Zinny trudges into the Happy Cow, rubbing with one hand at the back of her neck. Other than to bring Abby the money to give towards the children's cost of living, she hasn't set foot in the tavern in weeks. There's just been so much to do around the Whip. And Momma's always had some other chore waiting every single time she finished the first one. She's gone to bed dead-tired every night, wondering if Momma's punishing her, or just tryin' to keep her too busy to run off and get into more trouble.
The leather armor with its rivets, and the bow and the arrows, have stayed hidden out of sight in the woodshed, where Momma never goes anyway. (Too many cobwebs.)
But Momma's busy with a gentleman tonight, and she'd neglected to leave a long list of things for Zinny to do, so she's here at the Happy Cow. A mug of beer, that's all she wants. It ain't that she's wistful for the faces of the people she braved danger with, really. Not at all.
It ain't just Abby, it's Abby AND Hugo. Zinny gives them both a shy smile.
"Evenin'," she says, scuffing her feet on her way through the door.
Abby looks awful tired, she thinks to herself, 'bout as tired as Zinny feels. Hugo, on the other hand, looks as if life's been right to him since that trip out to the swamp-- he stands straighter, looks around more eagerly.
Hugo waved excitedly at Zinny, gesturing for her to come over to the booth he and Abi were occupying.
"Oi Zinny, aint seen ya in a while, not since dat day." He looked unsure if mentioning their ordeal had been a good idea, but quickly pressed on. "Erh, ya wanna come have sumtin ta drink wit us? I is buyin." Smiling deviously, an odd expression not usually seen on the blacksmith sons face, he added. "Maybe I aint seen ya around cuz ya wus stuck on a rock again?"
Getting up, he motioned for her to take his seat, then lumbered up to the bar to place some orders.
"'Lo, Hugo," Zinny says with a little wave of one hand. She promptly flushes red when he brings up the rock incident, though.
"I-- I got down just fine-- look you dunno how high up it was from up there!" she protests feebly.
Ears burning, she sits down near Abby, hunching her shoulders up around her ears. Hugo's just teasin' but it still makes her feel all manner of ridiculous. "Just some ale for me, thank you...."
Tomid, having worked the early shift that day had been out making his rounds around town. He considered it his duty to know what was going on, and what better way than to take a quick walk about a few times a day? His light leather armor had grown to be almost a second skin and his shop clothes mostly covered it up so that folks would have to look pretty hard to know he was wearing it. And the dagger at his belt was small enough that most folks did not give it a second look. His small stature and his practiced quiet pace, combined with his habit of keeping to the shadows allows him to often go unobserved too. He liked keeping an eye on things.
As he walks back into the common room he sees a number of familiar faces. Greets all around. he says cheerfully. His walks usually left him in a good mood. He climbs onto a bar stool and uses it to boost himself on to the edge of the bar. As he does so a medallion at his neck catches the lantern light and flashes - a holy symbol of Sarenrae. Looking at the group he asks What's new?
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She cocks her head to the side, a smirk forming as he speaks and says "Go all the way, huh? If I knew you didn't know any better, Hugo Smith..."
"But, sure. We can help eachother out. I think I heard someone else talking about meeting together in the tavern to talk about what happened..."
She takes the chain from Hugo and lays it out on her lap, running a hand over it and nodding appreciatively. "Thank you," she says sincerely, and lets it sit there across her skirts as Zinny enters.
"Haven't seen you lately," Abigail greets Zinny with a smile and a wave, smiling at Hugo's teasing. "Don't worry-- I'm with you. It was a very tall rock."
And to Tomid as he came around? "Not much," answers Abigail, a bit of fatigue in her voice.
Trant and Ewan do their best to fill everyone's orders. When Trant comes with mugs and tankards to the table, Abigail quietly asks him to check in on his siblings for her. Afterwards, he slips out of sight, leaving them alone in the tavern with just Ewan counting coin.
Not much? Well see you got a nice new shiny chain shirt there, custom made by our very own Hugo. And custom fitted too if the rumors are right. he says with a bright smile and a twinkle in his eye. And Hugo, now that you have finished with Abi's shirt, maybe you can start on mine?
In the weeks following their return from the marshes, Brother Silas Benedictine is a flurry of activity. Every kind word shared and good deed done is a step closer to normalcy and a step further from tragedy; only the distance he has to run from the memories of death and destruction is great, and his patience is not. In order to get as far away from what he experienced as possible, he insulates himself in a shell of selflessness and holiness that rivals the saints themselves: to those people from Cromm's Hold, he opens his personal stores of food, doing so because he knows he can afford ten times as much as he has on what they uncovered in a tree. He washes their wounds and their feet, spends tireless hours consoling them in the midst of their grieving, because in the act of objectively supplying succor for their anguish he can find a way to likewise objectify his own. He finds homes for those who have been displaced, boarding them with a few choice locals in Daggermark; for those who cannot be boarded, he opens his own sanctuary to them until homes can be built for them, on a foundation of Daggermark soil, with logs cut from trees planted by Erastil himself, by carpenters and home builders with gold in their pockets planted by Silas himself.
One month after their valiant return, Brother Silas encourages as much of the community to attend a special sermon as possible. When the townsfolk arrive in the sanctuary, they see that the antlers upon which their promises have been hung are now flanked on the east and west walls by equally large antlers, free of any hanged pledges.
After a solid benediction about the marriage of community and the land that bears it, as well as the pushing of a seed into fresh soil with his right thumb, Silas discreetly brushes little crumbs of dirt onto the backside of his woolen vespers and addresses the populace who have come to show trepidation towards him after surviving a showdown with lizardmen...oh, and towards those villagers who went with him, as well.
