While the village of Heldren has always typically been a quiet place where the villagers often result to rumor-mongering in order to entertain themselves, it seems that as of lately, the rumors have become stranger. The village is all excited about the latest rumor that although we are already at the height of summer, snow is falling in the nearby Border Wood. Indeed, the hunters speak of unnaturally cold weather that seems to have appeared only days ago. No one know what this strange weather, nor the arrival of dangerous new predators could mean, but the town's soothsayer, Old Mother Theodora has foretold that dark times come to Heldren.
Seemingly confirming Old Mother Theodora's dark prophecy, a man, barely alive, arrived just yesterday, he claims to be a bodyguard to one Lady Argentea Malassene. He informed the village council, and it wasn't long before everyone else knew, that the noblewoman's escort had come under attack by bandits and some strange wintery creatures that no one had ever heard of before near the edge of the Border Wood. Only he escaped, while Lady Argentea was dragged into the forest by the bandits for who knows what. The villagers now cast fearful eyes towards the snowy forest, worried what else might emerge to threaten their peaceful village.
The man in question has since been identified as one Yuln Oerstag, and is recovering in the Willowbark Apothecary. Rumor has it that he is a northerner, and is seriously wounded and suffering from serious frostbite.
The Silver Stoat, although normally quieter during the day, has become even more of a popular destination then typical for the rumor-mongering villagers. Lately, some of the more lazy villagers have nearly stopped working completely just to gossip about Yuln Oerstag and the state of the Border Wood.
Having felt the chill in the air Drazheek welcomed the cooler weather. He hated the sweltering heat of summer and how smothered it made him feel.
Having mined some ore for the blacksmith he went to show him a sample of what he had found. That and he was curious what the town was up to.
"Drazheek doesn't know how they bear the light. Darkness is better anyways. Ooh! Hammer man will like this piece today I think."
He says as he picks up a good looking sample of ore.
Gathering his things he made his way towards Heldren.
Muttering a few words he protects himself with a spell that makes the light not hurt so much.
His trek had been longer than usual, the sounds he heard along the treeline close to his new home, made him stand still a lot to watch for any signs of trouble. Though nothing came out of the forest, he could have sworn he saw glimpses of creatures he hadn't seen before.
When he saw the small armory of Heldren as he rounded the last corner, he could only feel a little relieved to have this earlier trip to Heldren at an end. The village sawmill was busy, but as he noticed, at the general store, the blacksmith and the barber not everyone that worked there was present.
At the general store he sold the arrows and shortbow he had crafted during the daytime when animals were hiding. He also inquired if they sold a pair of warm fur boots or if he could buy it from someone in the village.
As he stepped out he heard the ruckus going on in the Silver Stoat, lots of raised voices. As he got closer he heard the words "Border Wood" and "Danger" being said.
Well they ought to have found out sooner or later, things seem to change rapidly around the Wood. Might as well listen in I suppose.
The rumor-mongering villagers at the Silver Stoat were in a sort of guessing game as to what comes out of the Border Wood next, some said dire animals roamed the forests, one even called a dragon lives there. As the debate ran higher one person called out "The next thing out of the Border Wood is even more scarier than a dragon."
At that point Indras brusquely opened the door of the Silver Stoat, drawing many eyes and gasps as he entered. Dressed in a long brown cloak with a hood, wearing dark leather gloves and thick brown pants, a pair of milky-white eyes stared at the crowd from under his hood.
He walked up to the bar and asked the innkeeper for a pint as he glanced around the inn, looking back at some of the more startled customers. His cloak dancing up and and down even as he stood still, like something under his cloak was moving.
Kale Garimos sizes up the hooded man and then goes about preparing a drink for him. "Been awhile since I've seen those eyes, what brings you to town." She asks the hooded man.
"Trading business, new warm shoes, colder nights, the unusual I suppose. The comforts of your inn call me very soon this year. The Wood is a lot less hospitable for this time of year, even for a seasoned occupant of it."
He takes a sip from his pint while he looks around.
