"Randal.  Good to have your name.  Surd's a new one," Violet mutters, nodding away the serving man without ordering.  It's a good thing to hear that Randal isn't getting hungrier; she has noted something of the same, herself, and is running low on her rations.  "I mean...the world is a big place, and maybe it's just some place I've never heard of.  Like on Eurakia.  But I'm guessing no."

Nobody here has heard of Gabriel, either.

She peers at Zertin for a long moment.  "I've been wandering around this misty land for a bit.  Seems there's deviltry at work; the rulers here, of their various kingdoms, aren't particularly kind or generous.  I've no idea which one we're in now - I've not visited this way, myself, so I can't help much with that."  She stares morosely down into her wine.  "Was in a city.  Stepped through an alleymouth one night and found myself in a different one.  Couldn't find the way back, either, and not for lack of searching."

She waves a hand toward Qvar.  "Where I come from, they'd lionize your brother as a saint, just for looking that way."  A shadow crosses her face, and she squeezes her cup.  That, or burn him at the stake.

Flip a copper bit, see which comes up.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:06, Wed 14 Mar 2018.

It's  certainly an eclectic group, Caesius muses, as others introduce themselves.  A follower of Heironeous, a Pelorite, some kind of strange, savage woman with an unpronounceable name and a deadly challenge waiting for any who can't speak it...  Zertin, Violet, Saeko... not so clearly defined at this stage, but just as lost as the rest.

Even the servants.

Zertin may have the right of it, without even realising it.

"Perhaps why we are here is more important than how we are here.  Somebody, or something, brought us here.  The how has no bearing on anything, we know it was done somehow.  But the why might be crucial when it comes time to find a way home."

Zertin's concern for his welfare is nothing new, in fact Qvar has relied on it numerous times over the last thirty years.  Making ends meet is often difficult when one has taken a vow of poverty, and Zertin has been far more understanding and generous than most in their family.  Yet there have been recent difficulties that even his brother was unaware of.  "I have not needed to eat for several years, brother.  My sacred vow sustains me, body and soul.  But... I died Zed, when my church burned down.  Then, by the Light of Pelor, I was raised up and set upon a new path."  He smiles to reassure his brother that he is completely at ease with this.  "That's why I called you, because you have travelled far, from Dyvers all the way to the great city of Greyhawk, and know more of the world than one can possibly learn in one village."

He laughs aloud when Zertin hazards a guess at Arafarafarfa's name, glad that he did not try to speak it aloud.  Surely not even the gods could save one from the wrath of that tiny tigress!  He looks hopefully towards Arafarafarfa when Zertin asks if there is a short form.

"You are generous, Violet," he beams across the table at her, his glow momentarily brightening further to touch her hands and the cup they grip so tightly, "but I've done nothing to qualify for sainthood... only served one village, and failing even to defend its church."  He listens to the conversation, intrigued to learn that suffering and hunger have been assuaged from a land ruled by uncaring kings.  "Have you been here before, Violet?"

"Giant make joke short?!"

Hoping down from the counter Arafarafarfa begins to march over towards the table where Zertin is seated, her big - for her size - eyes glaring daggers at him.

"No laugh."  She stabs at her chest with a thumb.  Indeed she is not laughing.

The ears of the cat swivels towards the one who rode in on it and ripple goes through its fur, but it remains rooted to the spot, staring into the flames.  A very faint but deep knapping sound emits from it.

Zertin stares at Arafarafarfa for a moment before responding.

"That wasn't a giant joke. I do know a giant joke, though. [Language unknown: Ati foil whwit prteto poeseick heof eton ss resis, k proectson fi t ioumaneau thethuart loto ivall loperi iler? At manshekor hoadut m mewhe not os nifo butantvir k mech iv urwhi witmanbut, "Kordinart ill ol me bleersain ache ichonspro ofpefo ast?"]"

Fortunately Zertin is able to keep a straight face after delivering that one and he returns to the original topic.

"Where I come from it is very common for people to shorten the names of other people to make it easier to say or less formal and more friendly. My brother Qvar calls me Zed and I call him Q. Perhaps one day you will be ready to let us ..."

Whatever he was trying to say trails off into stunned silence as his brother's words finally sink in. He snaps his attention to Qvar, completely forgetting what he was saying to Arafarafarfa.

"You died, Q? I didn't know. But you were brought back, thank the gods. Thank your god! But how? How could you afford that with that vow of poverty you took? Is that somehow the reason you look so different now? Your hair? That's not just bleached, is it? A new path? Was that the price? Oh brother, what path do you follow now?"

The knight of Heironeus eyes Zertin curiously.  Caesius hadn't recognised the language the other man just spoke, and is unsure if he was mocking the small woman.  It could be a dangerous thing to do - the paladin has met a few halflingsin his travels, and they are often far stronger than they look.

Then Zertin changes the subject, asking for clarification concerning Qvar's remark, and Caesius relaxes a little, though still keeping one eye on Arafarafarfa, just in case.

She does seem a little volatile.

