Aishe grows uneasy as the conversation turns dark, but he maintains his silence, This isn't my fight. Witch or no, she deserves a seat at the table as much as any.
He must admit to himself that when the woman leaves with her thing he sighs with some relief. The creature weirded him out.
When Moira begins to sing though, he leans back on the bench with glee, stretching his back and thumping his feet in time with the music. He makes it mostly on the beat too!
"Well dome Moira, nice piece! I met a gnome miner once long ago. He seemed to spend most of his time casting light spells to keep the darkness at bay. You really capture that!"
Drin enthusiastically followed along waving his mug in the air and sloshing some over the rim. He happily agreed with Aishe's assessment and added, "Well done! Reminded me of a time I fell down a well. Had a real strong hankering for a bit of light at the time." He takes a sip from his mug and asked Moira, "Do ye be know in' any songs about fishes."
"Am I so bigoted? I know the tenants say mother is strict... I've heard the tales of the suffering they cause - but I've never actually met a witch."
At this last he looks up beseechingly into Euphemia's eyes.
"That woman didn't seem safe to be around," she consoles with a gentle pat of Oscar's arm before finally removing her hand from it. Her tone is kept carefully neutral. "It's possible she was a very nice woman, but what sort of very nice woman keeps such a monster to follow her around?"
"It’s dark as a dungeon, and damp as the dew,
Where danger is doubled, and pleasures are few,
Where the rain never falls, and the sun never shines,
It’s dark as a dungeon waaaaay down in the mine!"
Euphemia bobs her head along to Moira's singing. When the song is done, she applauds. "I'm not wishing any ill on Wicken, Ms. Keening, but it'd sure be nice if you were staying longer rather than passing through. It's always a gift to have new faces and congenial conversationalists in town here, and one with such musical talent as well...? A real treat.
"Ah, but I get ahead of myself. That goes to all our new faces in here!"
The man, a second flag of 'Autumnal Bronze' leaving a froth against his ample beard, continues to tell the Inn - anyone who will listen - about the feral creature that hunts at the edges of wooded areas surrounding Wicken, "Taken three sheep from me over the last two winters... and I ain't the only one - there's some farmers 'round these parts who would happily see Rigo hanging from a tree!!! An' the more he takes from my flock - the more I'm thinking of joining that mob".
Drin searched his memory for everything he knew about Ringo to no avail. Confused he asked, "What's Ringo got to do with it? I thought ye be sayin' it be some sort of beasty that snatched the sheep."
Collecting her plate of sacred food and moving to a table close to the man who is talking about his problems. Picking a chair and tucking her backpack between her lap and the underside of the table. Quickly devouring the little hunk of roast hog and the veggies on her plate, barely tasting it. Poor farmer and his sheep. Shouldn't there be guards that protect this place?
Velrun nods in acceptance as the others around the table shake their heads in response, and yet he slow in putting away the portrait.
Perhaps I will need to risk venturing to the...Blight? Dare I have the courage...the will here...
The disturbance from the odd-looking female as her convictions come to the fore completely catch him off guard and he can only stare at the others in fascination. Not until the strange woman departs does he feel the strange paralysis end.
He manages to nod in appreciation as the Lady Moira does her best to break the somber mood. "Well done! Perhaps I can help with the mood. I wish I had something cheerful to add to the mood...but I do find this tune helps remind me of life." He waves his hand and a well-worn flute appears in his hand. Raising it to his lips he adds, "I believe it is called 'Nothing Is Easy'..."
The halfling snaps out of his thoughts and moves for his knives. He watches as words get thrown between the overly clean man and the emaciated woman. Before anything can be done the woman leaves and overly clean man looks about with a look of...apology.
He eases his hands away from his knives confident the challenge will not turn to blood.
'They. They continue to come.'
'They might help if you help. That is what is called cooperation.'
"They. They feel it. This night comes with fear." Unaware he spoke aloud he leaves his axe on the table and moves to the man talking of the feral creature. "You. You look for something that has been taken. I. I look for something as well. I have wandered close. I. I have seen no feral creature. It. It walk on fours or two? It leaves entrails of animals?"
In from the chill autumn air comes a young girl. Her hair is a the sort of brown that is often overlooked, but her eyes are the bright gray of someone who does not know the horrors of the Blight. She moves to an empty table and tunes a simple lute before looking to the others and asking, "Any requests? The night is not yet over!"
“Thank you, you’re too kind, Mr. Danior! Thank you, Ms. Blaithe, and I do hope you all give me no professional reasons to linger in Wicken, even if the thought of departure saddens me, I'd like to visit again soon, and would prefer you good people of Wicken to be present and lively for the reunion. Thank you, Mr. Drin! And thank the rest of you, you’re a heck of an audience on this windy night! And bravo to my fellow performer, Mr. Rivertongue, for his uplifting song about keeping things in proper perspective, and his virtuosic flautistry!"
