Eins glares at Caile for a moment, then sighs.

"Alright, I walked into that one."

He takes Caile's hand and shakes it.

"Good to meet you Caile. My name's Eins."

In reply to Eins Heold (msg # 36):

Eins, I'm Brevis.  You mentioned that home is wherever your longsword is drawn.  I've found the itinerant life to be long and profitable.  Were you in a hurry home before this immovable object (raising his mug) met your unstoppable force?

In response to Brevis (msg #37)

Eins shakes his head slightly in exasperation.

"Do either of you ever speak normally? I think what you're trying to ask is if I was headed for battle, and my answer is no. Not this time."

In reply to Narrator (msg # 29):

"Old friend." Hardinder replies with a pained look. "Places like these are not for me. I have lived too long in the wild. I would prefer ... visiting the rune stones. Do they still stand? I have not been here since I left you here, alone, after we escaped the Trident slavers. How did you manage to rebuild this place? With Clay's belssing, no doubt."

He squints at Brander.

"And Horn has an eye on you as well, I doubt not."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:52, Wed 03 June 2020.

In reply to Harinder (msg # 39):

What passes for a smile briefly flickers across Brander's face.

"The runes are still there, just to the north, though they seem to have less visitors with each passing season." He replies quietly.

"As for rebuilding, yes, the gods blessings help..." He turns to the others now, before continuing.

"Visitors who are willing to put in some hard work helps more." He says so all can hear.

"In exchange for our hospitality, all we ask is for willing hands to help. There are timbers to be cut, stones to be moved and the ground to be worked. But that is in the morn. This evening there is ale to be drank and tales to be told." He says, ending on a more cheerful note.

This seems to be agreeable to the others in the taproom, with nods all around and even a subdued cheer from a few.

Caile raises his second mug of ale in yet another toast to Brander.

"Hear, hear, Master Brander. Tomorrow, we toil. But tonight, we DRINK!"

The Frailer downs his mug in one big gulp and tosses it over to Brander as he begins to unfasten his leather harness and unbuckle his sword from his belt. He drops his gear on top of his backpack and leaps onto a table, flute in hand. For a moment he sways, dangerously close to losing his balance, before he recovers and turns to his audience.

"I promised you entertainment, and I am a man of my word, despite being a filthy half-thing." He flicks his slightly pointed ears and smiles. "Here is a ballad of another halfblood, though one much cruder and stinkier than I."

Caile raises the flute to his lips and plays a jaunty little melody before he starts to sing in a clear baritone.

"There once was an ogre so smelly,
folks claimed something died in her belly.
When she let one rip,
Those whom it did grip,
Found it to be rather quite deadly.

The ogre, whose name was Old Tuckett,
Always she carried a big bucket.
When her belly did shift,
Her skirt she'd then lift,
Fill it, and then she'd just chuck it.

But one day her journey was ended,
By raiders; in sleep undefended.
They cut her in twain,
From groin up to brain,
Through the wound her contents upended.

A goat, two dogs and a pig they spied,
Some rocks, a priest and a dwarf, deep-fried.
The gore, it shook'em,
The stench overtook'em,
And so, the Grim Butchers all died.

Old Tuckett, the ogre, no longer alone,
Her likeness erected in marble and stone.
In life, vilified,
In death, deified,
For the post mortem bravery she'd shown."

With a final warble of tunes from his flute Caile finishes the song and looks out over the room, waiting.

Eins cocks his head to the side, a little bit confused by the interesting choice of lyrics.

"I don't think I'm nearly drunk enough to appreciate such art." He mutters to himself.

He quickly downs his mug of ale, grabs another, and downs it as well. Then he waits a moment.

"There we go," he says and begins to clap heartily.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:40, Thu 04 June 2020.

In reply to Eins Heold (msg # 42):

Lothar having taken a seat and having enjoyed an ale or or two... or three... Says rather loudly "Fine tune to be sure! Though the lyrics seem rather vulgar for an elf don't they? Something I'd expect out a goblins mouth!" This sets off a long bout of laughter from Lother that almost brings a tear to his eye.

In reply to Caile (msg # 41):

Brevis slow claps through to the crescendo at which point he raises his hands and cries,

Encore!  Three cheers for Ol' Tuckett, Master Caile here has done it, at sun up we'll curse as we ask for the bucket.  Let's drink and regret it, until then forget it and Caile may he bless us again!
This message was last edited by the player at 05:20, Fri 05 June 2020.

The gathered villagers all toast the minstrel's good health, laughing and cheering at the bawdy ballad.

For a time all are cheered by the song, then after a few more ales the mood becomes a little more sombre. Brander turns to Harinder, speaking of old times, of their time together.

"There may be more of us alive yet, scattered across the Ravenlands." The old man says, taking a drink. "I know there are rumours of those wearing the brand of the trident. Some travellers come through Runething and see my mark, tell me tales of seeing men and women bearing the same curious design."

