"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.