Maybe...I'm not the signing type. Grok looks at Zove, waiting for her to take the lead.
Flush with victory, Cromwin follows Rodrik's advice and grabs a mug of mead from a passing server. He greets a few friendly townsfolk, exchanging congratulations and toasts before breaking away from the crowd and leaning back against the stage in the clear space surrounding Zove.
Draining her mug, she takes another, leaning against the stage. "Well Ganson. Suppose these days we're too old for the children's table."
"That we are, and a right good thing too." He hefts his mug to her in a toast. "The drink's a good deal better on this side of things!" He gives her a smile as he takes a swig of his drink, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before continuing. "Ahh, that's the stuff. I, uh." Words trip up in his head, uncertain what to say. "Thanks for joining in tonight, Zove. You did good, and I'm glad to have ha-"
"Crom! You were amazing!" Jacob, Cromwin's younger brother comes barreling up, pushing through the crowd and nearly spilling Cromwin's drink as he gives his elder brother a friendly punch in the arm.
"I--forgive me Zove, I'll be right back." Cromwin turns to his younger brother, grabbing him by the arm and leading him off towards his family. "Hey Jac, thanks! Listen, I'm going to be busy for a bit talking to the others who helped in the ceremony; I met some of them at the longhouse yesterday, and I would like to get to know them better. Can you let ma know I'll meet up with you all later tonight?" Jacob rolls his eyes and mutters a few words of protest, but does as he is asked. Cromwin shakes his head ruefully as his brother bounces back through the crowd. "I love that boy, but sometimes..."
Cromwin turns back, intending to find Zove again, but she is no longer where he left her. Wait, what? Where did she...?. He begins to move through the crowd near the stage, snagging another mug of mead as he meanders slowly around looking for her or the others from the tug of war.
"I seem to remember this being the way to the watch... but with all the festivities... I knew I should have studied the routes more closely, small town or no! Guess I will have to cut through the festival again."
So lost in her own thoughts, Maurie almost literally runs into Cromwin as he is meandering in the crowd.
She barely, just barely, avoids causing the man to trip, though a bit of his drink is spilled on accident.
"Oh, excuse me! I am sorry sir... oh, wait, I remember you. Cromwin, wasn't it? My sincerest apologies, I was trying to find a way through the crowd to the watch to see if they needed refreshments, and in so doing I accidentally caused you to spill a bit of yours." The halfling woman is clearly a bit embarrassed. "Come, let us get you a top off before I set off again. It is the least I can do." Maurie smiles in what she hopes is a sufficiently friendly and apologetic manner.
Rodrik grins following the conversation, but then his gaze drifts away to someone in the crowd his expression briefly intensifying and he excuses himself, "Ah pardon me, I'll speak with you all tomorrow, my thanks for a job well done." With that he moves off and is soon out of sight.
Kurst is quickly surrounded by young boys and almost dragged off the stage wearing a put-upon expression.
Ruby, is allowed her first alcohol and is escorted home by her mother, Halgra after an hour or so of giggling and fluttering her eye lashes at Brin.
As the day latens, and a large mass of ominous black cloud fills the sky, Kurst, still surrounded by youths, now including a few of the younger guardsmen, approaches Cromwin. With the crowds thinning and the tables largely unburdened the knot of young men is obvious and should draw everyone's attention.
"They are pestering me to challenge you to a race, a horse race that is?" Kurst says apologetically.
"Go on Cromwin, you can beat him!" A familiar voice calls from the crowd of boys as Jacob steps forward, "I pet Kurt a silver piece on you so you have to!"
"Hah, sounds like you will have fun. I will leave you to it then. Patrol Captain Kurst, perhaps tomorrow we can discuss the finer points of the oath that Miss Ruby swore. I think that the potential is there to have a written law centered around that core code. If you have the time and interest of course." Maurie smiles to both men. "Good luck and stay safe. I believe it is long since time that I found a secluded spot to practice my forms."
Alright then, Grok says, filling up and taking a long swig and setting his drink down next to the barrel. You may notice that he is using his left hand to do most things, and that his right hand has disformed fingers, that look almost broken.
"Oh, hello! Maurie, was it? Don't worry about it, it seems my drink is in for a night full of near misses. Thanks for joining us in the hopeknife ceremony, it was good to have you on Ruby's side."
As Kurst and the guards approach, Cromwin turns to meet them.
"Well now, I can't say no to a challenge like that. You're on! Let me go saddle up Anvil, and we'll give you a run for your money."
Kurst sighs, "I guess I shall fetch Hope, shall we place a small wager? 10 silver perhaps? I do warn you I am a confident and experienced rider, and Hope is a fine horse."
Turning to Maurie he inclines his head, "Can I assume you will be staying at the Ramblehouse? I'll call by after morning drills if that suits?"