"Hunters whisper of Grindbone, the village of slavers and thieves that lies beyond the Arina forest. Many have heard the cry of the village’s mill from the river but few have dared to approach. It is said that the millstones grind the souls of the enslaved to dust since slaves have no use for spirituality. Some come to Grindbone through compulsion, others in exultation. There, those captured by the cruel arrive. From there, those sold by the greedy leave." Brand re-tells the legend as if he's heard it innumerable times, before adding.

"To the south lie the ruins of the once great Wailer's Hold, beyond the Wash on the edge of the Moldena plains.. It is said that some of us fled there, seeking refuge from the Trident riders... But who knows what they found there, for none have returned with good tidings.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:24, Sat 06 June 2020.

The usually so cheerful and exuberant Caile listens to Brander with a somber face. A dark shadow seems to have crept into his features and there is pain in his eyes.

"While this brand is unfamiliar to me, I know its implications all too well. Slavery is an abomination to the gods, a sickness that must be rooted out. All souls are born free and should never have to suffer enslavement by another. We must make it our mission to thwart these slavers of Grindbone, there is no other recourse."

He goes quiet for a moment, deep in thought.

"But I fear we may be too few in number to take on an entire village of scum. Perhaps we would be best served by helping your brethren lost to that wailing ruin you speak of, to swell our ranks?"
This message was last edited by the player at 07:26, Sat 06 June 2020.

In reply to Caile (msg # 46):

Upon hearing news of his fellow Childer, Brevis becomes deadly serious.

This place you call Grindbone, it has many names among thieves. Fact has became difficult to parse from fiction, as often accounts of it were too terrible to believe.  If it does exist, and I refuse that Slaver's word for it, then it is an un-honored burial ground.

Brevis clenches his fists.

I've half a mind to set out tonight, but Caile is wise to grasp the scope of such a task.  Let me say it now...there is nothing I won't do to honor our fallen, crush their captors, and free those that belong to no one.

Brevis sets his hand on Caile's shoulder and stares into Harinder's eyes.

If we share this allied thread, then I implore you to join me.

Harinder mutters something about adult-looking elfspawns no older than a year. He rises and absently trace a hand over his scar. His eyes goes to Brander.

"Boy," he calls the younger man who must be close to forty. "I let you boys down once, in my youth. I fled the slavers with the only one I could ... use. I will not use you again. Not take you from your family. No, no, you must stay with them."

The old man pats the stablemaster's hands and glance at the two half-elves with a frown, as if they had argued with him.

"We will find others willing to slay slavers. Now how far lies these ruins? I may find more of ours there who yet live! Others with scars, who will call me brother. Fierce men, who share my ... our hatred."

Brander is starring at the floorplanks, as if ashamed to agree that he can not leave. Or will not. One hand is fingering the pommel of his sword.

"Seeking allies there is one option, yes." he says. "But it may be a fools quest. They could just as well be highwaymen and care less about shared slave brands. The Tridents disappeared from the plains some twenty years ago. Most likely the mist got them eventually."

he looks up and meet his oldfriend's gaze.

"There are plenty of able men comming tomorrow for the games." Brander said. "Some of them sellswords, looking for prize in gold. Since the blood mist cleared, they have come every year. Great fighters, some. And I bet they will be hungry for plunder, when they realize the prize Ruething offers is merely the blessings of the runes. Men and women like these champions. Most of them are not godly, but practical. And hungry for a cause to fight. Stay with me just a couple of days more, brother, and we will find fighters for you. A few more skilled swords."

The stablemaster turned to the rest of them. You don't want to miss the games, do you?"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:48, Sat 06 June 2020.

In reply to Harinder (msg # 48):

Lothar, still somewhat warmed by the local ale, sounders over to Eins and takes a seat next to the Dwarf "We seem to find ourselves mixed in with a few very interesting groups haven't we now? Quite a bit of history within these humble walls eh? What brings you here to this town? Have you some prearranged business like the others or are you another random traveler like myself?"

In reply to Narrator (msg # 45):

Brevis approaches Brander, sensing that consensus has not yet been reached within his group regarding their next move.

The news you've shared does come as a bit of a shock.  The ale certainly helps to wash down a bitter pill, so thank you for sharing both.  If I may ask, it is hard to get supplies here?  Surely a reliable source is needed to brew something as good as this.

Brevis raises his mug and downs the last of its contents.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:26, Sun 07 June 2020.

In reply to Lothar (msg #49)

"Any town would have done for me, but I'm glad to have landed in this one." Eins says to Lothar.

He sighs, and looks over himself, his dirty armor and well used sword. He had been listening to the conversation Brander, Harinder, Caile and Brevis. He stands from his seat and goes to stand by their table.

"I couldn't hear all you said, but I gather you're looking to bust up a slave camp. I ain't been a slave before, but I've had my share of captivity. You're in need of warriors and I'm in need of a cause. What say I join you?"

In reply to Eins Heold (msg # 51):

As am I! I'll admit I was not looking forward to another dull, quiet town where not much goes on, and on first glance my fears came to be, but as this night has gone on we seem to have found quite the opposite! I may not have a noble cause like you lot, but am a capable fighter, and naturally quiet to boot.

Lothar points down to his bare feet with a grin.

I'd like to tag along if you'd not mind, I find myself with some free time as of late and could use the work and pay...

