By sundown, the Brazen Strumpet has grown busy, most of its patrons local workers and caravan drivers, the latter of whom are preparing to ferry goods to Ironguard Motte in the morning. The mood of the barroom is jovial, with most engaged in lively conversation, and one especially energetic group of woodcutters sporadically serenading the customers with various work songs.

Taycee, one of the barmaids, escorts the adventurers to a large circular table on the eastern side of the taproom and takes orders for drinks, assuring the group that she will return shortly for any food orders. The mingled scents of ale and roasting meat waft through the hazy air of the tavern.

Once Taycee has passed around the drinks, Dax raises his cup, "A toast to our newly-founded company of explorers!"

He looks around the table and his smile diminishes slightly. "While I have spent some time in the Thornswild, I have spent no time in the Barrowmoor.

Mazzahs said we would use if a horse and wagon so we can take more than we can carry on our own...but what do we need? I have a crowbar and some trail rations over and above my bedroll and my weapons and armour.

I can guess we will need torches, or perhaps lanterns. Will we need picks and hammers? Or shovels to gain entry to the barrows?"

Barnabus is having a capital time. He gallantly partakes of the victuals and libations. He offers his own toast, following Dax's. It touches upon the grand tradition of graverobbing and  expounds upon the delights of post-mortem anatomy. It might have been a paragraph or two long had he been able to finish it.

Instead, somewhere during the third peroration, he neglects to blink for a full minute, his pupil and then iris assuming a milky hue and texture by the end of that minute. His arms lie on the table, curving around his platter and extending in between his flagon and bread. He does not speak during this minute.

When he does speak, his voice sounds like the rasping of the hinges of a recalcitrant coffin as it resists opening. Truthfully, it's not all that different from his everyday tones.

He rasps, "The children of men burrow within the maze. In its heart, they offer their choicest treasures to the one they worship, a god unknown to the sunlit world. They always know where to wait for more of these treasures."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:41, Wed 27 Oct 2021.

Grugar was not one for making toasts, but he certainly enjoyed the drink afterward. He raised his flagon and promptly drained it, slamming the empty mug on the table.  "If that old kook is paying, keep the mugs filled,"  When the food arrive, the half-orc grabbed slab of meat with his already dirty hand and shoved it in his toothy mouth, ignoring the grease that ran down his chin and dripped on to his clothing and table.

"Load the wagon with whatever keeps us from coming back here. Food, drink, something to hold the treasure. Opening the tombs will need strong arms and tools. I brought a shovel, crowbar, some spikes and a hammer, plus a grapple hook and rope. Maybe get a couple extras so our goodly knight can help me open really stuck doors and stuff. I don't know nothing about fighting dead things. Do we need special things for that?"

Once inside, Gwendolyn looks about to get a feel for the place.

At the table, she lies her backpack down on the chair and sits on top of it like a booster seat with her feet planted on the seat of the chair. She orders a small ale. Despite her earlier jest to Grugar, she clearly isn't going to be eating or drinking anyone under the table with her small body.

Once it arrives, she drinks her ale in good cheer and orders a serving of meat and bread. She stands on the chair and clacks her mug against the others when they toast, takes a gulp, and resumes her sitting position. She asks, "Should we not come up with a name for our motley band then?"

When Barnabus speaks his cryptic words, she eyes him with a raised eyebrow. She pauses only for a moment, then shrugs and resumes drinking.

As for fighting dead things, the Halfling says to Grugar, "I imagine fire works; Or bashing in their bones...well, except for spirits. If we encounter spirits, we should run away and live to fight another day. I do not know how to fight ghosts."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:24, Wed 27 Oct 2021.

"The orc has the right of it.  Spikes and rope, hammer and shovel..." he says "...if there is climbing to be done.   And fire if the dead don't know they are dead." The dwarf adds.  "And you'll need ta learn ta be quiet when ya needs ta be quiet."

Grugar thought about the halfling's desire to name the group. After looking around the table he raised a mug toward Gwen. "To Muzzahs Misfits" Then promptly drained its contents down his throat... except for the ale that poured out of the corners of his mouth and down his chin and chest.

Malivoire was drinking a glass of what passed for wine in the rough and tumble taproom, but attentively listened to the questions and suggestions of his companions.  He also asked for a plate of whatever dinner they were serving, thanking Taycee for her service.

He couldn't help but stare at Barnabus when the priest was suddenly overcome and then began intoning what might be construed as divine guidance.  The elf glanced from one face to another but only Gwendolyn seemed to take notice, and not much at that.  Malivoire continued to look uneasily at Barnabus from time to time, clearly more affected by portents and omens than the rest.  His drinking, previously demure sips from the glass, became more fulsome.