Moira claps heartily for Velrun, genuinely impressed—it’s been a while since she's had the luxury of being part of an audience. She notices that yet another musician has appeared, and immediately encourages this new arrival to take the stage.
“Another patron for Mr. Redmanes appears bearing an instrument! Do play us a song! Play something you like, we can barter requests later (I haven’t forgotten yours, Mr. Drin). I’m Moira Keening, a stranger in town who is feeling less strange by the hour.”
Realizing that she’s had nothing to eat but drink, Moira heads to the bar. After ordering a plate from Redmanes, she introduces herself to Alexis. “Hello there, are you a stranger like me? Or are you one of the locals? If a stranger, perhaps I can invite you to the long table? If a local, I respect your decision to avoid us and our wagging tongues. We seem to have moved from talking about professions to magic to metaphysics to ethics to law, and are now rounding into a discussion of cattle rustling. I’m Moira Keening, professional mourner.” She manages to hold her steaming plate of pork and her third (fourth?) foaming pint of cider in one hand (and elbow-crook) while drawing and presenting one of her black-edged cards to Alexis.
As she drops into her space at the bench, Moira wonders what’s quieted her verbal sparring partner, Salom. Wonder what he’s thinking about?
The willowy halfling sways along to the music content with his tankard of Autumnal Bronze. The uplifting tune greatly improving his mood washing away any memory of the recent conflict. Happily he praises Velrun, "That was right pretty."
Drin looked expectantly at Moira, hoping for his fish song, and tried to hide his disappointment at his request being postponed, his grin becoming more of a smirk. I do love me a good fish song or story he sadly thought.
"Any requests? The night is not yet over!"
Drin's crooked smile returned at the slight girl's offer, who he recognizes from the village, excitedly recalling her name, Audria. He eyed her lute with his empty gaze and asked hopefully, "Lass, perhaps ye can be givin' us a tune about a fish." The halfling casts a triumphant gaze at Moira, Some people just don't like fishes. He impatiently fidgets, the anticipation clearly shows on his simple face.
Audria - foundling/painter/performer
Drin – lazybones
Euphemia – Healer/herbalist
Ian McGoon – barber (?Background says village of Wartle but I believe this is a typo.)
Salom –Well known crazy man
Tesara – depressed girl
Velrun - bard
Music too, Thank you Gods above. Glancing up from her meal to the professional mourner. Swallowing the food in her mouth and wiping her mouth with her wrist before taking the card and answering, "Nope. I am not from here. But I am in the market for a new home."
Grinning, "That can be your table for now if you want. Not sure what I add to talking about law or magic though. But I can gather up my things."
Glancing at the card but paying it no mind after that while she grabs her pack and plate while looking at Moira to lead the way, "I am sure you have already heard this one but how does one become a professional mourner or why? Seems like a sad thing to do all the time, not that I am one to judge."
At first, Moira is delighted to have another chance to talk about her work. She explains to Alexis, “Most people have to work at difficult jobs that have nothing to do with their talents or expertise. I’m actually pretty lucky to have a chance to do a difficult job that I’m good at—even if it is still a hard grind. As for expertise…” For the first time since warming up to the good folk of Wicken, Moira has the shadow that haunts her expression on the road flit across her features. “Well, I had a lot of practice before I went pro. I’ll tell you the story of what happened to my village sometime. For now, I try to help the living come to terms with grief through whatever works best in the given situation—ceremony, ritual, conversation, song, dance, or, as often seems to help in my own case…” she takes a big swig of Autumnal Bronze, “…strong drink.” She then starts introducing Alexis to everyone, before realizing that she hasn’t heard Alexis’ name yet. “What’s your story? You said you were looking for a new home? You could do worse than Wicken, judging by my brief time here.”
In that way that happens when a bar has too many people for one conversation, and one sits down in the fault line between two of them, Moira also lends an ear to the talk of Rigo. She chips in on the hunt for more information. “So, is Rigo some kind of monster? But you talk of him like he’s a man? Not that the two are always mutually exclusive…”
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"I just want to play, so fish it is!"
She feels the warmth of the wood and the coolness of the strings under her fingers as she settles the lute into a comfortable position. Nimble fingers pluck a few notes that sing sweetly before she begins a humorous ditty about a fish begging a fisherman not to cook him and eat him with each verse having his claims of power and promises of what he'll do if simply let go growing more and more absurd.
"Now that's a story I can get behind!" laughs Aishe as the newcomer plays.
