The Lady Everleigh seems unique in that she doesn't seem to stand on ceremony, rather circumstance seems to dictate her actions, even in an orchestrated event like this. She's actually very short in her words, making a brief introduction to those assembled of her honored guests.

One of the first to be introduced is a youthful, somewhat bookish elf wearing spectacles of all things. Not something most would expect. Selene, graceful and lithe, makes her way next to him. Everleigh introduces him a 'the Curate Toran Lucius Crevellar,' a member of the Ehlonna'i'an. The sword at his side speaks to a certain martial bent, to go along with his holy orders. Selene puts her hand on his arm, a light touch, and his smile is one of relief and hope.

The litany isn't as long as most High Events would call for, but it still takes time for every one to be acknowledged. Even the band of adventurers are introduced as 'The Heroes of Quesqueton.'

That draws a few murmurs.

Ukko takes the floor and looks around, a small, pensive frown upon his face.

"My friends," he starts. "These are historic times. Truth told, not long past our ships raided your shores, only to later be fired by your own Navy."

A rueful grin plays across his lips, one that engenders warmth, and he admits, "Much better we should break bread and find common cause."

"But, unfortunately, in this moment, brevity and honesty must rule the day. There is a place north of Djekul called the Land of Song. It is a place of soaring mountains with beautiful vistas, and folk as hardy and strong as the mountains themselves. For long years, they protected our northern borders. Few raiding parties got past our patrols without a swift and terrible justice. But..."

He trails off for a moment, looks at the assembled, then said, "Brevity and honesty. I am here to ask your help. An ancient menace threatens our peace. The Land of Song is under siege. The old Jarl, Yngvar, who has led successfully for many a year, is failing and his folk lack leadership. There is a pall over the land that speaks to dread. The six clans sent their greatest champions a month ago, but they have not returned. One of them is my nephew, a great warrior, but we fear the worst. Rumor has it that there is a might host that is biding its time, waiting for an advantageous moment to strike. Worse, tales tell of disappearances, of walking dead, of people fleeing to Djekul in droves because they don't feel safe anymore in the heights. But Djekul cannot endure with so many refugees.

"So, here I am, to make a plea to ma sister Everleigh and her gentry. Help us! Please. Else we will be overrun in the north. If the north fails, it will only be a matter of time that Ratik will face this same, enigmatic threat."

His speech finished, Ukko looks at the assembled and asks, "Will you help us?"

As he listens and watches Bruno first hopes that Zan can keep control of himself and not lunge across the room to shove the spectacles from his nose down his throat, but as the great Skald speaks he begins to understand the subtext that has foreshadowed their return from Quesqueton.

He pushes aside the concerns that while they completed their investigation there is still that Hobgoblin chieftain well-established sitting on his throne back there, but it seems that this is no longer their concern. Pushing back his instinct to sit quietly until being called upon, the warrior priest realizes that he and his comrades are probably going to be thrust into something new and, seemingly, much more dangerous.

Clearing his throat he bows respectfully to the Archbaron and the renown Emissary, "If I may, Your Valorous Prominence and Honorable Ambassador, since we have arrived from Quesqueton there have been many vague suggestions about what our betters might next set us upon. If it is to be that you will ask us to take off for the great white north, which I understand to be a beauty way to go, is there no more for us to know about this 'ancient menace' than that it is 'ancient' and 'menacing'?"

There is a ruckus from upstairs, followed by several bangs, crashes and choice words in dwarven as the creator rights himself and then flips into common, "Easy Uthecar, stool put in stupid place, not a threat to anyone now."  There is the sound of lumber being kicked about, as if the said stool found a foot that moved it across the room.  More stumbling is heard as the noise maker finds his bearings probably unaware the sound he is making carries so far.  "Not good falling asleep in the middle of life celebration to comrade Bruknar.  Good dwarf, even if we did not know him long.  Fell bravely as dwarf should weapon in hand.".

Soon there is the sound of heavy footfalls on the steps down into the common room, and a look of surprise from Uthecar when he sees the dignitaries present, half drunkenly coming to the wrong conclusion  "Did Uthecar miss the ceremony to Bruknar?". He shakes his head looking to sit on the first bench he can find.  "Uthecar getting soft, even lost drinking tankard.  Carry on," he declares as he slumps down.

