Evening - 30th day of Pharast - Duchy of Medvyed
The small town of Muron is a sleepy little hollow nestled at the foot of the Icerime Peaks to its east and the Grozni Forest to the west. The town sits on the southern side of Lake Pleir where it flows out and heads southwest to become the East Sellen River. The river splits the town but there is a ferry that moves traffic across the river and over the ducal road that heads north to Stoneclimb or south along the base of the Icerime Peaks.
It is here that four strangers have stopped off to refresh themselves inside the Sorcerer and Forge. The tavern room at the Sorcerer and Forge bustles with activity, and a dozen guests are feasting and drinking at various tables around the room. A couple serving lads and a plump barmaid see to their customer's needs with cheerful smiles.
The place is lit with yellow light from numerous hanging oil lamps and two great fireplaces blaze with warmth, each flanked by stag's skulls hanging from the grey wooden walls.
A sullen, red-haired, and burly human tends the bar, and orders the maid and lads about with a nod here, a gesture there. Despite the cheeriness around the tavern, the owner looks gloomy, and perhaps a bit worried. He watches the room like a man expecting bad news.
None of those gathered were very happy about having to turn over all hand-held weapons and shields to some lad in the outer vestibule but at least they knew everyone else in the tavern had done the same.
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"As much meat and potatoes as you can fit on a plate, please. Heh, thank you." Halcyon said graciously to the maid as he placed the order for his meal. Traveling and magic always made him hungry, now that he was out of the field and somewhere reasonably safe, he felt relaxed enough to treat himself. Though the gloom on the bartender's face causes Halcyon slight concern.
Leaving his cloak to mark his table, Halcyon slides out of his seat while his meal is still pending and makes his way up to the glooming bartender. "Should I be concerned that the look I see on your face means we're out of beer?" Halcyon jokes with a smile. "Red Ale if you have any please, else any beer will do."
The lone half-elf strides into the bar, slightly uncomfortable without his ancestral sword. Even though he doesn't use it much, Cormyn doesn't like the look of the young man collecting weapons and hopes it is not stolen.
"You wouldn't happen to make Tien food here, would you? It's unlikely, but it never hurts to ask. If not, I'll have what that guy's having." Cormyn points a thumb over his shoulder at Halcyon while leaning across the bar. "And a pint or so of good ale, too, thanks." Having resolved his food issues, the half-elf saunters over to the table slightly Southeast of Halcyon, near the weapons cabinet.
Sitting down, Cormyn wonders why the people look so depressed and why he is here. Brevoy has little to offer in information about demon worshippers he is seeking out, especially not in this small backwater. He's heard of the delicious food here, though, but it couldn't compare to the exquisite spices of the Dragon Empires.
"As much meat and potatoes as you can fit on a plate, please. Heh, thank you." Halcyon said graciously to the maid as he placed the order for his meal. Traveling and magic always made him hungry, now that he was out of the field and somewhere reasonably safe, he felt relaxed enough to treat himself. Though the gloom on the bartender's face causes Halcyon slight concern.
Leaving his cloak to mark his table, Halcyon slides out of his seat while his meal is still pending and makes his way up to the glooming bartender. "Should I be concerned that the look I see on your face means we're out of beer?" Halcyon jokes with a smile. "Red Ale if you have any please, else any beer will do."
The maid smiles at Halcyon. "Meat and potatoes, man, eh? A hearty meal like that, you must have plans for the evening?" The maid winks at Halcyon and giggles before turning away to go deliver his order.
The bartender is focused on cleaning the glasses but is pulled out of his own thought with the arrival of Halcyon.
"What? Out of beer?! Cayden Caillean be praised but I hope never to be! No worries here, friend, there is plenty to go around. And I do have a stout red ale for you." The bartender turns to a nearby cask and draws out a fine pint for Halcyon.
"Names Jarwald, this is my establishment. What brings you to Muron?"
"Sorry, friend, no Tien food," Jarwald answers Cormyn. He then shouts the order into the kitchen to his left before drawing another pint of the red ale for Cormyn. The halfling then moves over to take his seat near the weapons rack. As he does, he plays with the small leather piece stamped with the number 7 that the young boy had given him. He was to give that back to the lad when he left and supposedly all his weapons would be returned to him. He prays that the young boy doesn't have any trouble with his numbers.
