Bilfro, being somewhat in his tippety-hat state, stands up to defend the honour - or something - of Eilieen, or at least attempts to.  He lurches forward, his feet mostly missing the ground beneath, and bunts his little tippety-hat head into the slurring farmer of the crossed eyes' belly.

"Oof," says he eloquently and attempts to steady himself by grabbing onto whatever is nearest.  That just so happens to be the farmer, of course, and the best grip is naturally found in the farmer's clothing just around the collar.  Lifting his eyes to the crossed ones, he belches something about "shush mea" or possibly "schuusch moo".

"Eff^efnaf_lavah!" clarifies he to his support, all while quite evidently trying to compete with the cross-eyedness of said support.  Next he proceeds to shake the farmer, if slowly since his footing is, at best, dubious.

_{"Frrgss....."}

"That'd be nice," Erista agrees, actually smiling a little.  "My Aunt Gatha sometimes said, just because you want to be alone, doesn't mean you have to do it alone."

Roused from his drunken slumbers, Aarnr reaches out towards the vision of loveliness and ...

Eilieen.

Eilieen !!!!

The priest freezes, mouth gaping open though whatever comment he might have ventured is still trapped within as he sobers instantly, a smile of what might very well be horror growing on his face which doesn't quite reach the eyes which stare at his outstretched hand as if it belongs to another, someone who might be in immanent danger of being shouted at severely.

Gaze flicking around for some way out, perhaps a quick run for the door and thence the stables where he might swiftly harness the oxen and beat a, well a getaway at least.  Yet perhaps just this once the poor priest garners Bowbe's sympathy, for his roaming eyes fall upon Bilfro's struggles.

"Why is the madman kissing that old farmer ?" Aarnr inquires, with more thankfulness than puzzlement, attaining his footing to loom largely as he extends a finger to point.  "Would ye have me rescue him ?"
This message was last edited by the player at 13:07, Wed 16 Sept 2015.

Arkan had been sitting solemnly besides his companions, a cup of tart wine held in his grip. It had been chilled when he had ordered it earlier, just like the ones before, but was now warm. Still, he sipped on it absently once in a while, as he listened to the others recant their time with Fergus.

Arkan himself did not have much to say about the lad, having only recently met him, but his bravery on the battlefield as well as his humility were in no doubt in the warrior-mage's mind, and he made sure all gathered there knew about the part Fergus played in defeating the giant, and taking a fatal blow that could surely have killed any one of them

As the afternoon turned into night, and the speech of the commoners who had graced the wake started to slur Arkan considered if they should start considering turning in for the night. The amusing embrace of a drunk farmer with Bilfro and Aarnr's drunken awakening at the scene made up his mind and he spoke, "Well friends, should we turn in for the night? Rappan Athuk awaits, after all."

There is tension in the air so thick that it could be used to beat an ogre to death...  Colwyn moves, as surreptitiously as possible to stand close to the farmer, ready to lend aid to Bilfro if the mage's attempt to distract the drunken farmer should erupt into violence.  Surreptitiousness is, of course, a matter of opinion.  Colwyn's attempt at quietly flanking the man is noticed by everybody in the room, and is not helped by the fact that he almost trips over a stool.  As it is, he barks his shin painfully, and emits a yelp of agony.

Arkan attempts to calm the situation with talk of turning in...

And Aarnr pushes himself to his feet...

One of the farmer's friends yells out, "Look out Bill, them's gangin' up on yer!"

The farmer himself tries to shove Bilfro away from him, "Bugger off you.  Thish ish twix' me an' the floozhy."  The shove is not altogether successful, since Bilfro has a firm grip on the man's tunic, which rips.

Eilieen and Erista use the diversion to move towards the door, and the comparative safety of one of the tavern's private rooms.

More puzzling yet, the old wizard seems now to be trying to tear the farmer's clothes off !

But suddenly the explanation dawns upon the priest.  Quite obviously Bilfro is so moved by the combination of the loss of Fergus and strong drink that he has mistaken the farmer for their poor dead friend.

