Perched at the edge of civilized lands, the small town of Falcon’s Hollow has always had to rely on itself to solve its problems. Meanwhile, the uncaring lumber barons squeeze the common folk for every last copper, deaf to their pleas. Now the hacking coughs of the sick are heard throughout town. The plague has come to Falcon’s Hollow and the town’s leaders can’t be bothered to stop it.
An old fat barmaid, cleaning glass ware. Looking at the elf who just walked in. The place is very clean and a little to warm. The nights are still a bit cold, so people are still closing the windows. She probably was once pretty, in a farmers daughter sort of way. Her smile goes all the way to her eyes.
Prit'eerie start you have der'Boy. We ain't got no wine just yet, but der eggs, sausages, and ale if you'd like
Walking into the ale house, Quaylon takes in the scene and slowly strides to the bar. Giving a nod to the elf who just say down and smiling at the bar maid, "that is a lovely smile you have, but I would be willing to bet you hear that all day. I would love a glass of ale and a plate of those sausages and eggs I have been hearing about."
Quaylon places a couple of silver on the counter and looks into his near empty pouch.
He quietly whispers to himself "Things had better turn around here soon or it will be back to the festival."
She knows your charm too well Quaylon and titters at your flirting. It isn't the first time you have been in here.
Right away you devil, oh and put all dat' away, ya'know I only take pennies frim'ya. she says flipping the half elf with the towell.
You find any folks to a'go wit'ya inn'at Darkwood, Quay? asking the Bard as she gathers up steaming eggs and meat.
Then she brings the ale. Thick, foaming, and with enough yeast at the bottom to make a loaf of bread.
Three coppers frim'you charming, and pure bludd gives me one copper
Taking the money she goes on talking, almost as if you both were not there.
Been o'couple of dem Orcies in here. One had the Sword o'Justice around its neck. Braxter said ta'feed'em so I did. Course they didn't come ta'gether. Heavens now, Baxter liable to draw his ole' ax out if dey did.
Makvor makes his way to The Ale House and signals his companion, Spirit, to heel. Can't let him get away from me - makes humans nervous. He braces himself, then steps through the door and makes his way to a corner table. Let's hope the regulars aren't feeling frisky.
He seats himself with his back to the corner, motions Spirit to stay, and takes in the scene.
No, oh no we don’t elder. Last time we had any trouble wit’der lot was back in der’wars. Long befer I dropped from me dear ole’ ma. Seems ta’me dat… her words are cut off, by the opening of the door, color draining from her face, smile dropping agape.
She whispers Dat’s one dim’der. Been in’ere before, let’s dat wolf right he does. Ain’t right, still I gotta she remembers herself and talks directly to the Half Orc who clearly just came in.
Morn’in Ranger, can I gat you some eggs-n-sausages?
@Makvor – the Barmaid clearly fears you. Spirit wants to check the spot he marked a few days ago, but isn’t, and is looking at you pleading to do so. The Elf and a Half-Elf are clearly peers. You do know for a fact that they are strangers to this unnamed room, just like you.
A few minutes later, a stocky cloaked figure enters the Ale House, stopping just inside the door to scan his surroundings. His manner suggests some discomfort at what he sees, along with... something else. His shoulders rise and fall slowly as if in a sigh, and he lowers his hood to reveal a green-tinged, rather orc-like face.
He frowns slightly, as if he isn't quite sure what to do now.
Makvor answers, "Yeah." Then, remembering his manners, he adds, "Uh, I mean 'Yes, please, that sounds delicious.' And some o' yesterday's bread, too?"
While he waits, he looks down at Spirit, ruffles his fur, and releases him.
A gnome with fire red hair is sitting in the corner of the room alone at a table as the others enter. He appears to be wearing a hodgepodge of mismatched armor, spiked gauntlets, a threadbare tophat, and a greataxe.
