The morning sunshine, falling through the thick-paned and mullioned windows of the Sparrow and Briar, creeps across the party's table--a table strewn with breafast plates and mugs.  Aine and Dominique had just left, bidding adieu and departing for the western forests.  The little Palonish priest had indicated that a fellow cleric, and cousin of his, was interested in some travel and...remarkably...was currently staying with the small contingent of Mithran acolytes and priests.

Caylin exhales smoke from his pipe, draining the last of his tea from a battered ceramic mug--oversized in the halfling's little hand.  "Ahhh, good Grangian black leaf...we've nae had much o' this lately."

The red-haired serving girl, buxom and fresh (could it be the same one that Villhalas had seen last night?  Surely not...her sister...or daughter, perhaps?), gives the sorcerer a wink and replies to the halfling.  "An' ye'll not see much o' it this season, wee one.  Th' caravans jest ain't arunnin', this season."  The young woman sashays off towards the kitchen, with a smirking glance at Villhalas and a decided swing of her hips as she does so.  With practiced ease, she dodges the groping hand of a middle-aged teamster and adroitly deflects a wayward hand in the vicinity of her breasts.

"Got yer 'wee 'un' right here," mutters the halfling, then begins to gather his gear as the others finish their morning repast--pheasant eggs, rashers of bacon, and soda bread.  The plates are all empty, and the process of storing and packing up begins.  The rectory lies only a few hundred cubits to the north, and apparently that is where Perrato--Dominique's cousin--has been staying.

The day is fair and sunnily bright, with high white clouds in a sky of cornflower blue.  Already the temperature is quite warm, and some of the party members display a slight sheen of sweat.  Led by several boys from the livery stable, the party's horses and pony appear around the corner as if summoned.  One of the boys calls out, "Oi!  Foreign-guy!  Yer th' man, ye are!  Where's th' girl-driver, then, eh wot?"  Without waiting for an answer, the boys remand the horses to the care of the party by simply tossing the reins down and leaving, running down the hard-packed dirt lane of Borderton and shouting to one another.

The rectory lies just down the road, and the chimes from the Mithran chapel and the Carvanaserai toll out the hour of eight bells.

Garryn had little packing to do, he'd spent a considerable amount of time during the layover organizing his gear to make his backpack trying to make it light enough that it didn't impede his movement. He was left with a sack of items that would be transfered to his horse so after a quick breakfast he headed out to the stables and got an early start on that minor task. As others started to arrive he would be ready.

With that, Vil flips a Silver Griffen into the air - destined for the breakfast table - and makes for the front door.   Once outside, he looks to the roofline of the Inn - and silently calls for Mal'ach to join him.  Familiar in tow, Vil then steadies his horse, and mounts up...

The short-eared owl blinks somewhat sleepily in the morning sunshine, and then springs aloft from her perch on the ridgeline of the inn's roof.  Sailing down on outstretched wings, the owl brakes her descent and lands on Villhalas' shoulder--not without digging her talons into the sorcerer's deltoids, however.  Wincing a little, Villhalas goes to retrieve his mount, left in front of the inn by the stableboys.

Upon retrieving his gear, Garryn finds that a trip to the stables is unnecessary, as the party's mounts have already been brought to the Sparrow and Briar.  The rogue transfers his gear to the saddlebags of his mount, lightening his own load somewhat.

The halfling approaches his own mount--a sturdy pony bred from Blackthorn Hill stock--and allows the animal to snuffle at his hands.  Producing a carrot, Caylin allows the pony to take it from his hand while he checks the cinching on his saddle, tugging it firmly but taking care not to tighten it to the degree that it would cause the animal discomfort.  The halfling swings easily into the saddle, looking relaxed and at ease mounted.

Totmacher looks over at Vil and raises an eyebrow at the noticable discomfort Vil is experiencing.  Totmacher then begins to cough as though he has a dwarven femor caught in his throat.

Totmacher will look over his new steed, tugging on the mane and sizing up the muscularature.  He then looks into the horses eye and points to his own.  "Know Totmacher."  He will then pat the horse respectfully and mount.

Seeing his younger brother's mirth at the sight of his ..discomfort with the four-legged beast - Vil shoots the Half-Orc a seething glare.  I have *got* to learn how to ride some day..

Asher too was packed and prepared with a sack and pouch to transfer to his saddle bags. He woke early and took the opportunity to meditate in an effort to calm the butterflies that raced through his stomach; for only the second time in his life, he was to make ready to travel the roads Arret, and it was clear that this journey would take him far from the only home he had ever known. But as it always seemed to do, meditation delivered the truth: distance, place, home, these were merely illusions, only the KI existed and it was KI that led him to roads.

Once his gear is stowed, Asher looks at the steed, gives it a trepidatious pat-pat and swings up into the saddle. Ready to travel.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:27, Mon 04 Apr 2005.

Caylin reins his pony a bit, allowing the frisky animal to expend a little energy in a prancing sidestep.  Totmacher's massively-thewed heavy horse accepts the weight of the big half-orc with only a slight snort.  Villhalas, Garryn, Haud'n, and Asher look less comfortable on their mounts, but their natural quickness and grace go a long way towards compensating for sketchy riding skills--although the consequences of a day spent in the saddle promises to be more than just a bit uncomfortable.