Maurie nods. "Indeed so, though I would appreciate it if you would allow me to observe your morning drills. The more knowledge I have about your ways, customs, and practices, the better suited I will be to aid you in this endeavor. Besides," the small woman suddenly breaks out in a wide smile, "as a practitioner of the defensive arts I am always looking to learn new skills and techniques."
Brin fills his mug from the hidden cask and gives it a sip.
"Oh, that is good! Great find Zove."
Brin's ears perk up as he hears the commotion and wagering.
"A challenge! Come now, we cannot miss an event worth wagering on!"
Brin's excitement is palpable as he turns and heads towards the gathering of people, stopping by the food table just long enough to grab a few slender cuts of meat.
Kurst frowns down at Maurie, "I have no particular objections, but my father might not approve of an outsider observing, so if you see a scowling older man be prepared to make a sharp exit. We normally start an hour after dawn, but tomorrow it will be three hours after to give the men a little more recovery time. I cannot pretend it will be anything unconventional."
Nodding to the group Kurst breaks into a lopeing jog returning a few minutes later mounted upon a sleek white stallion with a flash of brown upon its forehead.
"Three laps of the walls Cromwin?"
Ah...I'm no good with crowds...I'd rather get this second drink in me first, I've not got coin to wager with anyhow. Grok looks at the small barrel full of ale. Had best cover this back up, he mutters, half to himself.
Grok cracks his knuckles awkwardly, his left hand all at once with a satisfying crunch and his right hand, with its mangled fingers, one at a time. He looks slightly uncomfortable for a moment, Avoid conflict... He looks at his drink, as if trying to find the answer to a question, then up at Zove. How'd you get that mark on your face?
Maurie smiles as she nods. "Don't worry, I can be rather hard to spot even when I want be seen. I will see you there." Giving both men a slight bow, Maurie departs, waving to the approaching Brin as she does.
Cromwin eyes Kurst up and down, nodding. "I believe it, but Anvil and I are no slouches ourselves. I'll take a bet for 10 silver. Let's have a fine race!"
Cromwin heads out towards the stables, bringing Anvil out and swinging up into the saddle. "Three times around the wall! Let's go!" Anvil rears and whinnies, showing off for the crowd before they begin to race around the city.
Anvil and Cromwin fall behind, Hope and Kurst pulling ahead bit by bit across the first two laps before finishing strongly on the end.
Cromwin pulls up behind Kurst at the end, Anvil's sides heaving as they drop into a canter for the last hundred yards once it is clear they've lost. Cromwin strokes Anvil's mane as they come to a stop. "Good run, boy. Kurst rode well, and you gave him a run for his money."
"Ho, Kurst! That was some fine riding!" Cromwin pulls out a gold piece and flips it to Kurst. "Well done indeed! Hope ran like the wind. Some day, you'll have to offer us a rematch."
Reining in and looking more contented than his normal edgy demeanour Kurst extends a hand to Cromwin shaking it as a the gathered crowd cheers - even Jacob who has clearly decided that he can celebrate Hope's victory and claim bragging rights there.
The cheering subsides as an elderly grey haired man dressed in ornate polished armor strides up glowering daggers at all and sundry, "Enough of this foolishness! You are distracting the duty Guards with your antics Kurst! I thought you at least knew better. This festival is over! Bad enough I have one son consorting with filthy half breeds now the other thinks he can play the jackanapes to!"
"Father we were," Kurst attempts,
"Oh I know very well what you were doing, and what your brother is doing!" The old man hisses, before bellowing, "get these gates shut!" He then turns and stalks off muttering.
The crowd of boys swiftly disperces, save for Jacob who moves to Cromwin. Kurst watches his father walk away with a blank expression before shaking his head, "Forget about the coin Cromwin, I enjoyed the ride. My apologies for... Well..."
Dark clouds now shadow Trunau, and the low rumble of thunder can be heard in the distance. With night descending Truman's citizens begin heading for their homes.
"Mah says we are staying at The Ramblehouse for the night because of the storm," Jacob informs Cromwin.
Grok finishes his drink, covering the barrel back up before following Brin and Zove to the crowd. He arrives just as Kurst's father begins to shout, which causes Grok's face to twitch slightly. At Zove's outburst he looks quite uncomfortable, I wonder if she's at all irritated at me. Probably not.
Suppose you can't win them all then...Cromwin? Do you know if they have plans for us?
Kurst gives Zove a sour look, and asks wearily, "When are you going to grow up girl? Being part of something means being there for the vexing things to, learn to handle it without throwing a temper tantrum and maybe you will be included more," addressing the group as a whole he adds, "Forgive me, we will speak more tomorrow..."
Then he digs his knees into Hope's side and the stallion breaks into a canter.
