After what seems like an eternity, Durnan appears from the kitchen. A somewhat clean red-chequered cloth is now tucked into his belt, and he carries a wooden tray of ceramic mugs in one hand and a cezve and small teapot in the other.

With a small nod, he places them on the table for the disparate group before filling the teapot with the boiling water from the fireplace.

The coffee smells of rich toffee, and the liquid is deep and black. The tea is warm and inviting, with a hint of what might be lavender, perhaps.

After several more trips of this nature, Durnan has stocked the table with a large pot of porridge and several bowls for the group; a plate of bacon piled high with pieces that are so crispy that some might consider them overcooked; another plate of fried eggs, sunny side down; and plates and utensils for which to dine with.

"I'll fetch that bread in just a few moments," he says as the baker can once again be heard outside offering his wares.

Starr takes a deep breath as the food is brought before them, closing his eyes and savoring the smell. He rests his elbows on the table's edge and balls one hand into a fist, covering it with the other.

"Great Tempus, Foehammer, Lord of Battles and so forth. We ask you to not disturb us in our meal, so that we can enjoy it while it's still hot. Let us face whichever enemies you send our way today on a sated stomach and with a good rest behind us. Glory to you."

With that, he swiftly proceeds to quaff down half his cup of coffee, and helps himself to bacon, eggs and porridge.

Lukosius respectfully listens to Starr's prayer, then follows on with his own, wrapping the fingers of his right hand around his left wrist.

"And may we endure them when they come," he intones before taking his own share of the food. He leaves the coffee for a bit, enjoying the smell as it wafts to his nose.

Kairon chooses to not follow the prayer, the one he might offer words to being of a nature he'd prefer to avoid when he can. He simply nods along, and then dives into the food himself from the get go, putting far too much on his own plate.

Poesy raises an eyebrow at Wolfred's prayer but shrugs. She's eating well before it's finished. Unlike many of her race, she eats sparingly, not filling up too much. As she does so she casts glances around at the taller folks, hunching slightly over her plate like a cat over its kill.

When she's eaten a respectable but not excessive meal, she sits back slightly.

"I'm Poesy," she states shortly. "It's a flower," she adds after a couple of seconds. This seems to be a point of some annoyance to her - either that her name is Poesy, or that she apparently needs to point out that it's a flower, one of the two. She doesn't say it's nice to meet the group, but she has introduced herself, which presumably conveys some increased level of comfort (or at least less discomfort) around the strangers.

Or maybe she was just hangry.

Lukosius, also, does not eat excessively. In fact, the opposite. He eats sparingly. Also slowly, savouring each mouthful as it comes.

"Greetings to you, Poesy," he says politely. "I always thought it was a bunch of flowers, to be honest. What type of flower is it?"

He glances curiously at the halfling. She doesn't look like the flower sort, but that's maybe judgmental.

"Well it can be," Poesy deliberates, "a flower or a bunch of 'em. A nosegay. Doesn't matter what kinda flower it is, long as it has some kinda message to it." She thinks for a few moments, her expression growing somehow amused and yet more dark, if such a thing is possible given how unimpressed it already looked.

"My family name's Wolfsbane so I guess the message is either 'we're not bad fans of werewolves' or 'we're all poisonous fuckers' - knowing my family, probably a bit of both." She snorts in derision.

Kairon, who has been hiding food in various pockets when he thinks no one is looking, considers Poesy, blinking once before he offers an impish expression.

"Poesy Wolfsbane? Poesy sounds pretty. So you're really pretty, but also poisonous fuckers? That seems the message." He snickers quietly.

"I know a few wolves," Starr supplies, pausing slightly as he downs half his cup of tea in one swallow. "No werewolves, though, s'far as I know. Worgs and winter wolves, mostly. They're an ornery bunch, but once they accept you as a brother-in-arms, they're all right. Good soldiers, too."

He pours his half-a-cup of tea into his half-a-cup of coffee and lifts it up to taste the mix.

"Basically, yeah," Poesy agrees with Kairon, either not seeing the bait or simply not rising to it. "Good lookers but not great at parties."

At Wolfred's undeniably odd statement, Poesy raises an eyebrow, looking the human up and down briefly.

"You don't look like a druid," she observes.

Starr lowers his cup to chuckle.

"Well observed, miss Wolfsbane. I am no druid. I am, however, a soldier. And this past winter I had the pleasure of serving with a mixed goblin army, as part of a hobgoblin regiment. I had been in the vanguard of another army, you see, pursuing a large warband of orcs and ogres as they retreated into the mountains. Commander got overeager, and the first winter snows sealed the pass behind us, cutting us off from the main body of our army. That left us to face off against the entire warband on our own."

He takes another gulp of tea-and-coffee, seeming to find the taste to his liking.

"They made short work of us. I was the last one standing, and would have died as well, if not for the fortunate arrival of the enemy-of-my-enemy on the field of battle. Have you ever seen a unit of warg-and-goblin cavalry take on a pack of ogres? It's a sight you'll never forget, I promise you. Long story short, once the orcs and ogres were slain or driven off, the hobgoblins took me in for questioning, and I asked to join up with them, since we were fighting the same foe. After a test of skill and strength, they let me."

