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: Nielet semipa aneve the?  Alwi Eaulesive i plosdiha i undos? Be les ac wa?]

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.