"It looks a lot fuller than usual Kale, I'd presume business is going well."
"Too well perhaps, half these should still be working at this hour, but they've got nothing better to do then be here, slacking off at their own jobs and making mine all the more difficult." She says, pouring another drink, for herself this time. "If something doesn't come out of those woods soon, or something done about them, these folks will be seeing something scarier then a dragon for sure." She mutters before downing the pint in a single go, it seems the stress of pulling double shifts has been getting to Kale lately.
Xanthippe Euphram greets the kobold has he enters Isker's Smithy with the ore. "Drazheek, right? My father has told me about you, he's not here right now, so he's left me in charge of the smithy." Although she had heard about her father employing a kobold, this was the first time she had actually met him. The town beauty looked upon the small reptile curiously. "You can leave the ore with me, father is at the Stoat, if you go see him there I'm sure he'd be happy to know that you have brought the ore." She wished she was at the Stoat herself, but her father had gotten caught up in the gossip like much of the town and left her to tend to business.
Thank you for the business! If you are right, those furs are gonna be in high demand in about a weeks time...Good luck friend, stay warm.
After managing to sell off the last of his furs, the young man tucks the new coins away in his belt pouch and sets off to find someplace warm to sit and eat....and drink.
The young man warily opens the door to The Silver Stoat, closing it quickly behind him so as not to let in too much of the weather. He pulls down the fur-lined hood of his well worn cloak, and stamps the cold earth from his boots.
After a brief survey of the room, the man rubs his hair back and sidles up to a spot at the bar as near to the fire as he can manage.
Could you muster a cup of warm spiced wine? If not, a mug of ale will do, though it doesn't warm the body as well. Oh, and a plate of food if you could be so kind.
The weary man settles himself for a night of rest, and listens eagerly to the days rumours.
"Afraid I'm all out of the spiced wine, but here, have some Three Devil Ale." Kale says sliding a glass over for the newcomer, as she informs her husband to prepare a plate of his famous venison flank steak.
Over the roar of the fire, several voices can be heard spreading rumors.
"Did you hear, Old Man Dansby says someone's been stealing his crops, well at least the ones that aren't frozen over." One voice says.
"I hear that Qudiran agents are behind this unnatural weather, they seek to freeze us over and then attack when no one is looking." Another adds.
Indras mutters under his breath as he takes some sips from his pint.
"Qudiran agents? Rubbish!" He scoffs at the the rumor-mongers stupidity to believe such nonsense.
"They should check the wilds of the Wood themselves, they'd know better."
He eyes the human coming to sit at the bar, he stares at him, perhaps a bit long, to measure the man and his profession.
He is well-dressed for the coming cold, must be a trader of sorts I reckon.
Rubbish indeed, the woods will tell us many things, I don't see Qudiran agents among those, however.
Those eyes! Not human that one.
Sounds like you know more than the folk here 'bout the woods. Any explanations for this? Old Deadeye hasn't seen fit to explain this one to me. I haven't heard of a summer like this, so....frigid, in my lifetime, or my father's lifetime.
Grayson stands for a moment and strecthes, attempting to combat the toll his recent travels have imposed. While doing so, he takes in the stranger's appearance with curiosity.
Might be that this one has something worth saying....
To forest, to forest, to catch a nice deer.
Home again, home again, warmth and good cheer.
The Ulfen sighs as he enters the village, the day's catch--a good-sized young buck--over his shoulders. Weighed down by the animal, he walks slowly, his bow unstrung to avoid interfering with the balance. His hood has fallen down, leaving his long red-brown hair and tanned, clear skin exposed to all who see them. He nods amiably to those he passes, smiling and wishing them a good day.
Yet it's clear to Stigr Falksson that the rhyme he was whistling to as he returned to Heldren isn't quite true this day. Warmth and good cheer seem to be commodities of which the village is running short, luxuries that can't be afforded at the time being. And the arrival of one of my own... Rumors of winter... Erastil guide us. The man pauses to raise his holy symbol, a handcarved wooden bow and arrow on a cord, to his forehead before continuing his trek to the Silver Stoat.