From everyone's best guess he seems to be speaking quietly to his threadbare tophat. When the Orcs enter, his eyebrows pop up and he tilts his head slightly sideways.
He mutters in to his hat.
After a brief pause with the hat to his ear he loudly says "WHAT DANGER?! I DON'T NEED HELP! FINE! ... I'll go talk to them."
Zatqualmie waits for the Orcs to have a seat at the bar. After they take a seat he attempts to scoot a bar stool between them. Once the stool is between them, he walks around to the back of the bar and finds a crate. He carries the crate around, places it on the bar stool, and climbs atop the crate to have a seat.
Zatqualmie awkwardly says, "So... You guys come here often?"
Quaylon, returns the silvers and gives the bartender the 3 coppers.
"Thank you for the wonderful service as always, and no I have not find souls brave enough to join me. I am hoping today is that lucky day." he says with a pleasant smile.
Quaylon watches the orcs comes in, and nods to the elf next to him at the bar to check the events unfolding out. "Coming in here, can't be to bad right."
Whispering to himself, "perhaps today is my lucky day."
Quaylon, picks up his plate and ale, walks over to the table the half-orcs have sat at. "Mind if join you?" he says?"
After standing at the entrance for a few minutes, Mrachni starts to walk over to the corner that the half-elf has just approached. His face seems a bit pensive, as if he's unsure of the reaction his presence will evoke. He seems to have no qualms about the wolf, though it's unclear whether the wolf feels the same.
Frowning slightly, he leans against the wall and tries to figure out what to say.
Jumping slightly at the gnome's unexpected appearance and question, he shakes his head. "First time. You?" he replies.
|
*ranva walks over with his ale to the orcs, sipping it, he is not a drinker* "Pardon my intrusion, but may i ask what a couple of orcs are doing around here? Not that it is any of my business but it seems by the reactions of the locals, your kind isn't seen around here too often."*he takes another sip, rather tilting the mug for the ale to touch his lips but not really swallowing*
Quaylon smiles at the approach of the other Half-orc
"I would love to join you all for a meal if you would have me, perhaps share tales, or perhaps speak of a journey to come, what brings you all to these parts?"
The gnome stands on the crate on top of his chair, clearly in an attempt to be at an even height with the elves.
He looks sternly at the elf and says "They are here because of the danger." His tone suggests that the elf should already know this.
He then faces the half elf and says "The sword of justice and the wolf are needed to deal with the danger..." The gnome trails off slightly as he says this. After a brief contemplative pause, he says "Ask them to tell the stories of how the sword of justice and the wolf led these fine men here to help me with..." he begins to whisper, while looking around the room, "...the danger."
After another brief pause, he takes a much more lighthearted tone with the half elf and says "After that, I'd love to here some of your exciting stories!"
The gnome plops back down on his crate and faces Mrachni. In a far more conversational tone he says, "No... not at this particular table anyway. Though, I have been to this establishment a couple of times since I arrived in town."
Makvor sees the elves approaching and motions Spirit back over to a guarding position. As they draw nearer, Spirit's hackles begin to rise and you hear a deep rumble beginning to emanate from his chest. Then, realizing that the elves' intent isn't hostile, Makvor calms Spirit once more. Down, Spirit.
Responding to the first elf, he looks around at all of the other empty chairs in the place. Must want something... "No, though I may not be good company."
Then, realizing that most everyone in the room seems focused on him, he says, "There is something wrong to the north, in the forest. My wolf and I both feel it, but we also feel that the problems are bigger than we can handle alone. We need help from others like us, and are here to find it."
Mrachni, silent so far except for his answer to the gnome, speaks up. "I know nothing of the danger of which you speak, Friend Gnome, unless it is the plague which has recently come to this town."
Hearing Makvor's statement about the woods, Mrachni frowns. "If that is true, then we must hurry and find Laural before it is too late for her to help this town."
Mrachni looks up from the spot he's been watching intently on the floorboards. "She... I am told she alone can cure this plague."
