The priest nods at Velina's words, lip quirking at the suggestion he might desecrate either the resting place or memory of the fallen warrior, but holding his tongue, as Fergus would have wished.

Joining Eilieen at the side of the grave, Aarnr draws his sword and kneels, working silently as the priestess says her farewells to push back a few inches of dirt into which he places his precious blade.

"It served me faithfully in life," he speaks to his friend, "may it now ward thee in death and keep thee safe from whatever perils may assail thy mortal remains while thy valiant spirits roams free."

Brushing the soil back and patting it down, the priest stands, fingers resting on the owlbear feather and Wyvaat fang in his pouch, eyes narrowing as he looks to the heavens and, thankfully, silently threatens Bowbe to take froggin' good care of Fergus should his spirit e'er need aid.

With a low growl, Aarnr turns away from the grave.

Seeing that others are honouring Fergus, each in their own way, Colwyn moves forward to kneel by the grave.  He draws one of his several knives (but not the silvered one) and buries it, together with a few coppers for Fergus to spend on ale, under a few inches of soil.

"We's goin' ter be missin' yer mate." he mutters, and then adds quickly, "But not so much as we's wantin' yer ter be comin' back ter visit."

Then he pushes himself to his feet, stands a moment in silent thought, and finally turns his back and steps away.

Arkan nods approvingly as he sees the other's pay homage to their fallen companion in various ways. He considers adding an item or weapon of his own, but reconsiders. He had not known the fallen Fergus for long, only a day or so at most, though during that short time the strapping young man had proved himself a worthy warrior.

It would be more fitting to honor him in other ways, such as being a worthy addition to his former party and aiding them well in their endeavors.

One by one, Fergus companions pay their respects, while dark clouds gather above them.  Colwyn looks up at the sky, and grumbles about bad omens and, more simply, about getting wet.

"P'r'aps as 'ow we should be 'eadin' back ter the pub, afore the rain's startin'.  Be gettin' a bit of grub, an summat ter drink while we waits the weather out." he says, almost hopefully.  "We can be talkin' 'bout ol' Fergus just as well in the warm and the dry as in the rain.  Wha'd'yer say?"

Eilieen stares up into the dark skies above.  Rain would obscure tears, but such things are honest, and not worth shame.  Not for her, at least; for Aarnr, perhaps Arkan and Colwyn, maybe they could be.  But leave such decisions to their owners.  For herself?

"Wise words, Colwyn.  I believe Fergus would also approve; he appreciated a good meal and a warm room, himself."

Moving to stand beside Erista, the priestess places her hand upon her friend's shoulder.  "Will you come with us, Erista?  Or do you wish more time, here?"

Erista reaches up to rest her hand on top of Eileen's. "No, Colwyn's right. And Fergus'd be awfully upset at the thought of us standing out in the cold." Looking up at the priestess, she smiles. "That was really beautiful."

The priest had been seriously considering striking out for Rappan Athuk, but the prospect of food and drink is tempting enough.  With Erista looking out for Eilieen, Aarnr takes it upon himself to ensure that Bilfro is not left behind.  Indeed, the wizard seems to have fallen into a reverie, undoubtedly because he's run out of words, having used them all up - that one speech alone would have sorely strained Aarnr's entire vocabulary.

Arms inside the folds of his cloak Arkan followed the others. Some food did sound nice about now, he only had drinks the night before and no breakfast this morning.

He gazed at the sky above at Colwyn's words, and his brow furrows at the clouds. It had last been stormy when they fought the giant, and Arkan was not one to dismiss an ill omen too quickly.

"Yes, getting into shelter is a good idea. As as some food and a warm fire," he says to the others quietly.

The group make their way back into the city, where the streets are becoming more crowded.  Somewhere a bell is tolling, the sound carrying over the rooftops, beneath a sky where leaden clouds hang almost motionless.

They reach the tavern just as the first heavy drops of rain start to fall, causing street traders to cover their wares and huddle in whatever shelter they can find.  Within minutes the windows of The Farmer's Son, which is empty at this time of day (save for itinerant adventurers) are being rattled by a downpour  which almost seems to present a danger of shattering the thick, leaded panes.

The barkeep, a man in his forties, not the woman who had been working the previous evening glances at the windows and laughs, "That ought to bring a few folk in, just for the shelter.  And once they're in, they're likely to reckon that it'd be a shame not to buy some ale."