When she finishes he adds, "That was really well done. It's clear you've had some practice. No matter how much practice I'd try, I'd never be that good." his chuckle continue.
"Thank you, mister, but I'm not all that good. I've only been playin' a year or so."
Audria blushes brightly as she rubs the back of her head.
Drin smiled joyfully, his lop sided smile plastered on his face, ”That was some song, and some fish." And greedily asked, "Perhaps ye be knowin’ a song about me favorite type o’ fish?” The grateful Halfling took out his pipe and filled it with a fine dark tobacco. He keeps the tobacco pouch open and offers some to Audria and Aishe, ”Pipeweed?”
He lights his pipe on the first try and sits there contently humming the refrain to Audria’s fish song letting out a soft chuckle now and again. He takes a long pull off the stem of the pipe and asked Aishe, ”It’s nice to be meetin’ a man who enjoys a song about fishes.” He shakes his head ruefully, ”Ye can’t be trustin’ a man who don’t like fishes or songs about them.” Taking another pull off the pipe, Me pa didn’t be likin’ fishes. Anyways, I don’t be knowin’ ye, where do ye hail from?’ He quickly adds, ”Not that I be pryin’, just curious and such?”
Oscar finds himself cheered out of his funk by the songs, and listens appreciatively to drums, flute, lute and song.
He turns a puzzled look to Euphemia when the newcomer rants of 'Rigo', but stays silent while the music plays.
When next there is a gap in the performance he turns to Velrun. "Mr Rivertongue? Your song talks of playing to ease unhappiness, and you've the air of a desperate man. The portrait. You said you're unable to contact the young lady? I take it she's not local or Euphemia would have recognised her. May I ask for the full story?"
Oscar holds up a hand "I don't mean to give you false hope. I've not seen the lady, nor am I likely to. But fate has brought you to a diverse crowd as I've ever seen. Perhaps someone will have an idea that might help you."
"Mr Dainor here is a driver of carts, and despite his humility has shown a keen mind and quick eye. He - and any associates that share his profession and talents - might well make good allies in a quest for information."
"If nothing else you and..." he turns to the man who has lost his son "this gentleman are both looking for people. If you both look for the two of them, your chances of success are doubled."
"Thank you, mister, but I'm not all that good. I've only been playin' a year or so."
”Only a year? It would take me a decade to achieve the skill you’ve managed in a year!” he laughs knowing he can’t carry a tune with any instrument.
Anyways, I don’t be knowin’ ye, where do ye hail from?’ He quickly adds, ”Not that I be pryin’, just curious and such?”
He turns down the offer of pipe-weed, having no receptacle from which to smoke it. He thinks bout carving out an apple, but imagines how silly that would look and chuckles some more to himself. He almost misses Drin’s question.
”Oh, I’m from all over the south mostly, working along the trade routes back and forth, back and forth.” he rocks a little in cadence with his words. ”But I’m originally from a small village outside Oppara called Patry. A small hamlet - I got out when I could for the big city and it’s glories. I must admit, I’m a sucker for a good tune, and I love the opera, symphony, almost any performance really.”
”As a child I tried, I really did. The big double bass, vocal training, even percussion. That’s when I gave up. When I couldn’t manage the triangle in beat with the rest of the group, I realized I was destined to listen and enjoy - but not participate.”
”And you? You’re local if I don’t miss my guess. I’ve been rooming up the street above the jewelers in that tiny flat facing the ally for the last month. It’s warm, and cheap, and that’s good enough, but it’s hard to meet people in small towns I find. Folks tend to keep very much to themselves, and I don’t like to pry either!” he grins back.
As Oscar looks for good deeds to do, Aishe joins him. ”Yes, please, enlighten us and perhaps we can help further. You never know when some little piece of information might rub up against another and the pieces may start falling into place. Tell us everything!”
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Moira applauds Audria’s fish tale. “Well done, well done indeed! Is this town always bursting at the seams with good music, or is this unusual? First the young Redmanes, then Mr. Rivertounge, and now Ms. Audria! And my own contributions, such as they are. Does this mean, Mr. Drin, that I’m off the hook as far as a fish song goes?" She laughs at her own pun. She does love a pun--whether good, bad, or indifferent.
Turning to Aishe, she passes on a bit of wisdom she picked up on the road: “There’s an old saying, Mr. Danior: ‘To have great poets there must be great audiences too.’" "And I'd love to hear tales of the trade routes sometime, if you ever feel like telling them.”
“There are a lot of missing persons it seems: Mr. Rivertongue’s beauty, Mr… the Halfling Gentleman’s ‘orc-blooded,’ Mr. Wendell’s son, and this gentleman’s sheep (I don't believe I've caught your name, sir? Moira Keening.). If only all these lost lambs would wander home."
