Nadia stands quietly with the group warming herself near the fire.
Luke, seeing that Kevkul has things in hand, casually peruses the surrounding area.
Perception:
Muli finally comes to understand the centaur comments once he enters the camp. He had seen centaurs before when traveling with Geir, but he was never allowed to get close. His master said they spook easy, but Muli always thought there might be more to it than that.
He stares in wide wonder that he is now so close.
Skolrykk gladly accepts a mug of mead and a spot by the fire.
Thank ye, good Dweorgs. A fire and friendly fare is a welcome sight on nights as these.
Ædensor nods with a smile, gesturing to any and all to fill their horns or flagons from an open barrel near one of the wagons. Beside it stands the grim faced older drover taps his knife on some plates, then begins to cut some miserly portions of roasted boar...
... before Highmettle scowls and shouts at the gray hair;
"Nae meager portions at my fire Aulden! Least nae with thirsty guests!"
Turning back to the newcomers the dweorg merchant nods in thanks;
"Clan Highmettle thanks ye for yer kind words Master Steelhide and his companions... come enjoy min fire, min ale and listen to words o' my other guest..."
The merchant looks towards the hooded woman sitting near him.
Your eyes catch little of note, the curious eyes of the younger drovers and that the seated woman looks vaguely familiar to you...
At Ragnar's introduction and question the weatherbeaten merchant grins; "As fer your question Master Skold Fodd, the Nomen keep their own council - is that no right Maclise?"
At the mention of her name, the armoured centaur strides forward, head held high and eyes flashing with pride;
In clipped Auld Iobarian she answers... quick and with passion;
"Eald dweorg sopcwide."
Old dwarf speaks true
She eyes Ragnar with admiration;
" Feht o' déaþwang catt?"
Pelt of death-plain cat?
Ragnar holds gaze with Maclise a moment before nodding. He then fishes out the jotun's rune engraved tooth and holds it up to the firelight "Fengtóþ o' Jotun" before waiting to see if the Nomen calls him over to her fire or leaves him be.
At the merchant Highmettle's mention, the cloaked woman pulls back her hood revealing exotic features. The lustre of bronze tresses framing a pale face with pale yellow eyes are perfectly highlighted by the flickering flames of the campfire. She inclines her head to the warden, prestur and hundbealdor in turn.
"Wilcuma! Gedryht gathers us once more together. Take up food and ale. I am drawn unto you by the will of the norns and my vision to be shared."
At Ragnar’s display of both a smilodon pelt and the tooth of a jotunn, there are murmurs of approval and impressed looks shared by dwoerg and humans around the camp.
Maclise stomps forward eying the raised fang with seasoned curiosity which gives way to begrudging admiration;
”Hrh. Iss Trow?”
Ædensor pipes up from behind;
”Monster slayers eh? And acquaintances o’ this impressive lady tae boot! I would say break out the good stuff, but any ale or spirit brewed by the Highmettles is good stuff! Nae... the BEST stuff har-har-har!”
Ragnar nods grimly to Maclise before adding "Déaþcwielmende with a single drepe from skaggig." shuffling the axe across his shoulders before stepping further into the light.
Catching sight of Disa, Ragnar smiles "Fair valkyrie, our paths cross once more. We've been busy, and you?"
Disa nods to Ragnar. "Get you food and drink then hear my words.
The skirnir allows for each of the travelers to take some time to eat and slake their thirst before beginning her tale.
"Some days past, I cast the runes in a foretelling. The vision that came to me was strong. Of greatest import were these things three:
a sight of frost biters, a withered hand in iron and that the children of the earth shall find both blessed libation and bloody woe in an ancient eyrie...
She takes a moment for her words to sink in before continuing, "The runes themselves showed that I would find all of you in the midst of these events. Lo and behold what should I find the very night we are reunited but, children of the earth! Such children as brew and distill libations! This vision cannot be aught but true, nei?"
The dwarf lightens up at seeing the presence of the young woman.
The village a getting a little dull for you? Here in the wild trow and other wild creatures are afoot. I welcome your arrival.
