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Looking down into his glass, and indeed into the past, Garekk replies "I was chosen by my tribe to go on Spirit Quest 3 years ago. Every generation sends one youngling just shy of being accepted as an adult. As a condition of our coming of age, we are assigned a task to benefit the tribe and cannot return until we complete it. My task is to learn the natures of Good and Evil. To KNOW them. So that I may see my place and my tribes place in this world. I am learning very quickly of the evil that is in mens hearts and in your world. I miss my tribe and my home dearly, yet I feel that I am a very long way from ever seeing it again. That is what has brought me here. Just as a quick wound is dealt with better than a small one, I felt the best place to learn of evil would be nearest the Great Wound. So... In effect, I have lost my family and my home.. Although I may eventually be able to return, I know not when.. should I survive."
Moved by the openness of the half orc's tale, Rois decides to tell the truth rather than put a silver lining on his words and his mission, "I am Sir Rois of Lastwall, of the Knights of Ozem. At Lastwall, when a man dies in battle, and after we bury his remains, we remember him by having competitions of strength and swearing oaths of justice. Then, on the morn, the dead man's fellows muster their courage and ride out beyond the wall to wreck havoc on the Orc Hoards." He pauses for a moment to think. "There are no orcs in these parts, but, a feat of strength could still bring honor to your brother. And, oaths can still be sworn in the name of justice."
"Young one, your family is important, you must go to them, before they are dead like mine. There is no good or bad, just luck and unluck, love hate, family and foe. If you love them, then go back, and fight for them... ...And for my brother's sake, win that damned fight."
He inhales gently, as if his ribs were broken. Vorelloex's reality was gingerly coming back to his mind.
Upon hearing Rois' idea, he nods with a Grave brow.
"Aye mister Rois, I'll be fighting for him until I die, or until I can get him back..."
He wasn't what he would articulate as 'okay', but Vorel was glad to be in company of those who know the toils of warfare and consequence.
...But as a flashfire, his penitent rage engulfed him.
"BUT HE WON'T COME BACK! I LET HIM DIE! CHISOHK!"
The drunken Kellid throws his first, near-empty mug to the floor, and it dashes across the ground like the purple blood of his brother.
Hearing the commotion from the other room, the monk emerges and gives the half-elf a stern gaze reminiscent of a father staring down an unruly child.
"You are causing the mother undue stress. I would advise against such demonstrations of agony... Please,... we don't want to risk the lives of both mother and child."
His gaze shifts into a look filled with understanding. He simply doesn't want to endanger the lives of those in the back. Waiting a few more seconds to let it sink in, Swift turns about-face and re-enters the makeshift delivery room.
"Don't you just want to spend an hour braiding his beard?" Calistria says as a giddy aside to the gnomish cleric.
Then she's back at work.
"She's crowning! You're crowning. Okay. We're going to be pushing now. You need to remember to breath."
Rois looks up at the new voice and recognizes him and the man who was sitting by the half-elf when he entered the tavern. He means well Rois noted, but he is going about it all wrong. His accusations are bound to cause our friend here more grief.
Placing a caring hand on the Vorelleox' shoulder, Rois stands and turns towards the monk. He takes the monk aside and says softly, so the half-elf won't overhear,
"Listen lad, I know you mean well and all, but, we have things covered here." he then moves so that the man can see both his broach of Iomedae's holy symbol on his cloak and the dagger at his belt, "If he makes any other disturbances, we will subdue him. But, he clearly needs to get out his grief. You are welcome to join us if you like. We are about to glorify his brother in some taletelling and feats of strength, I think."
"I understand. I didn't mean to be harsh, but considering the circumstances, I had to be firm. The babe is almost out, I will join in the revelries once the mother has been taken care of."
He returns to the mother's side as the cleric cries out, announcing the imminent arrival of the baby.
"By the gods, what have I gotten myself into now?"
Youth, Rois thinks back fondly, remembering his own life at that age when he was back in Lastwall studying to become a soldier, There is something great in that one. He will go far...if the fog of this place does not kill him first.
The aged officer takes his seat back at the table, "So, Vorelleox, tell us of your brother. Let us honor him and let our words bring some justice to his death."
The tavern wasn't very large, and although Voryn was sitting in the back of the room, it was difficult to avoid hearing the conversation of the three men, especially the loud grieving half-elf, who it seemed had already had too much to drink. The man with the slight orcish features was apparently on some sort of spirit quest, and the man in the chainshirt who had given a round claimed to be a Knight of Ozem. Interesting stories Voryn thought to himself.
He got up and slowly walked to the table of the three, adressing Rois. "Excuse me. I just wanted to say thank you for the round of ale. I figured the least I could do was introduce myself. Name's Voryn Chaldov. I am a huntsman by trade."
