The dwarf maid took down the human's order with a smile as she moved on, distracted only by the drunk and then by his crude joking.  She was on her way back to the kitchen, her face unreadable, as Kikei tried to right some of the situation.  Unfortunately, the drunk seemed somewhat unwilling.  But at least it was Kikei who had done something first instead of one of the dwarves.  As if in one mind, the rest of the tavern remained silent, watching to see the effect.

"I'm fine, son.  Well, as fine as I'm expected to be while I'm surrounded by poor service.  But what else can I expect from no-good, rotten shrimp?  I mean, back west I'd be in here an hour or so before I'd pass out.  I've been drinking for the past three, and nothing's happened.  And I thought the dwarves liked it strong."  The drunk, surprisingly, did not slur his words as much as one might have thought.  And most of his sentences were coherent, if not as kind as they could have been.  But there was just enough to tell him for a drunk.  The dwarves kept their eyes on the man, ready to step in if he say too much more.

Thamol really not at home in the inn.  The talk does not make him feel any better.    He also seems to be getting nowhere with search of great ice tree.  He decides to ask question of drunk.  Many be he got some information that helpful.
"So what bring you from the west to this beautiful land."
As usual Thamol does not get plot that this hard deadly land to most creature.

Kikei was thankful for Thamol's intrusion. Banter would keep the imbibed patron occupied. "Well... I still worry. If you will induldge a young practioner in allowing me to perform a few simple, non-intrusive examinations, it would put me more at ease. You may even feel free to chat while I work." He rolled up his sleeves slightly, giving himself the airs of some proffesional person making preperaions for a routine task.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:34, Fri 03 Nov 2006.

While Mundin wasn't deep in his cups, he did have a good couple of mugs of Dwarven Mead, giving him a nice buzz, but not leaving him drunk.  Before starting on a third one, the comment from the insolent drunk caught his ears.  He raised an eyebrow as the entire establishment went silent, as eyes peered with hostility at the drunken patron.  Insults to service of an inn were one thing, insults to dwarves were something altogether different.

Still garbed in his gleaming spiked armor of plate, he took one look at Depiron, then rose and walked deliberately over to the drunken patron, as a small smile came to Mundin's expression, his shield and maul attached to the backside of the armor, making the dwarf seem much taller than he actually was.  "Ye be having a problem with good dwarven mead, me good man?"

The tavern made Depiron's heart heavy. It heaved hard within his heart as he longed for the ease of his friend's company. He knew, they would have defused this situtation by ordering more mead and then going at the offender in a group, strong and show them how dwarves felt about discrimination. The dwarven way.

He had been holding on to his first mug of meat for the better part of the day, not feeling like drinking helped him much. Moradin would not want to see him drunk either.

In any case, something needed to be done and Depiron didn't feel like starting a bar fight. So he rose as well, touched Mundin's shoulder and stepped forwards.

"Sir, we have in interest in your short-minded babbling or your offence. We are a jolly people and if you can't behave, then take you things and leave."

The last word seemed to hold some special gravity and the air seemed to hold special strength in it.

Quansil goes to the bar and orders some elven wine.  Hearing they have none he asks what type of human swill they have that might be palapable.  Hearing of nothing suitable he orders water and something to eat knowing that he will have to stomach it in order to keep his strength up.  Hearing the drunkard make the comment Quansil sits back and thinks to himself, This human has uncoomon courage to speak his mind front of these short tempered dwarves.  Seeing the reactions of the dwarves he travels with confirm his opinion of the dwarven condition he smiles to himself secure in his superior intellect.
Rolled a 13 for Spellcraft for Depiron's spell.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:58, Sat 04 Nov 2006.

"What brings me to the west.  Oh, you mean from the west, not much,  Just adventure, I guess.  Or moving around, I heard they had a bit more girls comin' up here for some reason or t'other."  The drunk stopped as the human attempted to calm him down.  "I don't really care if these are 'non-intrusive' or not, I'm not going to have you poking around my body.  Nope, and no thanks."

The man turned as Mundin moved over, trying to make himself as tall as possible while, at the same time, either shutting him up or forcing him to leave.  But the man was either too drunk to care or didn't care in the first place.  "All I'm sayin' is that if I were back west, I would've been sleepin' it all of in my bed by now.  Not still down here having to look at your ugly mug."