Eyes narrow into slits too small to make out the eyes through as the tattooed female stomps onward.  A noise can be heard from her, a throaty, guttural sound, not unlike a growl.  Indeed, very much like a growl.  Perhaps the joke went right over her head.

"Je, huaraiya oichwa juu ya araunda mara'aoa sasa ladha ya ueonyo." 

By the fire the cat remains unmoving, ears still tracking.

"Ioiwa unaweza ouiaraatha.  Ouara'unyuza wewe ithaouwa." 

The head of the cat turns to look at Zertin, unreadable.  It is a cat, after all.

"This path Zed." he opens his arms wide to indicate 'everything'.  "And as for dyeing... Looks like you're about to find out."  He grins broadly and sits back to watch the show.  There are some things that money just can't buy.

Caesius leans forward where he sits, and says, "Friend Arafarafarfa.  This man is not worth your attention.  His head is damaged."  He taps a finger against the side of his own head, and then moves it in a small circle... the universal sign for madness.  "Broken.  He makes jokes about strangers, without knowing how strong they are.  But he means nothing by it.  He is a harmless fool.  An unworthy foe."

OOC: Fixed typo.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:52, Mon 19 Mar 2018.

Violet leans back in her seat at the shining man's explanation.  He...died?  And has returned?  Perhaps the Church would not be amiss naming him a Saint...or, again, burning him at the stake, depending upon the means of his resurrection.  Just the idea pushes her stomach into as slow roll.

Perhaps, as the armored man states, they have all been called here for a reason, though it beggars comprehension as to why she herself would be included.

It's a struggle not to pull her hands away when his light brightens, but the glow offers no sensation against her fingers, neither brimming with the light of creation, nor hot with the flames of hell.  "I've been to this inn," she admits, "but not further on.  I've been..."

...waiting?

The young woman doesn't get the chance to decide the ending to her sentence; something appears to be brewing between the cat-rider and Zertin (who, surprisingly, seems to know the diminutive savage's language).  The armored man - Cassius?  No, Caesius - steps in, looking to cool the sudden threat of violence, and Violet finds herself nodding.  Granted, her agreement is not with his judgement of Zertin, but with the purpose behind it.  "Can we not fight?" she implores.  "I'd rather not be thrown out of the only warm place around.  And maybe we're supposed to be here, together."

Just in case, she slides her feet back, putting her balance on them rather than the chair; not for attack, but to remove herself from whatever fracas might explode.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:33, Tue 20 Mar 2018.

"This path. Really?" he sighs. "Well then, thank you for inviting me along, brother. I don't suppose you have a map for this path we are on, or know where we can find a guide?"

He shakes his head and looks around to see whether anyone else shares his exasperation. But instead of support he finds himself confronting incomprehensible anger from the little tattooed woman and the knight, if that is what he is, seems to be questioning his sanity. Zertin looks baffled by their reaction until he suddenly realises what the problem must be.

"Oh, you don't speak the language of the giants? None of you? I'm sorry, I suppose I have spent too long in the Guild of Wizardry in Greyhawk. There is always someone there who knows any of the languages I speak. Forgive me, I will translate it for you.

"What did the giant innkeeper say when an elf, a dwarf and a gnome walked into his giant inn? He looked around at the rest of the giants in the inn and asked, "Which one of you ordered the three course meal?"

"It's rather a good joke, don't you think? Not very realistic, of course, as there are not many giants with that good a sense of humour, but I don't really think that giants were the intended audience for that joke. Probably not elves, dwarves or gnomes either, come to think of it.

"But I'm sorry, Arafarafarfa. I don't recognise that language you spoke. I do have a scroll with me with a spell that allows me to comprehend languages. Do you wish me to use it or shall we both agree to speak in the common tongue this evening?"

He pauses then and looks at Arafarafarfa again.

"You're not a gnome, are you?" he asks cautiously, suddenly worried he might have misjudged her race and accidentally insulted her.

Saeko, still over by the bar, has set her pack on a chair and begun pulling a few items out.  "My thanks, Randal of Surd.  I fear I cannot say I have, but I hope one day you find your way home."

Though seeming to pay little attention to the brewing exchange behind her, she does pause briefly to look back curiously and ask, "What is a gnome?"  She uses the same precise pronunciation she has before.

While she waits for either an answer or a battle to begin, she takes out a scrollcase and quietly opens the end, draws out a piece of parchment, and lays it on the bar.  She rests a fine quill - peacock feather, by the look of it - across it, and then sets a jar of ink beside them both.  "It is Rogar, yes?  I am Saeko.  Please, if you know, and if you would, what is this domain?  Where are we?"

Qvar laughs aloud when Zertin translates the joke.  He had missed his brother's company.

When Zertin hears Saeko's question about gnomes he responds immediately.

"Oh, gnomes are little people, a bit like a cross between dwarves and elves but only half the size of either of those races. Very creative folk, gnomes are, often very skilled with mechanisms, great inventors, very fond of a practical joke, with a natural aptitude for the illusion school of magic and good with animals, burrowing animals usually."

He glances nervously at Arafarafarfa a few times as he lists the points that most resemble her.

