Dungeon World - The Moaning of Hollow Timbers (Inactive)

Game Master kdtompos

Is there any large, nearby source of water? Like a lake or river? Or even a full rain-barrel?

The town is Karl's Creek (random name), so there must be a creek nearby. Keep in mind however that it's the middle of the night. Roll Discern Realities if you're looking for something immediately available like a rain-barrel, etc.

Horn: The mink has missed his opportunity to escape. He has wriggled most of his body free before you press your weight upon him again, a bit more forcefully this time. He screeches at the pressure and instinctively snaps at your paw, but pulls back before his teeth pierce any skin.

"Yes, I can speak like this..." it squeaks in reply.

Morgan smiles at Skorabor with the same kind and worried brow, and shakes his head. "I'll be okay. That fire is more important right now." There was the creek--but Morgan didn't have anything to get the water from it, and running for a bucket would take too long--the princess squints through the darkness to find something useful for putting out the fire, sneaking a concerned glance at the two shapeshifters. Seeing that Horn has the situation under control--for now, at least--Morgan looks in and around the barn for something useful.
Discern Realities: 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (3, 3) + 1 = 7
All right, so I get one question: What here is useful to me?

Not far inside the barn, through the hanging smoke, you can see two water troughs. They'd be near impossibly for you to carry on your own, but with some assistance it would be little trouble.

Outside of the Inn, there are indeed two rain barrels as well, presumably with some water contained therein.

Woops, you asked for a Discern Realities a while back.

Discern Realities: 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (2, 2) + 1 = 5

Wooh, XP!

Coughing and sputtering from his endeavors with the hay, Gil stumbled outside the barn for air. Having no luck spotting any water sources, he was ready to abandon the structure to its fate.

Yay, xp!

Indeed, you were unable to focus through the smoke and find a suitable tool. You did, however, notice a large hole at the back of the barn like an entrance to a tunnel. What made you take notice was the movement of large roots that quickly sealed it up like a natural lattice work.

Speaking the language of minks with a leonine growl, Horn says, "OK then I'll honor your request not to cut your sutures if you'll answer me truthfully. Before, I can tell if you're lying.

"It's time to make yourself real valuable. Who do you serve? Is there anyone else around that we want to know about? And why exactly do you want to keep those sutures? Remember that my companions and I have easily dispatched everything we've seen so far, and that it's not wise to try to deceive us."

Parley: 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (5, 2) + 1 = 8 Guessing at needing to roll here, and also guessing that the +1 assumes I still am carrying fwd from Discern still applies

Mandus' eyes grow wide at the appearance of the symbol of his deity. He feels giddy. No longer is there any anticipation of the pain of the curse; he is serving Quetzalcoatl, and fulfilling his purpose in life. Nothing else matters. Joyously, he closes his eyes and begins the Convocation of God's Fire, raising both arms high overhead as he faces the flames without fear.

From within the barn, you hear chanting. The voice rises and falls, calling in an invocation to all the Heavens and the God Above, he who is known as Quetzalcoatl, in words all except perhaps the Wizard cannot understand. The voice takes on a fever pitch as his fanaticism makes itself felt in the desperate tones of his voice, crying out in bliss and exquisite pain.

The roaring of the necromancer's voice is joined by the sounds of the roaring flames growing louder and louder. The chanting ceases, culminating in one long, agonizing scream that chills the blood. The flames seem sucked into the building like spaghetti into a child's mouth. From within the smoky, blackened structure, a flaming man-shaped figure staggers, collapsing to his knees before falling flat on his face. A small round object rolls away from him, coming to rest about a foot away. The hexed eyeball is clouded, murky, and completely black.

"Skorabor, there are a couple of troughs of water over there--think we could lift them together?" Morgan shouts out to the strange newcomers as well, the skinkman and elf in the barn, pointing: "There's water inside the barn!" Wherever they had come from, they seemed to be acting as allies--despite the one being some controller of death and the other a pirate (and one who Morgan had encountered in that capacity personally, at that)--at least for now.

