry-go-round
 I see you under the midnight, all shackles and bows
 High shoes with the cleats a-clickin', a temperamental glow

 How far will you take it? Well, no one knows
 Don't let me go, I got a hold on you tonight

 Oh, oh, it's magic when I'm with you
 Oh, oh, it's magic, you know it's true
 Got a hold on you...

GUARD!!

Once he reaches the main road he will turn away and run 'off stage' toward the Inn they had dropped Aarnr off at.
He wouldn't be able to run very fast, but at least now he had a head start.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:52, Tue 16 Dec 2014.

With some amusement at the situation - and less concern, after all she has helped face down a wyvvarish - Eilieen continues to follow Oswald's lead, pacing after him, spear at the read.  Despite the weapon, she tries hard to remain unthreatening.  It's really not difficult.

Such interesting music.  "I would give that song something in the eighties.  Out of a hundred," she murmurs, fluffing up her hair with her free hand.

Then, unexpectedly, the song turns into a retreat.  Eilieen freezes for an instant, then offers the men a sickly smile.  "Pardon me," she squeaks before turning and sprinting in pursuit of the bard.

OOC - All of this assumes it's possible to retreat.  :)

As Ozzy and Eilieen start to retreat, the brigand, Jack, lets them pass without hindrance, then moves to block his compatriots.  There is a brief scuffle, and a cry of pain.  One of the remaining thugs is down, unconscious on the cobblestones, but Jack is also out of the fight, sitting on the ground, clutching his knee.  Leaving two more of the would-be thieves to pursue Eilieen and Ozzy...

At the Pig and Whistle, Bilfro continues to snore as Fergus yanks at the attacker's arm and swings him face first into a pillar, where he collapses in a heap.

Colwyn decides that this might be more enjoyable than he had first thought, and aims a kick at one of the strangers who seems to be circling around behind Aarnr.  The kick misses, and is followed by a gurgling scream of pain as the man's fist slams into the rogue's nose.

Erista decides that discretion is the only part of valour, and finds herself a good place to hide (albeit one with a decent view of the proceedings).

Meanwhile Aarnr ducks aside as his giant assailant swings the makeshift cudgel at him, then drives his own fist into the attacker's gut, knocking the breath out of him.  The man doubles over, momentarily, before straightening up, tossing the weapon aside, and reaches for the barbarian priest with both hands.

The drunken buffoon seems more sprightly than he had first appeared.  He rolls jumps over Arkan's kick, then swings both fists in a double-handed blow which strikes Arkan in the side of the head, and sets his ears ringing.

An interested observer (such as Erista) might notice at about this time that the thug who had started the fight by choosing to threaten Aarnr appears to have a surprising number of friends, considering his obvious hygiene problems.

The same observer might also notice that this isn't the only fight breaking out, as several distinct groups choose to take advantage of the situation to settle their own disputes...

OOC:

Combatant                Init
Fergus Andarson           17
Colwyn Akbar              15
Thugs                     10   AC=10
Erista                     9
Aarnr Foultongue           9
Arkan                      8
Bilfro Gabbins             -
Eilieen                    -
Oswald Osbourne            -

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Arkan:            Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

Arkan staggered as stars exploded behind his eyes. He blinked hard and shook his head, hoping his body could recall the unarmed combat lessons drilled into him years ago by master Rakeesh. Trying to focus on his opponent through the haze brought about by the double handed blow to his head, he lashed out with a a flurry of hard and straight punches at where he thought his foe was. "Curse ye lout, stand still and face me like a man!"

---

Attack:07, Damage (if applicable):06

woohoo :)
This message was last edited by the player at 08:13, Sat 20 Dec 2014.

Ozzy tries to remember to breathe properly as his little legs move as fast as he can manage. " RUN!" he yelps when he catches sight of the other two muggers giving chase. He wasn't sure how far he could get with his burden of wealth, he could only pray he would make it into earshot of Aarnr. How far could the Inn be? Where were the city guards? Never a cop around when you need one. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, keep running. Great way to stay in shape. Run, run, run.

"Thou want to dance, thou cockered, malmsey-nosed dewberry ?!!"  Aarnr bellows as the fellow comes at him, beckoning him hither as he swings a roundhouse punch in the lout's direction, delighting in the sudden chaos.

Indeed, it's very decent of the locals to put on a welcome like this and the priest doesn't intend to disappoint them.  His only regret is that Ozzie and Eilieen are missing out on the traditional greetings and will be sorry they missed it.

With fresh blood pouring down his face, and filling his mouth with the taste of copper, Colwyn spits before throwing himself at his assailant and returning the favour by punching the ruffian soundly...

"Oh!  Yer wasn't likin' that, was yer?  Come on then!  Come 'n' 'as a go, if'n yer thinkin' yer's 'ard enough!"

Fergus grins happily, really getting into the spirit of things now.  He spots another possible target, and charges at him, slamming his considerable muscle mass into the hapless foe and continuing to push as hard as he can.  He ignores the blows which rain down on him from his opponent's allies...

Fergus rams into his target, lifting the smaller man off his feet, and carrying him backwards.  Both men crash through a window, and fall into the market square beyond in a shower of cheap glass and splintered wood.  They continue their brawl, rolling in the dirt under the disapproving gaze of the oxen.

Ozzy and Eilieen, running desperately between the market stalls, suddenly see glass and wood explode from a building about forty feet away, and immediately have a rough idea where Aarnr probably is...

Behind them, the two brigands are almost upon them.

Filled with rage, Colwyn pushes his fist into the face of his opponent, as hard as he can.  The man staggers back, one eye closed, then tries to kick the rogue in the jewels, only to miss as Colwyn, no stranger to fighting dirty, anticipates the manoeuver and steps back, taunting him.

Aarnr's foe swings wildly, but the barbarian priest barely even feels the impact as the fist strikes him in the chest .  Instead he responds with a roundhouse blow which lifts his burly assailant off his feet and sends him smashing through a table.  The man lays groaning on the floor, in a puddle of spilled ale, blood and vomit (though, in all fairness, the latter was probably there before the fight started).

Meanwhile Arkan and his foe trade ineffective attacks, neither man able to land a telling blow.  Then the tide of battle turns, as Arkan twists aside to avoid a punch, and his opponent punches a stout wooden pillar instead.  He screeches in pain as he leaves a smear of blood on the grafitti-carved oak, then clutches at his bloodied fist...

And through it all, Bilfro continues to snore, oblivious to the chaos around him, while Erista watches it all, wide-eyed.  Unaccountably, an idea suddenly comes into her head for a recipe involving frying corn kernels in oil...

OOC: Are we having fun yet?

Combatant                Init
Fergus Andarson           17
Colwyn Akbar              15
Thugs                     10   AC=10
Erista                     9
Aarnr Foultongue           9
Arkan                      8
Bilfro Gabbins             -
Eilieen                    -
Oswald Osbourne            -

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Arkan:            Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

Aarnr roars happily as the big man goes down.  Indeed, he is having a great time and now his original opponent is out of the fight, he looks around for someone else to play with.  Briefly he considers punching one of his own side, just to even things up a bit ... but it seems Fergus has stepped out, and the rest of 'em would probably break.

"C'MON IF YER FROGGIN' 'ARD ENOUGH !" the priest bellows, casting around for someone in need of a damn good kicking.

Aarnr's bellow echoes out from the hole in the building ahead.  Eilieen, wheezing in a less-than-becoming manner, hears only a single word: Enough.  Her eyes narrow.  Her fingers tighten on the spearshaft.  "Go, Oswald!" she snaps, then spins to face the two brigands.

"You aren't even wyverns," she mutters, realizing too late she got the name wrong.  Well, I'll ask Oswald to edit his account.

"Come on, then," the priestess snaps.  "How many have you terrorized?  Find out how it is when they can fight back!"

OOC - Initiative 15.  Eilieen will hold her action (if she wins).  Once the Brigands demonstrate they are about to attack, though, she'll interrupt and attack in return.

Attack Roll: 19.

Damage: 7.

Smiling as his opponent bloodied his knuckles on a pillar, Arkan attempted to seize the opportunity to go on the offensive and knock the lout out. But Aarnr chose that moment to let out a loud bellow, causing Arkan to start in momentary panic, and his punch missed.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:26, Fri 02 Jan 2015.

Rolling in the dirt, Fergus continues to fight his opponent, attempting to grapple the man into submission...  Or beat his head on the ground, until he loses conciousness.  Whichever comes first.

In any case, the mud and other filth which now encrusts both men does not make the task any easier.

Colwyn presses his advantage, rushing towards his opponent, with both fists flailing like the tail of an excessively happy dog.  "Got yer, yer bastard!" he crows in triumph, as he feels the knuckles of his right hand make solid contact.  He flashes Aarnr a cheery grin, starting to get into the spirit of the thing...

Ozzy holds none of the courage shown by his companion, intent on reaching his older brother and eager to bring him into it.
The little bard keeps hustling for the Inn, jingling with every step as Eileen distracts their pursuers.

Aarnr roars, and his voice exits the tavern via the broken window, and echoes across the market square, and brings Eilieen's mad flight to a sudden end.

The tavern door bursts open, and people start to run out into the almost deserted marketplace.  None of the exiting patrons seem that interested in fighting any more...

As Eilieen turns about, brandishing her spear, the two brigands skid to a halt, one of them almost falling on the cobbles.  They study her for a moment, then the other sneers.

"Zadasthan!  She's no fighter, Flyn, she's a Zadasthan, only good at one thing, and it ain't cooking or mending socks!"  He advances slowly, a long, wickedly curved knife in one hand...  "Now then, Darling, why don't you drop the stick, and *urk*... "  The tip of Eilieen's spear describes a precise, gleaming arc in the darkening air and the man stops dead.  Literally.  Blood is flowing down the front of his tunic from the deep cut in what used to be his throat.  The knife drops from nerveless fingers, and he makes a desperate attempt to stem the flow of crimson with both hands as he topples backwards, too stupid to realise that he's already as good as dead.

By the time he hits the ground, Flyn is already fleeing in terror...

Ozzy is just a few feet from where Fergus is fighting, as the  sound of the dagger clattering on the cobbles reaches him from somewhere behind.

Meanwhile Fergus and the thug are rolling in the dirt and broken glass, pummelling at each other and attempting to get a firm grip that might provide a telling advantage.  Currently Fergus is underneath, with his opponent sitting astride his ribs.

Inside the Pig and Whistle, which probably hasn't seen such a lively evening in quite some time, Colwyn drives his fist into his opponent's face and the man goes down as if he has been pole-axed.

The rogue looks around and sees that Aarnr's roar has persuaded quite a few people to leave the premises in a hurry, but still hasn't woken Bilfro.  One of the drunks, standing too close to Aarnr, hesitates as he tries to decide between fight and flight.  Then the priest's boot removes both options and leaves the man curled up on the floor, breathing in great, sobbing gasps.

Arkan dodges back, and feels the breeze as his attacker's swinging fist narrowly misses the tip of his nose.  Sadly Arkan's (distracted) retaliatory efforts are also doomed to failure, as the thug slips in some of the spilled ale and simply stumbles under the punch.

"'ang on, mate, I's comin' ter 'elp." Colwyn calls out, starting to move towards the extremely unlucky Arkan.

OOC: Nobody dead yet?  Well, nobody who counts...  Still a few drunken thugs left in the tavern, even if you don't count Aarnr, Colwyn and Arkan.

Combatant                Init
Fergus Andarson           17
Colwyn Akbar              15
Thugs                     10   AC=10
Erista                     9
Aarnr Foultongue           9
Arkan                      8
Bilfro Gabbins             -
Eilieen                    -
Oswald Osbourne            -

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Arkan:            Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

"More ale !" Aarnr cleverly thinks to get his order in quickly, before those who have precipitously fled the tavern realise they're still thirsty and come back.  While waiting for his drink to arrive, the priest contents himself with one of the abandoned cups to tide him over, whilst looking around to see if anyone is left in the fight, other than the fellow entertaining Arkan and now Colwyn.

As his opponent stumbled and nearly fell, Arkan reacted with swiftly and met the ugly thugs face with a strike from his knee. Even as the lout's nose exploded in a mist of blood and other unspeakable fluids, (which would no doubt improving his features once he cleaned himself up) and he staggered back clutching his face, Arkan spun and lashed out with a powerful kick at the man's unprotected chest and stomach, aiming to knock the wind out of him and take him out of the brawl.

"Ha!" Cried out the mystic warrior from mysterious shores.