Stigr pushes open the door and walks over to the bar, smiling to Kale. "Greetings, Missus Garimos. Menander here? I've got some venison for you." The Ulfen shifts the deer on his back and glances across the room, taking in the villagers and their conversation. Worried. Once this is taken care of, a small blessing and word of Erastil's grace is in order.
"He's in the back, in the kitchen as always." Kale directs the Ulfen man to a door leading into the kitchen, quickly wanting her husband to cook the venison as they would undoubtedly need more as soon she feared the whole town would be in their small tavern.
"Did I hear that right?" Menander asks peeking out of the kitchen in the back. "Stigr, its good to see you as always, bring that here and then get some drink in you and enjoy the fire, you'll need it on a day such as this."
Kale makes sure to ready a tall Three Devil Ale for Stigr and sits it by a stool near the fire.
Drazheek heads over to the Silver Stoat to see Isker about the ore. He gets there and opens the tall door and cautiously steps inside.
He spots Isker and makes his way to him while avoiding as many people as he can.
In a quiet tone:
"I got more ore for you. Good ore it is. If you want to see it I left it as the forge."
"Ah yes, excellent." A boisterous voice booms in response to the kobold, but seemingly talking to his table. "The ore you bring is always the very best, thank you little one." Isker Euphram says, downing a pint of Three Devil Ale before adding, "Now if only someone would do something about this horrible weather before I have to rejoin the army and invade Qadira myself." He says with a laugh.
After a weary journey through treacherous weather conditions, the young cleric found himself passing through the town of Hedren again. He was glad to have arrived before nightfall as he was worried wolves would be a problem if he got caught on the trail at night.
Smiling at the people that greeted him, he quickly pressed them for any recent developments. Hearing that a new patient was recuperating at the Willowbark Apothecary, Gaandik rushed over to see if there was anything he could do to help the injured man. As he entered the apothecary, he had a quick healing spell prepared in case it was needed. He left shortly after.
Always eat at a full inn and you will not be disappointed.
Famished and tired, Gaandik entered the Silver Stoat. His metal armor made his short walk to the center a somewhat noisy affair. The cleric scanned the crowd for holy insignia.
If there are followers of Torag here, I may want to avoid them.
He quickly placed an order for 'whatever food is handy' and stood patiently scanning the patrons as he waited. Not wanting to eat alone, he looked for someone with military experience to share a table with. Scars, callouses on the hands, the habit of eating quickly, all were signs besides the obvious display of armor and weapons to tell if someone is a campaigner.
Stigr sets the deer down as gestured, still with a warm smile on his face. "It's no problem, Menander; the home that Heldren offers me is more than thanks enough. But please--here, I am the Prophet." He inclines his head and shakes the man's hand before returning to the common room.
Taking his ale and standing by the fire, the Ulfen man pauses for a moment, casting his gaze over the crowd. Mostly regulars, but I see a few unfamiliar faces... couple of men at the bar, and an odd hooded one. And it looks like Isker's been hitting the ale too hard again--talking to his table about ore and armies. The man drains the last of his ale and clears his throat, standing on a stool.
"People of Heldren," he calls out in a clear to ne he thinks of as his 'sermon voice,' "I know that these are distressing times. The weather seems off, to say the least; there's word of trouble brewing in more ways than one. We have a stranger in town, a man from the north who claims to have been set upon whilst protecting a lady. These are troubling times, to be sure;" Stigr nods his head as he looks to each of the townsfolk in the tavern. "But I am the Prophet of Erastil, who looks kindly upon us and guides us safely through the tribulations of this world. Old Deadeye has communed with me, and he has told me that as long as we stick to our values, continue to work hard and hold fast, we will overcome any adversity in our lives. Trust in Erastil and yourselves, people of Heldren, and we will all look back on these times with fond memories of our own inner strength. Erastil has said it to be so."
