Beloc doesn't talk much along the way. He nods along with the things he already knew and takes in the things he didn't. His past encounters with Crasmar were brief, even though to him, it was merely days ago. Mentioning it seemed futile given more than 11 years had passed for everyone else. Instead, he inquires more about the tunnel systems.

"Provided your Jarl allows us, would these tunnels and caves be able to get us through the region faster than above ground?"

The mention of shaman piques R.E.B.O.R.T's attention. "I would like to know about your shaman. What sort of magic do they perform?"

The pair explain that traversing the caves below isn't wise, and definitely wouldn't allow for faster travel. Too many things other than human live under the earth in this region for travel to be smooth.

Next they explain to Rebort about the shaman. They primarily fill the role of healer, though some are adept at reading the bones (fortune telling), and a few know how to cast offensive spells (though Rebort can surmise from the descriptions that none of the shaman would be grossly powerful sorcerers, at least not in terms of the potential damage they could inflict).

The group closes in on the main gates of Vaaringard, and four men armed to the teeth step out from a gate house to "challenge" the group. Luutvig steps forward, and upon being recognized, the lead guard places a heavy hand on Luutvig's shoulder. Luutvig returns the gesture, equally heavy handed.

"So, Luutvig, prisoners? Or new bed chamber toys?"
The other three men roar with laughter at the crude humor.
Luutvig laughs as well.
"Neidder, you goat scrotum. Dey are varriors, from de souf. Dey are vith de militr'y, and are seeking passage. Joern sent us to ferry dem to ask audience vith Jarl Vindfor".
"Is dat so? Dey give you any trouble".
Luutivg looks back at Shiaran. "No. Dey've been decent mannered".
"Vell, even still, I'm going t' need more information dan "seeking passage". Vhere exactly do you people intend to go? Gate vill not open wit out answers, unfortunately".
Toki candidly leans in to whisper something to Shiaran.

Shiaran steps forward.  As she speaks, she looks up as if trying to recall a long list, and taps her fingers one by one as she calls them off.  Her speech is rapid, clearly enunciated, and said in as few breaths as possible.  "We are trying to pass from the Argonette Forest through your lands by the fastest route possible with our vehicle.  I didn't want to waste time going around, but I didn't want to pass through without permission first, so we spoke to these good people who said we had to come here to speak to the Jarl.  I also would like to talk to him and to this leader of yours, Crasmar, about the PCA and how the clans view them, deal with them, and potentially would like to ally with you against them as friends.  Once through your lands, granting that you give us passage, it will be on to Shattertop.  I have a message for the dwarves there from the dwarf, Gurnfir - to his wife and kids to be exact - that he still lives.  I met Gunrnfir in Argonette city where he was the last survivor of his group passing out of Shattertop through the cave systems below because of your no passage policy.  After I deliver the message, I'd like to stop in Mirn and see what's become of the town and the monastery where I grew up with Sypher," she nods her head back toward the monk.  "I'd like to see if they need any help against the PCA.  After that, we'll find a way to do what we can as best we can against the undead army.  Anything in particular you need to know about all that?"

Beloc remains silent and intently watches the barbarians reactions as Shiaran quickly blasts through her talking points.

The lead guard scratches his chin, clearly being lost on at least three quarters of what Shiaran says. He looks back at Luutvig. "Right.. uh, sounds like jarl business to me as vell". He turns back to the gate and looks up on the wall, and gives a signal. The massive wooden gate with bands of iron holding fast across it starts to swing open. "Just.. don't cause any troubles, right? An' don't forget our laws are vhats followed here. You king's crown doesn't reach dis far".

He and his men step aside, allowing the group passage. Toki snickers quietly to himself while gently elbowing Shiaran.

Ahead is a long main road, made of nothing more than hard packed soil, with rows of long houses and shops on either side.

Shiaran waits till she is past the guards then gives Toki a private small.

Sypher just shakes his head.

R.E.B.O.R.T. follows the group past the guards. "It appears an overabundance of words can be just as disarming as a blade. Well done."