Fergus eventually decides to give up on grappling his opponent, the man seems to be at least half eel, and impossible to hold.  Instead the big farmer punches his slippery foe in the ribs, and smiles happily at the sudden explosive expulsion of breath...

Moving in to assist Arkan, Colwyn finds his way blocked by another local lout.  Without waiting to find out if the man is aggressive or not, the rogue snatches up a tankard laying on its side on a nearby table, and uses it to hit him.  He sneers as the metal drinking vessel crumples under the impact, "Bleedin' cheap junk!", before tossing it aside and going back to using his fists.

At least Arkan no longer appears to need help at the moment.

" AARNR! FERGUS! ...ANYONE!? THEY WANT TO HURT EILEEN!!" Ozzy bellows toward the now opened window of the Inn, hoping to catch the ear of his friends within all the shattered chaos seen through the broken glass. " HELP! THEY'S TOO STUPID TO KNOW WHEN TO QUIT! HURRY BEFORE THEY FIGURE IT OUT!"

Aarnr's countenance changes as he hears his blood-brother calling for assistance, the terrifyingly genial smile giving way to a teeth-bared twisted snarl of anger.

"FROGGIN' FILTHY, POTTLE-DEEP SCUTS !" he swears, punching and kicking anyone who'd dispute hsi right of way as he makes his way to the door with all due haste.

"I'LL RIP THY GUTS OUT, THOU UNMUZZLED, BOIL-BRAINED BLIND-WORMS !" the priest promises most loudly and fervently.

A punch from Fergus knocks the breath out of his foe and leaves him slumped on the cobblestones, even as Ozzy reaches them and calls for help.

The halfling may be too late - Eilieen fells one of the scurrilous scoundrels with a precisely executed spear attack which leaves the man laying in a pool of blood.  The second thief decides that his life is more valuable than whatever Ozzy might be carrying, and makes a run for it...

Inside the tavern, Colwyn continues to do battle with other patrons of the place.  A well placed punch, supported by a heavy (if somewhat malleable) tankard knocks one of the drunks back, directly into Aarnr's path.

Aarnr, already enraged by the  poor service, demonstrates his dissatisfaction with a kick which lifts the drunk off his feet, and sends him flying to flying into a wall, only to bounce off and slump to the floor.  The priest, meanwhile makes his way to the door...

Erista watches the spectacle from her safe vantage, her eyes wide with a combination of excitement and interest.

Demonstrating hitherto unsuspected levels of brutality, Arkan dodges a wild swing, and smashes his foe's nose flat.  The man staggers back, and trips over a stool, which makes valiant attempt to support him, but isn't up to the task.  Both man and furniture end up flat on the floor in a state of disarray.

Sadly, Erista's entertainment may be over, there seem to be none of the ruffians left standing in the room.  Behind the counter, the tavern's barkeep dares to lift his head to assess the destruction...  Which could mean that there is about to be an entirely new spectacle for the halfling to watch.

OOC: And the chandelier left unmolested... *sigh*

Combatant                Init
Fergus Andarson           17
Eilieen                   15
Colwyn Akbar              15
Thugs                      -
Erista                     9
Aarnr Foultongue           9
Arkan                      8
Bilfro Gabbins             -
Oswald Osbourne            -

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Arkan:            Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

As his opponent crashed to the floor in a heap of splintered furniture, Arkan gazed around to see if any other drunken miscreants remained. None did, so he eased himself out of his fighting stance, and looked around for a rag to clean the blood off his pants. Suddenly a loud cry came from outside, appearing to call upon Feargus and Aarnr, his new companions. The hulking barbarian was already out the door and Arkan wondered if he should follow, but then decided to remain at hand. Erista was still inside, and Arkan did not want the childlike woman to have to deal with the fallout of their brawl by herself.

He walked over her quickly and said, "Some night. Is it always like this with your companions? And who is that calling for Feargus and Aarnr outside?"

The priest bursts out of the tavern, his malevolent gaze taking in the scene outside, with Fergus slowly getting to his feet, and Eilieen standing over a corpse, clutching her bloodied spear. "HO !" Aarnr demands of Ozzie, relieved to see he and the priestess yet live, but not yet prepared to drop the volume, "WHERE ARE THESE ILL-BREEDING PUTTOCKS THAT DARE ASSAIL THEE ?!!!"

" There he goes!" Ozzy says, pointing to the man who had decided standing up to Eileen was more trouble than it was worth. " Him and his two buddies tried to mug us!" he adds, picking up his burden of gold once more.

"The sheep-bitin' louts offered you a froggin' drink ?"  Aarnr has been imbibing himself and flushed from the friendly fight may be thinking even less clearly than usual. "Poison ?" the priest hazards.

Colwyn looks around the suddenly quiet tavern, and realises that there seems to be a certain amount of damage as a result of the brawl.  Broken tables, crushed tankards, broken glass, a missing window...  He also notes the presence of the barkeep, now risen to his full height and studying the room with a clear look of distaste.

"That were bein' lucky, mate.  Them buggers what was startin' a fight would've been doin' some real damage ter yer place if'n we hadn't been seein' them off.  Yer was lucky we was bein' 'ere ter stop them."

The barkeep looks less than convinced, and turns to whisper to a serving girl, who hurries out of the door immediately after...

So Colwyn approaches Arkan and Erista, carefully stepping over Bilfro's supine form.  He likes Arkan.  The man may talk strangely (but no more so than Bilfro, or Aarnr, or any other foreigner he has encountered), but he does apparently know the proper manners and etiquette for a bloody good fight.  "Yer done good there, mate."  He extends a hand to his new friend.

Outside, Fergus is on his feet again, alongside Aarnr and Ozzy.  The farmer's son looks where the halfling points, and shakes his head, "Strange, everybody's running away tonight.  We'll never catch him, being as he knows his way around town better than us, and it's getting dark.  And Eilieen looks to have finished the other one off.  If you want a fight Ozzy, we had a good one going on inside.  But even that sounds to have quietened down."

"You might be out of luck, unless you can find another one.  Or start your own."

Erista quietly steps out from the corner she's been.. observing matters from.  In a studious and, and.. observational sort of way, and not at all skulky or suspicious.  "Guards will probably be here soon," she observes, helpfully, in case anybody is interested, without any especially significant looks at Colwyn.  She smiles pleasantly up at Arkan, and offers her hand, also.  "I'm Erista.  It's nice to meet you."

"My thanks Colwyn, let's just say I have started earning my pay." Arkan said with the ghost of a smile as he firmly gripped Colwyn's hand in return. Which reminded him suddenly, he had not officially discussed the terms of his engagement with the crew. Colwyn appeared trustworthy though, so Arkan decided to put off initiating such a discussion until they were well en route to the Dungeon of Graves and he had more of an opportunity along the way to showcase his worth. He did not want to risk being turned away if his services were considered too expensive; Rappan Athuk was rumored to hold lots of treasure, but treasure alone did not interest Arkan. After all he could make good enough money selling his sword to any number of lordlings found anywhere in the world.

As Colwyn moved outside Arkan turned to Erista as she spoke. Taking her proffered hand he shook it and replied, "Arkan, from the unapproachable lands across the inland sea, and the pleasure is all mine. I wouldn't worry about guards in a place like this, a few coins and they will look the other way happily enough." His gaze took in the smooth skin of her hands and Arkan idly wondered again, as he done when he had first spotted her with the others, what skills the blonde haired halfling added to the group. Halfling adventurers were hardly ever warriors, which meant she was either a burglar, a useful person to have in any adventuring company, or her talents lay on the more esoteric side, which would be of particular interest to him. He tried to casually notice if she carried a holy symbol or a pouch of spell components without it being too apparent.

"Phew."  Eilieen kneels down beside the body of the man, shaking her head in sorrow.  "Foolish.  Rude, foolish, and no doubt a crime he committed against other women before now.  Such a waste of a life."

Bellowing behind her captures her attention - how couldn't it? - and she turns with a brittle smile.  "Ahh, Aarnr!  And Oswald, good of you to find assistance.  A tad tardy, but had this fellow and his companion been more than a back-alley thug, I should have well-appreciated it!"

Turning again, she stares after the fleeing Flyn.  "Yes, let him go," she agrees with Fergus.  "Perhaps he has learned a lesson.  If nothing else, he has learned caution.  And..."  There's a pregnant pause before her eyes narrow.

"What have you been up to?  All of you?  Fergus, is that glass sticking out of your back?  Aarnr?  Explanation?"  Shaking her head, Eilieen stomps forward to grip Fergus' arm.  "I swear, if this sorry condition - MayZadasthabepleased, salvethehurtsofthisgoodman - is any indication of this inn's quality, I shall be most wroth indeed."

OOC - CLW!  On Fergus.  9 HP healed.  :)
This message was last edited by the player at 14:29, Mon 05 Jan 2015.

"We met the locals," Aarnr informs the priestess with enthusiasm.  "Nobody froggin' died, though ..." he pointedly eyes the corpse at Eilieen's feet.  But as this is Aarnr, you can be assured that any reproach in that regard is merely that he wasn't there to help dispatch the body in question.

The priest absently pats the oxen. "An' nobody's stolen the fobbin' cart yet," he points out, thinking perhaps he ought to add a few more positives to his litany.

"Ale's good," another plus, though, "hedge-pigs are a bit slow to refill thy cup," he glances towards the door just in case there's a jug in the offing.

In the sudden quiet, Colwyn suddenly starts as Erista mentions guards, and his memory is jogged - a small thing that he noticed earlier, and which had caused him some concern.  Until he had some ale and forgot all about it.

"Listen.  There's bein' somethin' 'bout this place as yer should be knowin'.  It's bein' full of... well, not ter put too fine a point on it... full of thiefs.  I means they's havin' a strong guild, an' that's generally meanin' lots of members.  I seed it when we was outside earlier.  Guild signs is everywhere.  Marks ter tell thiefs who's paid 'is pertection fee ter avoid bein' robbed, an' everythin'." 

"They's everywhere.  Which like as not means they's watchin' everybody in the streets.  Watchin' fer any bugger what's breakin' guild rules.  Outsiders robbin' stuff, or fightin' with honest paid up guild members.  We's needin' ter be real careful when we's outside."

He looks about.

"Where's Aarnr bein'?"

Ozzy sets his burden down once he's found a seat inside, commenting to Colwyn, " Muggers and thieves? Really? I would have never guessed." with obvious sarcasm as he struggles still to calm himself from the adrenaline rush. " And here I sit like the last ripe apple on the tree. We should probably spend some of it then, before I lose it all. I need a hot bath, a cold beer and a soft bed. Preferably the first two before the latter. AARNR! DRINKS ARE ON ME! ...that should get his attention."

"Do they drag the corpse away and throw it out beyond the walls, or leave it here for the dogs ?"  Aarnr isn't really up on burial customs in the cities, but figures a funeral pyre here would send half of Bard's Gate up in smoke with the deceased, and the pig-nut doesn't deserve such honour anyway.

"Aha !" the priest perks up as he hears his blood-brother calling. "Back inside !" he tells Eilieen and Fergus, "An' be ye quick - I'm froggin' parched !"

"So what's bein' in the bag?" Colwyn asks, exuding innocence in the same way that a beggar's sores exude pus.  Some instinct has already furnished a probable answer, and is busy calculating the quantity involved without even seeing the contents.  There is a gleam in the rogue's mismatched eyes which would not look out of place in the eyes of some striped predator as it stalks its hapless prey through a tropical forest.

The gleam vanishes as Aarnr, Eilieen and Fergus enter the tavern.  Unaccountably Fergus is saying, "Well... my Da always said that you can't go wrong telling the truth.  If the Watch ask us any questions, we should just tell them what happened, and everything will be sorted out."

The barkeep briefly considers refusing service, then changes his mind and starts lining up tankards on the counter.

Bilfro rolls over in his sleep, and declares, "Lookout!  Wild rhinopotamus in the asparagus!" before jamming his thumb into his mouth and drifting back into whatever bizarre domain his dreams occupy...

"What happened ?" Aarnr seems genuinely confused by Fergus's suggestion, unable to think of any recent events that would be of any interest at all to the pukin', pasty-faced marsh-rats that make up the Watch.

The priest gives the barkeep his best 'just as well' nod which might even be mistaken for gratitude, as he fastens his meaty paw around a tankard of ale.

"We should wake those boil-brained flirt-gills up," he suggests generously, redirecting his nod to those lying unconscious on the floor. "Get them a fobbin' drink."  Noticeably his gaze does not include Bilfro.  Best let sleeping madmen lie.