"Our faith teaches us, in stories handed down from the North, that He who bore us unto the land also gifted us with the means to tame it. In the days when the great wounds of the frozen reaches were still fresh and the skies dark from wintery gray, there was an Ulfen tribe who wandered as nomads through snowblinds and blizzards, who suffered the gnashing teeth of wolves and frostbite and the gnawing pangs of starvation. They were a people who lived in daily fear of the untamed wild. Amongst this tribe were those who stood out: the chieftan, the shaman, and the huntsman. Their names have long since been lost to antiquity, but in the holy deeds of Erastil that have traced our faith through generations we know that these three were the greatest amongst their people. The huntsman had earned his title and respect amongst the people for his great strength and cunning, and upon his body bore the scars of his triumphs. The shaman had earned his title and respect among his people for his great wisdom and knowledge, and with his words he drew back the veils of mystery and brought the will of our gods to the earth. The chieftan, too, had earned his title and respect among his people for his great courage and willingness to sacrifice, and it was by his leadership and his leadership alone that his tribe had survived for so many winters."
"But as the wild bore down upon them, as the cold drained vitality from their marrow as the stirge upon its mark, the tribe found it harder and harder to sustain themselves. No man, not even the huntsman, had the strength to chase the great elk, and the wolves came at the throat too quickly to kill. Erastil watched them from afar and saw their plight, and so with one hand he removed a length of his own gut, and with the other he bent a supple branch of the world tree until it broke. After kneading the length of gut into a fine twine between his hands, he bound one end of the world tree's branch to the other until it bowed as the ouroboros. And that is what the tribe called it, when Erastil gifted it unto them: the bow. And bow before him they did in reverence and honor."
Silas bows his own head, bidding others to do the same. But then lifts it, and brings home his sermon, with a touch of cunning.
"But to whom did he present the bow? 'Twas not to the huntsman, nor to the shaman, nor to the chieftan. It was given to the first tribesman who stepped forward, and whom we know to have declared, Behold! The god of the hunt! Erastil took him by the arm and brought him into the Wilderness, and there taught him how to use the bow and the arrow to hunt for food to nourish the tribe, and how to use the bow and the arrow to slay that which threatened the tribe. In this Wilderness the tribesman was gone for days, and upon his return was regarded as one chosen by Erastil. One different from all the others."
"But what did the tribesman do for the rest of his life? He shared his divine gift with others. He taught them all, even the huntsman, the shaman, and the chieftan, how to string their own bows from flax and how to fire the carved arrow true to its mark. Having done all of this, he lived out the rest of his life in peace, begat children as any other tribesman might, and passed this story, and this gift, to his children, and to his children's children. The tribesman was a person of no great renown. What was he, then?"
Silas takes a step down from the pulpit, getting closer to his flock.
"He was you. He was me. The tribesman to whom Erastil gave one of his greatest gifts was a man no different from you or I, having accomplished nothing greater and nothing less than anyone in this sanctuary. He was simply the first to come forth and to recognize the glory of our lord, and his own role in nature. As herald. As teacher. As inspiration."
He spreads his arms, the golden trim in his vespers sparkling in the sunlight coming through the high windows.
"Most of you know that there are those among us today who are like this tribesman. When Cromm's Hold was beset by the untamed wild, a handful of villagers...our own tribesmen and women...knew their role. Now, I cannot speak for them all. I do not know whether they felt a divine calling, or a spark towards action, acted out of a sense of right or just desperation. But, having been one of them myself, I can say that I felt bidden. Even in the storm of chaos those lizardmen wrought upon our neighbors, when word reached our doors and the need became apparent, it only seemed right that I should heed the call. After all, the people of Daggermark and the people of Cromm's Hold have shown me so, so very much over the past decade, given so much of their time and dedication to my ministry, and through this ministry to their neighbors. To take no action would have been..."
He chooses his word carefully.
"...abandonment."
A long silence follows, one that those who have spoken directly with Brother Silas have become familiar with. A silence wherein his dark brown eyes scour your face and seem to glean something thereof. In seeing what he sees, Silas concludes that he not need belabor his point, and with humility shrugs his shoulders and removes his ornate vespers. There is a surge of hushed exclamation through the parish as he moves to stand beneath the central pair of antlers. A woman's earring dangles over a forelock of hair, and what might be a pair of child's mittens near his right ear, which have been there for years.
As though it were part of his ritual, he hangs the vespers upon the antlers and speaks loud, with great conviction, his back to the audience to give them one single revelation: he does not address them. Only his god.
"...today I pledge never to abandon my tribe, and to live by the example set forth by that simple man. To live by the example set forth by Cromm, and the sacrifices they made. To live by the example our own townspeople, who themselves risked everything that day..."
He turns back to his people and leaves his vespers hanging to mark his promise. They are one of the most ornate of all the pledges hanging from the wall now, and continue to catch the sunlight with a special kind of radiance that was entirely intentional with the properly tailored inclusion of siltstone flecks. If Abigail is in the audience, a glance steals her way, full of sympathy.
"...and not without their own sacrifices and loss. I shall not name them, for their names are already well-known to us. But I say to you, these villagers, our fellow tribesmen, are no different than any of us. No more special. Just as I can make this pledge, so can any one of you. Just as I chose to leave behind this ministry and risk my life to do the work of our lord, so may any one of you. It is only a matter of choice. And today, I invite you, under the auspices of making your pact with Erastil, or the acceptance of your destiny, or simply the acknowledgement of your own potential, to come and make your own private pledge. You need not do so now in front of the eyes of your fellow townspeople. The sanctuary will be open well into the night. What pledges you make may only be known to you and to our protector and our guide, Erastil. And so it is in his name that we say..."
Long used to the custom, the congregation rises and recites from the Parables of Erastil in unison.
"...our guide, giver of life and domicile, soil beneath our feet and rain upon our brow, lead us from the salted earth and to fields fecund."
The simple ceremony over, for Erastil's services are rarely ostentatious or prolonged, Brother Silas takes a position at the doors out of the sanctuary, greeting and meeting with any locals who choose to speak with him. He is particular, however, to catch every member of the adventuring company he traveled with and request that they meet for an evening in the tavern, as there are "matters of import to discuss that concern us all."
And holy crap I roll a 20 anyway.
"Uh, know wut? Abi? Know wut?"
But she didnt stop or reply to his question, either not hearing him or deciding he didnt need to have that particular remark explained to him.