Beloc brings up the rear if Toki or Luutvig doesn't. He keeps a watchful eye on his surroundings as they make their way to the Jarl.

The party makes their way down the wide, dirt main road. Citizens, both men and woman, along with children stop to gawk and stare at the motley crew passing through their home stretch. Beloc and Rebort get the most obvious sideways glances, however it doesn't take long to notice that no one actively calls out angry or jeering words. There is no mockery, no looks of disdain or anger on their faces. It is a mixture of wonder and curiosity, coupled with a potential hint of respect. After all, the group travels in the open company of Fyreworm warriors, unbound or shackled, as free people. Merchants hawking wares even cease their boisterous chatter back and forth across the streets. At one point, a grizzled and disheveled old barbarian still carrying a tankard in his hand from the night before - which appears to have not ended for him yet - stumbles near the group. Upon seeing the elf and warforged, he pauses, looks down at his tankard, and pours the remaining content out on to the dirt below, shambling off while shaking his head.

Luutvig leads the party through a few side streets to a large hall. As two men at the doors open them, the warm glow of a hearth central to the large one room building gives off an inviting glow. The smells of cooked meats wafts lazily through the open wood framed portal, and gives the space a very inviting feel. As Luutvig walks up the steps and beckons the rest inside, the chill of the crisp air outside quickly starts to melt away from everyone.

"Feel free to make yourselfs comfortable. I vill go and fetch de jarl, and ve can get down to de business of discussing your passage. Jarl Vindfor vill also be de vun who decides if you can see de Chief. In de mean time, help yourselfs to some food and varmth". He looks over at Shiaran. "An' to you... perhaps ve got off on de wrong foot, ya? Had I known der vas a shaman vith us.. vell, it's a good type of person to haf around is all". Luutvig fumbles over his words, trying to express some semblance of an apology, and it's clear it isn't something he's done often in life.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:47, Sat 06 Jan 2018.

Shiaran gives him a disarming smile.  "Think nothing if it.  You defend your people well and these are times to be suspicious.  I hold no grudge, Luutvig.  Friends?"  She holds out a slender arm inviting him to shake.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:54, Sun 07 Jan 2018.

Beloc and Apache walk over to the hearth and warm themselves while they wait.

R.E.B.O.R.T, not really noticing the cold, takes note of the hall and their surroundings.

Luutvig looks at Shiaran's hand with a puzzled expression, and clasps it. The exchange takes entirely too long and is completely awkward. Luutvig simply nods, letting his actions try to show the goodwill his words wouldn't, and departs, leaving behind Toki with the party.


"So I heard you make mention of seeing de dwarves earlier. Dis is new" says Toki, once Luutvig is gone.

Sypher enters and finds an unobtrusive corner where he can see the whole room and perhaps be dismissed at the same time.  He sits and relaxes if there is space to do so, making himself appear as non-threatening as possible.  From there, the monk takes in the room and those within it.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:11, Wed 10 Jan 2018.

Shiaran considers Toki for a moment then decides to answer candidly.  Her tone carries with it a mild reprimand.  "All that I said was true.  I met a dwarf in the elfin city.  He is all that is left of his expeditionary force after they had to take the tunnels below your lands since there is a nearly complete restriction on passing through.  We exchanged goods and words and he asked that if I was ever up this way, could I deliver a message to his family and let them know he was alive and well, and hoping to come home once the mountain opened back up."

Shiaran expends a small portion of her attention to look around the room for a place similar to Sypher's while she speaks.  She also looks for food or some kind of serving staff in lieu of that.