While still, apparently, keen to provide drinks to those who want them, the barkeep still keeps one eye on the door.

Fergus moves around the room, rousing the unconscious ruffians.  Many of them wake, groggily check their injuries (and their purses), then make a bee-line for the exit.  Of the three who do stay to benefit from Aarnr's hospitality, two of them were participants in one of the other fights which had erupted.

The third is the giant of a man whose challenge had initiated hostilities.

Fergus looks about, before canvassing opinions, "Should I wake Bilfro?"  No thought given to how he would wake a man who had slept while a battle raged all around.  "I bet he'd like a drink."

Aarnr shrugs, picking up two tankards from the bar and offering one to the giant of a man.  "Good froggin' fight," he thanks him, handing over a beer, before emptying the second over Bilfro.

Eilieen waits until the crowd of pained drinkers makes an exit before sidling through the door.  She eyes the room with deep suspicion.  Broken furniture.  Beaten and bruised men.  Aarnr dumping a tankard over Bilfro.

Oh, definitely not the sort of alehouse she'd prefer*.

"I believe..." the priestess begins, clears her throat and tries again.  "I believe I shall investigate the other inn."  She has sufficient coin, to be sure.

* If there actually is a sort of alehouse Eilieen would prefer*, it's likely the kind involving a lot of men sipping from small glasses, discussing 'craft brewing'.

* 'Prefer' is the wrong word.  Tolerate is better, and she'd still consider the whole affair roughing it.

Arkan watched the new comer halfling enter and deposit his bag onto the floor with a thump and after a brief conversation with Colwyn bellow out an order for drinks. He will make a fine companion, Arkan thought with approval.

Before he could introduce himself, Fergus entered in the company of Aarnr and a rather lovely looking young woman in a pretty if well worn gown. Feeling a bit self conscious, Arkan moved forward to stand near Colwyn and folded his arms in front of his chest then said, "Well met. I am Arkan, and I look forward to joining you on this excursion."

Aarnr perks up at Eilieen's suggestion. "Ye think perhaps the pig-frumpin' dankwits there may be waitin' for us before they start the froggin' fight ?" he thinks he can see where the priestesses mind is going.  And a dead body on the stoop always attracts the wrong sort of attention, be it wild animals or guardsmen.

Tempting to be sure. "If thou go then I'll froggin' come too," he assures Eilieen, raising his tankard.

"This puttock is with us," he informs the priestess before she sticks Arkan with her spear. "Comin' to Rappan Athuk.  Killed some witches," which is a good enough recommendation if ever the priest heard one.

Eilieen raises her eyebrows as Arkan introduces himself, and offers a small bow in return, curtsying not being appropriate for a priestess.  "Well met, Sir Arkan."  Tall - imposingly so, with an imposing stance, and certainly dressed for a sombre presentation.  She catches Aarnr's words - his question and his approbation, both - and slowly nods, though her guts turn to ice.

...about his joining her at the other inn, not Arkan.

"If Aarnr and the others are satisfied with your capacity, then I welcome you.  I hope your skills -" whatever they might be "- prove of great worth in Rappan Athuk."

Her gaze flicks to Aarnr.  "No fighting at the other inn," she cautions.  "Not unless provoked."  There comes a moment's consideration.  "And I decide what constitutes provocation," she quickly clarifies.

"We was pervoker 'ere." Colwyn offers, helpfully, "We was mindin' our own bus'ness, jus' shiftin' a table ter be gettin' Bilfro out from under it, an' that cove there, the big bugger, were comin' over an' pickin' a fight with us fer no reason what I was seein'.  Wasn't us what was startin' trouble, but we was finishin' it 'andy enough."

Bilfro, meanwhile, recently served with a nice refreshing ale, suddenly pushes himself up into a seated position on the floor, blinking owlishly.  His owl (also blinking owlishly) sits on the oddly neglected chandelier which had survived a tavern brawl without anybody swinging on it.

"'ello Bilfro, mate, 'ad a nice nap?  Yer was missin' a bloody good punch-up."

"Ey, ey, oy, oy?" asks Bilfro with a mind as sharp as a whole bookshelf full of mind-numbingly fluffy books about how to plan the perfect collection of pillows.

He bounds to his feet and puts up his hands in a fighting position only to glance around and quickly putting them behind his back.

"Did I do that?  It wasn't me, was it?  It has happened before, you know."

He pulls his beard back to his chin from where it sat under his nose with an abashed hem.  Sniffing himself he takes on a bewildered expression.

"I don't remember drinking that much beer, though.  But I suppose I wouldn't, if I had.  I think it takes about two barrels of it, in about half an hour's time."

"Oh yes, thank you, I rested quite well.  Although I did have a rather singular dream about a black and white bird walking upright with its wings down its sides and dragging its tail, coming over to present me with the bill.  Eh, the tab, not its beak, but then it said 'Beware the jester in the butter jar' and I woke up."

"Do you think it means something?" asks he of Colwyn.

Colwyn scratches his cheek, and thinks for a moment, "Nah, it were jus' a dream.  I's 'avin' them all the bloody time, an' none of them's never meanin' nothin'.  Else I'd be 'avin' a dozen dancin' girls follerin' me roun', all of them bein' ready ter dance at my slightest command."

The serving wench returns, and rather than the city watch, she seems to have been out finding more customers.  Three men enter the tavern shortly after her.  And are followed over the next little while by several more.  The barkeep is kept busy serving people, but seems very happy about it.

The burly bruiser who had started the fight (not Aarnr... the other one) appears to decide that these newcomers signify that it's time for him to head home.  He quickly downs his pint and hurries out of the tavern...

Aarnr nods impatiently at the conditions the priestess sets, his gaze falling on the chandelier above as he raises his eyes to the heavens.  Gleepin' dangerous hanging all that glass up there, hanging over everyone's heads, he notes to himself, approvingly.

The rapid departure of the priest's new friend does not go unnoticed or unremarked.  "The pignut will get to the next fight before us !" he warns Eilieen.

Though before he rushes off, there is just one thing to check and Colwyn sounds like he knows the score.  "What is froggin' 'provocation' ?" Aarnar demands of the rogue.

Colwyn waits until he's reasonably sure that Eilieen's attention is elsewhere, then replies quietly, "It's meanin' as yer doesn't start nothin', see?"

"So if yer's bein' in a bit of a scrap, an the other cove's makin' the first move, or robbin' yer purse, or lookin' at yer funny, or somethin', afore yer lays inter 'im, then it's bein' near as good as an accident when yer's beatin' nine kinds of dung out of 'im, an' leavin' 'im 'alf dead on the floor.  An' if yer's leavin' 'im all dead, then the odds is as yer might not end up doin' a rope jig anyways, on account of 'ow 'e pervoked yer."

He nods sagely, and briefly considers patting Aarnr on the shoulder, before he remembers that the priest's temper might be a little too frayed for that degree of familiarity.

"Least ways, that's bein' 'ow the Watch in Tsar'd be lookin' at it, six or seven days out of ten."

"Right!" Eilieen declares, completely missing Colwyn's semi-accurate explanation in her less-than-pleased appraisal of the room, as well as her curious stare after the departing 'pignut' Aarnr indicates.  "Perish the thought," she murmurs before raising her voice loud enough for her companions to hear (not, for example, the whole room).  "I shall be moving to the other inn.  Should you wish to join me, by all means, though I hope you will be on your best behaviour."  There comes a small pause.  "Modelled after my own best behavior," she clarifies.

She stares askance at Bilfro for a long moment, then gives up; there's no point in telling people NOT to come, they'll do as they please.

"So, I'm off," the priestess announces before recalling something.  Her lips thin.  "Hopefully there won't be a problem with me stabbing that thug," she mutters as she heads out the door.

OOC - Going to go check the OTHER inn!  :D

Aarnr nods thoughtfully at Colwyn's explanation, though from the brow he raises to Fergus, it seems little of it sunk in.  The priestess's instructions, however, are maddeningly clear, at least in intent, even if not all the words are so crystal.

Nevertheless, with the prospect of further fatal muggings in the offing, the priest elects to join Eilieen, stepping over the body she left outside as they make their way to 'The Other Inn'.

Arkan watched the now awake Bilfro with some interest. The man was dressed in the quintessential outfit of a practitioner of the arcane art, but he seemed a might...odd. Arkan wondered if he was simply pretending to be a wizard to fool his enemies, and was simply a most cunning charlatan. If indeed true, that would be a canny plan indeed.

He watched the burly Aarnr and delicate Eileen leave, the pair making an odd contrast as they walked side by side. He considered joining them at the other inn, but then decided against it for the time being in case the others needed him to wrap things up here.

"So Colwyn, I trust we will be staying in Bard's Gate for the night? I did have a room here, but after this escapade I am not sure if the innkeep will let me stay. Maybe we should look for accommodations at the other inn Aarnr and Eileen went to eh?"

Ozzy, not wanting to carry his financial burden through the streets again, is quick to follow Aarnr and Eileen. He trudges more than walks, his shoulders still suffering from his earlier run from the muggers. Inwardly, he hopes to see them again. Now that he is with his brother, they might be able to return the favor.

Erista waves cheerfully to the bartender on her way out, falling in beside Ozzy.

"Tha's bein' a bloody shame.  I were likin' it 'ere.  An' it's bein' safer than traipsin' round out there.  An' yeah, we's stayin in the city fer a bit.  Least ways until Aarnr gets us chucjed out" Colwyn growls to the few people who remain with him in the Pig and Whistle.  "'ere!  Does yer reckon as Aarnr was 'memberin' the cart?  That'd save us a bit of a walk."

Eilieen and her roving band of sycophantscompanions, meanwhile, are on their way to The Full Moons, that being the actual name of "the other inn".  The market square is now completely deserted, save for dead or unconscious brigands.  Many of the surrounding buildings still have lamps lit though, as shopkeepers tally up their takings for the day, and pay a reasonably assessed cut to assorted gentlemen who have appeared, as if by magic, at the back doors of some of the establishments.

The businesses which have not received such nocturnal callers have one thing, and one thing only, to thank for this fact...  It is Waneday evening, and they are not scheduled to make their Guild contributions until Sliverday...

All in all, things are operating much as they always do in Bard's Gate, as Eilieen approaches the door of the other inn, accompanied by Ozzy, Erista, and the dangerous looking figure of Aarnr.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:51, Fri 23 Jan 2015.

Colwyn looks around the room and heaves a sigh.  "It's bein' too quiet in 'ere without Aarnr ter liven it up.  What does yers say we go an' see what 'e's doin' over at the other place?"

The Full Moons, meanwhile, has turned out to be the sort of place where the wealthier residents of the city socialise outside the falconry season.  The sort of establishment where drinking ale or mead is considered boorish.  Hunting trophies adorn the walls, along with the banners of assorted local nobility.  The furnishings are of the highest quality, and the polished floor is strewn with intricately woven rugs.

While Ozzy, temporarily fits into the "wealthy" category, the inn's prices, neatly displayed on a carefully painted board, seem calculated to change that, and as quickly as possible.  If Aarnr's general air of unkemptness doesn't get the group thrown out first.

The bar keep regards the quartet of new customers with barely disguised disdain, "Yes ladies, ... " a noticeable pause, with a barely less noticeable sniff, "gentlemen.  How can I help you this fine evening?"

With carts and oxen the last thing on his mind (so by no means forgotten, just at the tail end of an admittedly short list), Aarnr looks to Eilieen, hoping that the greeting by patrons and barkeep alike might constitute the necessary provocation.

The hunting trophies are certainly impressive, if a bit more impractical to carry around (for a moment thoughts of the cart threatens to intrude ... but no) than his own feather and tooth.

OOC: Does this fine establishment sport a chandelier ?  No reason.

Ozzy cringes, feeling a little under dressed for such a fine establishment. He had manage to acquire his gold and the burden of hauling it about was beginning to wear on him. " How much for a hot bath, clean clothes and a warm bed?" he inquires of the barkeep. He turns, doing a silent head count before turning back to add, " For eight?"

Arkan followed Colwyn and the others into the other inn, whistling at the furnishings. Now this was a type of place one could get used to. "I say, I can almost see myself in the floor," he said to the others as they walked up to Aarnr, Eileen and Oswald.

"Let us hope our haul from the dungeon is good enough to let us live in such luxury for the rest of our days."

"Indeed, Sir Arkan." Eilieen sighs.  "For now, only a few days seems necessary."  Or at least one.  "I will take a room here for at least a night -" she requires this "- and perhaps more, depending on how long we remain in this town.  It is costly, so I would understand if others decide to go elsewhere."  One thin eyebrow rises.  "I hope that we will be setting out soon.  For Rappan Athuk."