This is, of course, a bald lie: Stigr hasn't had clear communion with his deity since the overwhelming feelings of righteousness in his break from his homeland. Yet the people need guidance, assurance that things will remain the same and that they will continue to live as they always have. Surely Old Deadeye would have told them what I did himself, if he had the time and inclination to spare.
The sounds of someone in armor walking right in, made Indras look around in a hurry. A Cleric no doubt, but which deity does he represent?
Then the booming voice sounded from across the room and shifted his eyes toward the man standing on the table. Great and another 'preacher' over there. Erastil huh? I'm in bad company now
This seems to turn out like a bad day for me
"Sure Erastil has spoken to you, he does that a lot you know." The sarcasm in his voice is easily heard.
"Do nothing but speculate and work hard and bad things go away when you believe in a god. You could as easily bury your head in the sand and hope for the best I'd say."
Having said that he stands up and shifts his seat to a more suitable place for watching the crowd, aiming to not let his tail or wings be noticed that are hidden under his cloak. The bow on his shoulder and the greatsword on his back swing back and forth as he paces to the edge of the bar.
As he sits down he asks Kale for another pint.
"Kale, another pint if you please. And that fresh venison that was carried in made me hungry, a plate of food for me too as well please."
Drazheek peeks over the table to see who is talking.
Stigr grimaces as the hooded man at the bar calls him out on the bluff. Brilliant, we have a rabble-rouser.
"And who might you be, sir? Another stranger here, by the looks of it." The Ulfen steps off the stool and looks Indras dead in the eyes. "Around these parts, you don't challenge a man unless you're showing your face. Who are you and what's your business in Heldren, if you don't mind?"
"Now now boys, there will be none of that here. In the Stoat, everyone is family, and if family doesn't get along, Momma's not happy." Kale reacts to the word challenge more then anything else. She glances over at Stigr and then at Indras, letting the two know that she means business before she goes back to getting Indras another pint and getting her husband to prepare another plate of the venison flank steak.
A pair of white eyes stare nonchalantly back at Stigr.
"A stranger to many here, yes, though my business in selling bows and arrows at the local store never gets any complaints." He finishes his drink in one last gulp.
"I don't recall challenging you to anything 'Preacher', though if you feel offended have a drink on me. I just don't believe the gods would talk so willingly to any mere mortal."
You can tell 'Preacher' is said with some contempt to it.
No one would lie about that, would they? Erastil, how refreshing.
Gaandik approaches the theological debate with care.
"The gods talk to us all the time. You just need to know how to listen to them. Normally they let their mortal instruments speak for them."
The cleric nods and smiles at the evangelical northerner. "Good to know a servant of Erastil is here."
He turns and faces the crowd. "I cannot speak about what other should do, but I do not think any attack on the local gentry can go unpunished. Rest assured justice will be done." Gaandik delivers his speech in matter of fact tone, his earnest gaze sweeps through the crowd quickly.
Gaandik is distracted by the smell of venison and turns back to the bar and speaks to the outspoken Ulfen. "Fresh venison would be a refreshing change from trail rations. Servant of Erastil, mind if I join you? I hate to eat alone."
Stigr holds his gaze on Indras for a few moments longer, and then his hard countenance flows into a smile--though one that doesn't quite meet his eyes. "Of course, Missus. My apologies." He steps forward and holds out a hand to the cloaked man. "All are welcome in Heldren, of course, just as all are welcomed by Erastil to partake in his peace and bounty."
After closing exchange with Indras, the Ulfen turns to Gaandik and nods. "I am neither the only nor the greatest servant of Old Deadeye in the village, but I'd be glad to share a meal with you. You don't seem familiar, either; pray tell, stranger, what's your name?"
As Kale brings Indras his venison steak he cuts a number of smaller pieces off of it.
As he eats he taps his neck with his right hand. As he stares at the two followers of Erastil conversing with each other, as small white furry head pops out of his left sleeve.
Sniffing the air, it gives a small squeak as it sees the venison.
Indras slides over a few pieces of the steak without saying a word.