A few strides brings Aarnr over to the epicentre of the altercation, whence he grabs Bilfro by his collar.  "Thou must forgive the ... him," the priest insists, "the death of Fergus has hit us all hard."  And normally he likes hitting things hard.  "Tomorrow we will ... bury our friend and thence seek out Rappan Athuk, that we might relieve our grief by slaying monsters."

Eilieen stares at Aarnr's outstretched hand for a long moment, studying it and the smile both with some confusion.  It's not a natural smile for Bowbe's priest, not fearsome; quite the opposite, in fact.  Almost a pained grin.  But he's awake, now, no longer in need of assistance, and she cannot waste the moment.  With a grateful glance at Bilfro and a nod of agreement for Arkan, she sweeps toward the door with Erista.

"Your Aunt Gatha...a wise woman.  I have a mind for privacy," Eilieen whispers, "and would share that privacy with you.  Best we get to it, before some horrible interruption."  More horrible, in any case; this one is rapidly reaching farcical dimensions.

Exit stage left, pursued by furies.

Aarnr grabs Bilfro, who still holds the torn strip of cheap tunic, the owner of which is suddenly red-faced with fury, "Oi!  Thazh my beshtesht tunic!  Cost me two shilversh it did.  You'll pay for that!"  And he raises his clenched hands, poised for fisticuffs.

Then he notices Aarnr, holding Bilfro back.  Or, more accurately, he notices the size of Aarnr, even through the red haze of his inebriation and rage.  And he steps back, completely separating the fragment of cloth from his best tunic.

His fists unclench, and he makes a placatory gesture, "Shorry frienzh, an' to the lady ash well, wherever she ish now."

Aarnr, it appears, has managed to stop a fight by acting as a peacemaker, against all the odds.

Colwyn scratches his head, perhaps wondering if his friend might be sick.

It is lucky indeed that the priest does not know that he has somehow prevented a fight that could easily, if t'were done properly, have escalated into the sort of all in brawl that would make a worthy send-off for their dear, departed friend and be great fun besides.  The irony is that playing peacemaker is exactly what Fergus would have done, were he here to do it.  Not that Aarnr knows what irony is either, though if pressed he'd assert it was probably something to do with metalworking.

Indeed, all that the brawny barbarian manages to gather from the farmer's drunken slurs is that he's apologising to Bilfro, and that he thinks that the wizard is a lady.  Must be the dress.  Very effeminate.  Bilfro should wear a proper skirt like him.  He will have to task Erista with he purchase of such a garment.  And a big axe in place of that stick he hauls about.  And maybe a horned helm.

Setting aside such thoughts for the nonce as the Halfling is nowhere to be seen, most likely having slipped beneath a table in her cups, and still and easily holding up the aforementioned overly-affectionate one (though at arms length, in case there's any more kissing attempts, as one large bearded ugly fellow probably looks very much like another), Aarnr looks to those of his companions still present for some clue as to the appropriate etiquette in the circumstances.

Arkan's body tensed when Aarnr moved towards Bilfro and the drunken farmer, expecting a brawl to break out in the commons. To his surprise, and that of the others no doubt, the big man defused the situation rather diplomatically. His action appeared to have surprised Aarnr himself, Arkan noted with some amusement

"It seems the spirit of Fergus watches over and guides us friend Aarnr." Arkan said to the musclebound priest. "A good sign...is it not?"

Or at least Arkan hoped that was considered a good sign. For all he knew about Aarnr's faith, the priest might consider that an omen that the spirit of Fergus was trapped in the mortal world, and needed some blood letting to ease it's passage into the afterlife!

Things seem to be calming down.  The barkeep raises her head above the counter, then stands up the whole way, believing that it's now safe to do so.  The farmers go back to toasting Fergus' memory, and the man who had almost found himself in serious trouble for the simple mistake of assuming that all Zadasthans are the same backs down and apologises to everybody.  Even a few people that hadn't been involved in the altercation.