Before her money runs out, and she needs to move to the...lesser...inn.  Roughing it while travelling is a necessity.  Here?  Not so much.

"Oh, a bath." she continues, returning her gaze to the barkeep.  "My thanks Oswald.  Most heartfelt thanks; the travelling has been most difficult."  Oh, gods yes, a bath.  Probably every night.

With the whole party now in The Full Moons (and the cart safely parked outside, thanks to Fergus, and in spite of the protests of a uniformed fop who had tried to insist that the entrance be kept clear for carriages), the noise level in the inn rises slightly.

Ozzy's question brings a raised eyebrow from the barkeep, and a supercilious sneer, as he points to the price list - rooms are 2 gp per person, for a night.  4 gp if you want a private room.  Meals range between 5 and 10 sp.  A mug of ale is 1 sp, and a cheap wine costs 10 sp for a pitcher, with the expensive wine running 10 gp (or more) for a bottle.  A bath costs 2 gp, 5 gp if you want the water heated.  Laundry costs 1 sp per item.  So looking at, probably, 10 gp per person for a single night.

Colwyn tries to shrink into a corner, wishing that he were as small as Erista or Ozzy.  But he isn't, and the smell of gold seems to fill the room and makes his fingers itch.  But the big problem is that he can feel everybody looking at him.  He doesn't fit in here, in a room full of Ruperts.

And the one person he feels might support his point of view, Aarnr, is happily standing in plain view in the middle of the room, almost directly under the extremely ornate chandelier.

Aarnr has no truck with matters of coin, preferring, nay, insisting on leaving such to the little folk who have proved themelves masters of such arcane chicanery.

The place certainly seems tidier than the other, and the locals slower to put on a show.  In fact ...

The priest approaches the nearest patron, leaning heavily on the table.  "We haven't missed the froggin' fight, have we, thou pumpion ?  Or are we just fobbin' early ?"

There is a shriek, and a woman faints, while the man pushes himself back from the table, rising to his full (and unimpressive) height, "Fight?  What fight?  Do you threaten me, sirrah?"  An all too familiar ripple seems to pass over the patrons of the inn, moving a great many of them away from the central point of the expected violence.

The victim of Aarnr's polite inquiry replies, "Begone, lout, there will be no fight here tonight, this is a respectable establishment.  Though if you would like to leave me your name, and the location of whichever festering midden you might be found in, my factor will call upon you in the morning, to arrange a duel on a mutually acceptable occasion.  I must warn you though that I am both a swordsman and a sorcerer of no small repute.  I am not a man to be trifled with, lest you would be transformed into some form of crawling, lowly vermin.  And in this way would I align your physical shape with the shape of your mind."

"Now, if you will excuse me, my dinner companion is in need of my assistance."

Ozzy's little hands reach into one of the heavy sacks, stacking coins in stacks of ten on the countertop. " Look, ...here's a hundred gold." he says, " My friends and I will be staying the night." he looks up to see the barkeep staring past him and his money toward Aarnr. Rapping on the bar to get his attention, he points to the coin and adds, " Yes, my brother too. All of us for the night, rooms, bath, the works."

Aarnr smiles at the self-confessed sorceror, eyes lighting up ...

"Oh, 'ere we goes." Colwyn mutters, watching Aarnr and seeing the signs of impending apocalypse (even if he doesn't know exactly what the word means), "An' I 'asn't even been 'avin' time fer a drink."

And then something magical happens.  His finely tuned hearing detects the clink of coin on the bar.  And not just any coin...  A flash of gold in the light of the oil lamps confirms it.  Ozzy is, somehow, very suddenly, rich as a king.

This is too good an opportunity to miss, and the rogue yells at the barbarian priest, "Oi!  Aarnr!  Ozzy's gettin' the ale in!" and he points at the halfling.

The barkeep, meanwhile, is torn between Aarnr's effort at making friends and influencing people, and the stacks of gold on the counter.  Greed wins out, there is more than enough coin there to pay for any damage that Aarnr might do to the building, and the little chap seems to have a great deal more, just in case.

"Of course, Sir." he scoops the gold towards him, "Will you be needing the bath water heated?  If so, there may be a short delay before you can take a bath."

Eilieen should be ecstatic at the thought of having a room with a bath.  Heated.  Instead, she's hurrying to interpose herself between Aarnr and his punching bagpotential dueling partner.  Bad form to get blood on the rugs.  Worse, Aarnr probably doesn't understand the concept of 'dueling'.  Rules?

Rules are for people, Eilieen must reluctantly agree, who are playing games.

That doesn't mean she wants to see the man (or, to be fair, her friend) spread all over the walls of the inn.

"Enough, Aarnr!" she hisses, still making certain to stand between the two men.  "You have disturbed his dinner!"  Perhaps appeals to the priest's appetite might make him understand.  Though, like one of Oswald's songs, it's more about 'Appetite For Destruction'.

She'd given him wild roses for that song; quite good.

"Excuse us, sir," the priestess throws over her shoulder, putting her palms against Aarnr (she's having a bath soon, anyway) and attempting to push him back toward the others.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:12, Wed 04 Feb 2015.

Arkan watched the exchange between Aarnr and the self styled swordsman & sorcerer with interest. He couldn't tell if the man was simply boasting, or outright lying about his skills in order to impress his dinner companion, or if he really was capable in both arenas. Even if he was telling the truth though, Arkan had little doubt Aarnr would trounce him in any form of duel, honorable or otherwise.

In any case he was relieved when Eileen began separating Aarnr from his target, they really did not need any more trouble with the authorities.

"No food for me, I just ate a little while ago. Drinks will be fine." He said to the innkeeper.

" Mm, wha? Oh uh... yes, hot water please." Ozzy answers distractedly as he watches Eileen try to deal with Aarnr, " And we'll toss back a few pints while we wait." he adds, indicating his friends with a general wave of one small hand. The drama in the dining area is far too intense to miss a moment of. He cinches his coin purse closed, knotting it tightly as he settles in to await their drinks.

For a moment that seems eternal, there is a pause so pregnant that all of the world's deities of fertility must have smiled upon it.

Eilieen braces herself against Aarnr's chest and tries to hold him back.  At this close range she can see the fires blazing behind his eyes, as he declares in a surprisingly calm tone, which is, nonetheless brimming over with menace, "The fobbin' fat-kidneyed plume-plucked puttock says he wants to fight me."

He takes a step forward, and the Zadasthan priestess finds herself pushed back against the table.  The sound of something falling behind her - a jar or a bottle perhaps - is clear in her ears.

Fergus comes to her aid, as the barkeeper yells, "No fighting!  I'll call the Watch!".  The farmer's son grabs hold of Aarnr's arms from behind, as the priest of Bowbe's face grows redder, and spittle begins to froth from his lips.  A lot of it gets sprayed over Eilieen as the man roars, "He says he'll fight me!  The spleeny, swag-bellied skainsmate wants to fight me!  I'll gut the flap-dragon and feed him a haggis made of his own entrails!  The hedge-pig!"

Colwyn hurries forward and grabs an arm, even though Fergus already has both of them.  "Aarnr, Ozzy's buyin' food an' ale fer yer!"

While the priest of Bowbe aches to punch in the face of the pukin' clapper-clawed skullion, it seems he'd have to fight at least three of his friends for the privilege of doing so ...

... giving the scurvy, sheep-bitin' slack-bladder his best Death-Glare, he finally allows himself to be dragged away to a jug of ale.  "Small-codded, toad-knockin' pud," Aarnr vouchsafes none too quietly, slamming his fist down on the bar before turning his malefic gaze upon the swag-bellied malt-worm that threatened to involve the local constabulary, though as the provider of the evening's food and drink, the barkeep must content himself with merely being eyeballed.

Things calm down almost as quickly as they had escalated, though with slightly less enthusiasm on the part of a certain priest of Bowbie.  The barkeep places flagons of ale, "The best in the Gate." he assures Ozzy, on the counter, "There is an empty table near the window, Sir.  If you, and your friends would like to take a seat, I'll have the food - roast mutton wrapped in strips of bacon, turnip, carrot and onion, with four herb stuffing (my own recipe), thick gravy and fresh bread - served directly."

"If any of you need anything further, you need only ask."

As it gradually becomes clear that it will at least be a little longer before Aarnr decides to try demolishing his second tavern for the day, Erista apparently decides it's OK to be seen with everyone.  Or, indeed, seen at all; it's difficult to say if a moment ago she was under one of the stools, or behind that fern, or possible enjoying the shade provided by the decorative columns in the entryway.  Wherever she's been, now she's smiling cheerfully at the bartender, and even offers a, "Sounds delicious!", on her way to the table.

"I must admit that does sound appetizing." Arkan cosidered out loud after hearing the innkeeper announce the main course he would be serving. "Perhaps I shall have a bite or two after all." He smiled, knowing he would regret passing up this meal when he was eating travel rations over the coming weeks.

He took a seat with the others, making sure he had a view of the main door as he did, both out of habit born  a general wariness but also in case the watch tried to enter and haul them up due to their participation in the brawl earlier.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:59, Wed 11 Feb 2015.

The priest longs for the Watch to come barging in and just try to arrest him ... but the meal the innkeep tantalises him with certainly gets his mouth watering and excuses the man from further threatening glances, at least until the food arrives that his veracity can be put to the test.

Apart from that one fellow who he may yet decide to gut, it's not been a bad evening thus far.  Aarnr take his flagons of ale and claims the empty table for he and his friends (even if Erista and Arkan got there first, it is unlikely they could hold the position without him).

"Likely we'll not froggin' starve," he vouchsafes.  "Needs we raid the pumpion's cellars for supplies to see us to Rappan Athuk ?"  Take what you can is a reliable approach.  Or have the small folk worked more magic with the little flat-metal discs.

Fergus laughs at Aarnr's suggestion, "It's a long road to Rappan Athuk, I've heard.  He likely doesn't have enough to keep us fed for the whole trip, and if he did it'd be spoiled long before we could eat it."

Colwyn nods, taking a deep draught from his tankard, "'e's 'avin' it right.  Better ter be takin' a bit, an' gettin' more 'long the road than ter be takin' everythin' an end up slingin' 'alf of it in a ditch.  Lot ter be draggin' with us fer nothin'."

"The lighter we travel, the faster we get to the dungeon." Fergus affirms.

"Aye, an' the sooner we's gettin' ter the lootin' an' the plunderin'."

Fergus raises his mug, his face flushed red, "And the fighting."

Mildly appalled, Eilieen keeps herself clear of the conversation.  She hadn't ever taken seriously the vicious, burning fury in Aarnr's eyes.  Or rather, she'd taken it seriously but never actually considered it being turned against an innocent (no matter how stupid that innocent might be).

Or herself.

But the look on his face, in his eyes when he basically treated her as an obstacle to be ignored...the memory, she finds, is more chilling than the scream of the Wyvvyrat.  Moving to the innkeeper, she commences a quiet conversation.  "I shall take my room," Eilieen notes.  "With a hot bath, as soon as possible.  Might I have someone escort me up?"

Aarnr's eyes narrow as Fergus laughs at his suggestion ... but then the anger drains away from him and the priest deflates a little, choosing to nod his head in understanding rather than lash out as the farmer and Colwyn explain the benefits of travelling light.

Given his druthers, Aarnr would leave now for Rappan Athuk, the certain perils of a night on the road as nothing to the urge to give himself over to his god's needs in the kill-or-be-killed immediacy of battle with a worthy foe.

"I've little stomach for this cat's piss," he declares darkly, pushing his tankard away from him.  "I'm for bed."

He'll join Eileen and have someone show him where he might lay his head, else take what he can find.  But he's uncharacteristically silent and will not meet the priestess' eye.

Eilieen leaves the room, escorted by a servant, and assured that she will be called later, when the baths are ready (though she will need to come back downstairs for that).

Shortly thereafter, the food starts to appear at the table, just as Aarnr is considering retiring for the night.  Judging by the aroma, it will be an exceptionally fine meal.

The first taste confirms what the group's noses had already told them.  That the inn boasts some remarkably good cooks.

About to offer to escort Eilieen, Bilfro's mouth slams shut as the brute walks along with her.  Not wanting to provoke the clearly easily agitated beast further he instead he slinks behind them quietly.  He is looking forward more to the bath than any more food, the latter which he still sports a fair amount of in various pockets and similar compartments.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:52, Sun 15 Feb 2015.