Halcyon and Cormyn both find the ale to be of good quality, a nice earthy brew that is easy to go down. They've both had better, but then again they've had worse as well!
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"Maybe." Halcyon said coyly with a grin and a raised eyebrow to the maid.
"Certainly happy to hear that then!" Halcyon laughed. "Pleasure to meet you Jarwald, I'm Halcyon. Nothing too exciting I'm afraid, my company disbanded a short while ago and I've turned myself at loose ends for the moment."
Halcyon takes a drink of his Ale, savoring the drink. "My first mug in a long time. It was everything I hoped it could be." Halcyon pauses to take another drink as he glances over to his table, checking to see if his food has arrived. "Anything to know about these parts? I've only seen that worried look on men who've run out of beer, or have several women angry at him. And since it isn't the first..." Halcyon said with a smirk.
"Well, Muron's a pretty quiet place," Jarwald replies with a smile, "but you'll find the folk welcoming as long as you don't want to cause any trouble." As Halcyon asks about the worried look on his face, Jarwald smiles and waves it off, "Nothing ta worry about, just family problems, is all. No, the casks are full and plenty, the meat is hot and ready to be served, and everything else is fine as well."
Just then Halcyon's serving maid shows up with a wooden tray with half a roast chicken on it, a heaping stash of mashed potatoes, and a short bit of warm bread.
"You want it at the table or the bar, handsome?"
"Careful that one," Jarwald says with a laugh and a wink at Halcyon, "she's trouble."
"Now hush, Jarwald, let the man figure that out for himself." The maid holds the tray in one hand and another mug of ale in the other as she waits for Halcyon to tell her where you place it.
A few minutes later another maid brings a similar looking plate to Cormyn and places it before him. She is less flirty than Halcyon's maid but still cheerful. "Let me know if you need anything else," she says.
A halfling wearing a breastplate climbs up onto a stool at the end of the bar, calling out, "Bartender an ale and a meal please sir!" Looking around the tavern at all of the other patrons. Gives a warm smile to all the waitstaff as they pass by.
Cormyn smiles and nods warmly as the halfling enters and passes his table. When his meal is set down before him, he tucks in. The flavor of the potatoes explodes in his mouth. While he prefers his potatoes roasted or baked, these are by far some of the best he has ever had mashed. The chicken disappoints, however: Well cooked, yet somehow still very dry. As quietly as he can, Cormyn attempts to use a Prestidigitation to moisten the chicken and give it a slight flavor of lemon while no one is looking. Much more satisfied, he once again digs into his meal.
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Halcyon smirks and winks at the bartender then looks at the maid. "Life without a little trouble would be quite boring, wouldn't it? Trouble from a beautiful woman only remind's a man he's alive!" Flirting shamelessly with the maid, Halcyon motions back to his table, "I'll grab my seat again. Looks like the bar is getting busy, don't want to be in the way!"
Jarwald places a frothy ale before Biggle and orders the meal for the young halfling. He then goes back to cleaning and drying the mugs and other glasses. Other patrons come and go to the bar getting drinks and leaving coin as they go.
Over at his table, Cormyn manages to magically enhance the texture and flavor of his chicken. He finds that coupled with the already delicious potatoes he has quite the enjoyable meal before him.
Halcyon moves back to his table and digs into the chicken and potatoes as well. He finds it much to his liking without any magical enhancements.
Finally Biggle's food is ready and served up to him. The steaming plate of potatoes and chicken looks very inviting to the young halfling who has been on the road all day.
Biggle eagerly starts to consume the food placed before him, the perfectly cooked potatoes with butter melt in his mouth and the chicken is spiced perfectly, savory juices dripping from his mouth as he eagerly eats.
"My goodness barkeep this is some of the best road food I have ever tasted, my compliments to cook! Any news of this region? I am always interested in the goings about of various people and rumors, worldly news keeps the mind intrigued and sharp."
Continuing with his meal and waiting for a response from barkeep or anyone really.
"Well, I'm glad you like it," says Jarwald to Biggle. "I'll pass along to the cook." The man tries to get back to his cleaning and his own thoughts but he can hardly pass up the opportunity to discuss rumors.