Skorabor runs along with Morgan to lift the trough of water, even if he suspects that the tiny human is not up for the task (Morgan is puny but amusing to Skorabor after all... :). But the dwarf stops in his tracks as the lizardman seemingly consumes the whole fire. "What did he do?" he asks and looks on in disbelief.

Mandus: Your flesh crackles and burns as you consume the flame. It's excruciating as well as invigorating. Take 1d6 damage, ignores armor. Heavy in the air is the smell of burning lizard, and the weight that only you feel. You know that you must avoid fire now, as long as the curse remains--the smaller the fire, the closer you may come and the less they will burn... but large fires could spell your end from a distance.

Things like candles, oil lamps, etc. you can extinguish by getting close enough, with no real pain. But the bigger a flame is, the further its heat reaches creating the real possibility of you consuming it at risk to yourself. I'll work with you as well on creating a custom move for expelling the flame.

Morgan and Skorabor: You both are quick to reach the trough, but the flames are devoured before the water is needed. You have no idea what just happened here, but the air feels heavy.

Horn: The +1 forward is perfect. "I need to get back." The mink pleads with you. "I'll tell you what you want, but you must release me, please! I cannot say her name, but we call her the Oak. She is the forest, and you're less in control than you think. We all are." He's panting hard as he tries to continue. "It's just me and the wargs. They were to guard the tunnel while I lead the shadows. If there was anyone else, I still wouldn't be talking. And please, these sutures are what keeps my soul within. I can't escape this body yet, I know where my soul would go!"

'She IS the forest'...yet she practices necromancy?!? What kind of sick twisting leads a forest so far astray? Horn finds himself feeling a bit uneasy, almost nauseated, thinking about it.

He keeps the mink held fast, but lessens the pressure to let him breathe more freely.

"Why do you serve her? What does she mean to do? If you truly don't wish to serve her, what stops you from walking away? Are you -- or is she -- in cahoots with that skink?"

As he asks the last, he looks up and sees the flames extinguished suddenly, smells burnt lizard with his keen leonine nose...and senses some malaise hanging over the necromantic skink. Frowning he roars out, "Fellow hunters, gather round. You'll want to hear what this mink has to say."

smoldering: 1d6 ⇒ 6

Mandus will be unconscious for a few moments. If he dreams, the hexed eyeball will shake off its soot and look around, keeping an eye for danger even when asleep. (not actually a mechanical benefit, I'm still fully unconscious, just flavor)

Watching Mandus' display, Gil mustered up a rather unenthusiastic applause as the skink fell flat on his face. With a sigh he walked to his stricken companion, picked him off the floor, body and eye both, and walked over to where the furry pair were having their conversation.

"Well, now that everyone has stopped running around like headless chickens, maybe someone would care to elaborate on what the hells is going on?" He said with obvious annoyance.

Gathering around Horn and his catch Skorabor rivet his gaze on the elf. "You might as well start yourself. We are here to battle the evil that taints these woods. What is your affair?" Meanwhile, Skorabor can't shake the feeling that the skink looks familiar.

Sorry all, I should have replied to Horn's questioning!

"I've told you what you want!" the mink pleads. "Why won't you release me?" His body goes limp and the mink closes its eyes, finally done trying to get free. "I serve her because I have to." he finally shares, with a sigh of resignation. "For my spirit, for those of my kin, I must earn my release. If I walk away, then where do I go? my mouth is sewn shut, I'm marked by the taint, and my spirit is lost to the light. You'll see... I can smell it on you, all of you!"

He pauses momentarily, sniffing the air, then opens his eyes to look at the skink lying in the soil, and the prince(ss). He sniffs again. "But not them... you are not marked?" He turns back to Horn. "You are one of ours more than that skink, though it's only a matter of time. She'll have him too... she'll have it all."

Also, no one else can hear what the mink says, since he's... you know, a vermin. Horn is the only one.