And then the other dwarf just had to come up to him and speak again.  Why did it have to happen to him?  All he really wanted was to get drunk enough to pass out and forget everything, but dwarves and people kept coming up to him.  "Like I told your little friend here, I'm just here to get drunk.  It's not my fault that your 'fine dwarven mead' doesn't work.  Now, I would appreciate it if all of you just get out of my face and leave me to my drinking."  The almost continuous drinking had another effect, as well.  The drunk lifted the mug to his face once more only to find it empty.  "Wench!  I need more of this scum you like to serve your customers.  And make sure it's stronger!"  The other dwarves, and even some of the human, in the tavern cradled their weapons on their lap, ready to offer assistance or take the matter in their own hands.  For the moment, though, they were content enough to see what these two dwarves, and possibly their companions, would do.

As the doors swing open, those interested enough to see a newcomer (with the starting of what may be an impending fight) see a small figure and dog, easily as large as the halfling, enter the bar.

The silence is broken, not by his heavy step or mean look, (for he had neither) but intead the ringing of bells which seemed to cover his clothing.
"At last! Civilisation and drink! Food and frien... it's a bit quiet?" the diminutive figure says to the dog.
Raaoof comes the reply.
"Yes does seem odd. Anyways, there's the bar" he says approaching and climbing up the nearest stool to be able to see above the bar.

"I'll have two beers and..."
Arooooow interjects the dog.
"Huh? What then, Whiskey?"
Raggaaa the dog chimes.
"One beer and a whiskey"
Rwooff the dog murmurs.
"Alright, make the whiskey a double, it's been a long cold walk, and two errm meals, whatever you recommed." The halfling says, trying to crack a smile but you can tell he seems tired and glad to be in the warm.

His eyes scan the bar and he once more takes in the tension all about.
"Errm, sorry? Please continue whatever you were doing?" he tries to add, feeling very uncomfortable in a quiet tavern. Except for the jingling bells as she shifts on the stool.

Kikei backed away from the drunkard, particularly after the two dwarves approach and undo the drunkards mood. ~So much for the best laid plans of mice and men...~ he mused, as he proceeded back to the table he had origionally seated himself at. He sat back now, observing from what he felt was a safe distance. "If only I had prepared my spells for the day, I could have solved this whole mess with a Charm," he muttered.

Of course, he could not help but note the bard(?) in leather and bells. "What a queer looking fellow," he mused, now somewhat distracted by the halfling.

Seeing another of the lesser races enter Quansil sits with his back to the wall and eats and drinks his order with as much dignity as the poor excuse for an establishment can offer.  After he finishes he heads to the stables to check on his warhorse before turning in for the evening.

Once settled for the night Quansil thinks to himself, At least the ill prepared serving boy and the annoying human ranger are no longer travelling with us.  With the exception of the so called druid we may even have some military order and disicpline in our ranks.

He took a look at his fellow dwarf. And hoped he'd see some sort of agreement there, as he called out: "Dear Master," he called, hoping to get the tavern owner's attention, "How much does the man owe you?" He waited for a reply. When he was given it, he said to the drunkard, in a very firm tone, "Pay. You are not welcome here anymore." They were quite convincing indeed. "And then leave in peace. For you will soon be disrupted in yours in a very painful way." If Moradin's power would not help, maybe the power of reasoning would. And Depiron was ready to grab the man by the arm and drag him out of here if need be.

((Depiron Holyquartz rolled 23 using 1d20+7. diplomacy. ))

There was a halfling at the door who was talking to his dog and Depiron would've laughed and bought him a meal yesterday. Today, he found the cheerfulness testy, at best. He didn't feel like being cheerful or cheered up and he hoped the halfling wouldn't try to do so because he was afraid he'd lose him temper.

Bigby watches as Penville turns to collect the drinks. His head cocked and it almost looked like he was assessing the situation. But as the whiskey arrives, he is happy to lap it up, one eye on the trouble brewing.

Another trade caravan arrived in the city and stopped near to the tavern. A blonde human woman could be seen out in the cold speaking with a man for a short time but their words were lost in the wind and ruckus of the noise from the Drunken Giant. The two figures embraced in the dark and then waved at each other. The male rejoined the caravan which lumbered away. The female walked toward the warmth of the inn with a purposeful stride.

Tarmes Werthor came in and went straight toward the bar. Several humans and even a couple dwarves turned to stare as she walked by. Her blonde tresses framed the face of an angel, or perhaps a seductress, but she walked like she was pulling a plow. Tarmes was dressed in winter clothes with a heavy coat but removed it as she waved to earn the barkeep's attention. Under the coat the young woman was wearing a brick red shirt and a leather vest. It was a man shirt from the style and had a short collar. The shirt was pulled tight around her chest and had it been open at the neck at all Tarmes would have displayed a generous amount of cleavage. Those in the tavern who managed to look beyond her face and other features would have noted the studded leathers she wore and butts of several daggers at her hips and one in her boot.