Maurie stands still, facing the oncoming clouds. "Hm... been a bit since I practiced with my sansetsukon. Brother Pinsel would have long since chided me its neglect, were I back at the monastery. Also, it is a bit less outlandish than some of my other weapons and a bit easier to control."
Pulling out the three sectioned staff, Maurie holds an end piece in either hand. Bowing to the direction she is facing, the halfling begins a well practiced, regimented series of strikes, blocks, counter-strikes, even a few flips and evasion maneuvers. She continues, slowly and methodically, for thirty minutes, seemingly unaware of her surroundings (though deliberately missing any objects or pets that happen to scamper too close during this form). Finally performing one last block-strike combo, Maurie returns to her starting position and bows again. "There, now to turn in for the night." Putting away her weapon, she heads back toward the Ramblehouse.
Cromwin stiffens uncomfortably as Kurst's father berates his son for their race. "It was just a bit of sport". he says quietly after Kurst's father leaves.
As Kurst rides off on Hope, Cromwin turns to Zove with a grimace. "I don't think Kurst is hiding behind his name, Zove. His father..." Cromwin shakes his head. "I don't know. I thought the race was a good bit of fun." He sighs. "Ah well, I need to go get Anvil stabled and rubbed down, he had a hard run." Cromwin glances at the darkening sky. This weather looks ill. Keep safe and dry, I'll see you around."
Cromwin walks Anvil towards the Ramblehouse, stabling Anvil and joining his family for the night.
Maurie arrives at The Ramblehouse behind a pair of female half orcs who regard her and her strange attire with darkly suspicious eyes before making their way upstairs. The halfling proprietress Cham Laffingfass bustles over to Maurie,
"Most of the room are booked up for tonight moi Dear, those wretched half orcs have taken'em. But you are in luck Rodrik had me set aside our biggest room for those of you as were helpin' young Ruby out today - means sharing I'm afraid, but nice soft beds with clean sheets. Rodrik even paid before he went up to bed, his bed at home, at the Longhouse I definitely mean."
"I don't know how many of the others as will be joinin' you, but I've already told Mrs Ganson I would send her boy up there so they aren't crammed in that little room like pickles in a jar."
He's just an idiot, nothing like his children, pay it no mind. Grok looks around, seeing that the crowd is now almost completely dispersed. Well, I suppose it's getting late, time to part ways. Perhaps I will see you again.
With that, Grok heads off to his house.
Maurie smiles knowingly at the proprietor.
Maurie gives the woman a smile and switches back to common.
"You will have to thank him for me the next time you see him. And worry not, if the others get too rowdy I can see to it they are... sufficiently tucked in for the night." Maurie pats the nine-section whip around her waist with one hand and her sansetsukon with the other.
"I should be able to manage it, but if you could ensure I am awoken an hour or so after dawn I would appreciate it. I have an appointment tomorrow and I like to start the day with a few hours to myself before business begins." Smiling in thanks, Maurie heads upstairs to the offered room. "I wonder who, beyond Cromwin, will be taking that offer of a room?"
"Oi Brin of the Barf!" Calls a clearly winded large figure approaching the bard with a familiar young half elf draped over one shoulder.
The wheezing form of Gellam the guard lumbers foward into the light, "Do me a favour and take this one to The Ramblehouse with you will you. She's a friend of yours right, you take care of her right? Not like... you know in a nice way? I've got to get on with my Patrol and I'm sodding well knackered already. Besides everyone knows she is sweet on Captain Kurst so, you know, be a good man right? Cham will see her right once you get there."
"Ah, yes. This one is with...us, I guess. Cromwin, can we use your saddle and horse to bring this one back to the ol' Ramble? I'm sure Cham will have a soft space for her to sort it all out of her."
Grok arrives at his house, really a small cottage, and finds Ariel already asleep. His stomach growls, he skipped breakfast. The kitchen is empty, but the coin purse he gave Ariel sits on the stove, waiting for him. He takes out two silver pieces and heads to the Ramblehouse to get himself a meal.
"Sure Brin, Anvil can carry her." Cromwell helps lift Zove's unconscious body up over the saddle, and leads them to the Ramblehouse.
Claiming a bed close to the door, Maurie begins the process of disarming for the night, setting her backpack and weapons within easy grabbing distance from the bed. Thinking a moment, she then grabs the rope dart and nine section whip and rewraps them around her waist once more. "They all seemed like good folk, but a traveler far from home sharing a room with strangers can never be too careful. Especially when some of those strangers have been deep in cups thanks to a celebration." Pulling the sheet to her neck, the halfling woman passes into an easy enough sleep.