Also, no one else can hear what the mink says, since he's... you know, a vermin. Horn is the only one.

Skorabor was just about to have an outburst until I read the fine print :)

To be honest, I had forgotten that aspect as well. But he has to be in mink form to speak, as otherwise his mouth is sewn shut.

Looking up at his gathering companions (and suspicious new acquaintances), Horn translates -- albeit in a rather leonine growl.

"This mink is also a halfling, like me in some ways. Very different in others. He serves the one who sent those shadows to attack us. He won't speak her name but refers to her as 'the Oak' and says 'she IS the forest' where we'll find her. He led the shadows and wargs to us through a tunnel in that barn. He claims there is some taint of hers on him, and on all of us except the princess and the skink...and soon to be all of us."

Eyeing his companions, he asks, "Do you have any questions for him?"

Mandus stirs slightly, slowly regaining consciousness with a pained groan. He'll come to in a few moments.

It's been slow for a while, so I would like to wrap up the current events. It's time for an End of Session move.

It is still a few hours until sun up, and none of you have actually slept. Certainly, however, you are need of such rest.

There seem to be no more questions for the Halfling shifter, so a decision needs to be made. Do you kill him? Do you release him? Do you try to keep him captive (and if so, how do you insure against his escape/sabotage)? As we work through the End of Session, you should decide this as well.

Mandus' strange curse has not only consumed the fire, but surprisingly preserved much of the barn. There is light charring, but little else. You consider yourselves lucky that there should not be any reparations to settle.

There is also an unconscious inn keeper... awkward. When he awakes, he is disgruntled but also embarrassed, as he has clearly had a hand to play in what occurred this evening as well. But you have a strong suspicion that he was tricked into his role.

You have a room to stay in still, (you may rightly assume the privilege of using it through the next day) which has been warded powerfully. This should give you a small measure of peace-of-mind.

Make Camp: Consume a ration, and heal half of your total HP (which happens to be enough for all of you to get back to full HP)

End of Session:

Gil grunted at the leonine halfling, plopping Mandus' eye back in and setting him down besides him. "I aint got any questions for him, but I got plenty for you lot." He gestured at their surroundings, arms raised. "Like what kind of mess you "people" have landed me in. Ghosts and wolfmen, and some freak lady behind it all." He paused a moment, a musing pout on his lips. "Not to mention Stitches here and you freaks."

He crossed his arms defiantly as he added. "Looks like Im stuck with you for the time being. Like it or not, and thats definitely "not" for me, I just landed me a big fat target on my back, and I reckon its up to you lot to get in the way of whatever implement this lady might try to stick in it."

Mandus' eyes fly wide open and he sits straight up with a gasp, feeling himself all over. He winces in pain as his burnt scales rub over each other. "Agh, my head," he mutters, before seeming to realize everyone is around him. He looks to the pirate. "Gil, how are you faring? How's the arm holding up with all this excitement?"

There seem to be no more questions for the Halfling shifter, so a decision needs to be made. Do you kill him? Do you release him? Do you try to keep him captive (and if so, how do you insure against his escape/sabotage)? As we work through the End of Session, you should decide this as well.

Skorabor is against killing him. The halfling is defeated as far as he is concerned. Either he should be imprisoned by the Karl’s Creek authorities or let go

Looking up at his gathering companions (and suspicious new acquaintances), Horn translates -- albeit in a rather leonine growl.

"This mink is also a halfling, like me in some ways. Very different in others. He serves the one who sent those shadows to attack us. He won't speak her name but refers to her as 'the Oak' and says 'she IS the forest' where we'll find her. He led the shadows and wargs to us through a tunnel in that barn. He claims there is some taint of hers on him, and on all of us except the princess and the skink...and soon to be all of us."

Eyeing his companions, he asks, "Do you have any questions for him?"