"Well, everyone seems worried about what's going on down south. Tensions rising as folks figure any day now King-Regent Surtova will drop the regency and declare himself outright King. What will happen then? Duke Medvyed hasn't been all that ready to support Surtova's claim to the throne in the past. Would he do so now or would he not? If not, would that mean civil war? Lot's of questions, not many answers."
"Other's say that the Swordlords are working to take advantage of the situation to push for the former Rostlandic nations to pull away from Brevoy all together. Word is they are none too eager to swear fealty to another Issian line of kings."
Jarwald puts down a clean glass and picks up another wet one. His rag works furiously to dry the glass.
"Shoot. You ask me we got enough of our own problems around here to worry about over something that might or might not be happening hundreds of miles from here. There have been some unusually high reports of orc and ogre sightings in the Icerime's for this time of year. Don't know if there's anything to it or not or if just more fool people are heading up into the mountains during the winter than usual. Some fear that they are massing for a raid."
As Jarwald finishes another customer comes to the bar and he turns his attention to serving him.
As Jarwald turned to greet the next patron he had heard approaching, all he saw was a bald head bobbing along the edge of the counter. Reaching one of the stools, the head paused, then with a labored grunt and clatter of armor, the head rose fully over the counter, revealing the face and upper body of a dwarven man. He looked gruff and none too amused, peering down at the stool with accusing eyes. "Blasted tall folk and their furniture." He spat, resting his gauntleted hands on the counter. Looking up at Jarwald, he smacked his lips, causing his fairly impressive mustache to jiggle from side to side. "All this trudgin' along on these dusty dirt roads get a man hankerin' for somethin' smooth to clear the throat." He got an excited look in his eyes at the mention of beverage, taking on a much more pleasant and friendly expression. His eyes scanned the displayed alcohol, appraising what was available.
"Now then lad, hows about you let old Logan have somethin' to drink then? The good stuff of course, not any of the usual." He exhaled hard through his nose like an annoyed bull, causing his mustache to flutter vigorously. "Darkest ale you got lad, anythin' less when its brewed by you top-siders, might as well be water as far as my tastes are concerned."
"Did I hear somethin' about orcs and ogres? Sounds like this place may be worth stoppin' for after all."
Jarwald frowns at Logan's dissing of his house-brew without ever even tasting it. Dwarves he thinks as he turns away and takes up a dark red bottle off the bar behind him. A paying customer is a paying customer he tells himself as he forces a smile.
He puts a shot glass in front of Logan and then pours a blood red drink into the glass. "This here is called Hammer Head," he explains. "Should be just what yer lookin' fer."
As Logan takes up the glass and quickly downs it he finds that it is very smooth as it goes down. It is also very potent, even by dwarven standards. It is mildly spicy with a bitter aftertaste.
"What do you think o'that?" Jarwald asks the dwarf.
"Well lad, I asked for ale, not liquor" Logan answered, puckering and smacking his lips with a content smile, savoring the taste of Hammer Head. "Still, certainly a fine specimen, but Ill be needin' that ale to actually get rid of this thirst." He held the empty shot glass towards the barkeep, wiggling it between his stubby fingers. "But, while you have that bottle open anyway..."
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As Halcyon makes progress through his meal he works to catch snippets of conversations at the bar, as he wasn't too far away. Hmmm, guess things aren't as quiet as they seemed Halcyon thought to himself, debating on whether it was something to concern himself about. He shrugged as he continued his meal, hoping to catch anything more interesting in the conversation. Raid or no raid, that was a problem for a Future Halcyon, the present one was more than happy stuffing his first good meal in ages into his mouth and listening for the time.
"Sorry..." mutters Jarwald, "Seems my head isn't in the right place tonight." The barkeep obviously seems a bit distracted and he tries to get everything back together. He pours Logan another shot of the Hammer Head before picking up a large mug and moving over to a nearby cask. He fills the mug up, leaving a hearty froth on the top, knowing how dwarves love to have that froth in their beards after drinking to keep the mess with them.
"We call this one a Blood Ale, you'll know why when you drink it."
As Logan drinks it he immediately notices the salty and somewhat bitter taste to the ale. It certainly isn't the strongest ale he's had but not bad by human standards.