Moira stares into the ruddy depths of Autumnal Bronze, half-listening to the conversations around her, watching chains of perfect spheres rising from the scratches on the bottom of the glass, rising like souls.
And then there’s me—I know where all the people I’m missing have gone—under the earth. Wait—don’t think about them… you’ve made peace with that. You’re not the type to get jealous of some lost soul out there just because they have a father or lover hunting for them.
She takes a deep breath, and smiles.
”As a child I tried, I really did. The big double bass, vocal training, even percussion. That’s when I gave up. When I couldn’t manage the triangle in beat with the rest of the group, I realized I was destined to listen and enjoy - but not participate.”
The Halfling nodded in agreement, although he doesn’t know many of the instruments Aishe is talking about, ”Too true, too true. Meself I dabbled with the flute for a bit. Till me pa be breakin’ it over me backside.” He got a faraway look in his eyes, smiled, and continued, ”He would have made a good drummer, pa would have, yes indeed.”
”And you? You’re local if I don’t miss my guess
Righto, been living hereabouts with me sister and her son for on about seven years now.” He sticks his chest out proudly and pride shines in his otherwise empty eyes, ”But I be a traveler too. Worked as an animal handler in a traveling Menagerie. Saw me share of the country side.”
I’ve been rooming up the street above the jewelers in that tiny flat facing the ally for the last month. It’s warm, and cheap, and that’s good enough, but it’s hard to meet people in small towns I find. Folks tend to keep very much to themselves, and I don’t like to pry either!” he grins back.
Drin smiled and sagely pointed out, ”Cause outsiders be mostly queer folk with strange ideas, thinkin’ they be knowin’ better.” He lowers his voice a bit as he glances sidelong at Oscar, ”Always stirring up trouble or threatin’ to burn people and such.”
Does this mean, Mr. Drin, that I’m off the hook as far as a fish song goes?" She laughs at her own pun. She does love a pun--whether good, bad, or indifferent.
”We be mostly net fishers here miss,” Drin replied straight faced. Found it be best to cast me net wide and see what ye get.” He shakes his head, ”Be right nice of ye if ye could be singin’ about me favorite type of fishes.”
“There are a lot of missing persons it seems: Mr. Rivertongue’s beauty, Mr… the Halfling Gentleman’s ‘orc-blooded,’ Mr. Wendell’s son, and this gentleman’s sheep (I don't believe I've caught your name, sir? Moira Keening.). If only all these lost lambs would wander home."
Drin looked to Aishe with a knowing grin and whispered, ”Done told ya. Queer folk outsiders, always losing stuff.” Interested he waits to hear more about these missing things.
Tucking her pack between her lap and the underside of the table before answering, "Well the fine details of that will take a lot more than I am willing to drink or a bit more trust but the short of it is that I left before my companions could.. hmm, send me away for a mistake. As for sharing losses we can do that another time. When there is not so wonderful music."
Clapping loudly at the song about the cunning fish, "Well done!"
Taking a small sip of the ale, "I am sorry for whatever loss you had though. Lose seems to be what make up life." Not something I can escape it seems. Unless I live like a hermit.. No the wilds suck.
Replying to Moira, the farmer grumbles, "The name's Cyril ma'am... I don't think we met before this evenin'? Anyways, not that it'll matter if the winters keep on getting harder and Rigo hunts more than he has before but I've been running the Amberlamp farm out near the Low Woods for my entire adult life... and my father before me", he gestures for Redmane to fill another flagon, "I'm afraid most of these folks' lost lambs, if they've gone to the Blight, have as much chance of wandering home as my poor savaged livestock... it's a dreadful place, you're from there? I don't recall seeing you in Wicken before anyways..."
Audria listens to the others, blushing at their praise, as she plays a tune and thinks about the songs she knows. Only a few of them are about fishes and she doesn't know if any of them are about the right kinds of fishes.
"Maybe, mister," she answers Drin after a moment, "what kinds of fishes do you like?"
”Oh, sure Moira, let’s see. Something simple, short, yet funny. Funny is good. Well, I think I know a story that might be worth it!” he grins and tells a short story of a coach run he was doing between two small villages. The man riding with him on the coach was convinced there were ankhegs living in the hills along their planned route. He tried hard to convince Aishe to take a longer, but he felt safer, route.
”I refused, but this guy was so wound up, he knew they were out there, and ready to get him! Well, we’re going through this gorge and we round a corner and there’s this thing in the road. Hell, to this day I don’t know what it was, but my partner was sure it was the ankheg and he absolutely freaked! I stood up, took careful aim, and shot the damn thing right between the eyes.”