Skorabor’s eyes widen and darken along with his posture which grows more aggressive. ”What did he say?! I am Skorabor the slayer and there is no taint on me!” he insists and holds his axe menacingly. ”He is a liar and a necromancer. Tell him to renounce his evil ways or suffer the consequences!” Shocked by the terrible affront to his person by the mysterious halfling he ignores Gil and Mandus for the moment. Skorabor is pretty single minded

So, Horn has given the halfling/mink a chance to renounce his allegiance and he declined. At this point -- from his viewpoint -- letting him go risks strengthening those who try to prey on us, which is unacceptable. Horn will take the predator's path instead and plans to slay the mink.
.
That said, the mink answered his questions in good faith and he'd like to offer a boon if he can. Could Horn (or Horn working together with Karn and/or <<shudder>> Mandus) free the mink's soul of whatever bondage he's under? I'm thinking of offering to do the old rites and sing the old songs over his body to enable the halfling to travel to the roots of the First Forest, rather than wherever his soul is currently bound. DM, whaddaya say? (Assuming the mink wants that, is that something Horn can actually offer?

I'm intrigued by the idea. What do your people teach about the afterlife? You could certainly perform funeral rites, though I would imagine a Spout Lore move would be made to see how well you perform it. If you wanted something that had a higher probability of releasing him, then yes I imagine you would need to utilize Karm's ritual abilities or perhaps Mandus' knowledge of curses to find out how to break it. Either way, however, you will need to find a way to deal with the Halfling until you are able to prepare/gather/perform, etc.

I'll try to explain his situation better this afternoon as well.

Gil shrugged. "Stiff like the day I awoke, although the exercise does loosen it up a bit." He produced a joyless smile. "Atleast something came of this debacle."

Stepping towards the halflings and the dwarf, he drew his cutlass. "Lets just get this execution over with so we can start talking about the important stuff, namely, me."

Skorabor interposes himself between Gil and the two halflings. "What do you think you're going to do with that thing? There will be no execution here. That mink is going to squeak of what pollution he claims to cling to us, then Horn is going to decide what to do with him", he says and looks dwavenly stubborn.

Mandus looks to the barn. Seeing it smoldering and smoky but intact, he rises (unsteadily) to his feet. He lifts both arms over his head slowly, exulting in his triumph even as he winces from his painful cracked scales rubbing over one another. He laughs, throwing his head back, and the chuckling turns into a whoop of celebration! "PRAISE BE TO THE SUN GOD!" he cries, then doubles over, clutching his stomach in laughter. "My service was done well," he repeats in a muttering voice to himself a few times. His voice sounds cracked and harsh from inhaling so much heat at once.

After a moment, he whirls around. "AH! But my service is not yet complete! Skorabor, my dwarven friend!" he reaches deep into his pack, rummaging a moment, before pulling out a hunk of the dwarf's calf that was ripped clean off by the wolf! He holds it aloft triumphantly, not noticing some of the dwarf's blood still dripping down his clothes until after a few drops have already spilled.

The skinkman approaches Skorabor with an air of sudden, curt professionalism. "Now then," he says, taking out his needle and thread, which are of fine quality and design, "We'd best get started before it begins to smell! More than you usually do, I mean!" he elbows the dwarf in the ribs good-naturedly as he moves behind Skorabor to reattach the...well...back of his leg. Hoping that might help him move away from the Shakey condition, perhaps after a night's rest?

Mandus looks to the barn. Seeing it smoldering and smoky but intact, he rises (unsteadily) to his feet. He lifts both arms over his head slowly, exulting in his triumph even as he winces from his painful cracked scales rubbing over one another. He laughs, throwing his head back, and the chuckling turns into a whoop of celebration! "PRAISE BE TO THE SUN GOD!" he cries, then doubles over, clutching his stomach in laughter. "My service was done well," he repeats in a muttering voice to himself a few times. His voice sounds cracked and harsh from inhaling so much heat at once.