Colwyn doesn't waste any time.

For such a scrawny individual, he has a prodigious appetite, and he starts laying waste to his dinner as efficiently as possible.  He is not, however, entirely uncivilised.  He understands the nature of sophisticated dinner conversation, even if he doesn't have a firm grasp on the techniques.  People sitting close to him are, therefore, treated to the sight of the rogue speaking with his mouth full.  Strong stomachs are required.

"So then, what's yers all reckonin' as yer'll be doin' with the loot when we's cleared out the dungeon.  I's plannin' ter buy a tavern like this, with good food an' good ale.  Then I'll be buyin' a second one, fer when the first one runs out of stuff.  Then maybe I'll be shoppin' one of them there fancy carri'ges what the nobs rides roun' in, with a bloke ter drive it an' another ter clean up after the 'orses.  A red one, on account of 'ow I's 'eard that them's goin' faster."

Aarnr stands, pausing only to grab a whole chicken and to inform Colwyn of his intention to "raise a froggin' horde an' raze this hole," assumedly the whole town, and not just this particular establishment, "to the fobbin' ground !" once he the glory of victory is his, heads off to his room.

Once arriving in her room, Eilieen takes the time to sit and reflect.  Some prayer follows - for guidance, for patience, for her friends - and then she quietly rises to lock and bar the door before disrobing.

Her clothing is in further need of repair.

It's still decent from the last time, but it's hardly in prime condition, given the battle with the Wyvyrth.  The sprint through town ending with a bloody (if short) altercation hadn't helped.  Eilieen sadly runs a fingertip over a filthy, damaged hem, and sighs.

"Can't be helped," she whispers.  "Zadastha...I pray, grant this servant the wherewithal to present a proper portrait for those who seek you guidance.  Lend me thy strength to further your own respect."

Pale fuscia light bleeds from her hands as she speaks.

OOC - Mending.

If the aroma of the food had encouraged Arkan to have a bite or two, seeing the sizzling platters before him convinced him to make it a full course meal. Or two.

As he ate he nodded at Colwyn's comment and replied, "I will be the first customer at each of your inns and taverns, if the food is half as good as this."

Aarnr has pretty much done with the chicken by the time he reaches his room, and tosses the carcass aside before entering.

The priest drags the blanket from the bed and settles down on the floor, performing his nightly ritual of unsheathing his sword and laying it close to hand so it is ready if/when it is needed.

"An' thou can fobbin' keep thy gob shut," he raises his gaze to warn off Bowbe before closing his eyes.

OOC: Sleeping. ;>

With the priests out of the picture, things seem to naturally gain a more relaxed air.  Quite why that should happen when Aarnr leaves the room isn't entirely clear, but happen it does.

The meal proceeds, with polite conversation gradually replaced by ribald jokes, and a slow increase in the volume of those jokes.  The food and drink are of the finest quality, and the barkeep is considerably less surly than when the group had arrived.

Oddly there seem to be less and less other patrons in the inn as the evening continues.  By the time a servant politely announces that the baths are now available there are, perhaps, only half as many people present than when the party had first entered.

Through a door at the back of the common room is a single large room containing the baths.  An ornate tapestry divides the room into two sections, and the servant explains that male party members can use the tubs to the left, whuile the female ones can use the ones to the right.  There is a table in the centre of each half of the room, with towels, soap, and perfumed oils.  And benches where patrons can get undressed and leave their clothes...

There is, eventually, a tapping on Eilieen's door.  Through the panel the voice of the serving maid calls to her, "Miss.  The baths's ready, if'n you want to come down and take one."

Aarnr, having arranged for no such alert, sleeps soundly.  Not even disturbed by his own window-rattling snores.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:00, Sun 22 Feb 2015.

Ozzy is the first one in the tub. Of all the luxuries provided this evening, THIS was the most important and satisfying. For nearly three days he has lived with the stench of orc urine and the perfumed waters are a welcome olfactory change. The little Halfling scrubs, suds and scrubs again, determined to smell more like a flower than a latrine.

Having had his fill of the nourishing and delicious meal, Arkan retired to his room. While he still had one more night's residence left at the earlier inn, during his sojourn Arkan had grown accustomed to traveling lightly, and thus usually kept all his belonging with him in his travel bag and various assorted belt pouches even if he had a room at an inn, both for being able to leave on a moments notice and also, in less reputable inns, lest he return to find his few things vandalized.

Now he deposited both his travel bag and the large sword sheathed on his back upon his bed, and then did the same with his cloak and gloves. His belt pouch he kept on as he went to the baths, finding Oswald already there. Removing his clothing and placing it in the afforded place he entered a tub beside the halfling, glancing with appreciation at the assorted scents and soaps nearby.

"Many thanks for paying for this night of indulgence friend Oswald. We will surely be the nicest smelling and cleanest scrubbed delvers ever to delve into Rappan Athuk." Arkan said to Oswald with a chuckle even as he reclined back for a while and let the hot water relax his muscles and soften the dust and grime of travel, before starting to scrub himsef with the scented soaps and soft brushes.

ooc: After he is sure he smells like a bouquet of flowers Arkan will gather his stuff and head off to his room to sleep.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:54, Fri 20 Feb 2015.

Having picked the most remote of the tubs Bilfro takes great care to fold up his articles of clothing - save a gown-like undergarment - and miscellaneous items before sinking into the water with a long, drawn-out sigh of utter relief, not unlike that of a ant that took a wrong turn and had wandered for many hours (that is like years for an ant) before finding a trail that after almost as many more hours led it back home, where it was met with another gruelling task since it neglected to complete the first one when it got lost (ants live to do task, it is their favourite pastime).

Next comes the launch of a wee tortoise who happily takes to the waves, bravely setting forth towards new shores and new adventures.  Or at least the other side of the tub.

Sinking down in the water until only the eyes (and anything higher up, obviously) remain above the water, hands fiddle around the ears and, with the wiggling of ears, produces another sigh.  It is not until now that the last undergarment comes off, quickly being put into a vigorous washing, bundled up into a, uh, bundle...

Eyes scan around and then the head dips down for a quick... dip... before resurfacing until the nose clears the water.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:22, Sun 22 Feb 2015.

The water in the tubs is hot, almost too hot to bear, and scented with perfumed oils.  The air in the chamber is filled with aromatic steam, and somewhere beyond the room, but within earshot, a harpist is playing relaxing music.

Fergus lowers himself into the tub, laughing.  Then explains, "Never had a hot bath before.  Me and dad used to wash up in the pond, so long as it wasn't frozen."  He picks up a block of soap and sniffs at it, "What's this?  Some sort of vegetable?"

Meanwhile, closer to Bilfro, Colwyn hops into the water, sending a fair quantity slopping onto the floor.  Sitting down, he lifts both feet and places them on the side of the tub.  "Was always telled ter keep me feet dry.  Seven times out of eleven, if yer's seein' a cove with a cold, an' yer checks, yer'll be findin' as 'is feet're bein' wet.  Wet feet is givin' folks colds, see?  Not bein' good fer yer body on account of 'ow the water's carryin' evil spirits in ter the soles."

"Any'ow, cheers Ozzy mate."  Reaching out, he lifts his wine cup from the floor and raises it in Ozzy's general direction.

A suspicious burst of bubbles erupts noisily from the depths of the tub to compete with the perfumed steam...  "Well, that were bein' better out than in."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 20:50, Sun 22 Feb 2015.

Luckily for several someones there is no tapping at Aarnr's door to rouse him from his slumbers with some ludicrous and downright offensive suggestion that he might like to bathe.  Colwyn has only but touched upon the perils.

The priest's dream this night is the usual pleasant one where he is roaming the wild lands in the form of a wolf, stalking his prey, the fear-scent as he draws ever closer, the blood spattering his snout and fangs as he makes the kill, the ripping and tearing of raw meat ... for any who've shared either campfire or table with the priest, there would be much there that is familar.

Perfect.

"My thanks," Eilien murmurs, exiting the room.  She offers the girl a silver coin. "If you would take me there immediately, I would be most appreciative."

Once arrived, SAFELY ensconced in her section of the room, Eilieen immediately divests herself of her clothing (including the now-repaired and renewed gown) and heads for one of the tubs.

In the bathing room, Fergus relaxes, leaning back in the water as a servant adds more hot water.  The farmer's eyelids start to droop as the warmth seeps into his flesh and bone, easing the ache of injuries, both old and new.  Struggling to keep his eyes open, he mutters, "Feels nice... "

Colwyn dutifully keeps his feet out of the tub, and waves away the servant who offers him more water, before calling the man back and saying, "More wine!  That's bein' what I's needin'.  If'n yer can be bringin' a 'ole tub filled with it, that'd be bloody good."

"Eilieen ?"  Perhaps for the first time ever in the history of the order, the first thoughts upon someone finding a Priestess of Zadastha in their bedchamber is a surly realisation that they're going to get shouted at again. ¹

But no, the garb in which the woman is attired is not nearly pretty enough that Eilieen would wear it, though the patchwork of fur and leathers seems oddly familiar.  If only he could ...

Aarnr's eyes open wide with alarm.  "Mother ?!!"


¹ Or perhaps not.  Even in the Vastness, one hears rumours. 

The bathing continues, with more refreshments for those who want them, and copious amounts of hot water...

"Grandmother ?!!!  Aren't thee..."

In once sense, it's vindication.  Aarnr knew he should have just headbutted that beslubberin' bum-bailey the second he opened his froggin' mouth, matter not the sensitivities of his friends and companions.

But in another, it's a harsh realisation that he's going soft, falling victim to the very disease of decadence that he's been railing about all this time, failing his god in his attempts to curry favour with those who will never be worthy.

"I will kill them all this night ..." just when he was getting comfortable too, but his religious observances must come first.

"Except for Ozzie."  Aarnr feels he should put in a good word for his blood-brother, and looks to his grandmother, hoping she concurs.

Even past the point of smelling like a kings summer garden on a warm summers day, Ozzie continues to douse himself, scrubbing every inch of his small frame and washing his hair repeatedly. His mind reminds him again and again of the foul stench which lingered on him for days afterward, which only causes him to repeat the process until his arms are too tired to function. Eventually he would make it out of the tub and upstairs to a soft bed. He passes out quickly, enjoying the high cost of comfort for one final night before getting back on the road.

After the rich and fulfilling meal the warm water had started to loosen up Arkan's muscles and he caught himself dozing off more than once. "I believe it's time to call it a night comrades, I will see you on the morrow." He said to the others. Wiping himself dry Arkan put on his clothes and started moving back up to his room, wondering where Aarnr was and why he hadn't joined the rest of the men in the mens section of the baths.

ooc: Arkan will hit the sack and sleep till morning once he gets to his room.

Arkan makes his way up to his room, guided by one of the servants.  The room, as one might expect in (probably) the finest inn in Bard's Gate, is positively luxurious... to the extent that the resident ticks, should there be any, probably wear only the finest silks.

Colwyn too drags himself out of the bath and calls for somebody to show him to his room and fetch him more wine, in no particular order.

After some brief consideration, Fergus decides that the hot water in the tub is far more comfortable than bathing in the pond at home (even at the height of summer).  He elects to continue soaking for a while longer, enjoying the sensation of becoming cleaner than he can remember at any time in his life.

Eilieen is more than happy to keep the bathing going for a time.  A fairly lengthy time, in fact.  However, not wanting to turn into a prune, she removes herself before that point, drying off with the provided towels.  "Have a good night, Sir Arkan," she replies through the concealing curtains, having correctly identified the nearly-unfamiliar voice.  "I bid you all a good night, and offer my thanks again, Oswald!"

Then, in turn and now dressed, she heads up the stairs for an early night.  It has been a most taxing day, most taxing indeed; dirty back alleys, running, fighting...

Messy, messy.

Much like a shark swimming just below the surface, even though he had no idea what that was, Bilfro was almost completely submerged.  Like an owl, which he actually knew what it was, each time the servant came with hot water the eyes grew bigger and rounder until said servant removed themselves anew.

In-between he would forget himself and scrub and splash water out of the tub, nearly washing a certain tortoise out along with it at occasion.

There he would stay until no one else would be around, even if it would take all night, cold water and the price of sporting more wrinkles than a wrinkly thing shoved into a alternating moist and cool corner behind a box that was being pushed in and out of the corner at highly irregular, nay, even suspicious intervals.  In other word, impressively wrinkly.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Aarnr isn't stupid either, just very, very direct, and the subterfuge his grandmother suggests goes somewhat against his nature.  Not the betrayal or murders, you understand, just not being upfront about it all.