”Admittedly it didn’t die, but it did scoot the hell out of our way and we passed. I think it was some sort of giant ant, but my buddy soiled himself, convinced we were going to die right there.” Aishe laughs and sort of catches himself. ”Yeah, so I guess you had to be there. Bobat and I laugh about it now. Good story. Yeah.” he grins, embarrassed.
He nods at Drin, ”Yes, outsiders do tend to a certain way about them. I’ve always tried to look up to the people I meet, rather than down. Makes all the difference.”
Velrun nods in reply to the halfling trapper, "Thank you Drin! I am glad you have not soured on my music, even after all these many years!"
Turning his attention to the nobleman he nods slowly, "The woman was one I knew...many years ago. She helped me out...helped my mother out when she needed her most. Now...I am simply trying to find her." He shakes his head heavily, "My message have not been returned. I fear the worst..."
... it's a dreadful place, you're from there? I don't recall seeing you in Wicken before anyways..."
“No, I’m not from there, but I am headed there. I perform burial ceremonies for the dead, and I hear there might be fertile ground (in a manner of speaking) for my services in Castorhage. I think I’ll be able to handle myself in the city, though I’ve never spent time in one before. I’m from what used to be a speck of a village about fifty miles west of Steyr. Things are hard on your Amberlamp farm, then? And who is Rigo?" Moira turns to her local friends with a (perhaps somewhat dramatically inflated) mystified expression— “Do any of you know Rigo?"
”We be mostly net fishers here miss,” Drin replied straight faced. Found it be best to cast me net wide and see what ye get.”
Moira laughs out loud at Drin’s impermeable demeanor. “And here my only fish song is about bait and tackle fishing. Sorry, Drin! I’ll sing it for you in a bit anyway."
Tucking her pack between her lap and the underside of the table before answering, "Well the fine details of that will take a lot more than I am willing to drink or a bit more trust but the short of it is that I left before my companions could.. hmm, send me away for a mistake. As for sharing losses we can do that another time. When there is not so wonderful music."
“Fair enough—this place has loosened my own tongue considerably. I like these people, they’re fun and funny. But if you do find yourself seduced by the warmth of Autumn Bronze and want to tell a tale, just let me know, it’s not like we’re likely to see each other again. There are confidences of the road.”
"I stood up, took careful aim, and shot the damn thing right between the eyes.”
“Wow, how exciting! I hope I can have adventures like that someday, something to tell at the tavern to go with my songs. Hecks, maybe I’ll write songs about ‘em myself. So that crossbow there isn’t just for show, then, is it? Are you quite a crack shot, Mr. Danior?”
"I fear the worst..."[/b]
“That reminds me of something my ma used to say—‘if you always expect the worst, you’ll only be pleasantly surprised.’” I hated it when she used to say that. Turns out she was right—but I hope that in your case, things turn out better. She's a lucky woman to have such a devoted seeker on her trail.”
"Maybe, mister," she answers Drin after a moment, "what kinds of fishes do you like?"
Drin excitedly tells the lass, "Frogs! Froggies be the bestest type of fishes."
"I’ve always tried to look up to the people I meet, rather than down. Makes all the difference.”
Drin sat entranced by the man's tale and let's out a loud guffaw at Bobat's misfortune. After he recovered he is a little confused and he mumbled his reply to Aishe's remark, "Me too, I guess, seein' that I ain't be havin' no choice but to be lookin' up at people on account of me size an all."
As he listened to Velrun the halfling feels sorry for the man. Drin's mind wanders and wonders what it would be like to write a letter,Ain't got no use for it. No one to be writin' too anyway, except maybe me old friend Chopper. Not even sure he knows how to read." He focused back on the present conversation and nodded his head in agreement with Moira's advice about expecting the worse and adding, "Lass might of fallen down a well" Disappoint shows on his face as he shrugs his shoulders, "Been known to happen."
Oscar pauses "That's precious little to go on, Sir. Still - a name and a face is a good start. There's magic that'd help, if you've the stomach and the money for it. Far beyond anything I've learned, I'm afraid. Still - in Castorhage there'd be guildmen who could tell you if she lived, at least. Did the lady have any associates who might know where she's gone?"
The halfling looks on lost with so many sounds to keep track of. He looks at all the people the first woman now traded sounds with doing his best to track these sounds.
He watched the people gathered consuming their water and moved to the long wood that separated the one giving water to the others. Climbing up on the stool by the long wood he gets the man's attention.
"Water. His water." he points at the man whose water has left froth on his face.
'To be Speaker I must drink water.' he asked himself but he did not hear the Voice answer back.
He looked at the first woman again "You. You make many sounds. You hear many things. I. I drink and become Speaker? I. I would hear things too. What is...Blight?" He stares at her waiting for the sounds to come his aggressiveness now replaced by natural curiosity.