As Halcyon enjoys the meal and listens out for anything interesting in the tavern conversation, the serving girl sits down at the table opposite him. She has as big smile as she asks, "So how's the meal? You figuring to be satisfied after that or will you need more?" As she leans over the table Halcyon can't help but notice her amble bosom barely contained in the low-cut neckline of her dress. She absently twirls a bit of her long amber hair in one finger while looking at the newcomer.
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Halcyon smiles at the maid as he continues to flirt shamelessly, "It was absolutely fantastic! Though as for being satisfied...I think the night is a bit young to make that decision, don't you think?"
"My name is Halcyon." He said introducing himself to the maid, channeling every ounce of his gentlemanly power not to stray from her eyes. "What's yours?"
"Dont fret lad, ol' Logan here isnt one to judge a book by its first readin'." He downed the second shot, swishing it around in his mouth as if he intended to wash his teeth with the stuff. "For example..." He started, swallowing the shot before taking a hearty chug from the ale. He smacked his lips, eyes squinted and staring off to the side. Then he finally nodded to himself before continuing. "...For example, ya might have seemed a lousy air-headed oaf just now, and a lesser dwarf, well he might have acted in an unbecoming fashion, like some people are want to assume a dwarf would." He paused, letting his gaze drift to the other patrons along the bar. "But, ya certainly have a way with the spirits, ya know yer stuff." He took another long draught, chuckling into the foam. "Any man who knows what to serve to who, well, he likely isn't a bad barkeep."
"Hammer Head, Blood Ale, heh, certainly fittin'. Have to remember those names." He stared off into the air a moment, sighing with a loving expression that seemed entirely odd on the weatherbeaten and scarred dwarf. "Still, what I wouldnt give fer a taste of a good brew from home." He emptied his mug, motioning for a refill.
Hm, maybe I can make some money and friends working against this raid, Cormyn thinks to himself. But first, another ale. He saunters up to the bar and orders another, staying there this time to find an opening in the conversation.
At first Jarwald isn't sure whether to be offended by the dwarf or not. In the end, he decides just to take it as a compliment and not worry about it. The dwarf was drinking, and that was what was important in a tavern!
"Tell me about the brew from home," Jarwald opens, always eager to learn of other brewing recipes and enhancing the offerings in his tavern. "I'd love to be able to offer something to the dwarves that come through on occasion that would remind them of their home."
"The orcs, ogres, hobgoblins, and other fell beasties are always massin' fer a raid," says a rather hard and weathered looking man at the table nearest the bar. He sits behind Cormyn now as the halfling has moved closer to the bar. "It's just a way fer the Duke ta keep us in line and out o'his business. As well as our good Sheriff Rykeld to keep a watch on us all. Let's her keep us all close and cooped up in town." The man frowns before turning back to his ale. He seems like he's already deep in his cups despite the early hour of the evening.
Halcyon smiles at the maid as he continues to flirt shamelessly, "It was absolutely fantastic! Though as for being satisfied...I think the night is a bit young to make that decision, don't you think?"
"My name is Halcyon." He said introducing himself to the maid, channeling every ounce of his gentlemanly power not to stray from her eyes. "What's yours?"
"Marna," replies the barmaid with a smile and a toss of her hair. She leans forward to offer her hand to Halcyon, a bit miffed that she can't seem to entice the man to chance a glance at her. What's wrong with him? Too much of a gentlemen?
"Oh Davon, hush. Don't be bad-mouthin' the Sheriff around these folks. Yer just mad because she made you clear out o'that cave you was diggin' in because she was worried you were gonna cause the roof to collapse on your fool head. She probably saved your life!"
The woman that calls out Davon sits by herself to the left of the bar. She is a plump looking woman with homespun clothes and short graying hair. Looking back down to her plate of food before her she considers the honor of the Sheriff properly defended.
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"Well Marna, I hope I am not too forward in saying that you are positively enchanting." Halcyon said taking her hand in his, whispering softly. Halcyon opened his hand and there lay a softly glowing flower, which he put into her hand. If only mages could master a spell that could conjure such a bosom at will. War would end everywhere. "Do you wish to see just how enchanting I can be?"