After a moment, he whirls around. "AH! But my service is not yet complete! Skorabor, my dwarven friend!" he reaches deep into his pack, rummaging a moment, before pulling out a hunk of the dwarf's calf that was ripped clean off by the wolf! He holds it aloft triumphantly, not noticing some of the dwarf's blood still dripping down his clothes until after a few drops have already spilled.

The skinkman approaches Skorabor with an air of sudden, curt professionalism. "Now then," he says, taking out his needle and thread, which are of fine quality and design, "We'd best get started before it begins to smell! More than you usually do, I mean!" he elbows the dwarf in the ribs good-naturedly as he moves behind Skorabor to reattach the...well...back of his leg. Hoping that might help him move away from the Shakey condition, perhaps after a night's rest?

Skorabor loses his momentum once again as a new input is presented to his senses. He’d never had trouble handling multiple things before. He had infact been rather good at it. But the slayer oath changes dwarf. Appearently down to the core. Mandus’ approach and weaving of Skorabor’s hindleg caught his attention as a squirrel distracting a pitbull. He knew the skink. It was Mandus, the shaman he met along time ago on that expedition. He had been able to some pretty amazing things. This was also about the time Skorabor once again noticed that his leg was hurting. Badly. ”What are you going to do with that?”, he asks with a hint of suspicion and takes a few leaps on one foot to keep his wounded leg away from Mandus.

After a bit of rest, yes, Skorabor can remove the Shakey condition.

Sensing a variety of opinions as to his treatment, the mink decides it prudent to offer a better explanation--hoping to prove his value.

"The Oak," he tries to explain, "has a way of corrupting souls. Those of us who have lived in these forests were corrupted months ago. Our spirits began to change... grow darker... to the point where they were no longer anything but a twisted mockery of what we once were. Should I die, the roots of the First Forest wouldn't even recognize me. I don't know where I would go, but it would not be home... and I would not be me!

"When one's spirit darkens fully, it sheds the husk in which it was born. It becomes one of those shadows you faced this evening. But there are a few that the Oak wishes to keep in their physical bodies. Because I can shift, she chose to keep me--sewing my mouth shut to keep the shade from escaping. I am broken, but it keeps me alive.

"You have been corrupted as well. I can smell it on you, as faint as it may be. All of you, save for the lizard that reeks of death, have the shadow scent. Before long you will want her to sew your mouths shut as well, or shed your skin like a cloak to join the shades."

Horn is still the only one who can understand the mink.

"Listen to that thing squeak! You've got it terrified, halfling," Mandus comments, his voice still a crispy rasp.

He turns his attention back to the dwarf, gesturing at him with the gibbet of flesh. "See this? This was rescued at great risk to me from the mouth of the wolf that bit it off you! How long do you think you can take that kind of blood loss, dwarf? You're barely able to stand right now!"

He holds up his needle and thread. "Now, the procedure works more...favorably when the injury is freshest. I wasn't joking earlier about the smell, should you dilly dally for too long! Hold out your leg and let me fix you up." He watches Skorabor patiently.

"I'm a dwarf who's taken the Slayer's oath. I'll shall remain standing as long as I will it!" Skorabor announces proudly. Having made is statement however he concedes to have Mandus mend his wound.

Mandus hmpfs and slaps the slightly-chewed and very bloody gibbet of leg-meat back onto the dwarf. Briskly, he takes out his needle and thread and sets to work. The thread feels very cold.

A few short moments later, Mandus is done, and the leg is whole again. There's some faint black markings where the thread pressed against the skin, but otherwise the leg is as good as new!

"Gonna feel dead to the touch for weeks." Gil said, poking at Mandus' work with the flat of his blade before sheathing it. "Even with my superior lineage, I still feel very little in mine, and even then, only the pain." He smiled, an almost genuine smile. "I doubt a Dwarf would ever regain any feeling at all, but then again, you people dont feel much to begin with, such dull boring senses. He pursed his lips and cocked his head. "But I suppose a Slayer would think of it as a perk?"