The practical aspects of tackling the barrows began to dominate the conversation and Malivoire was glad for the distraction.  "This is a place that been visited by many already, if rumours and tales are to be believed," he pointed out.  "We shouldn't need to dig our way in I wouldn't think.  There must be an accepted entrance already uncovered."

"Though much of what you've mentioned would still be useful, I imagine.  For opening discrete tombs or sarcophagi, for example."

His almond-shaped eyes widened a bit when Gwendolyn spoke of fighting ghosts.  That was beyond his experience as well.  "Caution sounds very wise," he agreed, taking another large, nervous sip of the wine. "Very wise indeed."

Dax eyebrow rises at the cleric's strange behaviour, but as no one else says anything he does his best to ignore it.

He listens to the others chime in on what equipment might prove useful and he nods in agreement with all of it.

"What about hiring some guards from the Mercenary Guild? They could watch the cart and the equipment while we are exploring.

No idea what it might cost, but it may be worthwhile?"


"Hmmm. Not exactly awe-inspiring, nor something that sounds like it will remembered in the legends...but I like it! Mazzahs Misfits!" He takes a gulp of ale, keeping all of it in his mouth.

He looks over at Malivoire, and sees the elf was looking a bit nervous at the mention of ghosts. Dax leans over and says quietly, "I am sure we will not see any ghosts any time soon," and then to distract his friend he adds, "any idea what's on with Barnabus, there?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:57, Fri 29 Oct 2021.

Sir Dryvyk sat heavily on a bench, his banded mail armor creaking a bit. He asked simply for a tankard of spring water, but opted for two double-portions of food. To anyone paying attention, the young knight was masterfully wolfing down his food with the grace and manners of a gentleman.

He wrinkled his perfectly straight nose at the suggestion of Mazzah's Misfits. "Crusaders of the Crypt! Bastions of the Barrowmoor! Champions of Holy Might, Law and Sanctification!"

Raising his tankard in support of his own, much more heroic sounding suggestions, he invoked something of a prayer rather than a toast, "Bless that our actions be honorable and our steps remembered as brave!"

Then, when serious discussion began, he agreed with Dax, "We've all heard of restless spirits and those unslumbered, but I've reason to believe that there is a greater risk of danger from the villainy of bandits daring to prey upon explorers like ourselves! Would it not benefit some stout leader of brigands to perpetuate rumors of shambling hordes and frightful ghosts? Larcenous scum is what we'll encounter, mark my words!"

"I can have Ol' Gib arrange to hire some stout lads from the Guild and perhaps another to carry a lantern or torch... It's a good idea, shall I make it so?"

Glancing over at the strange oldster, the young knight asked, "Are you unwell elder one? Is there something you're wanting to share? Perhaps you ought to retire before the excitement of this day causes you to take ill..."

Taycee dutifully returns with the remainder of the adventurers’ food order. Glancing over the group, she says, “You’re going out to the Barrowmoor, then? You don’t seem like the typical sorts that venture there.”

"I'm in favour, Dryvyk. If we can afford it."


Dax looks around the able and bursts out laughing, "I would think that amongst us we cover off most every possible type of delver! What makes Mazzahs Misfits not fit the part?"
This message was last edited by the player at 01:06, Fri 29 Oct 2021.

”You seem like the sorts who’ve known battle. Who can fight,” she answers, setting the plates down, ”I don’t know much of magic, but some of you have the appearance of those who can wield it.”

“Most who seek out the tombs go with tools. Hammers, chisels, and the like. Bags for loot, or maybe a horse and cart. They aim to break into one of the barrows, take all the valuables they can find, and come back rich. They might wear boiled leather, have some clubs and knives between them, but nothing more.”

“They think that the tales of the dead wandering the moor are just stories. Meant to scare folk like them away.”

Malivoire paid attention to Taycee's summary, puffing up a little at the recognition that they were perhaps somewhat a cut above the common grave robbers that might brave the barrows.  He smiled at her as he set his wine glass down and said, "Indeed some of us do have magic.  I'd be happy to demonstrate a little later, if you'd like."

Her mention of the tales of the dead left him sensing something more.  "But you don't think they are just stories?" he prompted her gently.

After his oracular declamation, Barnabus returns to his puckish self albeit more disoriented than usual. He recovers in time to hear his soon-to-be-bud flirt with one of the barmaids:


"I can provide my own and numerous other testimonials," he says by way of support, reaching into his pack and retrieving the thickest tome he can find there. He sets it before himself on the table.

He winsomely asks Taycee if she'd like to hear from the 2nd or 3rd epoch of the erotic peregrinations of Malivoire the Undying.

Seeing no objection, Sir Dryvyk arose, excused himself and exited the Inn. He was gone for only a short while before he returned. "Ol' Gib's going to round up some help, or at least gather a few prospects."

"Shall we prepare for the excursion to the moor and a week's encampment?"