Somebody yells, "It's my round!  For Fergus!" and the recent trouble is forgotten in a rush to get to the bar and take advantage of share in this generosity.

With a fresh pint of rich, dark ale in one hand, and a tankard of cheap wine in the other, Colwyn his mostly happy.  He joins in the cheering for Fergus, and the raucous singing, and the toasting, though he tries to avoid the back-slapping, just in case the person next to him, all unnoticed, happens to be Aarnr.

He isn't even worried about Bilfro now bearing the blade Valkyria - the wizard had said the sword called to him, whatever that meant, which could have been a sign that Freya wanted him to have it.  And if not, Bilfro would probably be dead by noon tomorrow and somebody that the Gods really meant to have the weapon would be carrying it.

All in all, everything (well, apart from Fergus' death) seems right with the world.

In the privare room, Eilieen and Erista discover that this tavern does not boast proper sleeping accommodations.  They are in a room, half as large as the public tap room, and obviously intended for use if somebody wanted to hold a meeting, an auction, or other private function.  Still, the sawdust is clean, just like in the tap room (at the start of the evening), and the closed door makes it quieter in here.

And there is enough room for about a dozen people to spread out bedrolls and sleep comfortably...

Ever literal, Aarnr scans the rafters above for any sign of Fergus's ghost, but is relieved to see no sign.

Indeed, the priest is blissfully unaware that he has accidentally stopped a fight, matter not that his dead grandmother would probably have approved ... besides which, it's drinking time again !   Making sure to gather a couple of large jugs for Bilfro, and another for himself, the priest settles the wizard in a quiet corner before joining in with the huzzahs.

Eilieen stares around herself for a long moment; her face shifts through a series of expressions, ending with disgust.  "This...this is our room?"  A tentative step brushes sawdust, and she clamps her hand over her nose.  The priestess' eyes slam shut and she sways as if struck.  "Better...better, even, to sleep outside.  In the dirt!" she wails, the outcry muffled by her palm.

Pragmatism wins.  Though she truly means it - possibly a surprise to those who know her - Eilieen has no desire to forsake the inn and begin a lengthily trek to a place where she can find rural dirt.  Thus, the priestess lays down her bedroll.

With one hand still covering her nose, it takes quite a bit of time.

"Well," Erista allows, "This is a room.  I think we just came in.  Did either of us actually talk to the barman?  Maybe Ozzy will.  Well.  Nobody else is using it right now, anyhow."  She shrugs, sliding down to sit just inside the doorway, listening.

"S'awfully quiet out there," she notes, after a few moments.

"So... have you..."  She looks at Eilieen, and then away, and then back.  "You noticed anything.. you know.. bit different, about Aarnr, today?"

Arkan sat down near to Aarnr and Colwyn after grabbing another cup of fresh wine, joining in the general merrymaking and trying his best to recall a ribald joke or two to tell, especially any concerning busty tavern wenches!

"They will put my friend in the ground, thou know,"  Aarnr is moved to inform Arkan lest the man be surprised on the morrow and try to stop them. "In the bare earth, where insects and worms may gnaw upon his corpse, and filthy unclean undead suck the marrow from his bones."

"But that is what Fergus wanted - that is the way of those who follow Freya."

"Fergus were a follower of Freya, an' a farmer." Colwyn says quietly, "I was askin' 'im one time, an' 'e were sayin' as 'ow 'is church teaches as if'n yer gets buried in the ground, then yer spends the rest of time 'elpin' the plants ter grow.  I dunno, maybe yer chases away the worms what's tryin' ter eat at the roots, or somethin'.  Any'ow, it's seemin' like the sort of thing a farmer, like Fergus, would want ter be doin'."

"Oh, an' the Goddess protects yer whether yer's 'live or dead."

He takes a swallow of his ale, before adding, "Asides which, there's worse ways ter be sent off.  I were 'earin' as 'ow there's one church where the priests's eatin' yer body after yer die, ter learn everythin' what yer knows.  An' the Yenomeshites is buryin' yer in the ground, 'ead down an' feet up, so if'n yer's comin' back as some sort of undead, then yer'll start to diggin' in the wrong direction, see?"