Euphemia hums quietly as she watches Velrun. "Well, I hope she's alright, sir. May Desna be guiding her steps safely."
Brushing bits of blonde hair from her face she returns her attention forward and stretches her legs beneath the table, careful to avoid knocking her boots into anyone.
Farmer Amberlamp, his cheeks becoming ruddy as the flagons of cider continue to flow, mutters something along the lines of Rigo being some fell beast spawned from some kind of cross-breed from Castorhage, "We tolerated them to begin with... turns out his mother had some skills in the healing arts but their feral heritage shone through soon enough - they savaged and killed a girl a mile or so from my farm. Tore her from limb to limb they did... we strung up the parents, let them know what justice looks like in Wicken". A cruel smile curls across the mans face before he spits on the floor, "Rigo ran an' we never caught up with him... course it don't help that some folks 'round here would say that it was the dire wolf we caught a month later what probably killed the girl... all the bleeding hearts and worry-sleeves in the village made us dig up the bodies and go an' bury them in the church".
"Worst thing we ever did... it weren't right for all of the holy folks buried now next to murderers".
"Deads is dead. I reckon it doesn't matter so much where one be planted," Drin observed stoically. Looking to Moira he asked, "Ye might be knowin' the most about death. Do he be thinking that it matters?
He turned back to Amberlamp, Could be ye have another dire-wolf or something worse on ye hands. Only one way to be knowin' for sure is to track the beasty. For a price I could be trackin' it for ye." He looks the farmer in the eye and boasts, "Ye be knowin' that I be the best tracker in town."
Amberlamp looks to Drin for a moment, a sullen look in his eye as the halfling suggests that someone, or something, other than Rigo might be responsible for the loss of his livestock, "No matter... it'll wait until morn".
Wendell, the man with the lost son who had been nursing his drink by the fireside for a while now, turns to Drin as he suggests that 'Dead is Dead', "So... you've never been to Castorhage then boy? Way I seen it, if you have the misfortune of drawing your last breath within the city, you'd better make sure your friends bury you deep or burn you... less'n your bones being raised to work the monstrous machines of the city - or worse still..."
Startled by the mans description Drin gulped and hastily nodded his head in agreement, "That do be soundin' right awful, sir. Bones shouldn't be used for such unnatural purposes. But I can't say that it would be makin' much of a difference to me what be happenin' to me bones after I be havin' no use for them" The halfling pointed to a button on his shirt, This here button be made from a turtle bone. I ain't ever heard him begrudge me the use of it and I be havin' more use for than it he be."
Before the man can respond he pragmatically asked,"Don't they be havin' a Parson or some such to be sayin' words over the departed or Sheriff to stop the practice?
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“Wow, how exciting! I hope I can have adventures like that someday, something to tell at the tavern to go with my songs. Hecks, maybe I’ll write songs about ‘em myself. So that crossbow there isn’t just for show, then, is it? Are you quite a crack shot, Mr. Danior?”
”Well, it wasn’t much of an adventure really, and I must say in my defense, it was a lucky shot. I have some skill, but I’ve a long way to go to be really good at this. But yeah, it’s not just for show. There’s always something on the road, you know?” he grins.
Drin sat entranced by the man's tale and let's out a loud guffaw at Bobat's misfortune. After he recovered he is a little confused and he mumbled his reply to Aishe's remark, "Me too, I guess, seein' that I ain't be havin' no choice but to be lookin' up at people on account of me size an all."
Aishe laughs, but not meanly. ”Why sure, I can see what you mean! Stature doesn’t make the man though. I heard a story about a mean little dwarf who as an arsonist. Little fellow really loved fire. He may have been an evil one, but his reach far exceeded his stature. Set a lot of fires before they caught him.”
When Farmer Amberlamp rants about Rigo, he agrees with Drin. ”Yeah, dead is dead, but if it’s an ongoing problem, I wouldn’t mind helping, and it won’t cost much either. I’d like to say I’ll work free, but I need to eat, and drink!”
”Anyone want another? I’m headed to the bar.”
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He looked at the first woman again "You. You make many sounds. You hear many things. I. I drink and become Speaker? I. I would hear things too. What is...Blight?" He stares at her waiting for the sounds to come his aggressiveness now replaced by natural curiosity.
Moira smiles at the halfling—glad to see that her initial misgivings were at least somewhat misplaced. “Drinking helps me 'become speaker,' but I think you just need someone to listen to you. The Blight is the big city downriver—they also call it Castorhage. I haven’t been there myself—but I hear there are big buildings, bigger than the biggest trees, lots of people of all kinds, as busy as a fair or festival every day. What’s your name? I’m Moira Keening.” Moira, with her own full dose of natural curiosity, fully intends to listen to Methilius—but, poor halfling, something else catches her attention.