When the bartender gave her his attention she rewarded him with an easy smile and a silver coin. "Gimme the strongest ale or mead you have." The girl sniffed the air and the smell of food which was, at the moment, stronger than the smell of spilt beer and body odor. "And somethin to eat. What's good here?" It was at that point the Tarmes noticed the relative silence. She looked around to see what was keeping everyone quiet.

Mundin didn't pay heed to the newcomers, but paid more attention to the insolent drunk.  His look became a bit more flinty, as he removed his heavy mace and his shield, placing the ball of the mace on the floor gingerly, as not to damage it.  He then speaks in a quiet voice, but as he continues, more steel is added until it turns from a gentle rebuke, to a deadly, shuouting threat.

"Me good sir, I recommend ye do as me companion says, with all due haste.  Your insults to our kind will only lead to violence.  We dwarves may nae be a perfect people, but we be a proud one, and I can say that our tempers be wearing very thin.  This be your final warning.  Pay and get out!"

Seeing the lass enter, Bigby stands up, nudging Penvilles stool.
"Raawooo"
Penville however is staring over the bar (just) and trying to see when the food is going to be ready. Waves his hand down as if to swat away a pesky fly.

"RAA WOOOO" Bigby pushes again. This time as the lady is next to him at the bar.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:03, Mon 06 Nov 2006.

Penville looks down annoyed, "What? What is iiiiiiiit" he finishes as the last push and his raised head connecting with the beauty (who had appeared next to him) means his body has nought to go but down.

Bigby calmly steps out the way.

Face down, Penville picks himself up.  "Nice dagger" he says, brushing himself off and idly trying to kick Bigby. Then turns to the sound of the threat behind him. "Seems the men have been trying to pick a fight with the dwarves, and just found one" he whispers to the newcomer. Then stands to watch what is about to unfold.

Tarmes’ laugh came easy as she stared down at the curious looking halfling. She reached down and grabbed Penville’s wrist to help pull him up from the floor. ”Well thanks for noticing. Nice...bells.” She chuckled a little more and then turned her attention to the scene that was about to be a fight. ”Well well...this outta be entertaining.” The blonde whispered back to Penville and turns to lean her back against the bar and watch the proceedings. Out of habit her hands deftly touched the handles of each five daggers, verifying they were all in their correct place and easy to reach. She would wait for her drink before doing anything else.

The bartender - another dwarf of course - seemed to be slightly distracted - and with good reason - as the small halfling entered the tavern with his dog.  Although this did not interfer with a customer as months, if not years, of experience came to his aid as he silently filled the little halfling's order, giving him a beer and whiskey as asked for.  And it was only a few seconds later that whatever would be his meal was cooking.  But his eyes were narrowed as he watched the drunk human continue to make enemies of most of his customers and help.

As Depiron asked of the man's debt to the tavern, the bartender counted a few moments before replying with a "I'd say ten gold, give or take.  Been here for the better part of the ride, just a-drinkin' most of the time."  Of course, the drunk had a few words to say about that, first.  "You rotten liar, I haven't been drinkin' the entire time.  I ate a bit, and slept some.  And there's no way in hell that I owe you more than a few silver.  I can't imagine this filth bein' worth more than a copper or two a glass."  The dwarf behind the bar was ready to answer, his anger driving his face even more red - if it were possible - but Depiron continued.  The human almost laughed in his stupor before he realized, perhaps for the first time, the gravity of the dwarf's tone and manner; he wasn't quite drunk enough to start a fight he couldn't win.  Well, perhaps he was, but the dwarves around him had weapons.  He wasn't that drunk.  "Fine, you dwarf.  I'll leave.  And here's your coin, too.  Take it.  I'm glad to be rid of you dwarves, anyway.  Too many, too many in this world."  He shoved a few coins into Depiron's chest, letting them either fall or have the dwarf catch them, as he stood and began to leave.  The coins had a noticably silver shine to them instead of the gold he owed.

And as the human began to stumble out toward the door, with a defiant and angry look on his face, the dwarf behind the counter began to fill the orders out again.  He gave a strong-smelling mug to the young woman who had entered and waited for a few seconds more, watching the drunk leave, before he wordlessly pointed to the menu above in answer to meals.

And there was a menu, written in chalk, that had the prices and relative meals - well, it said steak and stew but didn't exactly say what was in them.

