The going for the past week had been painfully slow.  Working his way up the mountain from close to the shadow side, Drest had his work cut out for him.  Not only was he facing an extremely steep climb but his equipment certainly made the going that much worse.  His tools, however, were not something he would even consider parting with; tossed into the middle of a lake, he would still cling to them even as he sank.  With his movement slowed, he missed the big celebration by a single evening, finally marching into the main camp shortly after noon the following day.  It appeared as if most of the people had recovered and were busy going about their respective days chores.  Working his way around, Drest finds himself in the (mostly) empty main hall.  Several people are seated around a single table and clearly are still enjoying the party.  Periodically they yell and holler as two gentlemen play a round of blades.  Children randomly run in and out of the building as they chase each other in a game of tag.  Two women stand by the bar area chatting.

Drest examined the hall, and the occupants, noting a few familiar faces. Being exhausted from his week-long hike up the mountain, he wasn't in the best of moods. He would catch up with them later. He desperately needed a drink. Drest made his way to the bar. He nodded at the people he knew, offering an unspoken greeting, on the way. He took a seat at the bar, set his pack down beside him, and let out a long sigh.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:25, Tue 01 Aug 2017.

The two women looked over at you with mild sympathy as your weariness was obvious.

"It's a self serve kinda setup hun," one of them indicated, pointing to the racks of various sized bottles against the wall.  The two immediately return to their conversation, leaving you to serve yourself.

Drest smiles at the woman, wearily. "Thank you, miss." He grabs his pack, walks over and pours a tall glass of their strongest liquor, then walks over to the men playing blades. He watches them play, intrigued.

The game itself seems quite simple...each takes turns throwing a total of three knives at a wooden target perhaps 10 or so feet away.  The loser of each round is then forced to swallow a small Mason jar of Farrell wine before commencing with the next round.  Suffice it to say, after only a few rounds, both players or completely tanked and their aim becomes terrible resulting in not only complete misses, but some interesting shots as many objects upon the nearby wall become unwitting targets.

After watching a few rounds of the drunken men stumbling and hitting everything but the target, Drest laughs and takes a seat at the nearby table. He greets the ones he knows and offers a handshake to the ones he doesn't. After glancing around the room, he asks: "Seems like it was one hell of a party. What'd I miss?"

The conversation rambles along covering every aspect of drunken debauchery known to man.  Tales of excessive drink, and the various brawls it spawned.  Of the women wined and dined...and of the failures of the men in their attempts to woo them.  Wild games of strength and fate...ATV battles, log tossing, fire dancing...from what you can gather, it was an affair for the ages.  One loan voice, in particular, seemed to cut through the glory of the evening, instead choosing to focus on the new Bren'in and his lack of care for tradition and civility.  He was hushed several times by the others and, although it was clear he held a great deal of disdain for the new Bren'in, he finally acquiesced and joined in the simple merriment of recalling the evenings fond points.

Drest listened to all of their stories of the party laughing at some, shaking his head in disdain at others. He listened to the man as he complained about the new Bren'in. After they were done speaking, and the crowd at the table had thinned a bit, he asked the man quietly so only he could hear: "What is it you don't like about the new Bren'in? What tradition is he trampling on?"

"Well it ain't no surprise there, cousin, a lot of folks around here ain't too keen on him running the show now.  He's a hot-head and a bully, pure and simple.  He ain't got the temperament for the job."

Drest nods his head in understanding. "Ah, I gotcha. Well, speaking of work, you know anyone that could use my particular skills?" He asks, gesturing toward his tool bag.

"A good, skilled builder is always in demand.  I'd say speak to Ciniod but he's out on a raid right now so perhaps you can track down his brother, Troll.  Other than that, simply ask around or simply put the word out.  This time of year there's always something that needs fixing."

He nodded. "Thanks, cousin. Any idea where I would find Troll? Well, after I get some rest." He asked, curious.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:09, Thu 10 Aug 2017.

"He's around somewhere...and damn near impossible to miss.  Just look for the walking oak tree...you'll understand."

"Alright, thank you. It was nice catching up, but I need to get some rest." He said, as he got up and left the building in search of a place to crash for a few hours.

OOC: There's no real precedent for housing those not from the area.  Open air is always an option this time of year as well as snagging one of the dozens of hammocks that hang around the camp at random intervals.  It is possible to request lodging from someone, whether you know them or not, in the form of a barter.  You can also approach the Bren'in and ask for temporary lodging as all Shay/Farrell and mountain kin are welcome (theoretically).

(OOC: Oh, gotcha. Thanks!)

After looking around the village for a little while, Drest steps into the forest. He finds a good spot behind a bush, and relaxes against a tree. He makes sure his pack is secured around him, then he falls asleep.

The air at this altitude is gentle with a light breeze that keeps it from feeling stifling.  Despite the hot summer heat, the air was much cooler and less damp, allowing you to get comfortable and pass out very quickly.  You awaken to the sounds of birds chirping and the rustling of the leaves in the breeze.  In the distance, you can hear voices from the camp, adult talking away and children laughing and shouting at play.  Judging from the suns position, you probably slept for 2 or 3 hours.

Feeling a lot better after that nap, Drest got up and went off in search of Troll - telling anyone he met along the way that he was a skilled builder in need of work.