"we strung up the parents, let them know what justice looks like in Wicken".
What in the nine hells! What justice looks like in Wicken!?
"Deads is dead. I reckon it doesn't matter so much where one be planted," Drin observed stoically. Looking to Moira he asked, "Ye might be knowin' the most about death. Do he be thinking that it matters?”
He turned back to Amberlamp, Could be ye have another dire-wolf or something worse on ye hands. Only one way to be knowin' for sure is to track the beasty. For a price I could be trackin' it for ye." He looks the farmer in the eye and boasts, "Ye be knowin' that I be the best tracker in town."
Answering Drin’s first question in a confused mumble, Moira says, “I… guess it depends on the situation. It’s not always clear. And if you want help tracking the beast let me know in the morning, if I’m still here. Excuse me...” She apologizes to Methilius. Then, Moira wiggles out of the bench at the long table, picks up her things (she’d shucked her backpack off and stuck it in a corner on arrival), and, face in a deathly pallor, stumbles outside. She walks around the tavern a few times, thinking furiously, remembering a night long ago, lit by torches, when her village murdered a harmless old woman in reprisal for the plague. The below is a rough transcript of thoughts that didn’t always take the shape of discursive language, but what can ya do:
“Justice in Wicken! This place? This warm, friendly, place? A lynch mob? Salom—Euphemia—Drin—the Redmanes—Audria!? A mob? They acted like they never heard of Rigo… maybe they haven’t… maybe they weren't there... but what if they are just more people who look friendly in the light, but are monsters in the dark. Lycanthropy? HA! It’s misanthropy that I’m afraid of. I’m getting out of here. Maybe people will be more humane in the city.
She starts walking down the dark road, despite knowing that leaving town tipsy and late at night invites serious trouble. And then she realizes she’s headed the wrong way… the building looming ahead by the side of the road is Timeless Treasures. She turns around.
I don’t think the people I met tonight would do such things. I should trust them a little before trusting Cyril. And I really should sleep in a bed tonight. And maybe there will be time to find Rigo, who does not sound like a monster at all… and hopefully we can warn him to clear out of this place. And I really want to see what’s in that toyshop.
Once again, she reaches the door of the Smiling Pig with a dark and mournful expression on her face. Once again, by the time the door has swung open, she’s smiling professionally. She slings her things back into the corner and sits down where she can talk to Methilius--but as far from Cyril Amberlamp as she can manage. “Sorry I ran out on you! I needed a little fresh air. You’re not from town, are you? And I didn’t catch your name…”
”Anyone want another? I’m headed to the bar.”
The halfing looked down a his barren mug and considered his flaccid coin purse. He decided he had enough for one more pint of Autumnal Bronze. Curious, he watched Moira leave and come back and a thought popped into his otherwise unimaginative head. The lithe ranger jumped up off the bench and practically yelled, "I be givin' ye a hand with t"
He follwed the man to the bar and Drin tentatively pulled on Aishe’s coat tails to get the man’s attention. The slight halfling looked up, wide eyed, at the man, ”Master Aishe, beggin’ ye pardon sir ….. I just want to be sayin’…. Well, that is, I be listenin’ to ye tales of the road and such and it ... umm … reminded me of the time I done spent on the road with the menagerie. I came to be realizin’ that I still got me a hankerin’ to seein’ the outside again.”
He hesitated for a second, removed his hat, smoothed down his cowlick, and quickly continued, ”What I be tryin’ to ask is that when ye be leavin’ would you mind if I be goin’ with ye.” He raised his hands palms out, ” I won’t be takin’ up no room … and I can be useful, I be a good hunter and can cook some too.” He pointed his thumb at his chest, ”I also be a good shot just like ye, but with me sling-staff, and can help ye guard the wagon and such.” His crooked grin returns larger than ever, ”Plus we both be likin’ fish and all. I be sure we be havin’ many splendid adventures shootin’ giant ants and the like.” With a sincere look he promised, ”and I won’t be crappin’ me britches either.”
Aishe looks seriously at the little man until the very end, and then he laughs, long and hard, "But if you won't mess your pants, what good are you?!" he wipes the tears from his eyes between laughs.
Growing serious again, he adds, "Sir, I'd be honored to visit the roads with you - it's always better in pairs. I've been here a month now, and perhaps that's long enough. I was hankering for a longer stay, and I've still got the money for it, but meeting all these strangers tonight makes me realize how much I enjoy that - meeting strangers."
He takes his flagon from the landlord, passes Drin's down to him, and toasts with him, "To the open road!"
