Pipre sits up groggily at actually being addressed, her body seeming to react before her brain does. She looks around, dark eyes in bruised, black eye sockets, lashes barely opening as she groggily appraises the situation. "I wasn't sleeping," she says in clear protest of the reality, her voice as smoky and gravelly as it can be while retaining a clear feminine timbre. She wipes her face and winces slightly as she touches the sensitive bruising around her eyes, "I was meant to be going to an Inn, where'd you say it was?" She reaches back and to the side, grabbing the yak's neck and using it to haul herself up to a shaky stand, still squinting in the light of day. "Don't suppose you're going that way yourself?" Pipre asks, finally focusing on the person who roused her just long enough for her shoulders to heave slightly, signalling some of the mess she drank last night is making its way back up. She manages to swallow it back down, however, in a way oddly reminiscent of how her yak regurgitates and then reswallows cud.

In reply to Barkeep (msg # 14):

"Light ale, I'll return to the bar."

Having stowed her weapons, and placed her pack and accompanying gear on her bunk, Vik took to removing her armour, first the banded metal skirt that hung past her knees, and then the coat. Leaving the skirt alongside her gear, she slung the metal reinforced jacket over a shoulder, leaving her wool traveling cloak over the whole pile and shifting her bronze dagger to her hip before walking back to the common room to drink. She slung her armoured coat over the table and sat.

When Moto introduced himself, Vik nodded

"Vik, that's what they call me. Skill with spells I've little, but I handle short blade, axe and pike well enough."

When she sat up, he took a step back and stood, shifting the bow in his hand and bouncing the string off of his forearm in a nervous movement. He got a whiff of the air around her, his nose wrinkling briefly. Now that she seemed conscious, the young man actually took stock of her physical appearance. "No, I don't guess you were." His eyes lingered on the bruising appearing around her eyes and on her legs. He outright stared at the wrappings on her feet. "Passing out isn't very restful. The Happy Drover's just down the road a ways." Rook pointed with his bow in the general direction.

"I am, I've got to meet up with others for work. If you can make it without spraying me, I'll buy you something to settle your stomach. Then a hot bath, if it's available. Maybe some boots later on. I got paid, you know. For the work. What's the name of your animal? I expect you'll have to ride it."

Borric picked up a mug of ale before he found a table. He addressed those around, "Name's Borric d'Cordain." He took a draw from the mug, "Please, tell me your names."

In reply to Borric d'Cordain (msg # 25):

Vik raises her flagon to Borric

"My name is Vik, well met."

A tall, thin man enters the Happy Drover, pulling back his hood to reveal a horse-like face framed by long lanky red hair and a fulsome moustache.  He turns and looks back through the doorway, looking up and down the street for a few moments before loosening his cloak to reveal clothes that were once fine, but are now worn and disheveled. Despite the furtiveness of his actions, the man has a certain bearing, what might be described as a faded nobility.

"Oh. Hello."  the man nods to the barkeep as he unshoulders his leather pack, his drawl somewhat at odds with his manner. He dips his hand into his pocket, pulling out a small pile of coins, and pokes through them sadly before asking, "An ale please ... better make it pale."  He nods again, as if proud of himself for making the wise choice.

Waiting patiently for his drink, another thought strikes him. "Oh. I'm supposed to meet Sir Henry here ... Henry de le Maistre ?" he looks at the barkeep as if hoping the man might at least recognise the name.  "Something about rooms ?"

“Borric d'Cordain and Vik, pleased to met you.” He then shakes the hands of both of them. As he shook Borric's hand, he repeated his name as asked. “Moto.” Letting out another breath of dark smoke from his pipe, Moto found the cast of characters to be interesting.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:08, Wed 09 Mar 2016.

"Spraying you? I'm not a cat. And what do you do there, entertain guests by shooting apples off their heads? Dangerous work, that." She took one of several waterskins off of the pack saddle and uses a bit of water to wash her face, once again wincing when she got to sensitive areas. She had a bit of a wild look, even without all the bruising scruffiness of her current predicament; half of her left eyebrow and the hair on the left side of her head seemed to have been singed as part of the eyebrow was missing and the hair on that side of her head was much shorter than the rest, barely having grown back.

As she puts the waterskin back she seems pleased with the yak, patting its neck, "Hear that, Thistle? The drover is just up the way, you almost brought me here. What a smart yak." As if remembering Rook was nearby she turned back to him, "She doesn't like being ridden, that's part of what caused this mess in the first place. I'll manage, I've had worse hangovers; I've woken up in stranger loci."

As people arrive, the barkeep scurries around pouring ale, showing people to the bunk room and generally being helpful.

However, before to long he starts to fetch out dinner and put it on a side table in the common room.  There is a good sized basket with bread in it, another with apples and a large dish of cooked vegetables -  there is  cabbage, onion and turnip  in there, as well as a few less recognisable pieces.  Then a platter of 24 warm, but unpeeled,  hard boiled eggs. Sppo ns a nd bowls follows.

"GRUB UP," he calls, "Dinner for Mr de le Maistre's party."

There are a number of smaller tables close to the food that will allow conversation between the whole group.

Staying more or less to herself as the others all chatted, Bai rose to get a plate of food, and quietly sat back down watching how the others interacted. She looked forward to being able to follow this ever growing cast of colorful characters, smiling as she at her food.

Adoven grabbed a plate of food and sat near Vic and Borric. "The names Adoven. The food looks delicious!" He looks towards Vic, "Nice to meet you Vic. I saw you walk in. That is a lot of gear for a small person! You must be quite the brute underneath that young face!"