When Cromwin arrives at the Ramblehouse, he helps carry Zove inside. After a brief talk with Cham revals the night's living arrangements, Cromwin takes Zove up to the room and quietly helps get her to bed to avoid disturbing Maurie. Once she is safely abed, he heads back out to stable Anvil, before eventually returning to the room and preparing for sleep himself, arms and armor tucked under his bed for the night. "A long day, but a good day. Wish I had won that race though...Hope is a good horse, no shame losing, but still...". With that, he drifts off to sleep.
Grok arrives and eats a large meal, hearing the news that a room has been prepared with him in mind he smiles again, his eyes closing for a moment. Certainly nice to know that they're thinking of us, I wonder if he'll be by in the morning? Clean sheets certainly beat's the rat's I'd otherwise be sleeping with. After a wordless meal Grok heads upstairs, taking off his hide armor and setting it, his weapons, and his pack by his bed. They are more than he has had at most points in his life, and he's never had a bed so clean or comfortable.
He still sleeps fitfully.
Those sleeping at the Ramblehouse are awakened by a piercing feminine scream, seemingly coming from the corridor outside their room.
Anyone who opens the door and peers outside sees a sobbing Chem Larringfass on her knees in an open doorway. Looking past the distraught halfling reveals Rodrik Grath, lying pale and still, both his wrists slashed and his bloody hopeknife clutched limply in his left hand - dead.
The sparse room that contains only a single cot, upon which Rodrik lays, and a writing desk. The cot is a cheap affair covered in bloody linens, while the desk is a slightly nicer piece of furniture that has nonetheless been chipped and worn by time. A cracked window in the southern wall is the only exit other than the room’s door.
Cromwin awakens with a start at the scream, mind still fogged with the vestiges of sleep. He pulls his warhammer from under his bed and sprints towards the sound. With a bang, he throws a door open to the horrific scene.
"Cham! Wh-what?" Cromwin grows pale as he sees Rodrik's body. "What happened here?!"
Maurie is shortly behind Cromwin, and truthfully almost under his legs. Instinctively she had grabbed what appears to be a kama with a long chain attached to it.
Seeing the body behind the poor proprietor, she does a quick examination of the room for threats.
Turning to Chem, she puts her hand on the crying woman's shoulders.
Looking up at Cromwin, she asks, "I am an outsider, but isn't using the knife for such a purpose reserved only for when capture by outside forces is the other alternative?"
Cham takes a few choked sobs before letting out another piercing scream. Sounds of activity can be heard from below and after a couple of minutes a Guard who must be in his late fifties ascends the stairs, he looks rumpled and exhausted.
Rubbing his wrinkle creased forehead he trudges to Cham and turns to look into the room. Seeing Rodrik someone seems to cut his strings and he slumps against the wall,
"Rodrik? Rodrik lad, wake up now, this isn't funny. Come on you got me, stop it now," he chokes, tears rolling down his worn face.
Maurie recognizes the Patrol Sergeant from yesterday's festivities. "Poor man, this must be rather hard on him."
Approaching, she simply asks, "He did not appear to be depressed or suicidal. Would any Trunau native use their fellow's hopeknife to perform such a deed in circumstances other than orcish capture?"
Omast looks at Maurie with bleary eyes, "He was always laughing wasn't he? Why would he do it? But I suppose someone who does not care might use their hopeknife? Stupid ironic name."
Turning away he mutters, "You all look after the... I need to get, I need a drink..."
Maurie nods to Omast. "Normally I would object to it being too early in the morning, but under the circumstances I completely understand. Perhaps you should get one for Cham as well... and Kurst, poor man... he will likely need one when he hears the news."
The halfling woman sighs. "Well, I somehow doubt that we will be talking about laws today. It would not be appropriate even if he had the time."
Cromwin grabs Omast's arm firmly as he turns to flee the scene. "Omast, Kurst wouldn't have done this! There was nothing to indicate he would do something like this! Especially not with his hopeknife." Cromwin hesitates, the body seeming to give lie to his protestations. "...was there?"
Omast shakes his head slowly, seeming lost, "Heading back from my night shift when I heard screaming.. No, I... He seemed happy? I thought he might have met a girl, but... Asked me about the white swords... Why would he?"
Chem wipes at her face scooting back to place her back against the wall and then, after peeking through her fingers, sideways so she can no longer see Rodrik's corpse.
Omast Frum only shakes his head, tugging himself free of Cromwin's grip and staggering towards the stairs.
After nearly five minutes of searching Zove discovers nothing of note about the window, but finds a small hidden compartment in the draw of the writing desk. Unfortunately it is empty and offers no clues.
At this point two more guards arrive and after taking in the scene one runs to fetch Kurst, and the other to fetch Jagrim Grath, Rodrik and Kurst's father.
Maurie smiles encouragingly at Cham, placing both hands over the poor woman's shoulders