Everyone stops to stare at the half-drunk, half hungover dwarf.

Gildan, feeling a need to break the tension as Uthecar stumbles into the room, breaks into a song to distract everyone. The song is a tale of an ancient hero among his people who witnessed his love's death at the hands of rivals and swore to kill them all. He was successful but died of exhaustion the moment his blade felled the final murderer.
Unfortunately, Gildan has forgotten the words so rather than breaking out into song he just starts humming loudly while holding his arms akimbo.
Meanwhile, in the back of his mind he is thinking ancient evils sound much more interesting than politics.

OOC: Let me know if I'm overdoing it everyone. I'm trying to play him as uncomfortably awkward and direct because he doesn't care about social norms and thinks killing evil things is the only worthwhile activity.

Selene stares wide-eyed and Antonin looks apoplectic. The norms of Selene's new office forbid her from intervening, so she is stuck next to her betrothed and unable to do anything to help the situation.

Antonin has no such restraint. Pointing at Gildan, he shouts, "YOU! Get him - points at Uthecar - out of here, now. And if you can't do it alone, all of you can leave."

Turning toward Lady Everleigh and Ukko, he apologizes profusely saying, "Milord Skald, Lady Everleigh, my apologies. I accept full responsibility for this upheaval in decorum. If necessary, you have my resignation should you ask for it."

Ukko is bemused. Then he starts laughing. "The dwarves in the north throw a good party. I see they may have met their match, though. Gentle folk...well p'raps not so gentle folk, go have fun. Take one of the inn's kegs as a gift of appreciation for your efforts in Quesqueton. Just be sure not miss the ship in the morning. Us old folk don't sleep so well anymore and I like to get an early start."

Bruno stands clearly as frustrated as Antonin, but, perhaps, for somewhat different reasons.

Turning to the Archbaron, "My Lady, you had planned a major diplomatic event for today. One that is very important.

"We planned to celebrate returning from a harrowing adventure. One in which we lost more than one comrade in arms. Indeed, not only the honorable dwarf, Bruknar, but a good lad from this very Inn, who called himself, Weasel.

"We expect nothing from you in return for these losses and the blood each of us spilled. So, we acknowledge the generosity of the keg offered by the Honorable Skald with thanks. But we are men and will not be sent out like children who have misbehaved!"

He holds up a hand, "Especially, if you expect that after so many days in continuous action you expect us to board a ship early tomorrow and depart to lands unknown for an unknown length of time. Rather, may I suggest that those of us who have no mind for the details of such matters, like Uthecar and whomever else," He gives Giland a somewhat confused glance, "may excuse themselves and continue their celebrations while you not only better inform us of the misson you would have us undertake, but hear a report on the one we just finished...."

He pauses giving Antonin a significant look and continuing in a slightly lower tone, "So that you know better the state of things within Quesqueton before we depart taking that vital information with us?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:03, Tue 09 June 2020.

The Lady Everleigh, Protectoress of the Realm of Ratik and it's surrounds stirs herself at last.

Looking at Ukko, she said, "Did I not tell you, Master Skald? Everyone has an opinion, no one bides in patience. Even after being invited to an important parlay because of service to the crown, service that I am thankful for, they still find fault with my comportment as their leader."

With a long suffering sigh, her blue eyes ablaze, she turned and said to Bruno, "Two things before you start your report: first, I can read between the lines so be pithy. Second, I not only expect you and your comrades to go to the Land of Song, I will carry you there if I must. Your group's tomfoolery puts me in a position where the only alternative you have is a cage hanging from the walls. You embarrassed me, you embarrassed my guest, and you made a mockery of this preceding...make no mistake, that fortress your folk uses atop the heights is in MY territory, thus making you my subject. My will rules here. So be prepared for the Land of Song...or a long stay in the the gaol. Your choice. Now, you have five minutes. Speak!"

Bruno takes a breath realizing that he has crossed a line and no matter how justified he felt in doing so it had been an error. Words spoken in anger are always misheard and probably misthought to begin with, he chides himself.