"Tell me about the brew from home," Jarwald opens, always eager to learn of other brewing recipes and enhancing the offerings in his tavern. "I'd love to be able to offer something to the dwarves that come through on occasion that would remind them of their home."
Logan chuckled, already beard deep in the next pint. "Well, it aint really that easy." He wiped his mustache with the back of his hand, offering a content sigh. "Each dwarven hold is like what you top-siders would call a city state. Brew preferences are based on that alone. Hardly any exchange of recipes between holds." He chuckled at bit at his last words, drinking again. "We guard our ale like we guard our gold."
Setting down his pint and wiping his mustache again, he raised a pointed finger with a sudden look of realization. "Ah, but I almost forgot! Every year there is a great meetin' of the clans, to settle disagreements and renew the oaths of kinship." He got a fond look in his eyes, likely recalling the last time he himself participated. "Lots of feastin' and competition to be had, as one would expect. The brewin' championship is of particular importance to many a dwarven lad or lass. The winner gets crowned Brewmaster of the Holds and their brew gets the honored title of Brew of the Year." He emptied his mug once more, setting it down heavily on the counter. "Ya wanna have a little somethin' any dwarven traveler will enjoy, ya keep the Brew of the Year." He looked thoughtful a moment, then added. "If memory serves, this past year the title was won by a little number named "Mindflayer"." He laughed loudly. "Got a real kick to it! If the stories from some of the older veterans are to be trusted, the splittin' headaches the day after are just like the ones ya get from bein' mind blasted by an actual Mindflayer!"
Davons talk caused Logans mood to noticeably sour. Turning on his stool, he waved an accusing finger in the mans direction. "Listen to the lady, lad. Ya best learn to respect authority. Honestly, how anyone gets anythin' done topside with all this bickerin' is beyond me." He wiggled his mustache and once more exhaled through his nose, setting the hairs aflutter. "Say what you will, but atleast the elves can agree with that bit of good dwarven morals."
Biggle watches the boisterous dwarf with great interest, laughing at the story of the brewmasters and the mention of good dwarven morals.
What is this guy all about...
"Master Dwarf, it is truly inviting to see one such as yourself here, us shorter folk need to stick together after all, with all this tall furniture and whatnot. Please let me buy you a drink and enjoy your company..." Signaling to the barkeep for one of his drinks and one of mine with two fingers pointing to my area of the bar."... Where is it you hail from? Not many mountains around these parts."
When Jarwald brings the drinks over, "What is your opinion on what is going on in the south? Who is it that you think should succeed the region? Do most people around here agree with you?"
While Biggle and Logan strike up a conversation about events to the south and Halcyon works to impress the barmaid, Cormyn notices a young boy enter the tavern and take a scroll to Jarwald. The barkeep looks intently at the seal for a moment with a furrow to his brow before finally opening it.
As soon as he opens the scroll purple streamers of strange smoke pour upwards from the seal. All the doors and window shutters slam shut, close, and lock! A booming voice is then heard to say:
"You stole my inn, brother! Father left it to me, and you stole it away, and now you will pay!
My share of the inheritance has gone to place this curse, and though it costs me my life...it will cost you yours as well!"
The seal on the parchment then breaks apart, and the glowing shards fly about to various parts of the room, forming evil marks shining with a baleful green radiance. The strange purple smoke-cloud flies to five places about the inn, and form into misty, shadowy rifts in reality. Horrible and indescribable things can be seen coming toward the rifts from the "other side".
Horrors from some far realm will begin to clamor through the portals, entering the tavern, and are very, very hungry...
"We will be havin' a word about this tavern theft business soon enough lad." Logan said emptying his latest pint all while staring the barkeep dead in the eye.
Finishing with a half stifled burp, he slammed the mug into the counter, before leaping from his stool and landing with a resounding thud. "For now though, looks like there be ugly skulls that need my attention." With these last words, he set off towards the nearest portal, bellowing. "I got this one, who amongst you possess the spirit to have the others?"
Coming to a halt before the portal, he positioned himself to bodily block any creatures from passing, drawing his hammer and shield. "Come on then ya ugly cretins"
"I'll help. Find yourself a weapon and lay on, friend dwarf!" Cormyn roars, vaulting over his table to the weapons bin. That was the start of his dance. He whistles in time to the beat of his feet, filling the hearts of his allies with courage. "This is now a dance-fight!"