With a look of realization his face suddenly settled back into its familiar scowl, his arms crossing, his voice angry. "Now would anyone care to elaborate on what the Hells just happened here? I know your kind may be a bit slow on the uptake but I grow tired of having to ask. I dont fight for free and seems to me you can atleast start by explaining what is going on here. Then we can discuss coin later."

"Keep your hands to yourself if you wish to hold on to them", Skorabor growls and swats away Gil's blade with his hand. He stands up, tests the leg with a few jumps. It felt good enough, but would it last. Looking at it Skorabor had figured the wound unhealable, but perhaps Mandus had proved him wrong. Only time would tell.

"As for us, we're here to kill the necromancer that hides in these woods. She corrupts the forest and it is brother Horn's will to remove her, and my duty to assist him."

"Agreed!" Mandus chimes in, the burns along the inner walls of his esophagus doing nothing to dampen his enthusiasm. Indeed, his eyes seem to blaze with excitement. He stands to his feet, crossing his arms and nodding his satisfaction once more at Skorabor's leg. He smiles, then looks over at the halfling.

"Stopping this necromancer from using the dark arts for foul purposes is, indeed, my purpose here, Gil." He straightens slightly, arms behind his back. "She must be brought before the Sun God's justice."

Horn's eyes widen when the mink continues to explain.

Trying to persuade himself as much as the mink, he growls, "I serve the First Forest faithfully. This taint will be cleansed. It cannot truly touch me.”

Without bothering to wait for a reply, he says, ”You refused my offer to renounce this taint, thus you mark yourself as my prey and must die today. On the other hand you have answered me in good faith, and so deserve a boon. I will perform the rites of root and leaf over you, and pray to the Roots of the First Forest to cleanse you and allow you to merge into the Deep.”

With that, he takes the head of the halfling-mink into his mouth and snaps his neck. Moments later, Horn shrinks back to his form halfling form, familiar bushy eyebrows and matted hair framing a serious expression on his face.

Before explaining anything to his companions he begins to sing the old songs, the songs with roots, and prays for the Roots of the First Forest to recognize this strayed kin.

Horn will translate the final words of the now dead halfling after the rites are complete, but his first concern is trying to repair the rift between this halfling and the Roots of the First Forest

Mandus looks on as Horn begins his ritual. He speaks up. "Brother halfling, if I may interrupt? There remains one avenue yet unexplored in interrogating this fell druid. I require but a few moments with the corpse, and I can...extract additional information about the necromancer's whereabouts and actions." He folds his hands together as he looks on at the singing halfling.

Giving himself over to the ancient song, his consciousness deep beneath the humus of the First Forest, Horn is hazily aware of a voice.

With effort he pulls back slightly into his body. When his mind is able to register the words coming from the skink's lips, his owlish eyes go wide and then narrow as he snarls. The Necromantic skink wants...to defile my prey?

He lets out a long, low growl and then drops back into his prayer and song, edging his back between the skink and his prey.

"Beasts." Gil scoffed, tapping his foot impatiently, adding. "Some more than others."

Circling around the chanting halfling, a cat-like look of curiosity on his face, as if what he was seeing was both intriguing and beneath him all at once, he inquired further, eyes fixed on Horn. "Yes, right, bringing necromancer lady to justice, splendid. Now how exactly does that fill my pockets? Like Ive said Mandus, I owe you, in a way, but I dont fight for nothing." He paused, before smiling. "Certainly not out of "the goodness of my heart"."

Skorabor stands leaning on his axe watching the exchange. "You best reconsider that. You should not get between Horn hand his catch", he warns Mandus. Then he looks at Gil. "As for you. You're welcome to tag along, but if you do it for money I doubt you see much of it here."

"I'm thirsty. I'm going to have a chat with the barkeep." Skorabor goes back to the tavern to try and wake the barkeep. If he's still out cold Skorabor will help himself to a jug of ale, grab a torch and examine the two dwarven skeletons hidden in the secret chamber.