Clearing his throat, "There still remains a well led tribe of Hobgoblins, who nearly overcame us, within Quesqueton. We met them after we had been throughout the first floor of the place, so two or three days in. Just at the point when the battle seemed to be turning against us their leader came forward and offered a deal: he would stop the attack and heal our wounds if we would continue into the depths beneath the fortress and clear out what we found. It was our intention to do this anyway, so it seemed a reasonable, and honorable, way to live long enough to conclude our mission.

"This leader is Dag em Dag, of the Dread Skull Clan. He called himself the wisdom of his folk and scion of Maglubiyet. Whatever the case he was certainly wizened and knows magic.

"His tribe is well-trained and armed. It was our thought that upon our return we would report this and assist a larger force in rooting out this tribe as Dag em Dag seems to think the fortress belongs to him and his people. (In my estimation there are at least 20 warriors remaining after we killed about 10 of them, but given the situation we were unable to do a more accurate count.)"

"Tomfoolery?" Kullonar growls, standing up, his reddish eyes ablaze, ignoring much of what Bruno just said.

"By the Cudgel! We lost good men in that hell hole! Good men in your service, my lady. I will not sit idly by and let their honor be disparaged or dismissed.
"While your men were cleaning their armor, we were cleaning blood and gore from our faces and trying to stay alive one more day, in hopes we might feel the sun on our faces once again.
"Heroes of Quesqueton? Hardly. More like survivors. And fortunate to be so. The Hobgoblin tribe could have likely wiped us out...and are certainly gaining strength while we argue and give reports.
"Perhaps some of your men could polish the rust off their swords and take care of that problem for you while we board ships bound for the frozen North."

Kullonar wants to say more, but instead he glances at Bruno (who must be giving him the "shut the hell up!" look) and sits down. He loosens his morningstar...fully prepared for the worst.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:34, Tue 09 June 2020.

A dark scowl colors Everleigh's face but her voice was calm as she said, "Enough priest. Do you know how often I've wiped up the gore and blood of loved ones, or covered their face with the funeral shroud? I am not new to battle. This sword at my hip has drunk the blood of my foes. So I give much respect to your friend and may he be carried swiftly to Moradin's Forge. Spend the time now lifting a tankard in his honor. We still have work do, and time is fleeting."

To Bruno, she adds, "Pithy. Well done. We had suspicions of humanoids in the dark places beneath our lands. I will send my rangers and paladins. Please write a brief report, specifically the location of Mad Zelligar's keep and leave it with my seneschal, Antonin. It will be a burden lifted once I know for certain that this tribe is vanquished."

Now, go enjoy your evening. You should celebrate. You faced the darkness and returned unbowed.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:51, Wed 10 June 2020.

Myrrick returned from his speaking with Antonin to raised voices and a seemingly tense situation. His smile never wavered, genuine, he'd happily work the middle of this situation to smooth it if need be. "Lady Everleigh, forgive my brief absence, Antonin requested my attention and the conversation drug on longer than expected. I trust my companions gave you a full and detailed report? As far as the venture to the Land of Song, I will be ready to go in the morning at your word." he remained in a polite, half bow position until Everleigh addressed him, then, he would take his seat with a chuckle and add, "Did the save any drink for me?"

Bruno feels some relief at the Archbaron's tone, but the wound still needs tending. When she dismisses them he salutes and having recovered himself sufficiently his face is clear of the anger he felt moments ago.

When he sits and Myrrick joins them chuckling his ire begins to rise again, but he quickly realizes that the elf knows these nobles better than he and if he is taking such a light tone then perhaps Bruno really did take something wrongly, "Well, we've got a uncorked keg, comrade, and Uthecar hasn't had chance for another cup so there might still be a sip available... But we'd all better move fast, because The Devourer of The Ales has risen again!"

The early evening goes predictably: Everyone get's a little twisted, has a good time. The Barbarian Fighter, Uthecar gets more twisted than most, tries to head butt Kullonar, but misses and falls down laughing. Gildan seems a bit perplexed, but enjoys the festivities and somehow manages to stave off questions about where he's from and what he was doing. Bruno relaxes, realizes suddenly that what happened wasn't really about him, that the higher ups were under tremendous strain. Zan sat pensive, sipping his ale and not saying very much, while Myrrick goes at it with a little more gusto and his face colors a rose blush as the night wears on.