You were hungry weren't you? Sorry I forgot to pack the jerky when we left.
The ermine happily nibbles on the pieces of meat in front of him.
Charlotte waited in a corner of the bar where she had sat routinely for some days.
Qadira had been deemed "Too dangerous" for her latest expedition and the investors and team members had rapidly pulled out. They blamed rising conflicts, but she knew the real reason. They were on edge for the same reason that everyone was on edge - the weather. It didn't matter if one was religious, superstitious, or neither, it was affecting everyone.
"Months of planning, down the drain" she sighed quietly, thinking that now someone else would get to the ruins before she did. Now she waited in the tavern, hoping to meet potential new investors or people to join up with.
At the Prophet's mention of the man who was attacked, Charlotte's ears perked up. She had been trying, without success, to learn of what happened to him. It seemed that information was hard to come by, and was being replaced by rumours and speculations. They said that something attacked him. They said that the changing weather was bringing a darkness filled with horrible creatures.
They said that the end was coming.
As the Prophet sat down with the man who approached them, their conversation quieted, and Charlotte wondered what else the Prophet might know. The other man, she observed, appeared to be religious as well.
She bit her lip, intending to do some speculation of her own. 'Supposing,'[i] she considered, [i]that this man really is in communication with his god. Hypothetically, of course. It is possible that he knows something more than the others about what's really going on.'
Charlotte quietly crossed the room, giving a quick curtsy to the men and addressing the Prophet. "Excuse me, sirs, I don't mean to interrupt, but I was hoping that you could tell me more about what you heard from the North? People here are ever-so afraid."
Stigr looks up at Charlotte and gives another of his gentle smiles. "Of course, I'd be glad to share what I may and soothe the fears, child. But 'the North?' What do you mean? I've no contact outside of Heldren, I'm afraid." They all know I'm Ulfen, surely... But Stigr truly hasn't had any real contact with his homeland in years.
The armored priest looks at the young lady with a confident smile and gestures to his new companion.
"I have just arrived myself. But as was so well stated before by this good man, the greater powers of this world do watch over us. You seem to be relatively calm, though. The only news I can relate is the ice fishermen tell me that the ice is thicker than it has ever been and the fish are not biting, no matter how far down the line is dropped. It is as if they are deeper than the longest line can reach. They predict the coldest winter in many generations."
Having bided his time, listening to the discourse of the men around him, Grayson lays down his fork, and swallows the last of the flank steak.
"You say that the greater powers watch over us, and normally I'd be inclined to agree with you. Erastil has provided me plenty, and I have made a way in this world by holding to his teachings. But this seems beyond the scope of Old Deadeye if you ask me. His is the way of keeping the natural order. And everything about this damned cold change seems to usurp that natural order. I'm glad to hear we have some other followers of Erastil here, and maybe they can tell me more about this. But from everything else I've seen, we're in for a nasty stretch.
The man shakes his head, and returns to his meal. Using the remaining heel of bread he soaks up the last of the meat juice from the plate of venison steak.
Why can't these men see that Erastil has no control over this? Something is very wrong!
Gaandik runs his eyes over the ranger, and seems to be sizing him up. He continues to dig into his venison with gusto and asks for another plate from the server after finishing the first. He also soaks his bread in the juice, and smiles in appreciation of the combination of tastes. He makes sure his next plate has more bread too.
He addresses Grayson:
"When the innocent are threatened by changes to the natural order, that is where I come in. I will not sit idly by."
Diurn pulls a longsword a few inches up from the sheath, exposing a symbol of a sun bursting from the top of a longsword engraved on the pommel in detail.
"I am a priest of Iomedae. I bring a more 'hands on' approach. I visited the apothecary where a poor man is recuperating yesterday. Hopefully after both of us rest, we can have a nice talk about what happened to him. I think he was suffering from more than frostbite. Unfortunately I am not so good with the lay of the land, would you know of a good local guide? I don't think my dogs can find the trail alone."
