Sowen and Olagh got a pair of mugs from Larissa's ample tray, dropped some coin in exchange, and said something funny that made her laugh. With that bit of greeting complete, they ambled their way to the "new blood" table and pulled in a pair of stools to join the party. They were greeted by the locals in equal cheer, but declined to put bets on anyone at the moment.

"So, I see it's busy. There's enough dwarves here to persuade a man to hire guards for his ale cellar. You never know where a hidden tap might be found, or how it made it into tapping that ale keg. Stranger things have happened, you know?", jested Sowen. He took a deep drink from his brew, and put the mug down on the table.

He turned to Marille.

"So, Marille, are you going to compete in this arm-wrestling game? You look like you could easily win."

"If what she did to me was good, she could take them all on."

OOC: Mysh's player hasn't been around for three days. I will give it one more before I reach out, and see what's happening. Otherwise I'll be posting for him.

"Is my turn?  Am ready.  Was distracted by orc culture, but no more."  He flexes until the veins of his forearms bulge.

Oswyn gulps when he sees Mysh's bulging biceps and forearms, but settles in for another match. Just give it a go. You'll probably lose anyway.

Resting his elbow on the table, he takes Mysh's large hand in his own well-calloused grip and the game begins.

OOC: The die roller is loving me now, but I'm sure I'll keep rolling like this when we get into combat!

14:56, Today: Oswyn rolled 4 using 1d20.  Arm Wrestle 1.

14:56, Today: Oswyn rolled 11 using 1d20.  Arm Wrestle 2.

14:56, Today: Oswyn rolled 6 using 1d20.  Arm Wrestle 3.

Angus watches in fascination at how strong the three of them were, and that Marille lost to the lowliest of them.

"Tomorrow, we'll go the town hall to see Master Garrel together and add you to the list, how does that sound?"
 Petar offers.  He was sure that the curmudgeonly fellow would be happy to accept yet more adventurers into the bounty-seeking fold.


Lland had never been much of a politician, by which it meant he wasn't the hugest fan of obligatory procedures and licenses that people of that profession seemed to love to death. Having to meet a man to sign a form to get on a list to do an adventure seemed like a headache. In the old days you could just kill monsters and get gold without all the buss and fuss. But he knew enough to at least play along if it wasn't horribly offensive to his sensibilities.

"" if that's th' wey it mist be dane suppose it wilnae keep me up tae late at nicht tae hae tae jyne some list, ah shall wait"

OOC: Mysh, go ahead and roll your STR checks. We'll be able to see who wins by the numbers. Mind you, Oswyn rolled pretty good.

"I tried. I lost. I will lift more boulders to get stronger. I will practice."

She doesn't seem disappointed at her loss, merely taking it in with equanimity. She is watching the match with attention, though, wondering whether the human or the dwarf will win.

"You two are good fighters. Where did you train?"

Sowen answers, "We enlisted in the militia for a half-year stint. We have practice in drilling, marching, swords, spears, and bows. I can't say we're that good, but we won't be making fools of ourselves."

"I like to hunt. My aim is good when alone and quiet, but not as good when someone's trying to gut me," adds Olagh.

The two men introduce themselves to Lland.

"I am Sowen, and this is my brother Olagh."

Olagh nods to you without missing a beat from drinking his ale. A bit of a dribble pours down his chin as he just keeps going, and then slams the mug on the table.

"Yaaahhh! This is the best! From Lonn or Hellak?"

---

OOC: Olagh is talking about the two closest large dwarven enclaves: Lonn-Gashar and Hellak-Oshar. You can find them on the (work-in-progress) main map, and you can read about them in the World of Karanos thread. Of course, you don't actually have to hail from either one of them. There is a small but active dwarven population in many cities, composed of dwarves that just wanted something different or have family/clan commitments that are different from the traditional underground or hill dwarves.

Mysh grins cruelly as he locks up with the dwarf, his eyes burrowing into his opponent's with the intensity of a thousand chorts.

20:46, Today: Mysh rolled 20 using 1d20.  Arm wrestle 3.

20:46, Today: Mysh rolled 9 using 1d20.  Arm wrestle 2.

20:46, Today: Mysh rolled 15 using 1d20.  Arm wrestle 1.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:47, Fri 09 Oct 2020.

"I like to hunt. My aim is good when alone and quiet, but not as good when someone's trying to gut me," adds Olagh.

Petar was about to chuckle, but then he remembered his own dismal shooting earlier that day.  He'd not had two arrows fail like that since .. well, ever.  For a moment he was tempted to head outside and set up a target dummy and take a few hundred draws.  But, it was dark, and he was tired.

Quickly covering a yawn, Petar grinned at Olagh.  "To be fair, none of those orcs or goblins got a chance to gut you, Olagh, you kept well back like a sensible archer.  Nicely done today."