Looking down at his father next to him, the older man already looking back, Hugo slowly lifted his blacksmith hammer out of its hoop at the front of the leather apron. Smiling at eachother, likely for the first time in years, both men nodded at one another. Reaching up a hand, Papa Smith grasped his sons shoulder, squeezing it tightly. Then without a word having passed between them, he let go of his son, slapping him softly on the back and motioning towards Silas' with a nod of his head.
Hugo started walking towards the Brother, slowly at first as townsfolk were in his way, but speeding up to a full walk as folks realized what was happening behind them and moved to the side to let the man through. As he reached Silas' side, he reached up his hand, placing the hammer securely at the top of the antler, wedged in tightly so as not to fall on anyones heads.
Turning around to look at everyone, he looked as if he too wanted to say something significant at that moment. But finding nothing clever to say and feeling like nothing he could think up would ever seem anything but silly in the wake of Silas' speech, he simply nodded at the crowd, before stepping down and off to the side, to let anyone else have a go of it.
Dun worry kid, I gots it, ya grab me a chair will ya, I tinks its best if I sits at da end of da table, dont ya?"
Returning to the booth, Trant with chair in tow, he placed the drinks on the table. Theres were enough mugs present for more than the four of them. Clearly Hugo was expecting everyone to show up at Silas' request.
At Tomids question, Hugo looked uncertain.
"I dunno Tomid, I wus really 'opin ta get goin soon, I mean I wus almost out da door wen Abi asked fer 'ers."
Sitting down, even Hugo couldnt help but notice the way Zinny held herself after his jest. "Awh dun be like dat Zinny, ya got down from dat rock all by yerself, ya didnt even need any 'elp or nottin! Ya always actin like ya aint gud enouff or somethin. for a moment he looked sad, remembering how he had acted just like that mere months ago. Then he lightened up a bit and nudged her shoulder with a clenched first.
"Not really like I is da one ta talk dough, I done dat all da time too. But den I 'it old Papa over da 'ead wit a chair and now its all gud! Maybe if ya 'it yer Mama over da 'ead...?" he pondered his last statement for a moment, finally realizing that probably wasnt a proper remark to make about someones mother.
"Eeerh, or maybe ya just stand up ta 'er wit words instead? Yer alot better wit dem dan me, ya probably wont need da chair."
Silas, words are a wonderful thing, but the measure of a man is in what he does, not what he says. Your sermon has successfully shifted most of the townsfolk two steps towards you. Those who were mistrustful of you before have shifted one step towards you. These effects are long-lasting for folks who now Friendly and Helpful, but will not last more than the weekend for those few who are Indifferent or worse.
For the group - Silas made an intentional effort to increase your attitude towards him, which will succeed for the short term. If you wish, you may attempt to oppose his Diplomacy check (your Will save vs his Diplomacy check.)
Tomid & Hugo - for the greater good and timing of my adventure, I declare Tomid had his leather armor adapted at the same armorer Zinny had her leather armor adapted.
John - if I remember correctly you are super busy now - please just check in here to let the group know you are still alive and with them.
So...you're together to discuss how you all have been handling things the past few months, and what you plan on doing about it now...
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"I hope Silas makes an appearance," Abigail sighs. "Especially after everything, I'd be sad if he missed his own gathering. And Mister Keel as well-- I hope he arrives on time. And Doctor Ginley. There are so many of us, aren't there? It's easy to lose track."
She yawns sleepily, staring into the distance.
Whatcha need, Abi, is one o' my "House Specials". The halfling disappears behind the bar for a moment. He returns with an coffee drink with just the right kick to it. It tastes minty and cooling even though its hot. This'll perk you up, if you're perkable. he says with his trademark smile. Now drink up before it cools too much.
John - if I remember correctly you are super busy now - please just check in here to let the group know you are still alive and with them.
The Ginley's were among the many who gathered at the temple to hear Silas preach. The words of Silas bring myriad emotions to the man and for a while he lets them reverberate through his being, cementing them to his sense of self. Lost in his thoughts he is surprised by his son tugging on his arm.
Da-a-ad. What's he saying?
It's a story son and a lesson. Reverend Silas reminds us that we each have responsibility towards one another and that a familly is not confined the the walls of our house. Everybody in Daggermark is like your brother and sister. You need to look-out for them, and help them if you can.
The boy nods and while Doc wonders if his son understood, he knows that one day he will.
[/poiler]
[spoiler=in between]
Later that day, he enters the temple itself. In his hand is an old shirt stained pink and brown; the shirt he was wearing on that day. Without hesitation he hangs it upon the antlers. It contrasts sharply with the vespers of Silas but, to Doc at least, they belong there together as symbols af a promises to watch over their people in the best way they can as individuals. One a leader of the comunity whose words guide the flock and the other a healer who mends flesh and broken bones.
Seeking Silas out he hands him a small pouch filled with gold.
I've heard of your efforts in relocating the refugees. I want to help, i would take them in my house but we have no room for anyone right now but maybe this could help
He leaves the parish and heads over to the Bowery and at the counter makes the purchase of a crossbow and several bolts. He then goes to the blacksmith to make the order for a chain shirt. He spends the rest of the evening praticing shooting until he feels comfortable with the weapon.
Stopping at home for supper with his lovely familly he learns that a package he has been waiting for some time now has finally arrived. A surgeon's tool kit of beautifull craftsmanship in a leather roll-open clutch with the name Ginley embossed in the leather. Doc feels guilty as the thought of using it fills him with glee even tough that would mean someone got hurt.
Kissing his wife and making her promises of watching the kids for a night off for her in the near future, Doc leaves for the tavern.
It is still light outside when Doc steps into the tavern. Thankful that the oil lamps havent been lit yet, he wastes no time in ordering a pitcher of cider for himself. He easily spots Hugo at the table. The blacksmith dwarfs every other person in the tavern and his voice was always of the booming kind.
Hugo, Tomid, Abi! How have you all been. I see you got the boys from Cromm's working here. How are they holding up?
Doc kills time with idle chatter with the others as he waits for Silas who had something important to tell them, whatever that might be.
Still, Verella goes forward at the end and drapes one of her bracelets on an antler tine-- she's a pillar of the citizenry, in her, uh, fashion, and it looks good.