Taycee blinks at Malvoire in surprise, then blushes. She listens to Barnabas’ interjection, but seems to have no immediate response to the cadaverous priest, aside from a wide eyed stare.

Finding her voice once more, she addresses Malvoire’s question. ”No. I’ve heard too many accounts from sorts not given to lying or fanciful tales to believe them false. Workmen and caravan drivers who make Helix their home. Honest people.”

“There’s been a few of those tomb robber sorts that have returned, terribly wounded and pale as ghosts, unwilling to even speak of what they’ve seen. I’ve helped nurse one or two back to health. Their terror was most certainly real.”

“But as I say, those that have gone out there are different from all of you. They were just hoping to break open a tomb, sack up some coin, and dash off with none the wiser. They weren’t capable of confronting real danger.”

Gil returns to the table with a young man, eighteen years of age, who has worked among the woodcutters, but is doubtful about making lumber his profession. He hopes to gather enough money to venture outside the Duchy in time, and is willing to serve the group as a torchbearer. He goes by the name Lampert.

Sir Dryvyk nodded to Lampert and offered him an empty chair at the end of the table where everyone could turn to face him. "Lampert, I am Sir Dryvyk of Drakeholme, a Knight and now... I suppose I might add explorer to my list of titles that I won't bore you with at the moment."

The young knight gestured to the rest of the party gathered, "We intend to venture into the Barrowmoors and, as I'm sure Ol' Gib here has already told you, we're looking for a few capable lads to employ. In the sacred writings of St. Ygg, we find it taught that 'a wielder of light shall drive darkness from the world'. As a torchbearer, your job will be of utmost importance. Tell us then Lampert, have you ever been afraid? What is your greatest triumph over fear?"

The interview had begun.

Wise enough to listen to the others and try to understand their points of view before speaking up herself, Gwendolyn listens as she drinks and eats. Each time one of them speaks up and offers up their thoughts, she turns her attention to them and hears them out.

Likewise, she listens to the words of their server, Taycee. Even if the auburn-haired girl isn't an adventurer herself, it makes sense she would have overheard conversations of others seeing their fortune from the Barrow Maze and learned a few things worth noting.

Once she's heard everyone's words who offered them, she pipes up and says, "I cannot say I like being referred to as a 'misfit'. Perhaps the 'Barrow Explorers' or something to that effect."

"And, yes, I would suggest while exploring the Barrow we be wary of rival groups or bandits of opportunity as much as the undead," she adds to the Holy Knight's own concern.

"A torchbearer to light the way and perhaps a couple of mercenaries to guard our camp seems wise," she agrees.

Gwendolyn say, "My understanding is that there are many different, unconnected barrows and that the entrance to each of them may be trapped."

She's fine leaving the details of acquiring the hired help to the Holy Knight, since he volunteered.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 19:31, Mon 01 Nov 2021.

It seemed Malivoire hadn't truly grasped the import of his offer to Taycee.  Certainly he had hoped to impress the girl but he'd meant to do that by flourishing a few cantrips, not something...more.  The reality of his blunder came upon him as Barnabus took great delight in expounding on the elf's poor choice of words.  The elaborate nature of the priest's ribbing seemed lost on the server but not on Malivoire, whose pale cheeks blushed at least as red as Taycee's did.  He stammered a second, fishing for some sort of explanation or apology, before sagging in embarrassed defeat.

Thankfully a distraction arrived in the form of the torchbearer, and Malivoire contented himself to recover over his food and wine.  He let Sir Dryvyk lead the interview, remaining a silent observer.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:49, Wed 03 Nov 2021.

Taycee pats the dejected Malvoire on the shoulder as she departs.

”I have, sir. In the year past, I accompanied the harvesters into the Blackened Forest to help in gathering the spider silk,” Lampert answers Sir Dryvyk, looking the knight in the eye. ”Two of the giant creatures attacked our carts. Some ran I didn’t, even though I was as scared as I’ve ever been. I took up a spear and stood my ground. Not sure I hurt either of them, but I tried.”

“You can ask Valeron, the bowyer. He was there when it happened.” He smiles. ”We got all of the carts and silk back to Helix.”

Dryvyk nodded at Gib, "He'll do."

Turning back to Lampert, the young knight responded, "I've both escorted and taken part in rescue missions of silk farmers. It's a dangerous job and certainly frightful. There's nothing wrong with having a good relationship with fear Lampert, it's being able to act in the face of it that counts."

"We'll see about getting you equipped, but we're willing to start you at 10 silvers a month. Do you find that acceptable?"

”I do, sir,”  Lampert replies with a nod. ”I’m told that you’ll be setting out from Turgen’s Trade Goods in the morn. I will meet you there at first light.”

The rest of the evening passes uneventfully, the adventurers finally moving upstairs to their rooms to enjoy their last night of rest in warmth and comfort for a time.