Mysh grinned cruelly as he locked up with the dwarf, his eyes burrowing into his opponent's with the intensity of a thousand chorts. Their hands met, the keeper counted down, and the match began. Almost immediately, Oswyn captured the lead with a solid grunt as his hand pushed Mysh's towards the table. Mysh, however, wasn't about to give him the pleasure of a flat out easy victory. He pushed with even greater ferocity, pulling his hand back up the center line, leaving Oswyn with an amazed look on his eyes, both wrestlers starting to throw daggers at each other with their eyes. For several moments, the hands teetered back and forth, sometimes to Mysh, sometimes to Oswyn, but it was clear that Mysh's steady hand was now rocking, with a slight tremble coming from past his elbow. Oswyn's dwarven arms carried calmly onwards, though, slowly, but inexorably. The crowd went insane with cheering as the match progressed. But then Mysh's hand moved from slightly in his favor, to center line, to against him, to halfway to the table, then to almost touching, where he caught up for a moment, giving it his all to keep from being beaten, but Oswyn had the advantage at this point, and with one last firm push, brought Mysh's hand down to the table.

Oswyn had won this match.

It is now that you realize that the Sleeping Owl was full of people. More had arrived at the news of an arm wrestling match with "new blood", something they hadn't seen in a long time. In this almost sleepy town, at the edge of mountains and at the border of an arcanocracy, this was the biggest entertainment they had in years. The serving bar was full of people, and at this point, it was standing room only. All the tables and chairs had been taken. But the new blood table had earned a newfound measure of respect.

The town guards came by to pat the contestants on the shoulders, offer compliments, and even some (unsolicited?) advice, but they clearly didn't have the muscular chops to even dream of getting into a match with the line of tonight's contenders. But that clearly didn't stop them from making merry about things this evening.

Larissa came to your table and whispered in your ears, as she dropped more mugs and a few trays of food,

"Th's n'ght's 'n us, l'ds, l'sses. Been good bus'ness t'night. Th'nks."

Sowen takes his chair next to Mysh's.

"Hey, that was some good wrestling. I know 'that' girl lift boulders for training," as he nods to Marille, "and I know the dwarves have their strength from mining and smithing for years on end, but how did you get these?", as he puts his arm next to Mysh's. The difference is obvious. Sowen's arm was strong for a human of his rough age, toned and well defined, but Mysh's arm looked like a tree trunk, perhaps over twice as thick as Sowen's.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:26, Sun 11 Oct 2020.

Olagh took the compliment with eagerness. He smiled, grinned in an almost bashful way. Perhaps he wasn't accustomed to receiving praise, or perhaps he didn't value his archery skills as much as others. Whatever the reason, he beamed exultantly in the compliment. He slapped his brother on the arm, trying to get his attention, but Sowen was deeply focused on Mysh, looking to learn how to be stronger.

In the end, the alcohol combined with the unexpected praise, left the local warrior with a giddy disposition, happy to be recognized. Answering Petar, he added,

"Are you going out tomorrow? Still want us what with all the dwarves and that guy?", he said, leaning his head towards Mysh.

OOC: Ok, got some posts out. It's been crazy busy, but I made good progress last Friday, solving some major problems, and simultaneously earning some good praise. I think this will earn me a few days worth of a break, as we are not scrambling for solutions anymore.

I'll wind down the evening, now that the arm wrestling match is done, and unless you guys want to talk about anything else, we should be back on our way on the third day of the search very soon.

Lland was actually enjoying this town, anywhere that could wrangle and organize impressive adventurers like these had to be pretty ok in it's bones, even if it made you sign stupid lists to join in on the fun. Also the extra food and drink showered upon them for their shows of strength wasn't that bad either.

 "weel thenk ye a much fur th' ale an' grub miss yoo're a top notch hostess." he said to Larissa with a large grin before chugging another ale to his gullet.

Marille was a good sport no doubt about it, had the wind blown another direction it would have been his arm on the table seeing as she was strong and built like a warrior. Lland had a little bit of a strength- crush, wasn't often you found a pass that could break a barrel in half with her bare hands and lift boulders.

"yoo're veery impressive, arm wrestlin' is aun thing but Ah woods ne'er want tae meet ye oan th' battlefield."

Lland admittedly missed the match between Osywn and Mush while admiring Marille's prowess and beauty when Sowen and Olagh caught his attention to introduce themselves.

"Ye boys seem tae be ma type o fellas. Aef it takes ya twa breaths tae drink an ale well then ye must no love ale  much. A'm originally from hellak but A left tae pursue ma own fortune an interests. "

"I don't see why you wouldn't join us again," Aila replied to Olagh.  "Unless your purse is so heavy that you want to take the break from it."

Oswyn refuses to gloat over his victories. "Well played, Mysh. You nearly had me there. Let's have a round."

Hearing Lland's question, Oswyn is also curious. He'd like to get to know his new companions better before they head out.

Mysh snorts.  “Is kind to say, dwarf.  But you beat me easily.  Is like steel in your arms.  Let’s drink.”

He’s so embarrassed he can barely remember how to talk!

In reply to Mysh (msg # 371):

Angus buys a round for the bar after the arm wrestling is settled. He'll buy Marille supper, he wished shed continue with them, but understood why she was ready to plant roots, find a husband, and raise a passle of kids.

Oswyn had won this match.

"Nice," Petar said approvingly.  "It would appear the crowd agrees, too."