At the explanation from the seated man Arafarafarfa slows her approach, watching the gestures.  She appears to mellow enough to not attack at the moment, although the cat by the fireplace still watches the events keenly.

The rest of them receives a snort, except for the talkative fool, according to his table-fellow.

Then he speaks the joke and she begins to growl again, fixing him with a cold glare.

"Fool giant too much speak.  If speak not stop Oooh'Aww maybe eat soon.  Good joke, or maybe not."

She smiles, if a bit too wide and a bit too grim.

A long tongue comes out and sweeps over the nose and jaw, eyes still on Zertin.  Could be a sheer coincident.  Or not.

Zertin glances at Oooh'Awww when Arafarafarfa mentions the big cat. He stares for a moment and shakes his slightly in bewilderment before he finally tears his eyes away.

"Er, yes, perhaps we should all eat soon!" he agrees fervently.

There is another ripple of movement beneath his cloak and he pulls his cloak open to allow a weasel to emerge.

"Louise, this is Arafarafarfa and her companion is called Oooh'Awww; at least I think that is how it is pronounced," he tells the weasel. He bends down to listen to its squeaking.

"Yes, Oooh'Awww certainly is big!" he agrees.

With one last glance at the big cat, Louise the weasel darts back under the cover of Zertin's cloak.

Qvar grins when he sees the weasel, momentarily forgetting the life-threatening gravity of Zertin's situation.  "Hello LouLou.  You remind me of a funny story.  What do you call a goblin with a ferret down his trousers?"

Relief settles in as the situation defuses, and Violet sinks back in her chair.  The heat slowly steals into her clothing, exiling the dampness.  She doesn't want a fight, not here, not anywhere if she can avoid it.

Fighting has never been her preference.

For a long moment she studies Zertin as he speaks to his...weasel?  Marten?  Ferret?  She's never been good with distinguishing such things, animals not being her forte.  The real question, though, hums through her mind: is the man insane?

Or does the beast actually commune with him?

Burned at the stake for sure, she considers.  Or sent to an asylum; either way, it's death.  Fortunately, this place is different from her home, a fact she learned upon her 'arrival'.  These places, these...domains...certainly this world is not the same as hers.  It's a world where magic is...well, if not the norm, then something not altogether abhorrent.  She can live with that, not having been a terribly good Christian herself.

Warm enough now.  True, but Violet remain loathe to completely abandon the fire.  She makes a compromise, picking up her chair to shuffle a little further from the big cat.  Qvar is giving out his own humour; Violet waits for him to finish before speaking up.  "If we're all from...somewhere else, what are your plans?"  She shrugs.  "I, myself, would rather find a way home.  I've tried backtracking, without success.  So I'm thinking that some exploration is necessary."

Zertin furrows his brow in thought as he ponders his brother's riddle.

"Nicolas?" he guesses, although the way he says it sounds rather like "Nickerless".

Violet's question deserves at least as much serious thought as that riddle.

"If there is truly a way back, then there must be someone here who knows what it is. A priest or a mage, perhaps. Or a bard? Or perhaps they can tell us why we are here," he suggests.

Still glaring at Zertin, Arafarafarfa exhales sharply through her nose.  After a while she looks over at Caesius and taps her fist again her temple before inclining her head towards Zertin.

"Head-broken true.  Sliding-land head."

Turning to listen to the others speaking she scoffs, gesturing to Violet.

"Not-home.  Sand-wind force shelter.  Go still and wet, home not, big dumb trees and giants around.  Some dumb more."  The tail-end of her broken speech earns Zertin another glare.

Qvar laughs at Zertin's guess.  "Ha!  But no, he's a hobgoblin."  He leans closer to Zertin and makes some little sucky kiss-kiss sounds, trying to coax the weasel back out.  "Louise would have guessed it."

He ponders Violet's question, and Zertin's speculation.  "As Caesius Moliondes suggested, perhaps we must remain here now until we do what we were brought here to do.  For my plan, I shall try to do what Pelor needs me to do."  His face brightens.  "Usually the hard part is trying to figure out what that is.  But Zertin's plan is simple, he came because I asked him."

He looks towards Arafarafarfa and smiles welcomingly at her.  "Now that you've decided not to end my brother's life, will you join us?"

Caesius releases a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.  The crisis seems to have been averted, at least for the moment - Arafarafarfa looks like she is prepared to give Zertin the benefit of the doubt.

Which could be a good thing.  Zertin might be the best hope for finding a way home, but only as long as nobody is roasting his heart over an open fire, or slitting his throat as their own idea of a joke.

"Arafarafarfa, Violet... both of you seem to have been here for a little while.  Do you know anything of this area?  For instance, where do you go when you are not here, in this inn?"

Zertin puzzles over Arafarafarfa's comments.

"Head broken? Sliding-land head? Oh, I get it. Unstable!" He laughs. "Fair enough. Some dumb more."

He raises his mug of wine to her as a toast.

He chuckles a bit more about that as Qvar explains his goblin joke.

"Brother, I hope we meet a hobgoblin soon, so you can tell him that one!" he laughs again.