Zinny sits there twisting her hands, feeling the vague peer pressure urge to join in in the examples many in the town are setting. But what's she got to put up there?
The answer comes to her and she fumbles in one of her pockets until she can pull out the broken necklace she'd taken off Mayla's body back at Cromm's. 's a pretty little thing, and she's caught herself staring at it some nights just like how she stares at the leather armor, but... the armor serves a purpose (maybe). The necklace is just carryin' guilt around.
Zinny lumbers up to the antlers as well-- her mother gives her a sharp glance, saying with her eyes, What are you doing, girl?-- but Zinny keeps walking.
She drapes the necklace-- a copper wire, a cheap pearl-- over an antler. Tears are threatening again, so Zinny just ducks her head to Erastil-- hopefully the God knows whats she means in her heart-- and hurries back to her pew.
She gives Doc a nod when he shows up, but lets others do the talkin'.
Having failed to prompt anything but silence from Zinny, Hugo shrugged, slightly annoyed and a little worried.
Half way through gulping down the contents of his mug, he suddenly got an idea. "If dat dun get 'er goin nuttin will." Mug still held to his mouth, his voice could be heard from inside the glass, slightly bubbly and with an echo.
"I can come wit ya if ya want, maybe dat makes it easier eeh?"
Docs arrival tore Hugos attention away from Zinny, although once he turned back to the table, he short her a glance, his eyes and brow combining to make that expression that says "Well?"
"'Ey Doc, 'ow ya doin? Dat oil ya made sure is da gud stuff, just look at Abis shirt." he gestured at the chain shirt still draped across Abigails knees. "Real shiny dont ya tink? Polished it maself." Answering Docs question he added: "Ya da boys is doin real gud, 'ard workers dey is." He looked at Abigail. "Dat dun seem ta stop Abi from workin 'erself to da bone though."
Zinny sniggered helplessly at the warbling sound of Hugo's voice reverberating around inside the cup, shaking her head.
"Hugooooo." She made a face at him, scrunching up her nose.
"--you hit your daddy on the head?!" Zinny is clearly shocked by this. "Mercy. An' he didn't hit you back?"
...of course, Zinny thinks, Hugo's much bigger than his daddy. If she'd been his daddy she maybe wouldn't have smacked him back either. But her mind utterly quails from the idea of trying to hit her momma, or even speak back to her.
"... 's diff'rent," she mutters.
Hugo chuckled a bit at Zinnys initial reply.
"'E probably woulda 'it me back if 'e wasnt out cold!" He laughed out loud at his own words, then turned serious again at her last remark, leaning closer to her to speak in a lower tone. Having this conversation in front of everyone was likely to just make it harder to get her to talk about it. Looking around the table he was satisfied to see everyone suitably distracted by Docs arrival.
"I know wut ya mean Zinny. Ya really tink I woulda ever been tinkin about 'ittin Papa over da 'ead if 'e wasnt tryin ta stop me from 'elpin out wit Cromms? No way! I wus too scared of 'im ta ever do dat. But I dids it anyways, cuz I 'ad to. Ya dont really 'ave ta stand up ta 'er I guess, but I is tellin ya Zinny, when ya do, everytin will get better wit 'er, I promise ya. Yer Mama and ma Papa, dey wus da same like dat, I is sure she dun realize she is makin ya miserable, and wen she does, she gonna change, just ya wait and see." Emptying his mug with a satisfied sigh, he poured himself some more, before refilling Zinny glass as well, even though she had hardly gotten through her first serving.
"And wat ya got ta lose by tryin? She gonna treat ya even worse? I dun see 'ow dats even possible."
Zinny fusses with her stein, rotating it on the table and staring down into the midst of the beer.
"I dunno," she says with a shrug of her shoulders. But she frowns at what Hugo says next.
"Hey, my Momma don't treat me bad," she protests, brows knitting together. "You just got to work hard to make a place like the Whip make money! She works hard too! Don't go talkin' bad about her, she ain't some awful person."
Hugo looked surprised at the sudden protest. He was so used to her usually quiet demeanor, but then again, he had never been to the Whip to see her around an unruly patron.
For a moment he looked embarrassed, before his brain caught up with an argument, his brow furrowing to match hers.
"Aint noone sayin yer Mama is bad. Ya dun have ta be a bad person ta treat someone bad ya know. Ma Papa never wanted anythin but da best fer me, but 'is idea of wut was best fer me wasnt wut I wanted. 'E tried so 'ard ta make me do wut he wus tinkin wus best fer me, 'e didnt even know 'e was treatin me bad." Looking down he realized he had both fists on the table, clenched tightly. Relaxing his fingers, he leaned back in his chair, polished wood creaking under his weight. He sighed and did his best to smile.
"Wuts dat sayin again..." he pursed his lips into a pondering pout, brow furrowing for a moment before releasing, his eyebrows jumping as he remembered. "Oh rite, "Ya can bring a 'orse ta water, but ya cant make it drink"...dats 'ow it goes rite?" He nudged her shoulder like before, finally managing a proper grin. "But if ya wont drink da water..." he poked her glass of ale, nudging it another few inches towards her. "...maybe ya drink sumthin else?"
Doc Ginley's freely given golden coins clatter from Silas' hand onto the splintered wooden table covered with discarded snuff, crushed walnuts, beer steins and playing cards. "I'm in."
The hunters at the table exchange glances and place their own antes. The priest appears to be distracted, cracking walnuts shells together in his right hand, but in his peripheral he watches the direction of their eyes.
They were good at hiding their intent. He knew he should be using Doc's money for better purposes. But a bet of 10 gold can quickly become, say, 25 if luck is on your side! That's 15 more gold he could have to provide food for the needy. To pay off people's debts. To buy Daggermark more goodwill!
His throat parches, but he knows better than to take a drink of his ale. They'll all know his tell.
"Raise," he says, barely glancing at his cards, as though he doesn't have to think about it.
Three of the other players buy it and fold. One of them curses and stands up from the table, out of his earnings for the week. The last remaining player looks at the priest, makes a comment about how he and the other villagers must have come into some money for him to be throwing it around so cavalierly, and calls his bluff, demanding a show.