"So because he'd want them dead, it's best not to give them to him ..." the priest works through the theosophical implications.  Perhaps it's like the way everyone else begs favours of their gods whereas Bowbe's servants just yell at him a lot.  Presumably because that's the way he likes it.  But wouldn't that mean it'd be better to send up flowery prayers to annoy him ?  Except then he wouldn't grant his favours, and Aarnr would not want to head into battle without Bowbe's blessings strengthening his thews.  Or is it the one about teaching a man to kill instead of killing for him ?

"Too much too soon," Aarnr finally grasps it (like a drowning man clutching at a rope thrown his way).  It would be like he himself had killed all the monsters so there was nothing left to kill.

"Then they can live for now."  Secretly the priest is relieved - truth be told he'd not been looking forward to slaughtering his friends.  He's far too comfortable where he is ...

Eilieen finally leaves the bath and, after wishing her friends a good evening (decently concealed behind a curtain), she retires to her room...  Having grown uncomfortable with the wrinkling effect on his skin, Fergus follows shortly after.  Not to her room, but to his own.

Which leaves only Bilfro and the two halflings soaking in their respective tubs...

Arkan crawls into his bed and, in the quiet of his room, he can hear Aarnr's voice, muted by the sturdy wooden wall.  It seems that his new friend is talking to somebody, somewhere nearby.  The words are indistinct, but there are pauses in the flow of them which suggest that the man is engaged in a conversation.  Even if other party's words can not be heard at all through the wall...
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:24, Mon 09 Mar 2015.

Entering his room Arkan stripped down to his undergarments and hung his traveling garb on the hook provided on the door. His battleblade, Crescent Fall, he propped up by the side of his bed, within easy reach. Even sheathed an untrained eye could see that the blade was longer than a longsword, though slightly less so than a greatsword but wider and thicker than a either. It would be a hindrance in close quarters fighting in a room at an inn, but luckily this room was far larger and roomier than Arkan was used to. The sword also had sentimental value and Arkan would be loathe to loose it to any errant thief, or to abandon it in case a hasty exit from the inn was required. Such were the perils of an adventuring life, after all.

His many pouched belt he kept on the table by the side of his bed, and then took out a sturdy yet slender archaic looking tome from his travel bag and placed it by this belt on the table. His curved dagger he put underneath his pillow. Blowing out the light Arkan was about to lie down when he suddenly heard a voice speaking from another room. It was faint, and he could not make out the words, but the timbre was unmistakably Aarnr's. But who could he be talking to at this hour, especially when the others had been in the tubs downstairs.

Is he speaking in his sleep? Arkan thought curiously, and strained a bit to see if he could make out the words.

ooc: 2 on listen check :P

Once in her room, Eilieen spends a solid hour combing her hair, examining her clothing, buffing up her holy symbol, and other important tasks.  Right before finishing, she recalls a less-important but still noteworthy necessity, and proceeds to clean and sharpen her spear.

There.  Finished.

Proud with her accomplishments of the night, she offers a lengthy prayer to her goddess before crawling into the smooth, soft bed and simply lying in it, awake, for the better part of another hour.

Such things must be enjoyed when they are encountered.

Then she sleeps.

"Then kill the rest of the tribe and take the gold !"  Aarnr gets quite carried away, expanding with great enthusiasm on the cunning plan his grandmother outlines.

Lots of gold, lots of killing and become chief.  Aye, a simple but brilliant scheme, devoid of any flaws.  "I like it !"

Erista starts her bath - a luxury she certainly isn't going to decline, especially when it's already paid for - by washing out her dress, and then more or less has to wait until it has time to dry, doesn't she?  So much of her bath is arguably less a "bath" and more "swimming", as she spends a good deal of time splashing around, moving back and forth, ducking herself under the water and blowing bubbles...

When she finally does climb out of a tub that has been emptied of a good deal more water than her small body should reasonably have displaced, she dries off quickly, dresses, and makes her way to her own room, and props open the window to give Astral some air, or maybe even a bit of hunting time.  Then, of course, she pulls the pillow off the bed, stuffs her pack in its place, tucks the blankets up over it, and then slips underneath for a more comfortable place to sleep.

Colwyn ensures that the window is firmly closed, and then ties a length of heavy twine around the latch to ensure that it stays that way.  Can't be too careful in a new city...  Then he smashes the empty wine bottle with the small hammer from his kit, and liberally sprinkles the unlit fireplace with the broken glass.  With luck, anybody coming down the chimney should get some nast cuts in their feet but, at the very least, the crunching sounds as they tread on the glass should wake him up.

The door is such an obvious entry that it's barely worth considering.  Nonetheless he uses a chair to wedge it shut.  Finally secure, he falls into the bed, fully clothed and with his blade nearby.  Sleep follows quickly...

In the other rooms, his friends make their own preparations for sleep.

In his room, Ozzy sleeps on his coin as if it were a solid gold pillow.
He dreams of dancing girls, scarves, and complicated math, grinning contentedly in his sleep.

Stay friendly with the outlanders  Aarnr sighs mightily.  Certainly sounds like a lot of hard work.  And undoubtedly means he's not allowed to kill whoever he likes, such as that rat-spleened, dung-witted sheep-biter downstairs !

But the ends are worth it ... as is not getting heavily smited by Bowbe in the interim.

Good old Uncle Aargh (even Aarnr might think twice about correcting his dead grandmother's shade's spelling, but luckily he really doesn't have an idea how it or any other name or word is spelled) - a cautionary tale indeed.  A most embarrassing way to go.

"P'raps the froggers will turn to Bowbe ..." the priest's voice slurs as sleep threatens to overwhelm him, the usual response to religious debate, indeed, to strenuous thinking of any kind.  Though Ozzie might be halfway to a conversion already, and he's definitely had an effect on Eilieen too, given her fondness for stabbing people with that spear ...

Those still bathing eventually decide that it's time to get out of the tubs and head for bed.  Bilfro is the last to hit the hay, settling into his clean, comfortable bed under the watchful (and somewhat spiteful) gaze of his new-found owl companion.

Gradually the inn grows quiet, as the revellers in the downstairs common room summon their carriages and head for home.  The barkeep is the last to retire, having dismissed the servants for the night and extinguished the lamps.

Darkness enfolds The Full Moons, and the rest of Bard's Gate, in its gentle embrace...

A short while later, the two moons which give the inn its name rise into the sky, painting the streets with silver (except for the occasional blood stain, which appears blacker in the moonlight).

Finally the moons are followed into the sky by the rising sun, and the new day dawns.

Servants tap gently on room doors, and quietly inform the guests that breakfast will be served shortly.  As if to confirm this, the smell of fresh bread and cooking food seems to fill the building...

Having promised his dead grandmother that he'll play nice, Aarnr thoughtfully waits until the servants have gently woken everyone before he begins his daily ritual of yelling at Bowbe.  Indeed, it seems this morning he is particularly inspired with louder, longer and more virulent curses than usual, perhaps a reaffirmation of his faith.

When the priest finally comes downstairs to the common room to break his fast, at first there seems to be something terribly wrong with his face, a cast to his visage that is even more disconcerting and disturbing than his usual scary and on-the-brink-of-sudden-violence aspect.

It looks as if he's trying to smile ...

Arkan awoke to the sound of knocking on his doors. He rose to stand by the window, blinking at the light and stretched, enjoying the simple beauty of an early morning. Normally Arkan was used to waking early, the better to practice his sword maneuvers and make other preparations for his day. But the rich meal last night followed by the luxurious bath had resulted in a deep and unguarded sleep. He did not regret it though, he felt well rested and ready to take on the world.

Taking out his dagger Arkan first carefully shaved off the stubble that had grown there over the past few days, then washed up and put on his clothing. He wrapped his many pouched belt around his waist and strapped Crescent Fall onto his back, with the hilt of the sword jutting over his right shoulder. He then draped his dark, hooded cloak over his lithe frame, keeping the hood down.

Taking his travel bag in his hands Arkan exited the room and headed downstairs to break his fast and meet up with the others. To his surpise Aarnr was already in the commons, he had taken the man to be a heavy sleeper who did not awaken early easily. But then again, the adventuring world was full of those who played against the norm, or had unexpected skills.

"Good morn sir Aarnr, I hope you had pleasant dreams last night," Arkan said pleasantly, wondering again about the noises he had heard the big man making. Arkan decided to keep that knowledge to himself, lest he embarrass the man (or worse, enrage him!)

Colwyn crawls out of the pit of sleep and sits blinking at the single shaft of sunlight that streams in through the shutter to strike quite high up the far wall.  Still early then.

He stands up, coughing, before spitting on the floor and looking about for more wine to ease his parched throat.  Luckily there is still enough in the bottle to serve that purpose.

After splashing a little cold water on his face (more with thoughts of waking himself than with any concerns for cleanliness), he descends to the common room, where he is surprised to see that Aarnr and Arkan are up before him.  And, apparently, in disgustingly good spirits.

"Mornin'." the rogue grunts as he slumps into a chair.

Aarnr almost glares at Arkan before he remembers and bares his teeth in a smile instead.  "Froggin' wonderful, thou sheep-bi ... thou rats-ba ... friend," he finally manages.

"Nice gl ... day ... isn't it ?!!" he demands of Colwyn.

Eilieen has been up since before dawn; things to be done, clothes to be laid out and judged with a disapproving eye, boots to be polished, that sort of thing.  Aarnr's enthusiastic prayers - she chooses to see them as such, it allows her to ignore the language - alert her that it's almost time for breakfast.  Best she get prepared. Some work is done on her hair, then downstairs she trundles, wearing her gown sans cloak and spear this morning.  It's the inn.  Nothing should happen (if it does, fair chance her own group starts it and she's relatively safe anyway).

A cloaked figure awaits...ah, that would be the new person, Arkan.  A small curtsey for him. "Sir Arkan."  Colyn's looking his usual disreputable self.  "Oh dear, Colwyn.  You should eat.  It will put some colour in your cheeks."

And who is this, with some kind of...snarl...oh, it's Aarnr.  Eilieen studies him for a long moment (the last night's unpleasantness well-shy of her mind), narrow-eyed.  Some new threat?  Consideration of violence?

"A...good morning to you, Aarnr," she offers with her customary (if hesitant) optimism.

When Erista wakes up, she takes her things off the bed, puts the pillow back, smooths out the blanket, and, with only a few minutes work, leaves the room actually a bit tidier than it was when she came in.  Albeit, only a bit.  The maids of The Full Moons know how to turn a bed, she must admit.

Then she heads on downstairs, sliding in quietly between Eilieen and Aarnr and climbing into a chair.  "G'morning!" she says, brightly.  "I don't think I've slept that well since I left home.  I had a dream that I lived in a castle, with a thousand rooms, and each room was full of.. something.  Like, one specific thing for each room.  A gold room with piles of gold, and another room full of baskets, and another one with kittens scrambling around."  She smiles.  "It was a nice dream.  Probably not a very practical layout for a castle, but a nice dream."

The drinking of last night appeared to have hit Colwyn hard, judging by his annoyed expression, no doubt the adventurer also had a throbbing headache. "Well met Colwyn. I recommend something sour for breakfast to clear your head." Arkan said cheerfully.

He was feeling high in spirits; after weeks in this town and countless more weeks of traveling from old Raumathar beforehand to reach this place Arkan had finally found a group willing to go into the dungeon. The renewed sense of purpose was refreshing, he could only hope his luck remained with for a good long time, he had a feeling he would need it soon.

He smiled upon seeing Eileen enter the commons, the room seeming brighter for her presence in it, and replied to her greeting; "Well met again my lady. And it is just Arkan among friends, no sirs."

Erista recieved a "Good morning," in return as well, and the warrior-mage could not help but chuckle at hearing about her dreams. "The kittens part sounds rather fun. If only kittens were all the opposition we would hope to face in Rappan Athuk!"

"Mornin' !  Mornin' !" Aarnr insists to each in turn as Eilieen and Erista address him, giving them the benefit of his best smile.

To the priest the events of the night before are not even a distant memory, for they do not trouble him at all, save that he is now filled with Purpose.

The kittens throws him just a little, though, and none of his immediate responses would seem suitable for the more friendly approach his grandmother proposed.  At least Arkan comes to his rescue.

"Yes ... it should be a most fro ... pleasant journey !"

No need to mention the real possibility of death awaiting them on the road, if Tazok's fate is any guide.  It might put them off.