"Oh, an' the cult of Hel jus' drops its dead down wells, ter poison the water an' be makin' folk sick.  Nex' ter that, bein' a farmer an' 'elpin' the plants ter grow fer all time isn't soundin' so bad."

"Burnin' the bodies is best," Aarnr assures them both with certainty.  "Allows the spirit to escape and prevents corruption."

"Hangin' bodies from the tops of trees for them to be picked clean by birds is also acceptable, though few trees in the Vast grow tall enough."

"These Yenomeshites are most clever, though," he admits. "I believe that I might bury any priests of Hel in such a fashion.  If naught else, being head down would soon stifle their screams as the hole was filled ..."

"The innkeeper can come up and collect his fee should he desire...or request it after we leave," Eilieen huffs, with only the smallest trace of guilt.  The thought occurs to her that if they haven't paid, they could always leave...find a better inn...and our friends would not know.  More guilt, and she sets that idea well-out of reach.

"No violence," she agrees.  "And that might be what you meant, hmm?"  She eyes Erista sidelong, a small smile playing about her mouth.  "Aarnr seems, well, less Aarnr today.  More considerate.  A tad less hurried to leap to violence."  She weighs Today Aarnr against the past, comes up with a startling observation.  "More polite!"  The priestess purses her lips.

"Was that your meaning?"

Erista nods.  "He's even stopped himself swearing a few times," she points out.  "What do you suppose could do that?"

The evening progresses and, as the result of a dispute regarding whose turn it is to to give the giant some more ale, a punch is thrown suddenly and not all-together unexpectedly...

The barkeep's response is different this time, possibly because she knows both parties.  She quickly hurries out from behind the counter, armed with a sturdy cudgel, and raps them sharply on their heads before shoving them both towards the door.  The incident draws cheers and whistles from the customers who have not been assaulted and ejected.

Raising a fist in triumph, she makes her way back to her post and continues serving other customers...

In the back parlour, Eilieen and Erista find their conversation briefly interrupted by the sudden increase in the noise level from the main room.

Arkan raised an eyebrow as Aarnr explained the burial procedure. "Come my friend, it will not be so bad. There are no undead in hallowed grounds at the least. As for the worms and grubs well, in Old Raumathar we believe the earth provides for us as a mother, food, water and shelter. It is only right we should return the favor, at least in part when we die."

Raising his cup to the big man Arkan sipped with a smile, listening to Colwyn speak about other burial traditions. His eyes widened and he nearly choked on his drink as he did so. Eat the corpse?!? Poison wells!?

"Well, I respect other traditions, but I do have my limits. If I should fall in battle, I can but hope you shall not inter my body with such ghoulish priest," he said, brows creased with lines of concern.

Arkan privately admitted to himself though, burying corpses upside down in undead infested area's did not sound like a bad idea at all...
This message was last edited by the player at 19:21, Wed 30 Sept 2015.

The morbid discussion is mightily entertaining for the priest of Bowbe.  "How would ye prefer thy much-rended corpse be disposed of ?" he asks Arkan politely, and with interest, congratulating himself on such foresight.

Though it seems such prescience has failed him in terms of tavern etiquette.  Aarnr notes with much approval the thumping that the bartender bestows, and while he fails utterly to see that the same rules of order might apply to himself), he realises with some misgivings that he lacks a sturdy lump of wood of his own with which he could administer such clubbings if necessary.

Eilieen ponders this, nodding slowly.  It does seem Aarnr has done just that.  "Perhaps...sorrow over Fergus?  I would question him, but Aarnr's mind, I suspect, does not speak to itself.  He may not even know the reason himself," she muses.

"I shall observe him more closely in the future.  For now, I think sleep might be best."

"Started before that," Erista notes.  "This morning.  S'okay.  I'm sure it's fine.  Goodnight."