Caylin wheels his mount around again--just to do it, apparently.  The halfling speaks thoughtfully.  "Th' rectory's t' th' north, an' I'm thinkin' we'll be wantin' t' meet up wi' Dominique's cousin, aye?"  Caylin has already turned his pony in that direction.

"Your thoughts mirror mine, Caylin. And please remember, we need this priest among our company, lets try not to scare him, at least until we're well on our way," Garryn calls back looking specifically at the two half-brothers, Vil and Tot, whose differences were almost as striking as the similarity of their character. He begins moving north along the road trying to settle himself in the saddle.

Hearing Garryn's cautioning words, Vil manages to conjure a devilous grin.  Only a brief one, however - as his attention is primarily focused on keeping his mount in tow with the others..

Easy Boy - Just stay in Line with the Others now.  ..That's it..

V

Kick, kick?

With Caylin as his reference, Asher clutches the reigns and wills his mount to fall in line, adding a light sandal heel to the ribs.

Hau'dn had spent the night before organizing his pack and saddle bags.  He had laid down upon his bed but sleep had not come for his mind had filled with his research.  That which had been interrupted and had thrown him in with this lot.

He was still considering the implications of that one parchment when sleep finally took him.

Hau'dn had woken refreshed and in a mood, quickly taking care of his morning duties, he casually dreshed, humming a little ditty as he did so.  He did not even notice the skip in his step as he came down the stairs to the commons and joined the others for breakfast, a ready smile upon his lips and laughter within his tone.

Having just finished his breakfast just as Dominique was preparing to take his leave, Hau'dn excused himself and asked for a moment of the the priest's time, taking him aside when he agreed.  Whatever was discussed, was private and very brief in its discussion.


Returning to the table, Hau'dn sat quietly as the others finished breaking their fast and then followed them outside having retrieved his saddle bags and pack.

Taking up the reins of his horse, he strapped and cynched the bags into place, trying to follow Caylin's lead with open curiousity.  Finally comfortable with the results, Hau'dn swung up into the saddle and with some natural grace guided his horse after the others.

They were off to bring someone new into the fold.  The thought caused Hau'dn to chuckle and the chuckle drifted into a laugh...when the mirth finally died away, it left a large smile upon his lips that had also settled into his gaze.

Noting their newly arrived Bard's curious behavior, Villhalas turns to him and asks:

"Why Hau'dn - Dipping into the Wayfarer's Root a bit early aren't we??  If not, pray tell - What is it that you find so humorous??

V

Hau'dn chuckles mildly, "By the technical definition of time and the foundations of the languages by which we define ourselves as a sentient society, I am by definition still a newcomer to this group yet here I find myself thinking that we're on our way to request the company of another and thinking of him as a newcomer as if I am already an old hat and established member of this band.

"I found my thought processes and the mild arrogance they seem to be tainted with of amusement." Hau'dn explains with a shrug, before chuckling bemusedly once again.

Totmacher, hearing the banter, lets out a long drawn out yawn whereby he stretches out his arms allowing the quills of his gauntlets to catch the sunbeams.  Noticing the dancing lights, Totmacher, in his typical display of arrogance, twists his arms, allowing the reflecting rays to hit the eyes of both Asher and Hau'dn a few times.

Then sighing again he comments, "Fistpuppets and fingertoys."

Pausing a moment, he then barks out:  "Vil, what be our marching order?"

Shaking his head in quiet exasperation at Totmacher's antics, Vil responds back:

"Let's cover that once we're outside the gates.  Don't fret though little brother - your 350-pound ass will still be on Point..."

V

"Tot, you should certainly be downwind of everyone else, it amazes me that you polish your gauntlet but fail to brush those ostentatious canines. Now try not to act scary, in fact, I think it would be best if you didn't speak while we try to recruit this priest, understood?" Garryn retorts to the ill-mannered giant with feigned seriousness. "Vil is correct though, we can worry about such things when the city has faded behind us, for now we can rely upon the cities guards and the fear of your foul breath."

"Caylin, is that our destination?" Garryn asks his small friend riding beside him.

OOC: Moving to 'Hanging with the cuz' thread unless DM has other plans.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:57, Wed 06 Apr 2005.

"Aye, rogue--leastaways, 'tis my understandin'.  We've came this  path afore--do ye remember th' square here...an' th' washerwomen t' whom ye spoke...an' th' wild man wi' th' fire o'er there...Aine an' me put some arrows inta him at th' wall, but 'twas th' monk that took th' worst o' it, then...an' th' big man was bound an' determined t' chop off some'un's head...right there."  Drawing his pony next to Garryn, the halfling chats amiably about the recent violent events, mildly pointing out some of the landmarks in the immediate vicinity, pipe in hand and riding easily astride his pony.  The halfling overhears Hau'dn, and turns to the ranger-bard.  "Nowt fer it, lad.  Didn't 'spect t' be wi' this bunch meself, but some things jest have a way o' happenin'...will ye or nil ye."  The halfling shrugs minimally and resignedly, and returns his pipe to his mouth, puffing smoke into the morning air.

The party draws up to the small, ivy-clad Mithran rectory.  A brown-robed acolyte is watering a small garden of herbs and medicinal plants nearby, and looks up at your approach.

OOC:  Please move to the 'Cuz' thread