The town guards came by to pat the contestants on the shoulders, offer compliments, and even some (unsolicited?) advice ...

Watching the guardsfolk carefully, the elf waited until they had moved on before adding: "They were trying to recruit Marille earlier ... but I think the bounties pay better for now."

Answering Petar, he added,

"Are you going out tomorrow? Still want us what with all the dwarves and that guy?", he said, leaning his head towards Mysh.

"Oh, yes, we have to Oswyn, as long as Alinda and all the others are missing then it's urgent .. I haven't given up hope yet!" Petar said earnestly.  It was true they had found a lot of personal affects ... but until they found hard evidence like the bodies, there was always hope.

"Come with us, there will be bounty to spare, I think .. unless you are worried about the drakes?"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:56, Tue 13 Oct 2020.

"Thank you. It's the farm work, not the sword work, that makes me strong. Rustling cattle will get you hungry and thirsty, and make you want to lift boulders. As practice for lifting cows."



Olagh answers through his grin.

"I am no dwarf. I can only drink ale if I can still breathe afterwards. We get some of your kin from Hellak during the fall. They travel with their wagons, selling ores and metals, gems, and other things. I've seen some drinking. You're as good as them."

"If it takes just one breath to love ale, then I say I must hate it, because I need to take four or five. But the ones I take, I dedicate to the contents of my mug, and I will remember her lovingly for the rest of the night. Or at least until I piss her out! Hah!", Sowen proclaims loudly, the ale clearly already getting to his head.

"Of course, if she doesn't love me back, I'll be hearing no end of it in the morning."

At the mention of drakes both Sowen and Olagh seem to pause for a moment, but it passes so fast you would have had to be paying attention to them to actually catch it. Their eyes meet for an instant, as if sharing a thought no one else can hear, and then they return to the their merry drinking and bantering.

"Drakes don't scare me. I can put some arrows into them faster than they can reach me... I think. Anyway, yes, I want to go out again tomorrow. Fighting orcs is different from drilling and practicing, and the goblins are good, too. Good money, but real fights. I learned more from the last two days than I did in two months in the militia. Count me in."

He takes another swig from his recently refilled ale mug, checks on Lland to make sure he's not disapproving, then takes another one.

"They have orcs where you're from? In the big city? Never been there. How is it?"

Sowen turns around to watch his brother talking. He seems interested in what he's doing.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 02:43, Wed 14 Oct 2020.

“Soon let’s go.  Killing makes me feel better about myself.  We kill the ugly little people and make the world pretty place.  Then we drink again.  Piss, love, again.” He nods to the great philosopher, Olagh.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:20, Thu 15 Oct 2020.

He takes another swig from his recently refilled ale mug, checks on Lland to make sure he's not disapproving, then takes another one.

"They have orcs where you're from? In the big city? Never been there. How is it?"

Sowen turns around to watch his brother talking. He seems interested in what he's doing.

Petar reflects on life in Blackrock and how he might possibly explain the myriad differences to these bumpkins.  "No orcs, not quite," he begins with a grin.  "There are other problems, though, like thugs and gangs, and the taxman!"

"Imagine a lot of Emberdells, all living so close like they are on top of each other.  How do they all get food?  How does it stay clean?  Where does the water come from? How do rulers keep order of so many people and all their ideas, good and bad?"

"No orcs needed, there are plenty of things going on without them!"

The elf grins.  Since he started his trek around the safe edges of civilisation, he'd seen quite a few things but nothing as exciting as his memories of the city.  Except for the last few days, or course.  Petar has to admit the last few days have been very interesting indeed.

OOC: Moving the evening on to get to the next day.

The conversation continues with ease, as everyone has had enough to drink to settle any tensions down. The match contestants have a hard time letting any grudges take a hold, with enough ale going around drown a horse.

Olagh continues asking questions about Blackrock, and the ways of things there. While he listens intently to what Petar says, he doesn't give any indication that anything he's hearing surprises him. He's just taking it in with an even temper, or as even as a man who just finished downing three mugs of ale can get.

Marille talks shop with the dwarves, swords and axes and fighting styles, while everyone else just banters along with a happy buzz.

The evening passes pleasantly, with the happy patrons leaving one by one, until it is time to kick all the sleeping drunks out of the tavern, and you all find your way to your rooms, to dream of the things that most delight you.

Your companions for the evening are a bright half-moon and a few hooting owls, heard from the nearby trees or flying overhead.

The Sleeping Owl and its many guests settle into a quiet night's slumber, ready for another day of travel and danger.

OOC: Well, I was quite wrong about having all that extra time. Things got stinking busy until just right now, when all the preliminary tests finished and everyone is happy. No more crazy tension. Everyone's walking away with a smile. Whew.

Ok, I am closing the evening with these simple words. Let me post again later this evening or tomorrow morning to open the next day in the story.

Mysh wakes up hungry enough to eat an entire clutch of dragon eggs, but will settle for whatever eggs the inn has in stock.  Preferably with a slab of undercooked bacon.  He is a passionate believer in the old halfling custom of eating a huge breakfast before setting off on an adventure.  Besides, his ‘boulders’ are sore from all the arm wrestling: they need nourishment.