Silas rubs his chin and debates, looking at his hand. He then makes no bones about staring directly at his challenger.
The hunter is unreadable. He's chewing slowly on the end of a stick of jerky, hanging from his calloused lips like chaw. Silas debates the merits of bravado: either lose ten pieces of gold to this ignorant country bastard, or take the risk that he's as full of s%*~ as Silas is full of gold. Every fiber of his being says to fold and flee and get to the Happy Cow right away, but if there's just a chance at taking that whole pot of twenty-three gold...the good he could do with it! Yes!
He throws down his hand with practiced coolness, and waits for the hunter to show.
The priest titters as he rakes in his winnings, his heart beating rapidly at the sound of clinking coins falling into his coinpurse. "Well, my apologies, gentlemen, but I've some friends to meet in town."
Those who folded but remained in the game immediately protest, one of them boisterously, about Silas leaving the game at such an advantageous moment, taking their wages with him.
"Believe me, friends, I'd love nothing more than to stay until after nightfall." The lies he lets drip from his lips are practiced, even if no one in their right mind would believe them in this moment. "But duty calls, aye. Until next time!"
He wastes no time and - carefully, this time - mounts the horse and rides back into Daggermark, leaving the hunting lodge with its trail of chimney smoke and porch full of loose women waving soiled kerchiefs at his backside as he trots away. Once at the Happy Cow, he dismounts, tethers, and enters the tavern. He removes his cap and clutches it to his chest, and then hangs his cloak on one of the pegs.
He first goes to Tomid at the bar. He immediately notices the holy symbol of Sarenrae. "I always had you pegged as this town's little ray of sunshine. Now I know it for truth. May I have some cheese and a bowl of stew? I am famished."
He smiles and lifts his hand in a friendly wave to all of those others gathered.
And so the party finally meets again after a summer of self-imposed isolation. The conversation is awkward at first, coming in bits and pieces over drinks. But before long, whether it's the ale or the months of pent-up frustration, sorrow, anger, and nightmares, they talk. And talk. And cry. And for the first time in too long, they laugh. Finally, they can let go and be with people who really understand them - who have seen the same things.
And it finally dawns on you that you haven't felt normal since returning from the swamp because...well...because you're not normal anymore. You are different from everyone else in this part of the city, and only this small group understands and appreciates it. You also realize that there is nothing wrong with you; not for what you did, not for how you've kept it all in, not for feeling the pull to go back out there.
It is getting late, the fire naught but brightly burning coals, and you are all getting ready to return to your homes, when a young lady bursts into the Tavern. She stares at you, blinks once, then again, and looks so much like the owl on her shoulder that Tomid and Hugo can't help but grin and try to stifle their giggles in their mugs...
It was closing time at the library and Grizelda was finishing up with her duties for the day as Gregor snoozed on his perch nearby. At the sound of the heavy door opening the small grey owl opened one orange-gold eye and gazed at the intruder briefly before shutting it again and resuming his nap.
The visitor stands in the entryway for a moment, observing the scene before her with a look of amused disbelief on her time-worn face. Grizelda sits in a comfortable chair with a book on a reading stand in front of her, paging through it with her left hand. Her right hand, however is busy directing a sort of aerial ballet of books as she points her finger one after another and they fly from their stack on the book cart to their respective shelves. Meanwhile a broom is moving around the room, sweeping the floor... apparently all on it's own.
"Grizelda! What in blue blazes are you doing? It's broad daylight and the door isn't even locked. What if it hadn't been me?"
Grizelda turns from her book and gives the elder woman a long suffering glance. "But of course it was you. Gregor told me, as he always does. Not that he needed to have bothered, I smell that man's cologne on you again. Gah! Does he bathe in it?" Grizelda wrinkles her nose disconcertedly.
"Besides, it's not as if wizardry is prohibited. It's just my backward family that would disapprove. I care not." She turns to assess the broom's progress and nods in approval. "That will do, Claude. Thank you and Goodbye." She makes a small gesture and the broom stops moving and falls into her hand. "Now, what was it you wanted to discuss, Mistress Walsh?"
Mistress Walsh places her hands on her hips and speaks to the younger woman with a scolding tone. "Well, as a matter of fact, it's about that man, as you call him. And don't be so disparaging, Zelda. He's a good friend and I won't have you disrespecting him." Grizelda turns a perplexed look on the woman, not understanding where she has been disrespectful, then ducks her head and simply nods. Mistress Walsh continues, "Anyway, as you know, Master Drenn is a vintner and he's having some troubles out at his vineyard. I was hoping you could look into it for me..."
Grizelda blinks rapidly and her perpetual frown deepens. "Me? What would I know about Vinyards?"
Mistess Walsh smiles at her apprentice warmly and reaches up to place a hand on her shoulder. "Grizelda, you are more knowlegable than anyone in one hundred miles, I'd wager. Something is destroying Burrbarr Drenn's ancient vines and if we can't discern what it is and stop it, his business will fail. That could damage the economy of the entire town. Your talents can be used to do much more valuable things than shelving books and doing common chores, girl!"
"But do not worry, my young friend. I would never ask you to take on such a task alone. Word is that group of folks who went to help Cromm's Hold some months back have been gearing up to leave again. That young halfling, Tomid, is your friend, is he not? Go and speak to him, maybe you can convince him and the others to meet with dear Burrbarr. I'm certain he'll compensate you well, and you know we need new books for the Library. Besides, Zelda dear, I always say; experience is the best teacher. Mistress Walsh winks at her blinking apprentice and scratches Gregor on top of his head fondly, waking him up. "Go on dear, I'll lock up here."
Grizelda's brow knits together in an confused and somewhat rueful expression, but she does as her mistress bids. She takes up Gregor from his perch and nuzzles the groggy owl before placing him upon her shoulder and heading toward the Library exit. Mistress Walsh watches her with a wistful expression as she rubs her lower back with the palm of one hand. She grins as a thought occurs to her and adds a final command, "And speak to a man while you're there, for Nethys sake!" Grizelda stiffens and turns a shocked expression on her mentor, who merely chuckles at her discomfort and waves her onward to her appointed task. Gregor shakes all over and fluffs out his feathers, becoming much more alert after sensing his master's strong emotions.