Grabbing at where his weapon and shield usually were, Logan quickly realized how much of a habit it had become as he found nothing. "Blast! Lad, if ya see a warhammer and shield, bring em will ya?"
He then scooped up the nearest stool, trying to smash it to pieces usable as clubs.
The sounds of screaming erupts in the tavern as the patrons begin to panic with the strange happenings. Cormyn springs into action and tries to inspire hope and courage within everyone as his feet move in tune to his whistling. The halfling moves south toward where the weapons are stored.
Along the southern wall, just on the other side of the partition where Cormyn is, the first of two extra-planar creatures step out of the strange portals. The first appears to be a hopping squat toadlike thing with no head! Four tentacles are arrayed around a funnel-shaped mouth filled with razor sharp teeth. Between each tentacle is an elongated eye, glaring malevolently.
Stepping into the tavern after the strange toadlike creature is a pulsating red brain-thing that floats inside a crystalline shall of a dark obsidian-like material, prancing on crab-like legs. A slender dark tube hangs under the body, swiveling about like a turret.
The seven patrons that had run to the southwestern corner of the tavern scream once more as the two beasts come out of the portal only a few feet from them.
Logan smashes the stool he was sitting on and after grabbing one of the legs he rushes at the red brain-thing, ready to smash it next opportunity.
Halcyon takes a moment to study the strange shard-like remains of the seal but he is unable to tell anything about the magic that created it. There is too much chaos in the room and nothing comes to mind. An idea does form in his mind however, that if they were to destroy the shards it might have some negative effect on the portals. The barmaid that he was flirting with shrieks and rushes behind him, her hands clinging to his waist as she begs him to protect her.
"I don't think I can do that, but I'll enlist the dwarf!" Cormyn yells, stomping his feet with the force and tempo of a drum while rooting through the weapons cabinet. Having found the dwarf's hammer, he hucks it at him and hopes he can catch it. "Catch!"
"By Torag, yer one ugly bastard!" He shouted, his face contorted into a mask of disgust as he swung his new club.
Biggle moves to protect the townsfolk from the evil, if the torches come off the wall he will use that, if not a bar stool will work.
"Cowardly creatures come to me!" Biggle says in what sounds like a child's voice.
Cormyn continues his dance, incorporating it into his every move. His whistle reaches an incredible pitch as he spins a flying kick into the reinforced door.
He even makes his bouncing off the door look like an art.
"Someone stronger than me, break down the door!" he shouts. "Or better yet, someone give me the keys!" What are these things?
Time allowing, Cormyn also picks up a stool to use mainly as a shield, but also a weapon if need be.
Cormyn's kick does nothing to the door. He quickly realizes that he isn't strong enough to break down the reinforced door. He will have to find something to help him batter down the door or get the help of others to bash it in. Also, other than knowing that they are from some other plane of existence, Cormyn has no idea what these creatures are. It is clear however that they are bent on killing anyone that gets before them.
Back in the main room, the red brain-thing launches an attack against one of the townspeople cowering in the corner. A sharp spike-like projectile shoots out of the tentacle. With a scream of pain, the other serving girl's hand goes down to her bloody thigh where the projectile now sticks out of her leg. She cries as the others try to move her to the back and out of harm's way.
The other beast takes aim at Logan and lashes out with one of its tentacles. The dwarf is hit across his arm by the sharp and very quick tentacle.
"Pull out the spike, quickly!" Logan yelled at the townpeople moving the injured maid. Feeling holy energy well up inside him, he held it there, suspended as a warm radiance in his chest, waiting for them to do as he asked.
As the spike was removed, he released the energy, a wave of soothing light erupting in all directions from his head, his eyes and mouth ablaze with light, his mustache fluttering in an otherworldly breeze.
He then stepped to block any further attempts to shoot the townspeople.
Halcyon's acid strikes the seal and works itself into the already existing cracks, widening them but not destroying the seal.
Seeing Halcyon having a good idea, Biggle moves to the seal by the fire place and attempts to his the seal with his bar stool.