Somehow Quesqueton recedes in your memory and you find a simple happiness in each others company. It strikes several of you: What strange and funny companions, elf and dwarf, and even briefly, a couple of gnomes. You wonder about them - did they make it home? And Uthecar shouts out a toast to them as well.

Then, wonder of wonders: Lady Everleigh exits the inn, with several notables in tow, some you recognize, others you don't. Ukko's there, strums a few cords. Everleigh asks, "Is there ale left in that keg? (there is plenty, despite the party's best efforts). She dips a tankard and quaffs deeply, then offers a belch that might make Uthecar blush. "You're in for a treat, lads," she said with a grin. With a nod at the Skald, she said, "The floor is yours, Master Bard." Settling in, she awaits the man's pleasure.

Bruno watches Myrrick and Zan's response when Lady Everleigh joins them. If they stand, he too is ready to stand, etc. When she takes a deep quaff and rips a riotous burp he finds himself relieved not because it was funny and unexpected, but because THIS is who he had expected her to be in the first place. The moment proved the pressure that she had been under earlier and lifts the weight he had felt despite his jovial imbibing since sitting down.

When she announces that Ukko would perform he turns his attention to the Skald enthusiastically.

Ukko stands, looks around, says, "You don' strike me as a poetry crowd." There's a gleam in his eyes as he says so, but still: "I've a poem, some mild verse, thoughts profound and weighty. Judge, or not, as you see fit."

With that, he strums a couple of cords as a backdrop to his verse, then, in a singsong voice he begins:

"Even the bravest that are slain shall not dissemble their surprise
On waking to find valor reign even as on Oerth, in paradise;

And where they sought without the sword, wide fields of asphodel fore'er
to find the utmost reward, of daring should be still to dare.

The light of heaven falls whole and white and is not shattered into dyes
the light forever is morning light, the hills are verdured pasture wise;

The angel hosts with freshness go, and seek with laughter what to brave-
And blinding all is the hushed snow, of the far distant breaking wave.

And from a clifftop is proclaimed the gathering of souls for birth
The trial by existence named, the obscuration upon earth.

And the slant spirits trooping by, In streams and cross and counter streams
Can but give ear to that sweet cry, for its suggestion of what dreams!

And the more loitering are turned, to view once more the sacrifice
Of those who for some good discerned will gladly give up paradise.

And a white shimmering concourse rolls toward the throne to witness there
The speeding of devoted souls which God makes his especial care.

And none are taken but who will, having first heard the life read out
That opens earthward, good and ill beyond the shadow of a doubt

And very beautifully, God limns, and tenderly life's little dream
But naught extenuates or dims setting the thing that is supreme

Nor is there wanting in the press some spirit to stand simply forth
Heroic in it's nakedness, against the uttermost of earth

The tale of earth's unhonored things sounds nobler there than 'neath the sun
And the mind whirls and the heart sings, And a shout greets the daring one

But always God speaks at the end - One thought in agony of strife
The bravest would have by for friend the memory that he chose the life;

But the pure fate to which you go, Admits no memory of choice
Or the woe, were not earthly woe, to which you give the assenting voice

And so the choice must be again, but the last choice is still the same;
And the awe passes wonder then; and a hush falls for all acclaim.

And God has taken a flower of gold and broken it and used therefrom
The mystic link to bind and hold, spirit to matter till death come.

'Tis of the essence of life here, though we choose greatly, still to lack
the lasting memory at all clear that life for us on the wrack

nothing but we somehow chose; Thus, are we wholly stripped of pride,
in the pain that but one close, bearing it crushed and mystified.

H/T Robert Frost.

Zan, got up and when Lady Everleigh joined them, giving a polite bow.  He waited till she took a seat before sitting back down himself.  He was still mostly lost in thought.  His drinking had slowed as he wanted to keep some wits about himself, besides with all of the drinking going on, Coin purses were always looser.  Money wouldn't replace the news deal him this day, but with what was being asked yet again from this group, doesn't hurt to have some extra funds.  Besides we be the freking heroes of the moment.

"Ah," said Ukko the next morning. "The morning never lies." He snorts in laughter at the bleary eyes of those who indulged in a bit too much celebration. Still - and perhaps not surprisingly, the party is up and awake and ready to go. Dwarven constitution and Elven metabolism...