Grizelda storms out of the Library in a huff with a deep frown and fierce look in her eyes. Her thoughts flying and occupying her attention, she forgets to shield Gregor's eyes until she senses the creatures discomfort. She lumbers down the street with one fist clenched at her side, barely noticing and not caring at the fretful glances she draws as she makes her way to the Happy Cow Tavern. She hated the way Mistress Walsh teased her over her aversion to men.
'I expect no one ever looked at her as if they'd been presented yesterdays porridge instead of the fresh, hot meal they were expecting...' Grizelda tried to push away the memories of revolted suitors who stormed out of her parents parlor again and again until she finally refused to meet with them anymore.
She puffs out her cheeks in a flustered manner and flaps her hands briskly, trying to release the negative feelings. Gregor glares at everyone, trying to locate the source of his master's agitation and frightening many a meek soul with his fierce countenance. As they reach their destination Grizelda puts the unpleasant memories behind her and tries to adopt a neutral expression as she enters the tavern.
Grizelda enters the Happy Cow in a cautious fashion. The "Owl Lady" of Daggermark was not often seen in the tavern, but she was not completely unknown to the establishment. She had from time to time consulted with Tomid about difficult to procure substances and had paid him well with scandalous information more than once. Usually about her own older sisters...
She is a plump woman of average height, wearing blue and grey scholar's robes. Her face is round and pale like the full moon with large grey-blue eyes. She wears reading glasses on a chain around her neck and sometimes forgets to take them off, as she has done today. The lenses magnify her eyes making her look comically similar to the small grey owl perched on her shoulder. Her mouse-brown locks are swept up into a messy low bun and pinned into place with grey owl feathers. She has the unfortunate feature of always appearing like she is frowning, even when her expression is relaxed. She has a very bird-like manner, peering at everything and blinking excessively. She holds her arms at her sides with her fingers extented as she approaches the bar, almost as if she intented to take flight if need be.
She takes a seat at the bar and quietly observes the scene for several minutes.
Tomid pauses his polishing of the glassware as the librarian enters his domain. Grizy! Its been too long. What brings you in? He hurries over to his customer, giving her his ear, partly out of the hope to hear some new juicy bit of gossip, and partly out of fear she is going to announce something to the bar that half his regulars will take offense at, costing him business.
Grizelda flinches involuntarily at her family's pet name for her but merely blinks at the young halfling curiously considering his greeting. "Has it? I wasn't aware there was a gauge for such things. Hmm... I've come in to speak to you, of course, dear boy. Shall we exchange pleasantries first? Yes, I'll begin. How is your mother? I hope she is well." There is a rehearsed manner to this last bit and her eyes go a bit unfocused as she says it as she waits for Tomid's reply.
"There, now that is out of the way, I would like to consult you regarding your..." She pauses, trying to think of the appropriate word. "...mercenary services? Would that be amenable to you?"
Zinny had been giggling helplessly at one of the stories from the others-- it hadn't even been SO funny, but... it was good just to laugh, to think about something other than bein' tired all the time.
It's funny-- she didn't never used to mind the work. Oh, sure, she'd gotten tired back Before, after a full day-- but that was just how you knew you'd done a good day's labor, like the gods meant for you to do. She'd never been... unhappy with it. She'd taken pride in keeping the place swept, and in being useful.
But ever since the swamp, the idea of doing such tasks as hauling barrels up and down the stairs, or fixing a broken table leg, or airing out the bedchambers, had just seemed so.... pointless. It was hard to take pride in a 'job done well' when she'd stood shoulder to shoulder with the others, ready to face down murderous monsters.
Like it or not, it felt good to be among 'em, again.
She mulled over Hugo's words about her mother as she nursed her ale, giving him a tired half-smile and saying she'd think about it. She would, too-- Zinny didn't come to quick decisions often, she turned her thoughts over and over in her head like rocks in the river, until they were smooth and polished.
Her musings were interrupted by the Owl Lady comin' on in. Zinny blinked up at the woman, who Zinny herself rarely saw-- not like Grizelda came to the Whip often, of course, and Zinny was not exactly a regular patron of the library, either. (Shoot, most days she din't read beyond a chore list.) She couldn't claim to know the woman well, but she thought it was odd she was here in the tavern.
At Tomid's direction, Grizelda drifts over toward the party of adventurers, peering at each of them in turn with her magnified eyes. She seems to be assessing them each one at a time, giving no hint as to her verdict. She nods to Doc Ginley in greeting briefly and then assumes a posture like a lecturer addressing a room full of scholars. She paces as she speaks, not looking at anyone in particular. A trick her Mistress taught her for dealing with anxiety over speaking before a group.
"Greetings to you all. My name is Grizelda Blau and I must speak to you regarding a task my Mistress has charged me with. As this establishment is a wine seller, you may be familiar with Burrbarr Drenn. He is a local Vintner and is apparently having some trouble with some manner of pest or beast, which is destroying his crop. He needs someone to look into the matter and my Mistress, Fiona Walsh, has asked that I do this. As I have no experience in the *cough* field, so to speak, she suggested I seek out your aid in this endeavor. If your services are available, perhaps you will meet me here again tomorrow morning. Master Drenn will be here to discuss the errand in more detail."
Grizelda completes her pronouncement and stops pacing nodding to herself, Gregor mimicking her movement as he tends to do. The effect is quite humorous to see. Grizelda stands by, hoping to receive some sort of assent, at least to the meeting.
Tomid suppresses a giggle before encouraging the group. The wine is in danger! he states with a grin. There will never be a more noble cause. I am in. What say the rest of you?
You have agreed to meet with the winemaker to hear what he has to say. It is midmorning when you enter the tavern - it is empty except for Grizelda and a tanned gnome dressed in a plain linen shirt and brightly colored woolen pants. A light plume of smoke hovers over his head from his small pipe. He smiles at you when you enter, happily takes a pull on the pipe, and blows the smoke in your direction; it smells faintly of cherries and cloves and is actually quite pleasing. He nimbly hops off of the chair and walks up to the group, shaking hands with each of you.