He looks down at the floor behind the bar, and asks, "Is this yours?" and he lifts the giant's head up onto the counter.

"Only you should be careful not to lose it."

"Yeah," Erista agrees, with a small sigh.  "Be a shame to lose that.  It's got a lot of smell left in it."

"Be a bigger shame not to buy some ale, though," she acknowledges.

"We should nail the creature's ears to the city gates as a warning," Aarnr muses, "then boil the head until the flesh falls away so we can display the skull."

"Or not," he adds, just in case this is not the sort of thing that polite people do.

"We cannot leave it here," he reconsiders.  "These ... folk would feel obligated to rename this tavern to The Giant's Head, and for the sake of Fergus that I will not allow.  The Farmer's Son it shall remain."

The foul weather seems appropriate, as does the stentorian bell.  "Ye think that is for Fergus ?  Or perhaps Sir Galdean ?  How do they treat the remains of an honoured Justicar ?  Those ... knights spoke of interring him in a hall," the priest sounds uncertain of his recollection.  Burying people inside buildings so that they are forevermore trod upon by the feet of the living above does not seem at all likely.

Gazing at the giant's head, Colwyn suppresses a shudder.  The monster had been horrible.  Quite the most frightening and brutal thing he had ever seen.  Which was saying something, considering that the rogue had Aarnr for comparison.

Acknowledging Erisata's comment, Colwyn nods, "Aye, I's reckonin' as 'ow we's all deservin' a drop of ale, an' maybe's a spot of somethin' fer brekkie."

"'ow's 'bout it mate?  What's yer 'avin' ter offer ter folks as 'as just been ter see their mate gettin' buried?" he asks the barkeep, who replies, "Fresh bread, and leftovers from last evening that I can warm up for you.  Maybe some kippers, I'll need to check the pantry."

Aarnr's question about the bell, and the burial practices of the Justicars, brings a reply from the barkeep as he starts serving drinks.

"Can't say for sure, there's a few places in the city that have bells like that.  Could be any one of them.  As for the Justicars... the way I heard it, they lay the bodies of their fallen on shelves cut into the walls in the crypts under their temple hall, then seal them in.  Nobody walks on them.  The crypts must be big - I heard that the Muirites have lost a lot of knights in battle down the centuries."

Arkan gazes at the giants ugly head and says, "That's not a bad idea Aarnr. Such a grisly trophy would ward away lesser creatures that might seek to attack the town, and thus help keep it safe." He shurgs and adds to the innkeeper, "Or you could hollow it out and keep it as a drinking mug. Would be a good attraction to your inn."

Taking a seat at an empty table Arkan gestures to his companions to join him. "Fresh bread sounds quite nice right now, even if it's with last nights leftovers. I hope they have some meat remaining." He says, his stomach rumbling slightly.

Eilieen returns to the inn in silence, walking beside Erista through the dull grey of the morning.  The rain, when it comes, is entirely appropriate and expected.  For a long moment she pauses at the door, staring up into the weeping sky, then follows the group inside.

The giant's bloody face garners a grimace from her, and she eschews commentary; the less said about that creature the better.

"I am with you, Erista," she begins, seating herself.  "Though I would rather partake of wine with my fresh bread.  Any vegetables will also be welcome," she assures the innkeeper.  Her features sour slightly as she considers Colwyn's rather on-point judgement of the Justicars, and how Fergus gave up his life.  No, Eilieen firmly reminds herself.  Not for them, but for the people whose lives the giant threatened.

Drinks are served, and food too (which is just as the barkeep described it, though there are, indeed, kippers available for those who want them).  The group settle down for their breakfast.

A short while after they start their repast, though, they are interrupted by a young woman clad in bright mail and a sword-emblazoned surcoat which closely resembles that worn by the recently deceased Sir Galdean.  Like that worthy, she has a sword sheathed at her hip, and she carries a helm under one arm.  Her long blonde hair is tightly bound into a braid.


She sees the the giant's head, still on the counter, and the group of adventurers, and approaches them, politely clearing her throat.

"Please excuse the intrusion," she says, in refined tones, "but do I have the honour of addressing the group who recently assisted one of the Justicars of Muir in finding an honourable death?"