Charlotte responds first to the Prophet, sounding a bit embarrassed. "Begging your pardon, sir. From the manner you spoke about the man from the north and the lady he protected, I thought you might know more than most. There seem to be so very many rumours."
She nods to Gaandik. "Of the ice, I've heard the same." She shakes her head. "It's all speculation at this point. We need some real information if we're to prepare properly."
At Gaandik's question, her eyes light up and she begins speaking rather quickly. "Do you mean to search where the man was attacked? Though I am no guide, I do know a thing or two, and I would be remiss if I did not accompany you."
Indras finishes his plate of venison lazily eating the bread, while his left sleeve is over his plate. The faint sound of something lapping up the liquid can be heard close to the bar.
Iomedae? Curse my luck again. Erastil is still pretty good in my book, but Iomedae? Smiting my evil ... all day long. The other is a hunter as well? Should have thought, possibly a trapper if he has that much fur on him.
As he puts the plate to the side, the little white head disappears and pops up a few moments later inside the collar of his vest.
He stands up and walks towards the group while cracking his knuckles.
"Need a guide into the Border Wood do you? As it seems I'll be heading back there again, you might as well tag along. I guess you must also know your way around these parts don't you 'Trapper'?" He looks to Grayson with his white stare.
"I'm guessing you have caught glimpses of these new creatures as I have. Our way of living will be threatened sooner or later, probably sooner. I for one would like to know a bit more of these things before I take this for granted."
To Gaandik "I appreciate your candor friend, and I'm sure the innocents are grateful as well. As for a local guide...? I'm not from these parts, so I can't claim to know one. However, if it is a tracker or someone to lead you through the wilds, then I have the skills you require. Though I make no claims to know this area, I made my way here, and I can damn sure make my way back. I doubt we'd have much trouble finding the spot where this man was waylaid."
Grayson turns to the barkeep " Ma'am, Kale is it? I'd like another of those ales....the devil something? He then turns to properly face the folks around him.
"Aye, Kale it is, and one Three Devil Ale coming up." She says, topping off Grayson, and anyone else who needs more, as well as getting more venison for those who have cleared their plates.
"Aye, Kale it is, and one Three Devil Ale coming up." She says, topping off Grayson, and anyone else who needs more, as well as getting more venison for those who have cleared their plates.
Stigr clears his throat. "I've been in Heldren for some time, and I'm skilled in the woods, as most followers of Old Deadeye are. I can most likely take you where you need to go, though I wouldn't go so far as calling myself a guide." Turning to Grayson, he continues, "And I wouldn't go so far as to say that Erastil has control over these events. I merely said that if we follow his ways and accept his guidance, the people of Heldren will get through this." He laces his voice with undertones, suggesting that even though he doesn't fully believe it himself, the villagers don't need to be excited...
...But even Stigr can tell that his point may not have been clear.
To Ganndik, Stigr nods with a smile. "Iomedae is a fine goddess, another protector of the good and innocent, though in her own way. Glad to have your acquaintance. What's your name, Brother?"
Grayson listens to the prophet, turning over the words in his head.
Missing the message completely, Grayson responds (louder than he intended)"How can you be so sure that this isolated town will get through this. Following his ways, and accepting his guidance sounds like a grand plan, but this is a summer that is already like winter...what happens when Winter comes? Most of these folk are not cut from the same cloth as you and I or our other ranger friend here."
Grayson shakes his head, his dark and disheveled hair swinging wildly.
[b]"I'll not sit and wait for that." Nodding at Charlotte, "Like the woman said we need information so these folk can steel themselves against whatever storm lies ahead."
Grayson had not realized that he had begun standing, or that he had drawn so many eyes to himself. As he notices this, you can read the embarassment on his face. Surprised with himself and his emotions, he sits back down, and somberly returns to his ale maintaining his attention on those around him.
What was that? That's not like you at all, Gray. You're a trapper not some sworn Paladin....move on. These are not your people.
