Ezrek's not really here, that's just a picture of him on the welcome sign.
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"In that case, I'll take two of whatever you're drinking! So, ya been working with my friends Maaarv and Linnea, eh? Maaarv's a little on the weird side, but Linnea's a little spitfire, isn't she?"
Desmond props himself on a stool, and a grey wolf with some black and white markings follows him inn and plops down underneath.
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"Ah, I worked with Luisila protecting what's her name...the Lantern Lodge lady. Li - Amara Li. An ambush happened while she was hosting some kind of dignitary - Kirin, I think the name was. She is... certainly a different cleric than I'm used to. But I haven't met Zynep - though I understand those two are normally a pair."
Desmond pours himself a mug-ful and lifts it slightly in an informal toast and takes a gulp.
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Varg, somewhat slovenly, tilts his head back and chugs a good portion of his first mugfuul of ale.
Buuuuuurp...
He wipes his arm across his mouth.
Good stuff! Yeah, Zynep and Luisila have been with me on a few ventures. They sure are fine, and quite helpful in a pinch.
He leans in conspiratorily, and winks before filling his mug again.
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"Ah, good point - Omrax, is it? Yes, I recently had some trouble with skeletons where some blunt force would've been helpful. I shall pick up a silver Morningstar at the earliest convenience."
Just then a youth walks through the door and approaches the ranger. He has a sealed envelope in his hand. He hands the envelope to Desmond. "Message for you sir. I believe it's from the Society."
Desmond takes the note, "Aha, I've been waiting for this. Thank you Wesley - make sure to look after the farm while I'm out."
As the servant departs, Desmond opens the letter and reads it. "Trouble in Mendev, it seems. Well - I must be off. Cleaver and Omrax, I wouldn't be surprised if you two get summons as well."
With that, Desmond departs for Nerosyan, to meet up with VC Jorsal of Lauterbury.
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From the shadows a bushy bearded man with a wild look to his eyes tries to respond to the ranger's question before he leaves the door.
"Lucerne Hammer is what you are looking for. A good weapon that requires two hands. With the hammer, the alchemical silver doesn't blunt its edge like a blade or arrow. Of course, they are hard to come by. Some people have access to them, others don't. Good luck on your travels."
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The door opens, seemingly of its own volition at first, as no one is standing in the doorway. Looking down, however, you realize that a halfing has begun strolling into the room, wearing khakis, a white shirt, and a leather jacket. A whip and pistol hand from his belt and he takes off his fedora as he enters the brewhouse.
As he walks in, he looks at the bartender and says, "Milk please!"
He turns to those assembled and announces, "Trotter Flaxseed of the noble Flaxseeds of Cassomir, where I recently founded a new Pathfinder Lodge! Archaeologist and historian extraordinaire!" The halfling takes an over-enthusiastic bow. "Perhaps you read my recent treatise on the evolution of the Jistkan Empire into the wicked race of morlocks? No? Perhaps you read my book deciphering ornithological texts of Azlant?"
Trotter looks around excitedly, waiting for a taker. Realizing that no one has bothered to keep up with his booming academic career, he simply smiles and grabs his milk from the bartender. "If you need me, I'll be over there." He points to a table off to the side, where he sits down and pulls out several large tomes which he begins scanning with interest, occasionally nearly bouncing out of his seat in pure intellectual delight.
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A bald hulking man whose primary ethnicity is unclear pokes his head out from the back room. On his back is hangs a greatsword, engraved with half-a-dozen crude tallymarks in the side. His plainclothes are otherwise smocked, soaked with some kind of chemical and spattered with some handprint-shaped blood smears. He accentuates his point by lifting two meaty, glass-riddled hands.
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Another halfling walks into the establishment and approaches Trotter, handing him a note which Trotter reads intently before nodding and allowing the second halfling to leave. Trotter sets aside his reading glasses and pushes his book to the side as he steps up on top of the table.
"Pathfinders! May I have your attention! It seems that the nephew of a retired Pathfinder has gone missing after allegedly discovering the fabled city of Rachikan of the ancient Jistka Imperium. I need a crack squad to head to the coast of Cheliax for a search-and-rescue mission where you'll hopefully discover more about his ancient city. Perhaps you should have read my manuscript on the fall of the Jistka Imperium, humph! Move quickly! Word has it the Aspis are racing to the site as well! Thank you!"
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A tall, fetching example of manhood walks through the door. He is of Chelaxian descent, but wears clothes in the Varisian style. He walks over to the bar and orders a whiskey, neat. Overhearing Trotter, he heads over to the halfling's table. Alas, I don't think I can attend that mission. Just arrived back from Ustalav myself. A particularly sordid affair having to do with the ex Master of Blades and a curse. Thankfully, we got it all sorted out and the man can now enjoy his retirement. The man takes a long pull of his whiskey, nearly downing it in one gulp. Name's Flinders, did I hear you mention manuscript and Jistka Imperium? Flinders examines Trotter for a moment. Why I think we may have taken similar paths in our careers! Can I see the manuscript? By the way, call me Flin....
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You see a jolly dwarf of large girth stride into the main hall.
"Whoa, hey there. Who do I talk to about gettin me a drink? I am thirstier than a ...well thirstier than somethin that needs a drink. You better bring me two just in case. Harrahharaarrr. Brother Grimdoc at yer service."
The dwarf bows as best he can with a broad grin and then looks around.
"But seriously, where's that drink?. "
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"Are there any cartographers in the building? It seems additional assistance will be needed in Varisia to map the Storval Stairs and determine if it is a safe mode of transport from Magnimar to the Storval Rise. This mission will be traveling to hostile territories so I want only the most experienced agents! See me for me details. Thank you, Pathfinders!"
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Flinders looks up from his drink. Ezrek you say? A worried look flashes across his face. I've met that fellow I think. Tall? Keleshite? Owns this drinking establishment here? I do hope he muddles through such a dangerous endeavor.
The man downs his drink and looks to Corbalias. Quite good sir, if a bit on the stiff side. I think I'll try another of your concoctions.
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Quite right good man! I had already forgotten I ordered it neat. Flinders takes a tentative sip of the mixed drink, holding it in his mouth for a second before swallowing. The Magniamarian's face turns a violent shade of red as he lets out a sputtering cough. By the Empyreal Lords! That's strong enough to knock Gorzreh off his/her feet! Flin takes another drink with the same outcome. Quite unusual, but it does the job. You need to remember that recipe!
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"Hahrh! I will be stickin with me dwarven ale...tried and true. No sense messin with perfection and all that brew craft. "
Grim smiles and nods to the others in their activities while enjoying his 4th or 5th tankard waiting for his next mission.
"That Runelord of Sloth business sounds dangerous. Here's a toast them lads make it back alive. I heard they were some of the best nod brightest the Society had available. If they cannot do it, who can? I don't like the sound of the alternatives, no sir . "