”Well met, everyone. My name is Burrbarr Drenn, the owner and proprietor of Drenn Winery. As you may have heard, I have a problem that a group with your, erm, qualifications, are uniquely suited to handle. You see, I need you to come with me back to my vineyard and stop whatever creatures are damaging my prized Viognier vines! If something isn’t done soon my entire crop may be ruined, and I cannot survive a year without the wine from these superior grapes.”
”If you stop the creature and save my vines, I will pay 30 gold and give a bottle of last year’s wonderful Merlot to each of you! How can you refuse – the wine alone is worth your time. What do you say – do we have a deal?”
Hugo had entered the tavern with an excited, quickened stride, ready to take on the world. With a smile on his face, he had nodded his greeting to the Gnome, but then he had gone practically slack-jawed as soon as the first sentence had left Burrbarrs mouth. "Pru-pra-iieeeh-teeer? Wut da 'ell is a Pru...wat da 'ell is dat?" by the time he had run out of ideas as to what this mysterious title could possibly mean, he snapped back to his senses just in time to hear the Gnomes question.
"Uuueeh, Yarh! Wes gots it dun we!?" He looked at each in turn, excitement and puzzlement alike written plainly on his face. Too embarrased to let on that he had no idea what he was getting into, he hefted his hammer in both hands, repeatedly slapping the head of the weapon into his palm.
Tomid has shown up wearing his new chain shirt. He does not know what is threatening those grapes but he is not going to take any chances. I am in. We go to the vineyard and see what is causing your vines a problem, and then we make them stop causing that problem. Sounds easy enough.
Zinny had been nervously about to protest she wasn't really... that.. qualified... but in the end, her own desire to go along had convinced her to shut her mouth up, even if she had the nervous, blushing demeanor of one who is a) inexperienced in the ways of lying and b) committing a lie of omission, as she sees it.
All the same, she'd let herself get swept along in the tide of goin' to see the fellow. This had meant, effectively, sneaking out from home. Oh, momma was gonna be so mad. So very mad.
But for once in her life she couldn't care too much. Better to go an' feel like you was livin' for a little while, and get lectured sick when you got home. Momma wasn't happy no-how, so may as well go have fun!
At least, that was her rationale when fetching the gear she had stowed away. Somewhere along the way her common sense started pointing out that most of the previous trip, she'd been terrified. And now she was going back to do more of that? Stupid, stupid.
She said none of this aloud. When Mister Drenn promised his wine to them, though, her eyes widened. Momma liked Mister Drenn's wine. Maybe-- just maybe-- that bottle could soothe Momma's anger.
Zinny raised a nervous hand. "'scuse me, Mister Drenn, sir-- do you, uh, d'you know anythin' 'bout just what is eatin' on your vines?"
Grizelda sat some distance from the smoking Gnome, gazing at him with narrowed lids and picking her breakfast from her teeth with the long fingernail of her little finger. Gregor snoozes on her shoulder, making a slight buzzing hum, like an odd sort of owlish snore.
She listened to the Gnome's request, but only with a perfunctory ear. She did this because her Mistress bid her, but she couldn't imagine it would be anything too difficult or even interesting. In fact, it seemed much more likely that it was all some sort of silly trial her mentor wished her to face. An exercise in teamwork, or some other manner of twaddle.
'Or maybe it's all a ruse to get the good little watchful apprentice out of the way for the purposes of harming Mistress Walsh...' The thought brought Grizelda ram-rod straight. She looks at the vintner with sudden suspicion. Leaping onto Zinny's innocent query, Grizelda says,
"Excellent question, girl! Master Drenn, do you have a record of when and where the damage was done? I can review it while we travel and arrive prepared. Are the attacks occurring at night? What sort of defenses are the creatures evading?"
Sense Motive on Drenn:
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"That's a good question," Abigail notes with a quick nod. She'd come along and left the children in Ewan's care, and even half-looked the part of the adventurer this time. The holy symbol of the Lucky Drunk hung from a belt loop on her jerkin that wrapped around her chain shirt, obscuring it from view.
To the alchemist this seemed like a perfect day for a stroll at the vinyard. The sun was promising a nice hot day and birds were filling the air with chirpy songs. He had of course brought his gear, even his crossbow but right now he wasnt wearing the leather apron. It was rolled and stuffed in the bag he had brought.
We are here to help. You have a wonderful vinyard Master Drenn, i am sure that Miss Ginley would love come and see it herself sometimes. Do you allow visits? More on the task at hand, how big are the critters damaging your vines?
"Excellent. Excellent! We have a deal then! As for the type of creature harming my vineyard, I unfortunately do not know; hence, my traveling all the way to the city to employ your valuable services! I have a low stone wall surrounding my property, but it consists of stacked stone and is not mortared. We have some deer, of course, that like to snack on my grapes, but my workers usually keep them in check. It is a fair trade - I let them eat some grapes, and we hunt them for our meat and leather needs. But they do not cause this kind of trampling and breakage."
"I have not seen wild hogs in the forest surrounding the vineyard in many years, but one never knows where a herd may roam. A large boar may have broken through the wall...but this is merely conjecture. You will have to speak with the foreman and my farmhands for additional details, I'm afraid!"
"I would like to leave shortly after lunch; it will take us half a day to ride to my vineyard. Since you will likely not return until at least tomorrow, please go and pack whatever items you require. I will have horses prepared for you at the stables, and you may sleep in my bunkhouse for as long as required. Meals, of course, are also included. We can talk more as we ride; however, if you will excuse me, I have some last minute business to attend." Drenn looks at Grizelda as he speaks the last sentence and winks. He is sure the young librarian realizes his interest in Fiona is more than professional; he is also sure she disapproves and takes great pleasure in slyly hinting at Fiona's and his trysts whenever possible.
Drenn shakes each of your hands again, grinning around his pipe, and then waits for you to leave before heading out on his own towards the library.
Zinny scratches at her head in the wake of the gnome's rattled-off facts, a frown settling between her brows.
"We ain't even know what we s'posed to deal with," she says unnecessarily to the rest of the room. "I guess if some boar's broken through his wall, tho, his foreman an' all would know."