"Hello Voryn. I am Sir Rois of the Knights of Ozem. Pleased to meet you. You are very welcome for the drink. Please, grab a seat. We are about to hear the glorious tales of this man's honorable, recently deceased, brother."
The broach is of a downward longsword made of gold and silver. A stylized, golden halo weaves around the hilt of the sword and forms the letters "KO", indicating the Knights of Ozem. The broach is equally ornate and functional.
A successful knowledge check determines that this broach is the identifying mark of a member of the Knights of Ozem. Anyone wearing this broach is a true knight and has been awarded the title of "sir".
Inside swelling subjectivity, the elvish kellid grimaces at his rebuker.
Upon the request of Sir Rois, he perks back up, again preoccupied.
"You want to hear a true tale? Well, there's none truer than tha story of my own blazing next o' kin. Relthas Ledir, my bones and blood, was the most steely-faced Kellid y'ever could meet. He taught me er'thing our father didn't... He was the smartest of us. He showed me how to skin my first oliphant, how to treat the tusks and cure the meats, how to slay a man with my bear fists, how to cuss in fuive tongues, how to make a woman fall in love with 'ye..."
...He trails on about his 'great' martial feats, the women he laid, and all the nibs of wisdom he taught the distraught Vorel; all those things elder brothers say to their runts that inspires them for the rest of their lives.
Before becoming rash again, Vorel ends the 'True Tale of Relthas Ledir the Mammoth Warlord' on what a Kellid would consider a happy note; covered in the entrails and gut-twine of their racial foes...
Vorelloex begins to get lost in his rambling, and between that and the brews, he begins to start to nod off, almost ready to fall into babesleep...
Voryn sat and listened quietly to the intriguing stories of kellid life. The life of the kellid was something that Voryn respected, as a worshipper of Erastil, who teaches his followers to embrace traditional and simpler ways of life. His own lifestyle was not much different from theirs, living off the land, hunting and gathering, in the ustalavian wilderness. The difference was that Voryn was alone. He had no tribe. No brother. He had lost his mother to disease when he was very young, and had grown up alone with his father, Valslav Chaldov, who had taught him everything about hunting and surviving in the wilderness. His father was no more. He had been killed by the mortal wounds he had been inflicted fighting the werewolf that had mauled Voryn, when he was a young teen. Since then, Voryn had been on his own.
As Vorelloex seemed to begin to doze off, Voryn turned his attention to the Knight of Ozem.
"What brings a Knight of Ozem to Silvam?"
"Lastwall has long depended on volunteers from Ustalav. Many of our bravest soldiers are from southern Calphas. But, recently, recruitment from this area has dwindled." Rois pauses before continuing, not sure how much to tell the stranger...
"I'm here as a representative of my Order to try and find reason to this strange, new pattern. And, if it is needed, help bring normalcy back to Silvam. I want to believe the low recruitment is because of natural causes, but, I suspect a far more troubling answer. Voryn, you are from around here, are you not? Can you shed any light to my mystery?"
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No, I wouldn't like to spend an hour braiding his beard. I wouldn't like to spend five minutes braiding his beard, Hailey thinks to herself, but again, wisely doesn't say it. Why bother with such silly things, Sister Sweetness and Light, when the mysteries of magic await? How could you possibly think of anything else . . . oh, yes, because you're following the wrong god.
She instead concentrates on bringing the blankets.
"I'll prepare the water for cleaning the baby. Have you parents picked a name yet?" she quickly pipes in, looking at the mother in hopes of deflecting her attention from the screaming.
She then goes to prepare the water for cleaning the baby when she has found enough blankets.
"Aye, indeed I am, and I'm afraid that you are right to suspect a far more troubling answer. Things are bad around these parts you know. Bad enough with poor harvests and disease, but far worse things are going on. Unnatural things. There's a good reason why most folks around here have symbols on their houses to ward off evil, and why some even have their homes blessed by Bayan. I've heard strange tales aplenty. Whispered tales. Tales of strange murders and disapperances. Tales of sinister cults and wicked witches stealing away children to sacrifice them in exchange for fell powers. Tales of werewolves and vampires, and other undead and cursed beings attacking villages. All that considered, I am not surprised that your recruitment has dwindled."
Hailey is directed to a closet that has plenty of old spare blankets.
With all the strangers around the locals begin to drift out as they finish their drinks, braving to storm the short distance home.
Bayan stays by the bar chatting quietly with Antal and Gregor.
Rois makes a sign of warding, common to the faith of Iomedae, "By the shining sword, this is troubling news. What are your thoughts on this? What of your neighbors?"
A jolt of pain races up the monk's arm as the birth-giver squeezes in pain and let's out a scream. Swift stifles a yelp and reassures the woman.
"The time is nigh! Do not fret, we will take care of you. Just a little further!"
"This baby better be coming out soon, lest I lose a hand from blood loss."