Menu

Food                                    Drink

Steak: 5 silver                         Water: 6 copper
Stew: 3 silver                          Ale:   1 silver
Greens: 8 silver                        Wine:  3 silver
                                        Mead:  2 silver
                                        Specialty: 5 silver

_{Note: If anyone is able to successfully drink five glasses of the special, their entire meal is free of charge.  Continue at your own risk.}

Lexis finishes her meal quietly at the back of the tavern. She pushes the bowl away with a satisfied sigh and watches the events unfold as the drunk is dealt with and the other characters arrive. As things begin to settle down, Lexis produces a coin from under her cloak and flips it in the air. The coin lands with a soft ringing on the table and Lexis observes it for a moment. "Fortune favors the bold." She mutters as she scoops up the coin and replaces it under her cloak.

Rising from the table, Lexis throws back the hood of her cloak and approaches the dwarves with a smile. "Excellent diffusion of a possibly messy situation, master dwarves. I am Lexis. May I buy you a drink?"

Mundin shakes his head at the departure at the drunk, but is inwardly pleased that no blood was shed tonight.  There was enough blood shed for awhile, especially after the recent events.  He idly looks at the piece of fur-lined cloak that is tied around his spiked wrist, and reminds himself what he is here for, or more precisely for whom.

"Bloody drunk, ruining tha mood of tha eve."

He then listens to the offer of the human woman who seemed strange that he was only somewhat taller than him, a hair less than a foot taller than he, he smiled at the offer, though the scent of the drunk was still fresh here.  "I appreciate the offer, lass, it be real kind.  I can nae speak for me friend here, but I fear tha scent of that drunk has taken some of tha spice from tha mead this eve.  I be finishing me mug that be left, but that be it, no offense be meant.  Though I be glad to join you for the drink I be having left."

The dwarf then smiles and flips a shiny coin to the bartender.

Moradin asked many a thing of a faithful believer, but picking up the coins off the floor was not a harsh test. Depiron was sure it wasn't enough even though he didn't count the coins. He brought them to the bartender. "I would chip in the rest for peace's sake, but I am afraid I have nothing I can give you," he said, sounding genuinely distraught. The enemy had taken everything they could and they certainly would not hesitate to take his gold and other coin.

Waiting for the bartender to reply, Depiron was not about when the elf spoke to the others and therefore missed the offer of the drink. His sudden poverty was already, in itself, a sorrowful thing but he strongly believed that Moradin himself had a plan.

As Penville started the task of climbing atop the stool (on his own, waving away any friendly hands of help from Tarmes) he was near the summit when...



The coin was well aimed and had been heading stright for the barkeep, until the halfling had unnoticably, entered it's path. It hits the mark on the back of his head, lurching him forward (for being offbalance at the time) to land into his drink, pull it over and send them both to the ground at a much faster rate than he'sd been climbing.

"Oqq, goddamit, why they gotta make these stools so tall? Or the bar for that matter. Why did I say Oqq when I meant Oqq? Oqq? Ohh! Ahh that's better." He rubs his head and then sees the coin. "Oh maybe it's not all bad luck after all?"

"We'll have two steaks please, or do you want the stew?"
"Raaggawulf"
"Yup, two steaks please, oh and I best get another mead. Seems Bigby is taking that one" As the dog is more than happy to lap up the spilt drink. And again climbs the seat, this time somewhat easier.

Noticing that the coin hit the head of the silly little halfling on the way to the bartender, he started to growl slightly, but seeing the silly spectacle reminded him of another yet someone else, he glanced at the fur lined piece of cloth around his wrist, he shook his head as his thoughts ran wild.  'Someone else to remind me of you, little one, someone else, I guess I can take some joy in that, small wonders, Moradin knows.'

He let out a small grunt of a laugh as he remarked on the spectacle.  "I suppose I should let it be, for now.  At least the bartender knows who paid for the meal, and that should cover it, and my drinks and meal this eve."

An enthusiastic laugh erupted from Tarmes at the sight of the halfling’s antics. She had been in about to ask about the Specialty when Penville fell to the floor. She clapped for him and laughed some more. ”That was great! Can you do that again? If I stand over there and throw a silver at you will you fall off your stool again?” She is genuinely entertained and obviously thinks Penville did that on purpose.

While eating his meal of greens Quansil notices the entrance of the newcomers and is not amused.  Thinking to himself, The antics of the little one are a poor substitute for true talent of an elven entertainer.  Then again what can one expect from cultures of the lesser races.