"Yes, mate, it's bein' a bleedin' lovely mornin'." Colwyn responds to Aarnr, moderately surprised by the priest's apparent good humour and polite demeanour.  Colwyn has heard stories of a thing called a double-ganger, which (according to what he's heard) they can be dangerous when discovered.  Perhaps, he reasons, Aarnr has been replaced by just such a duplicate during the night, so best not to draw attention to the fact that its scheme has failed.

He manages to force a smile, every bit as convincing as Aarnr's own.

He decides to take the advice of both Eilieen and Arkan, eat something and choose something sour.  The difficult part is deciding what to have.  In the end he settles for waiting to see what's available.

He's fairly certain that he can smell bacon and eggs frying, and neither of them are particularly sweet, so they could be classed as mildly sour.

Erista's dream sounds interesting... particularly the room full of gold.  He's dreamed about that room once or twice himself, though it was possibly not in the same castle.

Ozzy finally drags himself out of bed and downstairs to join the others at breakfast. Having spent a restless night sleeping with a lumpy sack of gold coin, he isn't as well rested as he had hoped for. Cold cash makes for an uncomfortable cuddle. Where his sleep was lacking, his appetite is not and he sets to consuming whatever is plated before him like a starving man. He notices the odd expression on his blood brothers face, wondering why he is silently growling at everyone this morning. It can't be a smile, so the baring of teeth must be a muted growl. When he catches Aarnr's eye, he returns by baring his own teeth and adding a quiet growl of good morning.

"Good ?!! Mornin' !" Aarnr continues the round of greetings, though frankly his mouth is beginning to hurt.  But Ozzie and Arkan have the right idea.  Nothing bacon, eggs and whiskey can't cure.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:48, Thu 19 Mar 2015.

As Oswald, Colwyn and Aarnr were in rather foul spirits after the drinking and the possibly the early morning rise, Arkan hoped the innkeeper would make their food ready soon. That would hopefully lift them from their current mood. To keep them distracted lest another brawl break out, and also because Arkan was curious about the matter himself, he decided to tepidly quiz them on their journey and adventures to this place.

"So, have you all been on this journey together since the beginning, and if it indeed be so, how long have you spent on the road? Were their any others who started off with you but abandoned the quest?"

He poured himself a cup of water as he spoke then drank his fill as he waited for his words to sink in. Another thought occurred to him and he said;

"The roads are perilous everywhere these days. Rumor 'round these parts lately is that it gets worse as you get closer to the dungeon. Some say the pit of Atthuk is a living thing, and it tries to soften it's meal up as it winds it's way down the road and into its maw. Others say the dungeon attracts all sorts of vile things to it, for like tends to attract like." Arkan shrugged and finished by adding,

"That might explain that dragon spawn creature you faced earlier that you mentioned. I would hope that was the worst you faced on your journey to Bard's Gate."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:28, Thu 19 Mar 2015.

Orders for drinks are taken, and delivered to the table, and the food follows soon after.  Cold cuts of meat from the previous evening's dinner, bacon, a startlingly wide array of assorted sausages, blood pudding, egg, fried mushrooms, fresh baked bread, and something referred to as "bubble and squeak" - a mix of chopped vegetables, formed into cakes and fried until golden brown.  Add to this a number of different fruit preserves, two kinds of herbal tea, and a constant flow of pitchers of mead.

Other visitors start to arrive, some from within the inn itself, and others from the market square beyond.  It becomes apparent that the Full Moons' breakfasts are both well known, and popular, among the market traders.

The common room soon becomes crowded, but people give the adventurers a wide berth (possibly due to Aarnr's highly intimidating smile).

The breakfast is good.  Aarnr resolves to eat nothing else when he's rich and chief of his tribe.  Indeed, Bard's Gate will be the first decadent city to fall before his horde, though this Inn will be spared on the strength of its breakfasts alone.  Except for the herbal tea.  Someone will die for that.

"One of my tribe got his froggin' head staved in, three days march from here," Aarnr replies equably to Arkan, in a shower of bacon shards.  "But he was a gleepin' puttock."

"Fought an owlbear," he informs the young man. "An' some patchwork thing that swore vengeance upon us."  There was that to look forward to.

With a resounding slam the front door flies open, even if it does remain on its hinges as is common with doors, especially those still on their hinges.

In the doorway a dark shadow casts a silhouette against the light outside.  It inhales with a scratching wheeze and raises a hand.

"Oh bother, I almost had it there."

With somewhat dishevelled robes Bilfro steps inside and closes the door behind him, the large owl perching on one shoulder.

"It is almost time, Leo, if I only could remember what for."

He looks around and spots his close friends, or at least soon to be closer travelling companions, as he staggers towards them, arms held wide apart in the promise of an embrace.  Or possibly not.

"A-ha!  Breakfast!  Good to see you up, my dear sleepyheads!  It is indeed a glorious day today!"

"Hoot."

Odysseus Warfield Leonaidas makes his statement and lunges from his perch to swoop across the table, snagging up a tasty looking piece of food.  He lands up in the rafters and begins his own meal, watching those below with a harsh, critical eye or two.  At least two, actually.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:26, Sat 21 Mar 2015.

"Mornin' Bilfro, mate." Colwyn greets the wizard with a nod, as he uses a knife to impale a sausage, then knocks it loose on his plate before reaching for some bacon.

By the time Fergus comes down for his own breakfast, looking a little the worse for the ale he had consumed the previous evening, the meal is already in full swing.  And very tasty it is too.  Fergus joins in the process of devouring it with surprising gusto, considering the way he looks this morning.  Soon he is joining in the breakfast conversation and cheerful banter with his comrades in arms.

While the adventurers continue breaking their fast, people enter and exit the inn at fairly regular intervals.  Eventually, one of them seems to attract Colwyn's attention.  Always cautious, and with the eyesight of an outhouse rat, the rogue notices the man, and continued observation confirms his first impression.

An impression which he soon conveys to his companions, speaking urgently and in hushed tones...

"'ere, don't be lookin' now, mind, but there's a cove over there what's givin' us the eye."  He studiously avoids looking directly at the object of his concern (easy enough to do, considering the disparate alignment of his eyes) and insted uses his knife to indicate a general direction.  "'im there, in the green jack.  The one with the white 'air an' the missin' eye."

A glance in that direction reveals that there is, indeed, an elderly gentleman with an eye patch and a tunic of dark green velvet.  His hair and beard are a silvery grey, and he does appear to be watching the group while trying to avoid being seen to watch them...

Eilieen offers every newcomer a pleased smile, though she often casts worried glances at Aarnr.  He's looking a tad pained this morning, and attempting to cover it with a smile.  It's not working.  Perhaps there's some health issue...

"Dragon spawn," she considers aloud after Arkan's comment.  "Oh, the Wyvort!  Yes, it was quite the sight, and quite the danger.  Almost took poor Fergus from us with its poison."  And glad they are that it hadn't!  "We've faced worse, though.  One of our earlier compatriots died in battle against a black priest and his minions."  She sighs, the memory of the Nameless still heavy upon her.

The priestess jumps at Bilfro's entrance, eyeing him askance as he approaches.  "And then there's Bilfro," the Zadasthan sighs, edging her chair around the table, closer to Erista, so that the mad mage(?) is more likely to throw his arms around Oswald.

"How curious!" Elieen whispers back, craning her neck for a moment before remembering and snapping her gaze away.  "A one-eyed old man watching us: a group of travellers.  In a bar, of sorts.  Perhaps he's considering a job offer?"

After a moment, she giggles.  "No, that's ridiculous."  Then the priestess grows more serious.  "Has anyone seen him before?"

Arkan started as the bearded man with the pointy hat entered the inn with a bang of the door. This was the only member of his new group he had yet to have an opportunity to speak to. He seemed a bit strange, but then wizards were strange folk.

"Well me, it is indeed a fine morning is it not?" Arkan replied in greeting to Bilfro. He looked at the owl that accompanied the man and as it flew up into the rafters Arkan held up a morsel of food from his place and offered it to bird, (making sure his eyes were far enough from pecking distance!) which he surmised was the wizard's familiar, not being a stranger to the arcane arts himself.

He listened closely to Aarnr and Eileen as they recounted their travels. "Ah, that is a pity. It is always hard to loose a companion like that. Adventuring is a dangerous business to be sure." He said as Eileen spoke of the death of one of their own.

When alerted that they were being watched, Arkan looked askance at the silvery-grey bearded man, trying to infer quickly if he meant them any harm.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:21, Mon 23 Mar 2015.

Bilfro.  He should've put in a good word for the beslubbering, beef-witted basket-cockle.  Be unlucky to kill him.  Doesn't mean he's going to hug him, though ...

Aarnr swiftly realises that the sideways glances of his companions that ebb and flow between himself and the griping greybeard (the other one, not Bilfro) stem from fear that the priest might suddenly slay the newcomer.  Alas, while that might be pleasant, the dottard would not offer much of a challenge, nor would his death have quite the effect his grandmother desires.  There is but one thing for it.

"Ho !  Thou curr ... thou fr .. fellow !  Would  !  Thou join us for some bacon !"

Erista stops, a forkfull of fruit poised just outside her open mouth, and stares at Aarnr.  Then she turns to Ozzy, and asks worriedly, [Language unknown: Linresoul vorousany ourur mader?  Paout Dayourera of neunatee u icure? Th ek lo tiyin?]

The stranger seems a little taken aback by Aarnr's greeting, but soon recovers.  He pushes himself up from his chair and, using a cane to provide some support, he hobbles across to the group's table, where he drops into an empty seat.  Close up, it can be seen that his clothing, including the aforementioned dark green velvet tunic, is of the finest quality.  The patch that sits where is left eye should be is of black leather, with an abstract pattern embroidered upon it in silver thread.

His good eye is a piercing blue, in spite of his apparent age.

When he speaks, his accent is that of a gentleman of refined upbringing.  "Well met, stalwart ladies and gentlemen.  Am I to take it from your manner of dress and your robust camaraderie that you are a party of adventurers?  I am Sir Galdean, a former Justicar of Muir, and I am honoured to make your acquaintance."

"Ah, well I remember the deeds of my youth, and the rewards thereof, for I was once an adventurer like you, until... the incident... which left me with restricted use of my leg."

"I thank you for your offer of food, sirrah," he adds, directing the comment to Aarnr, "but I have already broken my fast.  I would not, however, refuse a little mead."

"It certainly wasn't easy," Eilieen sighs, sadly recalling the Nameless one.  "She was courageous, skilled, clever...wise.  An enormous asset to our group.  And a fine person, as well, worthy of respect and friendship."  She moodily stirs her food.  "I miss her."

Another wince as Aarnr calls out to the man, then an incredulous look at the other priest.  Is he ill?  "I don't know why you're talking about ME," she mutters as an aside to Erista.  "Not when...that...is going on."

But she stands and offers a curtsey as the gentleman approaches, waiting until he seats before sitting again herself.  "Well-met, Sir Galdean.  Honored to make your acquaintance, indeed.  I am Eilieen, of Zadastha.  Here we have Aarnr, Priest of Bowbe, Fergus Andarson, Erista, Oswald Osbourne, Sir Arkan, and Colwyn."  She manages to avoid stating Colwyn's last name, recalling just in time it's not something he enjoys bandied about.

"And Bilfro," she finishes, with a small sigh.  "Adventurers indeed, one might say.  Very sorry to hear about your leg; a shame there was no priest to assist.  Before that, you seem to have done well enough for yourself!"  Her brows crease.  "If I might ask...a crossbow bolt?"

Aarnr's spirits fall. "A Justicar of Muir."  The man is speaking gibberish.  He and Bilfro will get on just fine.  To avoid any embarrassment he stares at the man's eyepatch, squinting at the pattern picked out in silver thread and wondering if it's real silver ... until Sir Greybeard mentions his leg whence the priest's gaze shifts to the offending limb.

Eilieen is indeed doing well with the polite introductions, and seems to be offering to put the fellow out of his misery.  Only fair he should get his last drink then. "Ho !  More mead, p..p..pl .. more mead here !" he calls out to the servers.

Arkan nodded as Eileen introduced him along with the others.

"Easy there good sir." He said as the man hobbled over and sat at their table. "Took an arrow to the knee did you, in your adventuring days?" Arkan made some small talk as he evaluated their guest, wondering what he wanted from them.

"Whatever it was, I concur with lady Eileen, a shame there was no skilled healer present to bind your wound with spells and ensure sinew and bone knit properly."