Torin, up before the dawn to perform the sunrise ritual with Selene, approaches the party to introduce himself & talk about what his role is. He also gives a briefing that sketches out what he knows of the current situation in the Land of Song.

"My understanding is that the Land of Song has been besieged by a plethora of foes."

His voice is quiet, though somehow seems to reach everyone's ears.

"As of right now, I'm not sure of the nature of these foes - information has been lacking. There are rumors of undead. What I do know is that the six predominant clans have bottled themselves up in their fortresses, leaving the outlanders to fend for themselves.

"Many have made their way to the closest keeps. Many more have gone missing. My most recent missive from Yngvar, the predominant Jarl of the Land of Song, indicates that watch-standers have gone missing from his wall - it's as if they had never existed. Yngvar indicated that he's since tripled the watch. Now, his resources are strained almost to a breaking point. The last word I've had from him indicates their situation is dire.

"Our mission is three fold. First, to reconnoiter and determine the nature of the threat. Second, to identify strategies that can effectively neutralize the threat. Third and perhaps most important, find and shelter those refugees trying to escape from the depredations.

"We have put together an away team, a group of professional soldiers, if you will, who will lead the charge against this foe."

Looking the assembled group, he said, "Your job is to be our eyes and ears, and to engage opportunistically with the foe in order to gain a perspective on what we face."

"Are there any questions?"

Ukko's poem was a profound end to a strange day and while he did have a mug or two more afterwards his body and mind were weary and he looked forward to the first mattress he has had in many days.

If nothing else, Bruno thinks upon waking the next morning, we have new problems to deal with today. I can't say that I'm sorry about that!

After his morning meditations, Bruno writes the report making it brief as possible detailing what he knows of the Dead Skull Clan and their leader (adding in any details that others in the party might have shared with him as things he missed in what had spoken earlier) and the weird cavern (#53) that they never did clear out completely in the depths. The other thing he makes sure to note is the number of adventurers that still seem to be mucking about on both floors of Quesqueton. [They came across at least 3 other groups of adventurers, didn't they?]

Once that is complete he leaves it with Antonin's secretary and goes in search of breakfast. When Torin joins them he glances at Zan, but gives the elf priest his full attention. When asked it there were any question he nods, "So, we are your 'away team'. Once we have investigated what are next steps? That is, will we be reporting back to you or somebody else here in Ratik or to King Yngvar?"

"You'll be reporting to me and I will then be reporting directly to Jarl Yngvar" Torin said. "Although I don't expect you to stop what you're doing with each each day that goes by. You'll have a lot of freedom to proceed how you will. Why don't we say, two weeks out initially, then come back and report. As things progress, we can tweak that a bit either way, depending upon how things go."

Torin pauses before adding, "It is good that men of the cloth are in abundance. I've had word that a Paladin of Pelor is waiting for us in Djekul. The more the merrier if rumors of the numbers of undead are true."

"Abundant blessings, but loud steps. We will have to be careful, especially in an unfamliar land. Bruno and the rest have proven their worth, I'm thankful to have them by my side, especially if there are more undead up there."

"Of course," Torin said. "You wouldn't be here if the the Lady Everleigh hadn't thought so well of you. As it stands, I have complete confidence in all of you based upon your reputation. I'm told that Quesqueton was a tough nut to crack and that you did good things. I'm looking forward to more of the same. Now, lets get down the shore. With fair winds we should make the Frost Barbarian Capitol in about a day and a half."

Uthecar is quiet, not adding to the questions or conversation much.  He seems a little out of spirits but is probably just recovering from the night before.

Surprised he wasn't incarcerated for his insolence, Kullonar listened to the poem and was amazed at its depth. Taking his bed, his sleep was not as restful as he would have liked, so he rose early, said his prayers and went for breakfast.

Hearing Torin lay out the plan only added to his disgruntlement and so he ate in silence, never even looking at the man.

Bruno nods a thanks to Myrrick as he speaks to the Curate, "It will be good to have somebody from the Great White North with us as we investigate this matter in those lands.

"You've answered the questions that come to my mind. We will be leaving shortly or will we have time to attend to equipment and resupply today?"