If Charlotte notices Grayson's outburst, she gives no signs of it. Instead she nods at the men, excited to find them somewhat willing to work together, despite their differences. Problems might arise if they got into trouble, but Charlotte wasn't worried about that. She figured that most of the rumours were just a bored and superstitious town, and that the man was likely only attacked by a wolf.
She turned to Gaandik again, unsure of how to ask what she was thinking. "How was, hrm. The man who was attacked, you said you saw him? As eager as I am to learn what happened, I wonder if we might be saved worthless trip by simply talking to him first."
"Though, if his state is indeed bad, we needn't tax him. I have heard it said that he had a woman with him, too. Perhaps we could speak to her?"
Hmm seems they don't need a guide then, maybe for the best, those good-doers might give me more trouble than help. Let's just check with that man that's recuperating to see what he knows more. Don't want him dying before he gives his information now.
He pulls his cloak tighter and brusquely walks to the door, opens it and leaves the door to close by itself.
Now where did they say he was staying? The Willowbark Apothecary I believe it was.
He takes a moment to get his bearings and then walks towards the apothecary to look for the wounded man.
Gaandik responds:
"My name is Gaandik. Many call me Fatebound. I mentioned I was going to let the guard rest and catch some rest myself before talking to him."
He puts up both hands in a calming manner.
"Let us get to know each other, have some food and drink, sleep in a warm bed, and then visit the apothecary at first light. We can get first hand information and set out to investigate."
Drazheek's curiosity finally overcomes his cautious nature and he finally approaches the table where the others are gathered and peeks over the edge.
"I like the cold. It doesn't bother me. People don't notice me. I get places you can't and I can see magic. I will come too!"
He says rather excitedly.
"Oh and I find good ore if anyone wants some."
As Indras enters the apothecary, he spots an Ulfen man wrapped in bandages, the mercenary’s nose, fingers, and toes have taken on a black hue from serious frostbite, and he is still heavily wounded. However, a man in clerical robes steps in from of Indras to stop him. "Please, Yuln Oerstag is not well, and I must insist that if you want to speak with him you first contact the village councilors. He needs his rest so that he can recover." The man of the cloth speaks, taking Indras for another of the rumor-mongers.
"Step aside old man and allow me a few moments with him."
Indras removes his hood, revealing his scaled face, pointy ears and white eyes. Argen pops his head from within his collar and squeaks before climbing to Indras's shoulder.
"Call the village councilors if you want, I don't care."
As Indras approaches Yuln Oerstag, he kneels down beside his bed and pets Argen for a few seconds. A light purplish glow surrounds his hand, as he touches Yuln he mutters a few words.
"A boon for the fallen and wounded, a curse on the inflictors"
He waits a few moments to see if Yuln wakes up from his wound-induced slumber if not, he'll cast a second time.
Indras hopes Yuln will speak about his encounter with him.
As Indras removes his hood, the elder steps back, saying a prayer. "So now the devil himself has come to claim this poor..." He begins until he notices that Indras is curing the Ulfen man.
Although his frostbite does not seem to get better, several of his wounds seem to close up as the Ulfen man opens his eyes. "Who are you." Yuln Oerstag speaks to Indras. "You don't look like the kind that the village councilors would send to rescue Lady Argentea."
"That sounds fine to my ears, Gaandik Fatebound. I am called Prophet--the Prophet of Erastil. I usually make camp outside of town, and that shall be my 'warm' bed for tonight, but I'll be happy to come in the morn and join you to the apothecary. For now, though, I agree that warm food and drink are in order."
The Ulfen looks down in mock surprise at the kobold who arrives at the table. "What's this? Our own local miner joins the talk. Care for some ale, little one?"
"Ale, yes please. Food would be nice too."
Drazheek gets onto a chair and stands in order to see properly at the table.
"There! Now I can see you all better. What's your name?"
He says looking at Prophet.
Gaandik smiles at the smaller creature.
"Not good weather for mining."
Gaandik smiles at the smaller creature.
"Not good weather for mining."
"I like the cold. Feels better than hot summer days."