Kevkul nudges Petrik to mingle around as he does himself, who starts chatting with Highmettle.
However, he stops awhile and listens to Disa's tale.
Ragnar grinds his teeth slightly as he considers Disa's portents "Aye, true it might be... but fecking vague as well. Know ye of these frost biters?"
Luke squats by the fire and listens carefully to Disa's words.
Your bíspell may, or may not, hold true, but I assure you that this group tends to make its own dryht.
Muli finds a seat where he can listen to Disa while still being able to watch the centaur.
"If an Ice Biter be a trow. Aye Muli knows of their involvement. It is this [i]Hand in Iron[i/] that Muli thinks is hiding all the chits in this puzzle."
Maclise does indeed call Ragnar over;
”Cume hither Nordmann. Any jotunnslaga is a fréond of the Nomen.”
The proud centaur beckons the battle scarred Vikingr over to where she stands... then turns her piercing eyes toward the curious Muli;
”You too fóstorling of Geir. That auld mann was a scólere of our ways...”
Ǽdensor sups at an ornate flask, then offers it to Kevkul as he chips in with his own thoughts;
”Bah. Frost biters! They can only mean the Puka... snappers in the dark... Those nihtgenga can cume! Hand O' Iron sounds like a fool Gorumite tae me... Regardless... with minn Nomen, minn cynn and now this gomolfeax and his mægenfolc, I fear nothing... save an empty cælc har!”
He leans towards Kevkul and whispers with a wink;
”Tis the good stuff... Highmettle Mithril...”
Petrik meanwhile has stopped to converse with two of the younger drovers, one tall and lanky, the other ruddy faced with a wisp of a beard.
Both drovers eye the group with awe and interest at Petrik’s words. The taller one nods and gestures excitedly as Petrik clearly recounts the party’s tales of glory... You notice that the man himself does not speak, and bears deep scars upon his neck and throat...
The ruddy faced drover then collects a plate of steaming meat and ambles toward Nadia;
”Petrik tells that you hail from Brevoy? Me too, well both of us... I mean me und “Swige”... not me and you... (ahem) I’m Bartiff...”
The young man embarrassingly thrusts the plate towards Nadia;
”... Want some meat? It’s good, got you a nice cut... (ahem)... Aulden is a crabby basterd, but he knows a cooking spit...”
Your portent told little of the nature of these Frost Biters... save they are abroad in the lands of Berghof... Perhaps they cover a multitude of evils or hungry maws?
Ragnar heeds the call of the centaur, though before leaving he gives Liten Mun a scratch "Best ye stay by the big fire hund... I'll be alright without ye" bidding Liten Mun to heel near to the warmth of the larger flame as he follows Maclise to their smaller fire.
Nadia smiles and takes the plate from Bartiff. Thank you. Yes. I have lived in Brevoy for most of my life. She takes a bite of the meat. Mmm...this is good. So what brought you this far north?
Wide-eyed, Muli approaches the Centaur, but bows his head when he gets close. [b]"You know of Muli by knowing Geir? It pains Muli to tell you of Geir's recent passing. Muli now tries to continue Geir's work."
Ragnar grinds his teeth slightly as he considers Disa's portents "Aye, true it might be... but fecking vague as well. Know ye of these frost biters?"
Disa responds to the hundbealdor. "I know not the precise nature of frost biters. They may be one of many creatures or many different creatures. The Hand in Iron be their lord or god, maybe both." Shrugging her shoulders at the last.
If they be the Puca, we are foregeswuteliendee them now, to Halbriden we head.
Kevkul takes Highmettle hospitality and takes a swig offered. He savors the brew and smacks his bearded lips with appreciation.
With drink as potent as this, your kegs would be worth a king's fortune here in the North. True, what the puca may have, I only fear running out of this brew after giving a good head bashing to quench my thirst.
Kevkul looks over at his acolyte, then thinks nothing more of it.
How many more nights as these before finding your destination, Ǽdensor?