The burly priest puts his cup down, eyes wistful.

"It was a good winter."

"Right." Poesy nods vaguely. "Sounds... dramatic. I'm from the Chondalwood." She looks into her cup and, finding some drink still in it, changes that state of affairs.

Durnan emerges from the kitchen, wiping his hands on the red cloth with a small apologetic smile.

"Sorry. Bread," he says, moving toward the door.

He pulls it open, and there is what seems to be a long heavy pause as he stares out into the golden sun of a spring morning. Outside, through the doorway, the farmer's market of a small town goes about its day.

"What?" Durnan says, half to himself. "Are you fucking kidding me?" He calls over his shoulder. "I had deliveries today!"

He stomps out into the day and can shortly be heard haggling for several loaves.

"Durnan!" A male voice calls. "Welcome back to Oakhurst. It's been a while."

Lukosius accepts Poesy's explanation of her floral background, such as it is, and his attention is taken mostly by Starr as he talks about his winter. He's kind of avoiding looking at Kairon, given the other tiefling's cold reception of him. He feels uncertain about that, not sure what he should say or do.

"I don't think I've ever seen even one warg," he muses, cocking his head and nudging his empty plate away from himself in favour of drawing the coffee closer.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:31, Thu 05 Aug 2021.

Kairon takes a careful bite of bread, glancing at Lukosius when he thinks the other isn't watching. He listens to Wolfred's story quiet, not betraying any reaction to what he thinks of the story, but nodding at the end.

"My story is less interesting. That's a big tale to hear though. I've not seen any wargs either."

"Well - all of our lives certainly seem to be taking an interesting turn right now," Starr observes, glancing out the open door. "I get the sense we aren't in Waterdeep anymore."

Lukosius blinked at Starr then turned his eyes towards the door where the barman was ranting about deliveries. He pushed himself to his feet in surprise, his eyes going wide.

"What happened?" he asked, his tail flicking.

Durnan stalks back into the tavern carrying several loaves of fresh bread. He closes the door with just a little force... not quite a slam.

"Apologies, travelers," he starts, the corner of his lip curling in a beginning of a snarl or grimace that he struggles to control. "It seems the Tavern has a mind of its own today." He drops two fresh loaves onto the table and keeps a third in hand, gesturing with it. "Luskan is about 100 miles east, and my deliveries," he glances around the room, looking at the tavern itself, "are 500 miles south."

[Private to Kairon; Lukosius; Poesy Wolfsbane; Wolfred Starr: OOC: You'll find Luskan on the far north coast. Oakhurst is not on that map, but is around the second 'o' of Blackford Crossing.

https://media.wizards.com/2015...oast-Map_HighRes.jpg]
This message was last edited by the player at 01:23, Sun 08 Aug 2021.

Durnan's shoulders sag a little and his face goes slack as the door opens. A man with greying hair and a neatly trimmed beard stepped in, closing the door gently behind him. He had the lined and weathered face of someone who had spent a good portion of their life outdoors.

"I'm glad you're back, Durnan," he says, warmly, nodding at the table of travelers. This is likely the same man heard through the door.

"You still have the bread." Kairon points out, already tearing a chunk off one of the loaves on the table. He falls quiet to listen, not yet sure what's happened but attempting to get a sense of it.

Lukosius blinks, looking between the others and then back towards the door.

"The tavern... a mind of its own? Are you saying... it moved?" he asks, staring at Durnan. Then again, it shouldn't be that surprising. After all, he was teleported to the tavern suddenly anyhow. It's not really that strange.

"You might be happy, Vurnor, but it's quite an inconvenience for me and my guests," Durnan mumbles, though the fight was clearly draining from him quickly. "Sorry," he adds. "I just wasn't expecting it today."

He looks back to the disparate group assembled around the table. "Um... yes, things just got a little more complicated for you. The Tavern does have something like a mind of it's own, some days, and it seems that today it wants to exercise it." He gestures with the bread loaf again. "The magic of the Yawning Portal itself," he says, nodding at the huge well in the centre of the room. "It has the power to bring you to it, and it has the power to take you places. I never figured out how to direct it, though. Just have to weather the occasional unexpected trip."

The other man's face is frozen in a polite yet blank smile. "And now you're in Oakhurst, friends," he says, a genuine warmth in his tone despite his expression. "I'm Vurnor Leng. I'm what passes for mayor around here."

--

OOC: Please make a History check, should you choose to, regarding what you might know about Oakhurst.

Kairon's eyes widened in some alarm and he squirmed down a little in his chair, sidling a little towards Lukosius without fully realizing it. If this was true, it meant he couldn't easily scarper unless he wanted to run into a place he didn't know.

And so he racked his brains, trying to recall anything of the name.

---

07:27, Today: Kairon rolled 18 using 1d20+5.  History check.

The burly priest scratches his bearded chin, then gives a shrug.

"Speaking for myself, I'm currently a wanderer. One place is as good as another, to me. Is there any work for a strong sword-arm around Oakhurst, mister Leng?"