@DM: We'll get to the Make camp move eventually. I'm sure of it :)

What happens to the boots Morgan grabbed btw? Stay on his now NPC character or move to someone else? Skorabor could "rediscover them" now fx.

"You'd be surprised Dwarf. Everyone needs coin, and sooner or later you get a good excuse to stab someone whos got more than he needs." He followed Skorabor inside, leaving the ghost mongering to the two shaman. "So, Dwarf, whats all this Slayer business you seem to put so much stock in? Ive seen a few of your kind before, but they all seemed rather tight lipped about it." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Or maybe it was that I never cared to ask. Yes thats more likely actually."

Walking behind the bar, he looked for anything approaching proper alcohol. "None of this human swill, pah, these random memories of fine elven wine are like a curse when you cant find any!" Lifting one bottle after the other, smelling its content and tasting some, producing a disgusted grimace in reply to both, he idly continued to talk. "Seeing as Mandus seems rather zealous on the matter, I do believe ill be in your company for the time being. Not that I really care to know personally, but professionally its important to know who you travel with, fight with. So what of it Dwarf, care to elaborate on your oath?"

Mandus doesn't seek to interrupt Gil's question of Skorabor, but he pats the pirate on the shoulder and says "The life of a servant has little need for extravagant material possessions. Part of my share of whatever hoard this necromancer has accumulated will be yours."

With that, he looks about the main lobby, surprised at the wreckage from earlier.

How tall are skinks? Im imagining them much like the Warhammer type, and find the mechanics of Mandus patting Gils shoulder quite humorous. Does he carry a small stool around? :P

Good point. Perhaps patting your elbow might be more apt to my height - I was using Warhammer skinks as my model, so I'm not large.

What happens to the boots Morgan grabbed btw? Stay on his now NPC character or move to someone else? Skorabor could "rediscover them" now fx.

"You'd be surprised Dwarf. Everyone needs coin, and sooner or later you get a good excuse to stab someone whos got more than he needs." He followed Skorabor inside, leaving the ghost mongering to the two shaman. "So, Dwarf, whats all this Slayer business you seem to put so much stock in? Ive seen a few of your kind before, but they all seemed rather tight lipped about it." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Or maybe it was that I never cared to ask. Yes thats more likely actually."

Skorabor releases a annoyed grunt. He did not like to talk about it but he had no choice. Part of the slayer oath was to uphold the renowned honesty of the dwarves. That burden lay even heavier on his shoulders on shoulders because of his family’s shame was rooted in dishonesty. ”A great shame lies upon my family. Our members took part in unjust affairs to further their own gain. I was tasked to take the Oath of the Slayer and repair the damage done to the Boulderback name”, he growls and grips the jug tight in his hand.

"Well thats something atleast." Gil said, lightly swatting the reptiles hand off his elbow.

Listening to Skorabors short tale as he continued to go through the meager selection of alcohol he quickly replied. "Sound like my kinda people those Boulderbacks." ears and the top of his head all that was visible. Standing back up, having selected the least vile of the drinks and taking a long swig, he added. "Well, apart from the whole short, hairy and homely part. But I deal with that on a regular basis and hardly ever stab anyone without a good reason." He took another long drink. "Well, I guess those things are good enough reasons by themselves, but good reasons apart from those. I'm a regular pillar of acceptance and self control." He drank again, giving no indication of the last part being a jest.

Already looking slightly affected by the strong drink, he wandered to a chair and sat down heavily. "Slaying ghosts and wolf men really takes the wind out of you doesn't it? I think Ill be having a little shuteye before long."

Those people are the reason I'm caught up in this, Skorabor thinks to himself. His sense of duty prohibits him from speaking it aloud, the dwarf instead settles for another gruff grunt and looks at the dwarven skeletons. "Who are they? He's got alot to answer for when he wakes up" Skorabor growls and looks at the unconscious barkeep.