Bartliff grins, his face flushed red (be it from the cold or coyness you’re not sure);
”Me and S-Swige both joined on as drovers couple of weeks back. Good gig… Auld Highm-mettle is a good boss, generous like… Me? I’m from S-Silverhall and I reckon Swige is from nearabouts the Gronzi Forest… hard to tell on account of him being mute see... (as Bartliff’s voice drops to a whisper he unsubtly taps his neck and looks across at his lanky compatriot.
”...P-Puka hung ‘im til near death…”
Petrik has wanders up to both drovers and Nadia to lend his ear to their chatter, raising an eyebrow at the misfortune suffered by Swige.
Liten Mun gives a token whine, before padding to where Luke stands and nuzzling the warden for a scratch.
Ǽdensor takes a long draught of the flask;
”Tis indeed a tasty drop Brother Steelhide… Highmettle Mithril uses holy water in the mix… and a few other brewer’s secrets! Invigorates and inebriates! Har!!”
At Luke’s comment and Kevkul’s question, the gruff merchant taps his flask out towards the dark;
”Two days is my hope until we reach Halbriden… plenty of time to sample and purchase my wares… perhaps even trade from me flotsam safebox eh? Iffen yea've stuff tae trade or deep pockets!”
Several of the dwur warriors nod in agreement before their chief continues in a louder, toasting voice;
”And if this “Hand In Iron” is a fell god of Puka, then ye and your brave companions best ye smash its idols and send the beast back to whatever Hel it crawled from Mistress Valbjörndóttir…”
Meanwhile at the nearby Nomen fire; Maclise and her barbaric brethren scrutinise Ragnar and Muli intently.
Noting the alchemist’s huge pack, several of the centaur warriors cannot resist a good natured japes; ”Muley” is muttered in halting Common, before Maclise’s stern face silences their childishness.
”Forgive my herd fóstorling of Geir-Now-Passed… They grow coltas when idle for too lang… as all warriors do…”
The tall, hard eyed Nomen captain nods her apology, before questioning both men before her;
”There was talk earlier of the Puka… lang do they ábítan at our hooves… If you seek to ábradwede them you have the sælþa of the Nomen… but wær ye their crawling… biting wðlas they keep…”
Maclise nods her head and two of the other centaurs each offer a pouch-skin of sloshing liquid.
”Átorláðe” one of the coltish warriors adds.
Aye! Innovation one would expect from a dwarf. The Highmettle clan's fame would soar with each keg opened at a king's banquet. By whose grace is this brew blessed?
Ragnar takes the herbal pouch skin and sucks a deep draught "Feh, puca should cause no trouble. When we find them skaggig will silence their mewling quick enough." spoken plainly and without boasting.
Disa nods at the dwarven chieftan's words as she raises her cup in salute to his toast. "Indeed we will, Master Highmettle."
The centaur's anti-venom functions exactly as an Antitoxin but with the duration of 72 hours...
With a successful Craft (Alchemy) DC18 check Muli can probably replicate the receipe...
Nadia looks at Bartliff's partner That is terrible. It is good to hear you have both found such good work. She continues eating thankful for the conversation.
Nadia greets Petrik. Come warm yourself by the fire.
By the main fire...
Ǽdensor gives Kevkul a mischievous smile;
”Blessed by all my friend, but particularly the Lucky Druckard and of course our faither Torag... To me brewing an ale, a liquor or mead is an art and aye... holy work...”
His words are met with several sage nods and raising of cups by the older dweorg by the fire (Byrr included)
The merchant continues;
”... In mine eyes, all beverages o’ inibritation are tae be sampled, learned from and of course sold... Highmettle’s carries beverages from all corners o’ Golarian my friends... all fer sale. Course the best is me own brews... and they are available tae my good priest here at a slight reduction... call it the mountain kin markdown...har!”
He winks at Kevkul at the final comment as his kin once again raise cups.
Nearby Petrik moves closer and chips in to Barliff, Nadia and the silent Swige;
”Puka tried tae hang ye? Hel’s teeth!”