Zinny is not wearing her armor yet either-- all her 'gear' is stuffed into the rucksack on her back, save the bow and her big club, which do not fit in it and have been jammed through loops on the side instead.
Hugo mimiced Zinny head scratch, adding his own nugget of widom.
"I aint all clever likes or nuttin, but dun ya tink if it wus sum kinda animal, dey coulda 'andled it demselves? I means it dun take much ta set a trap fer a boar if ya know where its gunna go."
At the Happy Cow
The priest allows a goodly amount of time to pass by before getting to the topics of conversation. A lot of it is the younger citizens speaking amongst themselves playfully, while Silas himself engages Ginley in talk about his family and on the topic of mundane healthcare advancements made in the nearest cities of the River Kingdoms, as well as a few things he has heard about supposed pollution of the waterways from industrial growth by settled Brevics.
Before he has a chance to entertain everyone with his concerns, Grizelda underscores them with perfection, giving him the opportunity to speak up shortly after she does.
"And this, friends, was one of the things I had thought to bring up amongst us all this evening. After what happened at Cromm's Hold and the choices we made, there are bound to be individuals who come to us, separately or in whole, to solve problems that they either do not wish to bother the Daggermark guard with..."
He shrugs. "...or that they don't want the Daggermark guard to know anything about. As for my other concern, well, that can wait."
Instead of grilling Grizelda about the details, he realizes she is just the messenger. "It is certainly no problem to meet with Burrbarr. I'm fond of his crisper summer and autumn vintages."
Meeting Burrbarr
After giving his greetings to the gnome, the priest of Erastil smiles good-naturedly. "I look forward to dinner on the vineyard, Burrbarr. I've heard you're an excellent host," he lies, in the effort to ensure that their host lives up to a faulty expectation and treats the company well. "As far as the fields go, we'll have a chat with your crew about what they've seen, but I think first we'll want to see the damage itself. I just have to put together an overnight bag and I'll meet everyone back here."
Grizelda bristles visibly at the Gnome's innuendo, and glowers at his outstretched hand before shaking it. Her Mistress would have words with her again if she disrespected him. But none would mistakenly think she liked the little man.
'What could she possibly see in him? He doesn't even keep proper records!'
Grizelda stands to go and gather her things and finds herself with Zinny and Hugo standing on either side of her. She cranes her neck and goggles up at them with her wide, blinking grey eyes.
"Tomid, I'd no idea your associates were so... titanic. *blink*blink*
I must finish gathering supplies. I trust I will see you shortly." Grizelda raises her eyebrows and her frown stretches nearly flat out. Her cheeks dimple in an odd expression that seems to indicate amusement as she chortles lightly while scratching Gregor's belly on her way out the door.
Profession(Librarian):
Subconciously, Hugo held his breath for a second after the librarians remark, sticking his chest and chin forward with a satisfied smile. Being so large had never earned him much other than the occational stares, but as an adventurer, he would look just the part.
[Ooc]Searching for the needle, Grizelda? You could search forever...however, you can do a little research in one knowledge area (nature or arcane) to get a one-time +1 bonus when you get to the vineyard...[ooc]
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You meet early that afternoon with all of your new adventuring gear worn or freshly packed, wrapped, and ready to go. Burrbarr has horses ready for you – even for the larger members of the party. Burrbarr himself rides a small pony; he sits with practiced ease and waits for the rest of you to mount up, still smoking his little pipe and holding a steaming mug of coffee.
Once you are ready he sets off through the city gate and follows the road to the northeast. You breathe deeply and know that it is going to be another beautiful late-summer day – partly cloudy, very warm in the afternoon, with only a chance of a passing thunderstorm. It feels good to finally be out and on your way. The trip passes without incident as you ride past the many farms and various small hamlets similar to Cromm’s.
Along the way Drenn explains that for five successive nights, vines in the eastern portion of his vineyard have been trampled and badly damaged. At first he sent his hired hands out to patrol the eastern portion of the vineyard, but the worthless sots refuse to leave the bunkhouse after dark now. Hence the need to ride in to town and hire you…
Drenn’s vineyard is quite remote – it takes a good four hours to reach the turn-off from the main road to his land. His vineyard sweeps across the south-facing slopes of a broad and lightly forested valley, with a small river at the bottom running roughly west to southeast. The vines are heavy with ripening and ripened grapes, which you can smell as you ride through the area. You see Drenn’s large manor at the top of a hill, with a bunkhouse and other outbuildings that must be used for making and storing the wines. Burrbarr leads you up to his stables, where a couple of human boys wait to take your horses. He then introduces you to Croaker Norge, an old dwarf in brown breeches and white shirt who bids you to follow.
Croaker leads your party to the bunkhouse, where he shows you a pair of rooms, one for the women and the other for the men, where you may stay for the duration of your business. Down the hall is a single bath, and there are several outhouses behind the building. You also notice a basin with water and towels just inside each entrance from outside – obviously for the workers to wash their hands before touching anything and getting grimy handprints on the walls and doors. Croaker announces dinner will be set at 1830 and asks if you need anything else. If not, he silently withdraws and leaves you alone.
Hugo enjoyed the ride to the estate. He didnt usually have much time to enjoy a day like this, often quite the contrary. A hot day at the forge wasnt counted amongst his favorites, but sitting on a horse and quietly moving across the countryside was another thing entirely. When they reached the estate he was practically half asleep in the saddle, swaying dangerously as his mount came to a halt.
"Mighty nice place ya gots 'ere. Aint nuttin like dis in da city."
Being introduced to Croaker he greeted the dwarf with a hearthy handshake, before wondering out loud:
"Croaker? Dun sound like any Dorf names I 'as ever 'eard." Realizing the potential rudeness of such a remark he quickly added: "Eeerrhh well Den again I aint 'eard dat many Dorf names."
During the wait for the evening meal, Hugo took a casual stroll through the plantation, making a round and having a look at the area. Once he returned, he started busying himself with preparing himself for the dinner, removing his gear and armor and putting on his good shirt and pants. Afterwards he took a while to wash his face and hands.