In reply to Adoven (msg # 32):

"The circles I sail in, they insist you carry your own gear. It is little more than what is necessary . . . and a few comforts. I must admit I'd have everything made of mithral and sooner save my back than my pride or purse."

Vik filled a plate with as much food as she could carry and returned to the table.

"Well met, Adoven, Vik and Moto." Borric smiled. He tugged at his gauntlets before he tucked them in his belt. "These are but tools. Some jobs require different tools. I try to be prepared. Please sit and share the table with me."

The knight of Iomedae looked at those around the table. "Most of those that entered the Inn after I stated that they were here because of Henry de la Maistre. Are you here for that reason as well? Because of the charter?

In reply to Borric d'Cordain (msg # 34):

"That would be the reason. Money was a good deal of the reason too. Five times what I'd make if I took on piece meal work. And that's assuming the work takes the better part of a month, I can find more work after this as well."

Vik attacked her food like someone who'd not eaten much of anything all day.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:29, Mon 07 Mar 2016.

Adoven lingers on Vik's face a moment longer. "You...look familiar. You're not from up by Winter Break area are you?"

Adoven could not pinpoint why...but Vik seemed familiar in some way to him.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:20, Mon 07 Mar 2016.

"Dinnnneeeer...."

Rikka stumbled to the table with the other members of the party, and sat down at her part of the bench with a slump.  "I had to go without breakfast today, and I wasn't going to waste any of my trail mix when I don't need to!"

She helps herself to a good portion, and begins to get started.

"Oh!  My name's Rikka!"  She waved to the other members of the company.  "I signed up for the trip because it looked like it was worth a lot, and apparently I made the grade!  Nice to meet you all!"

"Welcome Rikka." Borric went on to introduce the others at the table. There were others at the Inn, but he hadn't had a chance to meet them yet. He set down his mug before he got up to take a plate for himself. He returned to the table, "So have any of you done this type of work before? I must admit... this type of work is larger than anything I've done in the past."

In reply to Adoven (msg # 36):

"Winterbreak was where I grew up. I haven't been back more than . . . three times since I started my training on ships, but father seems to keep the family larders and coffers meticulously stocked."

Vik tried not to let on that Adoven had the uncomfortable air of familiarity about him. In her line of work, that tended to mean someone who'd sooner see you dead, but talk of Winterbreak made her second guess that assumption.

When dinner was called, Moto got up, picked up his hat to keep it close and slowly moved out to the common room. Seeing the feast that was before him a small smile crossed his face, but just for a moment. Grabbing a plate of food with some eggs, he sat down with Borric  and the others. “The charter is Henry de la Maistre chance for great fame and fortune...or ruin...and the same for all who go with him. I go not just for adventure, but to prove I am worthy of the noble blood that flows in my veins. To see if I can survive the wild lands."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:38, Tue 08 Mar 2016.

Another one of their members hinted that they had noble blood in their veins. There was Moto, Vik maybe Adoven was one too. His claim wasn't acknowledged and difficult to trace. Sir Arutha left less than two months ago to follow up on a lead. He didn't have much hope after so many leads came up empty.

"Moto, are you a member of one of the Houses in Brevoy?

When Borric directly asked if he belonged to one of the noble houses, Moto frowned. “It's kind of a long story. My great-grandmother was the mistress of prince Roto Rogarvia. They had a son named Tomas Trema, my grandfather. All I have is this very old sword, given to Roto to my grandfather as a child.” Moto puts his sword on the table for Borric to look at. Once he was done, Moto quickly put the sword back at his side.

"Besides this sword, I have no real proof of my nobility. An aged sword a prince long ago gave as a gift does not directly support my claim. So, no Borric..I am not recognized as a member of a noble house...Maybe one day...” 

Percy joins the others at the buffet, being particularly pleased to see the boiled eggs on offer amidst the fare, taking two of those and a little bit of everything else, before finding himself a seat.

For a while he is content to simply eat, displaying fine manners, should anyone care enough to watch him as he works his way through his plate, happily soaking in the camerarderie and listening to the conversation ebb and flow around him.

"Noble blood doesn't always pay particularly well," Percy smiles as he addresses his remarks to Vik and Moto, playing with the signet ring on his finger, "but it can be quite expensive !  More luck to Henry, I say, and all who accompany him on his endeavours."

Bai helped herself to a second serving, the food wasn't particularly good, but it was free and that more than made up for it. Sitting back down she overheard Percy's comment and noticed him playing with his signet ring. She opened her mouth to remark, but thought better of it and instead placed her fork in her mouth, choosing to eat instead of interjecting in the conversation.

"What? No, with vomit. Of course you're not a cat. Or a man." He continued to bounce the bow string on his arm and then held it up to look at it. "Don't be ridiculous. I hunt with this. I work for a living. With my hands." And indeed his manner of dress was someone that spent time in the woods or working the land. His clothing was dusty and worn, all muted earth-tones. The bow itself had spots on the wood that had been worn through with constant use.

"That's a good name, Thistle. Come on, then."  Rook said as she complimented the large beast. He didn't dally or wait for her to pack or anything, just took off with a long, determined stride to the Inn. He continued on through the door, not slowing down until he was inside. There her stopped, looking around the room and trying to figure out who was who and where he belonged. Assuming the group settled at the table with food were the others, he approached them slowly.

"Excuse me. Are you all with the group working for Henry de la Maistre?"

Vik got up abruptly and returned with more bread and vegetables.

"Sorry . . . I must admit one of the things that's missed most on the road and waves is things not drowned in salt."