He claps Swige’s shoulder and excitedly points around the camp;
”See that ranger there... that’s Luke Falgren – Warden o’ Berghof... picked by the land itself... He’s killed more Puka that yer master’s had horn’s o’ medu! An the big Northmen with the magic ax; Ragner descended from a Linnorm King he is... he butchered a monstrous iss trow and found a tribe o’ Puka living in their bellies! Killed em all so he did!!! Nothing tae fear with company such as theirs Swige...”
At Petrik’s words the lanky drover stands mouth slack and emotion in his eyes. Bartliff also looks amazed at the renown of their fire guests.
Somewhere in the background, Aulden hacks and spits as he mutters dryly “Feh. Heroes”.
Meanwhile at the Nomen fire:
At Ragnar’s words several of the centaurs look at each other. Maclise reads their eyes and answers for the group;
”We admire your bravery Northman and your fréabregd axe will no doubt ádrupe in Puka blod. But it is dol to ignore their beast’s áttrus... for should you áwæce the Puka will oferswíðdede like a biting horde of insects...”
”Save the draught for the Puka... the only poison here is those on your lifer”
She smiles and tilts her head toward where the nearby toasting and boasting takes place...
Ragnar just grunts, a sound that is both an affirmation and rejection of their words.
Aye! Agreed. To honour our gods by perfection of the brew and the quality of our inebriation.
Kevkul follows in toast, whilst momentarily glancing at the grouching cook.
[b]Perhaps tomorrow your wares would be of interest. I may be of even further service tonight should you lack a cleric to tend to your entourage's illness or wounds. Cayden Cailean would see the merchants of drink are in best health for the journey.
Muli will take a tiny taste of the elixer and wash it through his mouth. His mind starts separating the flavors and extracts. "The interesting use of saxifrage surprises Muli. This will be be very helpful. Thank you" He bows with his thanks, but seems unable to look away form the centaur.
Finally taking a hint from Ragnar, after he walks away and leaves Muli there staring. Muli bows again and hurries back to his group's fire. He settle's himself where he can still see the centaurs. Once seated, he pulls out a one of his recovered herbalism books and starts noting the properties of the ingredients he believes are in the elixir.
Ready
As Ragnar and Muli return to the main fire they are met with a bizarre sight as Swige runs over to Luke and grabbing his hands, tries to hug and thank him simultaniously.
All the while, the mute's eyes are moist with emotion as he croaks and wheezes at the Warden of Iobaria...
His companions and employer look suitably surprised and embarressed by the lanky man's over reaction.
Behind Petrik and Nadia, Aulden the weathered old drover wanders over, as the drama plays out he whispers bitterly;
"Damned fool. You lot are as dangerous as any nest o' Puka..."
He spits with gusto, chew staining the snowy ground brown near Nadia's boot.
Aye, friend, just doing my job.
Luke peels the emotional mute from him with as much dignity as he can muster. Clearly the man regards monster slayers as heroes as he circulates the camp shaking hands and hugging if allowed. He hesitates as the still bloody Ragnar, before opting to kneel before him, before scuttling back to his fellow drovers...
Elsewhere signs that the camp is hunkering down for the night is clear; the centaurs stoke their fire, packing it with slow burning peat slabs, whilst the dwoerg guardsmen (under Byrr’s direction) arrange a watch schedule for the night.
Ædensor informs you that there are no beds to speak of, but you are welcome to slumber by the fires and in the eves of the two wagons. His kinsmen maintain watch over the night, whilst the Nomen escort the train during the day. He bids you all sleep well and looks forward to potential transactions on the morrow.
Soon a calm sits upon the camp, punctuated only by the methodical crunch of dwoerg boots on the frost and the occasional lowing of the caravan’s hairy cattle…
Luke heads close to a fire and while he pulls out his winter blanket, he says,
I will awake before dawn to help the watch.
Well before dawn, Luke awakens to make his water, pack his thinkgs and circle the encampment for danger.
Perception:
Ragnar leaves the watching to the short ones, and settles in for a sleep that salves some of his remaining wounds.