Caile smiles slightly at Lothar's joke, despite its awkward timing.

"I do not know what pay we can offer you, master halfling, but we could use your free time. And as for your lack of a cause, I'll be happy to lend you mine."

The Frailer becomes serious again, returning to the conversation.

"No offense, Master Brander, but I do not think it wise to trust in these practical 'champions' you speak of as allies in this. They would most likely betray us to the slavers for the promise of gold rather than aid us in our quest for liberty and revenge. Soldiers of fortune are not what we need, but true warriors who burn with conviction and loyalty."

He turns to Eins.


"As for Wailer's Hold, if I remember the stories correctly, it was once a dwarven city that fell late during the third Alder War. We might find some of your kin in the area, Eins, although the city has been lost to them for hundreds of years. Maybe they would join us in rooting out the slaver scum in Grindbone in return for our help in reclaiming their old home from whatever dwells there now?"

In reply to Caile (msg # 53):

"My apologies kind sir!" Lothar says with a slight bow.

"My timing is sometimes off with my tongue and has gotten me in trouble more than once I can tell you. Your cause is indeed a just one, and while I have had no run in with slavers myself I have heard many a tale of their brutality. I do not require you to pay me kind elf, though I do appreciate the offer."He says with some degree of smugness. "Having just recently discovered the freedoms self employment has to offer I am not looking for another boss anytime soon. A share of any... collectables... we come across is good by me. All that being said, as of now my stake in all this is rather small..." Lother pauses to let out a small chuckle. "sorry... but might I suggest we go north? If only because it was the direction I was already heading, plus this Grindbone place, horrible name! Might it contain some more of your lost companions?"
This message was last edited by the player at 16:00, Mon 08 June 2020.

In reply to Caile (msg #53)

"Of course. Dwarves love nothing more than their 'homeland.' Seems that most of them think that the whole world is our homeland though, so the sentiment's never made much sense to me.

Caile looks at Lothar, wrinkling his forehead in confusion.

"Go much farther north, master halfling, and you'll either end up with wet feet or in the belly of a clan of Saurians!"

He sweeps his hand across the map presented by Brander, indicating the Gargan Marshes and the wet expanse of Lake Varda to the north.

"If we wish to head to either location we must go back south. And like you I can't say I relish the thought. Though our dear host has made a good case for both Grindstone and Wailer's Hold, I wonder if it might be wise to look closer to home before seeking allies or foes in the south. What about these villages?" The minstrel points to the villages to the east and west of Runething on the map. "Do they still stand? Or this old tower? He points to the fortification on the northeastern shore of Lake Varda. "Who holds it?"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:06, Tue 09 June 2020.

At the mention of Saurians, Brander's nose wrinkles.

"Stinking lizards... Those villages to the west on the shores of Lake Varda are, or at least were last time I heard from them, trading posts." He says with some disdain.

"Folk come to trade with the Saurians, giving them metal tools in exchange for their fish, frogs, shells and bread root. Bread root is pretty common around here and it's versatile enough that you can use it in many different foods... About the only good thing those scaled bastards are good for."

He looks again at the map. "As for the tower, I do not know. I'm afraid I have heard conflicts stories of it.. I haven't traveled far from this place in the time since the Blood Mist lifted, but some say it is the home of a reclusive elf sorcerer, some say it is the home of an orc tribe, others still say it's the lair of a fearsome beast... I honestly do not know the truth of it. There could be an ally to be found, or death."

In reply to Caile (msg # 56):

Lothar glances at the map and says to Caile with some red in his cheeks:

"I stand corrected! How I made it this far on my own must be some small miracle... I like your idea of sticking close to here for now, get a better feel for the lands and each other.

Looking to the group at large.

"To the tower I say then! If trading is our goal I'm sure it's much safer done here than in the company of spear wielding Saurians."

I do not wish to diminish the hospitality shown to us tonight, but my heart aches knowing slavers are so active.  The call to action moves me in a way that perhaps only a bard can express.

All roads that lead to Runething are similarly paved by the footsteps of freedom seekers and restless souls.  Those of you who hear the call, join me in making a pact tonight.  Let us waste no time.

Our Brander here seems a good man, but firsthand knowledge is worth a treasure room of tales.  I want to see the slavers camp in person and, perhaps, send a signal to our Childer that help is on the way.  Should they have nothing but hope, it will give them the strength to survive.

Caile listens intently to Brevis, compassion and understanding in his eyes.

"I feel you, Brother, and I will stand with you. Maybe we will find others who'll stand with us on our journey south, maybe we'll stand alone. But stand we will." He turns to Lothar. "I fear that the tower will have to wait, master halfling. My brother's vengeance cannot wait."

The minstrel takes another look at the map and puts his finger on the cave to the south, at the edge of the Arina Forest.

"If any of our fellow Childer have escaped Grindbone and its cruel masters I bet this is where they would be holed up. We should make sure to investigate it on our way. Either way it could make a fine staging area for our attack. Master Brander, do you know who, if anyone, lays claim to these woods?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:38, Wed 10 June 2020.