He nods hesitantly at first as the sounds slowly trickle in from the first woman's mouth completely unaware of her reaction when the mention of justice is raised amongst the gathered people.
Before he can say anything she moves off and then leaves the dwelling only to return. He has not moved as if expecting her to return and patiently waiting
'Is this the way of the people?' then he continues as if she had never left.
"You. You are Speaker. You are Mo-ir-a. I. I am Methilius. I am the Feral. I. I..I do not remember where from is. This. This is new." he spreads his hands wide to indicate everything around him. "You. You make sounds with people. They. They are your pack?"
He turns as he hears the crashing sound of the drinking vessels. He looks at Moira. "They. They challenge each other? I.
I take the small one to win. He. He small but full of...tricks?"
Drin raises his mug high, foam sloshing down the side and salutes the crossbowman, ”To the open road …. and newest friends.” The giddy halfling sips the foam off the top of his drink as he begins to return to the table. He stops abruptly, turning back toward Aishe and in a low whisper says, ”Names being powerful things and such, I reckon I be neglectin’ to give ye mine. But since we be travelin’ together, it’s kinda important that ye be knowin’ it. The names Drin son Grin but ye can just be callin’ me Drin.”
Oscar's eyebrow raises as he hears some of what Amberlamp says. Still shy from the condemnation of his accusation he pauses. "One moment please, Euphemia. I have been struck by inspiration."
He stands, nods to all, and makes his way to Audria, speaking loudly over the crowd. "You play marvellously! Do you take requests? I'll gladly buy you dinner if you'll play a dancing song. Perhaps we can form an impromptu orchestra!" assuming agreement with the typical noble arrogance so often mischaracterised as "presence" he hands over a coin and nods back to the table "Would you ask Mr Rivertongue? I'll approach Ms Keening"
He moves on to Moira - now by the feral halfling - and loudly asks "Care to play your drums once more, Ms Keening? Accompanying our lutist?" he leans in and quietly - more concerned by one of the locals overhearing than Methilius or Alexus - he asks "Did that man just say they're to form a mob to hunt a boy they injustly orphaned for stealing food?"
"Sorry, mister," Audria apologized as her smile faded into a slight frown. "I don't know anythin' about froggies."
The young woman continued to play, the melody shifting to something more melancholy.
Drin casts his eyes down in disappointment but his grin quickly returned and he starts humming the melody to her previous fish song. He paused and advised her, "Lass, ye should be learnin' songs about frogs. I be thinkin' there be a lot of coin in frog songs."
He smiled his crooked smile, I be noticin' that you don't be drinkin' does it not be agreeing with ya digestion?
Euphemia winces at Amberlamp's recounting of what had happened to Rigo's parents and wrinkles her nose in distaste at the scraps of crude humor she overhears from Drin and Aishe, but banishes the thoughts with a final swig of her cider and sets the emptied flagon down on the table.
Too cheery a night to be down...
"One moment please, Euphemia. I have been struck by inspiration."
Her attention shifts back to the young Baron and she nods, smiling, "I'll keep the others from stealing your seat, then." True to her word, when Oscar stands up she moves her satchel to rest in the spot where he'd been sitting — whenever he returns, she'll pull the satchel back into her lap.
A golden brow cocks in amusement at his request to Audria and Moira.
"Never really tried any," Audria answers Drin. She turns to Oscar as he compliments her, and as with every other time she'd been praised, her cheeks burn scarlet.
Which promptly disappears with the offer of a paid meal for a dancing song.
"Mister! You have a deal!"
Turning back to Drin, she gives a shrug.
"Sorry, mister. The froggy lesson's'll have to wait for a bit, but there's some dancing songs comin' if you like those!"
She borrows a fiddle from one of the other minstrels in the bar tonight and hops up onto a table.
"I hope you folks like a good reel. Jus' learned this one the other day," she calls out to the crowd and takes a moment to warm up the strings before playing a song that starts out with a snappy beat, but soon begins going by at a frantic pace. All the while, Audria stamps out the beat on the table as she dances along with the song. The notes roll by like gusts of wind on a blustery day, leaving little time for anyone to catch their breath. After it seems like it can't go on any longer, the song comes to a close and Audria holds a pose with bow and fiddle in her hands as she holds out her arms.
"Was that one to your likin' mister," she asks Oscar between gulps of air.
The diminutive halfling muttered, "Never been one for dancin' always be gettin' stepped on or tripped over by ye big folk. Me sister tried to be teachin' me but said I be having two left foots," as he pointed to his right foot.
He took out his pipe again and begins to smoke as the music plays on. Despite his best efforts to stop it his feet have a mind of their own and tap to the beat of the song.