"A dorf, passing tru de tunnels underneaf? Unheard of. He vould have passed right tru de keep. Ve gave dem an honor guard escort right tru our lands to de forest's edge. De dwarves are de only vuns de Chief has given unrestricted permission for de passing tru de lands. Eider you heard him wrong - no offense - or he only told you de half truths. It doesn't matter dough. Vhat matters is dat you are in de right place if you are vanting to speak to de dorfs. Dat is, if de Chief can be persuaded. An' assuming dat you're vith de militr'y, and de Feel-ta-garn is vhere de capitol is, it vorks out even better. Dey say de dorfs haf tunnels dat run all de way tru de mountains. Right under Feel-ta-garn. Dat is vhere you are vanting to go, is it not? Forgif me for prying, but de details only make sense in de direction de vinds blow dem". Toki stops himself for a moment. "I don't tink I vas supposed to tell anyvone about de Dorf kingdom entrance at de keep" he says, as he glances back at the door nervously. "It isn't someting dey vant just anyvone knowing about. Ah, how about ve forget I said dat, ya?".

"Of course.  And I was definitely in my own head at the time of our conversation.  It is quite possible I heard him wrong.  No offense taken."  She stores the information away for later use and turns more of her attention toward finding food.  "Toki, is there anything I could eat while we wait?  I'm starving?"

"Of course, over dere on de table. Everyone help yourselfs".

On the table is a selection of roasted meats, fire grilled greens, and loaves of bread.

After around a half hour of waiting, eating, and small talk, the door swings open. Luutvig steps in first, and then stands to the side of the door. He crosses his arm across his chest, with his fist balled tight in a salute. Toki immediately drops a crust of bread he's holding, and makes the salute as well. In walks an imposing man, dressed in dark furs and leather. He stands nearly as tall as Rebort, who clear six foot. A large scar runs the length of his neck, across his throat.

"Presenting Jarl Vindfor, Overseer of de Souf Lands".

Jarl Vindfor nods to both Toki and Luutvig, and then looks everyone over. His gaze isn't harsh, but he definitely looks both surprised and curious. When he speaks, his voice is raspy.

"Luutvig tells me you vish to pass tru our lands? He tells me you came up tru de Souf Lands, and dat you are varriors. Dat you even haf a shaman among you. He also tells me dat you vish to speak to de Chief. I can arrange for dis, if you'll come vith me to de keep. Ve can seek audience vith Chief Crasmar der, and arrange for a sit down vith him. My only request is dat vhen dey ask you who you vish to be in your circle, you do not send me avay. I'd much like to hear your tale, but it is our custum dat dose seeking audience haf a right to select de audience, if any, when speaking to de Chief. Dis is our vay of hafing vhat you vould call an "open door policy"".

When the Jarl enters, Beloc stands and bows out of respect.

R.E.B.OR.T, who had remained standing throughout their wait, keeps his focus locked on Vindfor but remains otherwise motionless.

Sypher stands quietly but does nothing else.

Shiaran finishes chewing a large bite as she stands.  She finds something to wipe her hands and face on, though she is such a clean eater, there is little mess to begin with, despite her voracious appetite.  She moves with precision and efficiency, but not hurried.  After a drink to wash it down she approaches the Jarl.  "I'm the...shaman, Shiaran Whiteraven.  I would be happy to include you in the discussion.  This concerns all of our peoples."

Something seems to catch Beloc's attention and he raises an eyebrow as he looks over to Shiaran. He looks as if he was about to say something, but he holds himself back.

"Vell den, I am tankful for dat. Der are many here among our people who do not vish to mingle vith de outside vorld. I for one see de benefits, if done vith caution and care. Come, ve vill talk on de way".

Vindfor exits the building, beckoning everyone to join him. As you walk down the side roads, he continues to explain his position.

"As you can imagine, I am a man of great influences. My people, dey are content vith der sealed avay lifes. I do not fault dem for dis, and I do not tink dey are rong. However, de vorld is changing around us. If we are not careful, I fear dat ve vill fade avay. No man acting as vun of de leaders of his peoples vants dis. I am not suggesting ve trow out our way of life avay, and modernize. But our lands are rich vith minerals. Our grounds are fertile. And my people, dey are noble. And no, before you ask, I don't intend to do someting to shame myself vith de likes of money. Vun of de stipulations dat novun considers, is dat de travel ban ve have here goes both way. Our people do not leave our lands, because it is forbidden. I vill say, dat dis above all, I do not like. I feel as if it vill cause us to stagnate, like some musty and forgotten pond".