Arkan looked up from his meal at the sound of the woman's voice. He looked the young woman up and down, eyes lingering on her surcoat and sheathed sword.

"Indeed you do my lady, you have that honor. It was us who escorted the late Sir Galdean to his most honorable end." He said with a careful smile, wondering what she wanted from them, and if she was a relative of the late Sir Galdean, aside from being an apparent member of the Justicar Order herself.

Aarnr did indeed want kippers.  With the fresh bread slathered in butter ... well, fish butties were on a short list of aspects of decadent civilisation of which he heartily approved.

The arrival of the knight and her pointed questions on top of such a magnificent meal go a long way to cheering the priest up, though he leaves it to Arkan to discover if she too has a wish to end her life in mortal combat with some huge and bestial creature.  One can always hope ...
This message was last edited by the player at 06:31, Sat 14 Nov 2015.

The knight bows her head, and smiles.  "Thank Muir I have found you!" she declares, "I am Kallana, a Junior Knight, and I have been sent to find you.  Messengers have been sent across the whole city, seeking your immediate aid in ending a sinister plot which threatens the very city.  Will you come with me to the Hall to speak with the High Justicar?"

Arkan raised an eyebrow pointedly at the woman's comment, and chewed a morsel of meat thoughtfully as he considered what she had said.

"A sinister plot you say? Pray tell us what plot this might be Lady Kallana, if you are able, and why would the Order require the help of outsiders? Surely the Order has a capable military arm, as Sir Galdean's prowess implied." Arkan inquired of the woman.

---

ooc: Sense Motive: 03 :P

While Arkan has his suspicions, Aarnr too is concerned.  How in Bowbe's froggin' name did these pround Justicars discover his as yet unvoiced intention to return to Bard's Gate at the head of a barbarian horde and raze the city to the ground (sparing only selected eating and drinking establishments) ?!!  Or ... perhaps this knight speaks of another sinister plot !  The thought that someone might beat him to it ...

"Because of that," he explains shortly to Arkan, pointing at the now ripe Giant's head.  "Of course we will come," the priest reassures the shiny young woman, nodding vigorously to encourage the others.  "We shall bring the Giant's remains with us."

"The order" replies Kallana, "does, indeed, have many capable warriors.  Unfortunately many of them are currently working to drive orcish raiders out of the southern part of the Stonehearts, where they too present a threat to the city.  Of the knights who remain, scarce one in ten has experience dealing with... "

She looks around, and when she continues speaking, it is in hushed tones, despite the tavern being almost deserted, "... with undead.  In addition, we have a lack of mages, or other users of magic, who might be required to blast these vile creatures back to their graves.  You are bold adventurers, who are doubtless adept at fighting such blasphemies, and you, in all likelihood, boast a number of spell users among your number."

She raises her voice to a more conversational level again, "The High Justicar will explain more, including what recompense you can expect to receive for your services."

"Ah, I see. That does sound like a matter of rather urgency and importance." Arkan replies to Kallana. "As my companion here said, we would be glad to talk to the High Justicar further regarding this matter." Arkan gestures towards Aarnr and the rest of the party.

Privately he is concerned; undead in numbers large enough to threaten the very city? What devilry could be at work here? He reaches into a pouch and deposits a few coppers on the table for the innkeeper, as payment for his food, prepared to leave when the others are ready.

Undead.  The priest doesn't hear much after that, his eyes narrowing, somehow making him seem more menacing and on the cusp of sudden violence than usual. "Yes," he replies shortly once he realises that Kallena has stopped talking.

Unsure as to the etiquette, Aarnr pulls a handful of gold coins from his pouch (he much prefers the colour of the copper ones, so is keeping hold of those) and drops them on the counter.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:43, Tue 17 Nov 2015.

Eilieen is inclined to dismiss the knight at first - their recent experiences with her order and Colwyn's slant on them have put a sour taste in her mouth she'd rather wash away with distance.  But, as with Aarnr, a single point captures her attention.  Unusually, it is the same point.

Undead.

"Indeed," the priestess murmurs, slowly rising to her feet.  Silently, she collects her spear and gear and prepares to follow.

"Oh!  Yes," Erista says, brightly, as the full(er) story is delivered.  "We're just the people.  We actually just defeated something that was very nearly a lich last week, I'm sure we can handle whatever's troubling you here."