The warrior-mage also racked his mind, trying to recall any lore he might have heard regarding the Justicar Order of Muir.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:25, Thu 26 Mar 2015.

In reply to Erista (msg # 183):

To Erista's question he can only shrug.

Aarnr shrugs too.  Just in case that's what polite hedge-pigs people do.

"Thou fought monsters ?" the priest asks Sir Greybeard encouragingly.  Getting shot with either bolt or arrow takes no great skill, but perhaps the wound was earned in honest battle with some slavering beast.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:53, Fri 27 Mar 2015.

Sir Galdean chuckles at Arkan's question, "An arrow to the knee?  Good gracious, no.  That would be so cliché.  I swear, every play I have seen in the past year has had some bold adventurer shot in the knee.  It's not as if a knee is the biggest target."

He shakes his head, and then glances at Aarnr, "This strapping gentleman has the right of it... I was bitten by a dragon, albeit a small one, a youngster I dare say.  The bite crushed my greave, though made of steel and enchanted to boot, and snapped the bones in my shin.  None of my companions were healers, and I lacked the skill to mend the injury myself.  By the time we made it to a temple, where I could receive a blessing, the wound was rife with gangrene.  And so my adventuring days were over, and... "  He stops, suddenly doubling over in a prolonged paroxysm of coughing.

When the coughing stops, he takes a sip of mead before continuing, "Forgive me, please.  Far too much of my youth was spent in dank caverns, chill catacombs, and dismal swamps, and my lungs are not what they were.  Which brings me to the reason I came here, as soon as I heard from a friend that you were here.  I want to ask you, all of you, a favour, if you will hear me out?"

Ozzy is still a little fuzzy-headed, having just woke up. Gnawing on a thick slice of bacon, he asks, " Sure, sure. What's the flavor? Need the name of a good cobbler to build a lift for your heel and stop that limp?"

Aarnr forgives the mysterious klee-shay and gan-green, and was unaware till now that grief came in enchanted steel (though he could well see how the latter could cause the former, depending upon which end of the blade one was at), for here is a man who, like himself, has faced a dragon, albeit a small one, and survived to tell the tale !  Though Sir Greybeard was not so lucky as himself and his friends to have Bowbe's aid in their battle ...

And that is enough, more than enough, for the priest to hear him out.  "Speak on, thou dotar ... thou putt ... speak on !"  Aarnr enjoins him, clouting his blood brother around the ear in a good-natured fashion and raising his cup in salutation.

"Very well... " Galdean responds, his good blue eye seeking the faces of the others around the table, each in turn, as he asks his favour.

"I am not a young man, and I am ill and crippled.  But I was once a noble warrior, serving Muir bravely on the field of battle, as I put the foes of right and justice to the sword and, thereby, did the bidding of my god."

"Now, I fear, I am dying - age and infirmity have taken their toll on my body, and my remaining time is short.  But I would not die abed, my friends - if I may refer to you in such a familiar manner?  I would die in honest battle, against the enemies of all good and right-minded folk."

A sigh then, and more coughing, "But I am not strong enough to do it alone.  I seek boon companions who will assist me in my final quest, and ensure that, when I die, I die with honour.  I have heard of a place, just a short distance from here, so I should be able to make the journey - at least in one direction - and fall surrounded by slain enemies."

Erista blushes when Eilieen catches her name, and says back quietly, "Just.. well, nothing."  She looks back at Ozzy and shrugs.  This in general seems to have her attention more than the old man, but she offers polite attention to his tale.  "Well, that's swee... wait, us?"  She looks around the table, and then back to the man, blinking.

"Um, just what is this final quest?"

Even as far back as the old kingdom of Raumathar they had heard about the nobility of the Justicars, and thus Arkan looked at the man with new found respect and when he finished talking, not a little bit of understanding.

"You wish to die in battle then, rather than meet your end feebly upon your bed" He stated softly. It was a tradition among some in many lands, for old warriors, woodsmen, and even some wizards, to want to face their end in battle rather than slip quietly into the beyond.

Even though he understood the old man's desire, Arkan had already made a compact with the others to join them in their quest. He would wait to hear their decision and join them whereever they decided to go next.

Aarnr politely holds his tongue, giving his friends the opportunity to enthusiastically embrace Sir Greybeard's proposal.  The first responses are not encouraging, however and the priest turns his fearsome smile upon Erista and Arkan in turn, not quite completely failing to disguise his disbelief at their rather lukewarm response to the quite reasonable "die-surrounded-by-the-bodies-of-the-fallen" proposal.

Eilieen stares suspiciously at Erista, then lets it go.  After all, they get along well, don't they?  It's not like Erista would be saying anything horrible behind her back, would it?

This isn't the Temple*, after all.

Galdean's story brings varying degrees of sorrow and horror from the Zadasthan.  By the time it comes to its end, she's half-expecting the entreaty.  Slowly, the priestess nods.  "Would that I could do something for your illness," she begins, hoping not to offend.  "Rather would I see a man end his life surrounded by those who love him, rather than his enemies."

The priestess straightens her back.  "But if this is your wish, then I would be a poor servant of all that is good to not grant it.  It may not be my way, but there is honor in such a path; and as for our ends, none but ourselves may say how we choose to meet them.  I would assist you in this, Sir Galdean, if it truly be your purpose."

* For those who have been following, yes, the Temple does somewhat resemble High School.  And Eilieen would have been the local nerd.  ^_^

Aarnr beams.  Obviously he's been a good influence on Eilieen - indeed, Bowbe would be proud of her.  Or at least her actions, if not the sentiment behind them.  With but a little more coaching she could be definite horde material.

The priest nods vigorously, adding his own agreement to that of the priestess.

"By the gods, yes !  A fro ... very worthy end !  We shall see it done !"

Important question first, in order to avoid an unpleasant situation that is not only bound to come up, but is in fact the whole purpose behind this expedition.

"How would thee like thy mortal remains disposed of ?" he asks Sir Greybeard.  Politely.  And with a certain smugness for having shown such thoughtfulness and foresight.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:21, Thu 02 Apr 2015.

Galdean nods his head, smiling, "Your concerns are all valid, and I shall do my best to address them."

"The nature of the quest is simple.  There have been, for several weeks now, rumours of... something... living in the woods to the south of the city.  Several expeditions have ventured out to deal with it, but none have succeeded in locating the creature.  From the rumours, I have deduced that the thing is an ogre.  Furthermore, from my knowledge of the area, gained when I was younger, and a keen hunter, I have a good idea where it's lair may be."

Next he turns to Eilieen.  "Yes, it is my wish.  Dying an honourable death, in combat, means that I would sit at Muir's right hand in the afterlife, and continue to serve her in her battles against demons and the accursed undead.  I would continue to defend this city, my friends, and my family against the things which would destroy them."

Then, "Ah yes, a good question, my wise friend.  If I am to die, then of course there will be a body, or at least a few pieces of one, or some possessions... "  Galdean considers for a moment before continuing, "These things must be returned to the Temple of Muir, here, in the city, for a proper funeral according to the scriptures of my faith.  Anything gained on the quest, anything that is not in my possession when I leave the city with you, is yours to do with as you will.  This is all the recompense I can offer for your assistance."

Ozzy smacks Aarnr on his shoulder, " What say brother? Ready to roust a paddock pounding bloat butted Ogre?" he asks, adding the spice of profanity that the big man seems to have lost the words for. " I'd like a chance to spend off some of this coin before we go though." he adds, kicking the sack of gold at his feet. " Too heavy."

"Froggin' sheep-bitin' sh ... that is to say, Aye brother !  That I am !"  Aarnr smiles even more spectacularly than before.

"A servant of Muir," the priest nods his approval at Sir Greybeard. "A warrior's goddess," his gaze automatically falls upon Fergus, but he tries not to look too reproachful. "I share thy distaste for the lifeless ones."  Very carefully worded, as none of that is easy to say without diverse and colourful oaths for accompaniment.

And an Ogre to kill besides !  Hopefully a big one.  Perhaps its skull would make a fine helm ?

Colwyn sits, quietly considering the situation.  More danger, and for little profit by the sound of it.  Still it doesn't sound too arduous a journey, and the monster seems quite close.  They've faced ogres before, and there'll be an extra warrior with them - one who has the backing of a fighting god.

"The only thing I must ask of you all," Sir Galdean states carefully, "is that when we meet the vile thing, I must face it alone at first, to fulfil my death wish.  Once I fall, you are free to have at the creature to your heart's content."

Bloody Hells! Colwyn thinks, grinning.  Better and better.  The old gaffer's softenin' it up a bit, then we's finishin' it off.  By "we" of course, he mostly means "everybody but me".

"I concur with my companions Sir Galdean. If this is your wish, I will aid you in fulfilling it to the best of my ability." Arkan said solemnly to the old Justicar.

Ogres were known to be ferocious, and Arkan had never faced one before. But he was confident that together they would be able to overcome any obstacle. Indeed, perhaps Sir Galdean would deal it a killing blow before falling himself.

"Well then, since we are all friends, and an accord has been reached, it only remains to drink a toast to our noble victory.  Well, your noble victory, and my noble demise."

"Innkeeper!  More drinks here, the finest you have, for today we raise our cups to toast the valorous death of a Justicar of Muir!"

When the drinks arrive at the table, Galdean pushes himself, unsteadily, to his feet (though his wavering is, in all fairness, probably more due to an injured leg than to a surfeit of alcohol).  He raises his cup, and roars a toast, all semblance of his former cultured manner fled in terror before his words...

"Good health, my allies, at least until death claims us!  To glorious victory!  And may the names of our fallen live forever in the hearts of their brethren, and strike fear into the breasts of our enemies!"

Aarnr leaps to his feet, roaring loudly and politely, raising his cup high to join in the toast.  The barbarian priest liked this just-ticker when first he cast eyes upon him, and the man's zeal to die in battle and soon has only firmed that fine opinion.

Indeed it would be a shame if by some mischance Sir Greybeard bested the Ogre and somehow managed not to die ...

Eilieen nods agreement to the terms.  They're acceptable to her.  But her toast - lost in the outcry - is only "To health."

This saddens her.

True, it is the man's choice.  Also true, it is the path he has followed his life through.  But then...it is a sorrowful thing that he has no family with which to spend his last days, no grandchildren upon which to dote.  If only there were a way...but there isn't.

"Well!" she states when the roaring has finished.  "Oswald has purchases to make.  Perhaps he can have some company - some large, dangerous company - to avoid issues similar to what we had yesterday, he and I?"  A shrug follows.  "Though it has helped somewhat with local crime, I do admit."

Large, dangerous company.  Aarnr hates shopping, but has promised his grandmother ...

"I shall accompany thee, blood-brother !" he informs the halfling, more or less spontaneously.  Less.  "Those festering rat-skinned varl ... fellows who ... accosted thee were shopkeepers ?  They shall not trouble thee this day !"

Ozzy chuckles at his brothers concern about the shopkeepers of the city. " Nah, weren't no shopkeep, those crooks I can handle. There were three muggers waitin' for us when we left the shop though. If we see them again, I'll be sure to introduce you!" he tells the big barbarian as he collects his gold and heads for the door.

Arkan rises with the bold Justicar and raises his cup in a gesture of salute. "To victory! To fallen enemies! And everlasting glory!" he cried, his voice rising in timber with each intonation.

"I have naught to purchase, but I am ready to go with you if you have need of me." Arkan told the others as they made their last minute shopping plans.

"So the shopkeeps rob thee before thou leave ..." as he exeunts with his blood-brother, it is clear that Aarnr is gaining a firm grasp on the bloody and cut-throat world of commerce.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:37, Sat 11 Apr 2015.

Colwyn barely manages to stifle a laugh at Aarnr's misconception of the finer points of trade and commerce.  but he has a question of his own for the knight of Muir.  "So, when's yer plannin' ter be movin' out then?  Is we 'avin' time ter be gettin' fixed up with a bit of grub, some spare gear, an' the likes.  Or was yer thinkin' of goin' now, so as ter be makin' the most of the day?"

Sir Galdean considers for a moment, then, "Ah... well, I had assumed that you would have sufficient equipment for the task at hand.  Did you not, after all, slay a dragon, or its ilk, on the road?  And that we could obtain some supplies from our friend the innkeeper.  I was hoping we could set out after breakfast, with a brief detour to collect my accoutrements, and then straight out into the forest to beard the vile creature in its lair.  After all, I am in no hurry, but speed may be of the essence to your good selves, if you have a further destination to make for afterward."

"If, however, you have business here in town that requires your attention first... well, then, I suppose I must wait for that."