By this point, the group, Vindfor, Toki, and Luutvig are traversing up the granite steps carved into the rock, likely dwarvish by design, that leads to the main doors of the keep. The keep is comprised of various woods, stones, and metals, all polished to a brilliant luster. The same intertwining motif of patterns and imagery found on the boundary markers from earlier adorn all three materials, giving the overall structure a textured look.

Directly above the door, mounted to the structure, is the sun bleaches skull of a massive dragon. Looking at the horn structure, coupled with the stories, you all guess it to be a red dragon. Judging from the size, it could very well have been the fabled brood mother that Crasmar is claimed to have slew.

Four men-at-arms, clad in full battle armor salute the Jarl as he ascends from the top step, and swing the wide and heavy doors open. A grand entrance hall, long and rectangular spans before everyone. Large braziers with their own small bonfires burn brightly, giving the space a similar cozy and homely feel like the last building.

A man dressed in fine furs and leathers, approaches and salutes the Jarl.

"Ve vish to speak to Crasmar".

"Of course my Jarl. He is currently meeting vith another party, but I vill see to it your request is relayed to him in the mean time".

The man gives a hastey salute and turns on his heels, setting off to wherever he goes at a quick pace.

"Come" says Vindfor, taking the group further into the room, and hanging a right into a large chamber.

The next room is square, roughly 25" x 25", with a stone floor. Several wooden pillars span up to the ceiling which by anyone's guess, clears at least 20 feet high. Thick wooden beams run cross ways, creating hefty rafters. In the center of the ceiling is a massive chandelier of dozens and dozens of stag horns. Glowing amber orbs are affixed all over it, bathing the room in a soft brown and yellow glow. A large rectangular table sits directly underneath the light fixture, with a runner down the center of stretched and tanned red dragon's hide. Twelve high backed chairs surround the table, each with a drape of the same tanned dragons hide flowing freely down the back. The room by all accounts is opulent by barbarian standards. Vindfor stands next to the chair with its back facing the doorway, motioning for everyone to take seats at their leisure, and only asking that no one sits in the chair at the head of the table. It is slightly larger and has wider arm rests.

Several hammered metal pitchers and brought in, along with jeweled goblets. The finery looks to be dwarvish in nature as well. Water, wine, milk, and mead are all provided, along with a few loaves of the bread served at the other meeting house.

"I do not know how long Crasmar vill be, but-". Vindfor is interrupted by the shuffling of feet and the tapping of a cane on the stone floor behind him. An elderly woman enters the room. She is gaunt, haggard, wild haired and hunched over as she walks. She makes her way to his side, and places a hand on his shoulder. When she speaks, her voice is raspy, and strained.

"I did not expect to see you here again so soon Vindfor. Vhat troubles you?". The elderly woman's tone is sincere.

"I bring varriors to meet vith Crasmar. Dey seek passage, but also have a message for him. Do you know how long he vill be?".

Her tone changes. There is a slight tremble in her voice. "Mmmm. Dis I do not know. He meets vith de shadow dat valks in de day's light. De devil of a man himself".

Vindfor's composure stiffens slightly. "He is here? But vhy?".

"I do not know. Only dat he comes here on business dat only de Chief is audience to. Not even Sigurd vas allowed to stay in de room".

"Dat man.. ting... is noting but trouble vhere he goes".

"Yes, I agree. But it is not for us to question Crasmar. Never has been". The old woman glances up and gets a look at the rest of the group now. She gazes at each, studying you. When she gets to Beloc and Rebort, her expressions doesn't change. No mask of wonder, curiosity, or contempt. Just quiet study.

She silently rights herself, and hobbles closer to the group.

"You have de stink of death about you. Especially you" she says, pointing a gnarled finger at Sypher.

Sypher bows slightly at her, acknowledging her statement, but says nothing.  Since he has been singled out by the woman, he does not move from where he stands.  His stance is relaxed though, his arms crossed and his face contemplative.