"I shall accompany you as well, if you do not mind. I have been meaning to venture to the darkvale but have not been fortunate enough to find people willing to join me, but first we should eat." says Quaylon
Those without food look around for the serving wench but see that she is gone. Odd that such a heavy women could move so silently. She never brought Makvor his order, thankfully she never took his money too.
There is some clumping footfalls coming from the back of the Ale House. The door behind the bar opens and very tall, very fat, bearded man enters. Acne scares dot his cheeks and nose. He casually holds a wood ax in corded hairy arms. Laying the sharp tool down across the bar.
Now Lads! What will it be. I have eggs and sausages, day old bread, ale and I can russell up some crisp bacon or fried trout. 2 coppers per plate, 1 copper per flagon.
As Mrachni says "Friend Gnome," a big grin crosses the gnome's face. He exclaims "Since we are FRIENDS, you can call me 'Zatqualmie!'"
Zatqualmie goes on to say "Obviously, that is short for Zatqualmie Trablutamint Fulgraspfinet Exataerg Fire-Top... which is what I expect everyone else to call me."
Zatqualmie hollars "I'd like an order of eggs and sausage, day ole bread, a can of russel crisp bacon, orange fried trout, a single copper plate, and a small water! Also, I'll pick up whatever my FRIEND here is having." as he motions toward Mrachni.
Zatqualmie, in a far more somber voice says to Mrachni "So... you think 'the danger' is 'a plague' and we need to find 'Laural' to stop it?" He mumbles under his breath"How does Franklin..."
Makvor is a little nervous about the wench's absence, as well as the implied threat of the axe-bearing man. He tries to get a better sense of the situation - should he prepare for violence, or should he be on his best behavior?
Mrachni smiles and appears to relax for the first time since entering. Pulling over a stool from a nearby table, he finally sits down. "Name's Mrachni. Hope you can forgive me if I can't quite pronounce your name... Zak...wallmee?" His tongue stumbles over the unfamiliar sounds, and he frowns at his inability to get them right.
Addressing the new arrival, he speaks just loudly enough to be heard: "I, er... trout, please." and to the gnome, "My thanks. The plague... it's why I'm here."
Soon the grate over the fire is sizzling with bacon and fish. The smells of cooking meat is mouth watering. The barkeep keeps his smiles hidden, serving you all in a polite dry manner.
Makvor - the bar keep could certainly handle himself if he took a mind. However you get the feeling that he is not threatening so much as he is threatened. If there isn't any trouble, there will be no trouble. Best behavior is in store.
@Zatqual -Franklin is oddly not moving around a great deal. He says nothing at your words. True to form Franklin is listening. One of these is clearly the Half Orc with the Wolf
Oh, master you speak of the sickness? asks the barkeep looking at the gnome.
I know were Laural is. She might be busy but she was looking fer some brave souls to help her. I am sure that she would love to meet you five. Its them rich b*stards fault the folk are suffering so. I could send a boy to fetch her for five silvers.
He nods to the polite elven archer
Mrachni looks at the elf's hand for a moment, then seems to remember what's expected and offers his own to shake, nodding.
"I am glad that you could join us Mrachni, it is a pleasure to meet you."
Looking back to the other half orc "Do you know where to look for this Laurel?"
** spoiler omitted **
Mrachni looks at the elf's hand for a moment, then seems to remember what's expected and offers his own to shake, nodding.
Zatqaulmie says to the bar keep "It appears so. Thank you for the delicious food. What do I owe you?"
He turns to the elf and says "I agree, the orc with the sword of justice is the good one. He can be trusted."
While eating, the gnome occasionally sticks small amounts of food in a hole in the side of his tophat.
Quaylon was mentioning Laurel in response to the Gnome, he missed it when the topic was mentioned the first time, his mind too busy wandering to what he might actually, finally, get to accomplish.
knowledge Local for the Darkmoon Vale