The monk longs for a nice nap in one of the beds awaiting him in the upstairs room. All things considered, today had been a long day, what with the bandit attack, the bereaved half-elf and this storm-born child.
"I don't actually live here in town. I live in the woods. I know how to protect myself." Voryn touches the hilt of his greatsword.
"I've even procured some silver arrows in case I come up against a werebeast again. As you can see, last time I did, didn't bode well for me." Voryn touches the horrible scars on his face.
"In the past I've done my best to help protect the people of Silvam, and I've become quite experienced laying the undead to rest. Speaking of laying the undead to rest, Bayan over by the bar is the local priest of Pharasma. He might know more on the subject than me."
"Thank you, sister." Calistria says to the helpful Hailey. "This isn't a moment too soon.
Indeed, the blessed moment has arrived. Screaming can soon be heard throughout the tavern as the mother pushes, struggling to push out something the size of a watermelon through something the size of a grapefruit.
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A snore from Vorelloex breaks Garekk's reverie after the tales end. " I apologize, my new friends. All this talk of family and loss has my mind traveling the long roads of both past and future." Looking at the rest of the companions, he says "What say we get our mournful friend here into a bed?" Looking about the room, Garekk calls out to the innkeep. "Sir? I hesitate to trespass on your time during such duress, but our friend here needs a room to sleep off his worry. Must I settle up our debts with you now, or may we count our tallies in the morning?"
A snore from Vorelloex breaks Garekk's reverie after the tales end. " I apologize, my new friends. All this talk of family and loss has my mind traveling the long roads of both past and future." Looking at the rest of the companions, he says "What say we get our mournful friend here into a bed?" Looking about the room, Garekk calls out to the innkeep. "Sir? I hesitate to trespass on your time during such duress, but our friend here needs a room to sleep off his worry. Must I settle up our debts with you now, or may we count our tallies in the morning?"
If you run off without paying your debts the Baron will have a price on your head by the end of the day. That and no sane man wanting to be out in weather like this without breaking his fast should be assurance enough.
Garekk nods his head in complete understanding. "Honoring to yourself and your tribe is ingrained even as we are yet babes, where I come from. However, I can settle for myself tonight if you wish.. Just tell me the damage. I was mainly concerned for our friend here."[b] [b]
2 silver should cover it for you.
"Well.. It's been a long day. Time for me to bid you all a good night." Voryn bids the others goodnight, pays Antal 15 copper for a bed in the common room, and turns in for the night.
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Garekk hand over a gold piece. "Blessings on your growing family, sir."
Antal accepts it quickly. Better be careful stranger, some might risk the Baron's wrath if such coins appear on you to frequently.
With the baby safely delivered, Swift proceeds to clean the sweat gathered on his brow.
With the family in the safe care of the others, he makes his way to the bar, checks out a room and promptly falls asleep in the comfort of the covers.
"What a momentous occasion. Surely nothing could top this....."
The rest of you slowly drift away to bed now that the child is delivered and the storm shows no sign of letting up. Bayan finishes his drink and leaves. It is a rough night's sleep as if anything the storm gets worse during the night.
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By dawn the storm has broken, and the sun rises over a soaked land. You wake to the smells of a delicious breakfast cooking downstairs.
Swift rises early in the morning, as per his daily routine, and meditates on the previous days events. He thinks of things past, his current situation and ponders on the future. Once at peace with himself, he exits his room and heads to the main floor to get himself a small breakfast.
Voryn enters the main tavern room, greets Antal and who else is there good morning, gets himself a plate of breakfast and goes to join Swift-Palm at his table.
"Goodmorning Mister Swift-Palm. Quite a day yesterday huh?"
Vorelloex wakes as if he were just plunged into subzero waters, gasping for air out of jarring shock. His temples pound, and his memory bounds backward, but is barred by the ale's vengeance.
When his eyes snap open, he surveys the room around him as if it were a crowd of people, trying to pickpocket him.
"Svaklar mi si? ...Svabol shinalta?"
He smells the food downstairs, and bussels through the unknown labyrinth he awoke in to find the scent's source.
He sees the scene in which he met men and mourned amidst meager meads, and the hunger of his gut demands he demand it filled.
"Morn, Innmonger. I need a plate of food, full and warm."
He throws what he would think as suffice coin onto the bartable.
If it was possible you would think Antal never left his place behind the bar.
The delicious smells are coming from the kitchen where, Yamira and Gregor are preparing the breakfast.
by the time Vorelloex gets down stairs two other patrons, Swift palm and Voryn, are already seated waiting for the food.
Shortly thereafter Bayan enters and sits in a corner away from everyone. Smells delicious as always Yamira
Vorel takes the remaining three coins of fifteen he placed on the counter into his pocket.
The kellid mutters to himself and grinds his fists into his forehead.
"Gah, si jahus zyak sheelot..."
He sits alone, coincidentally where he sat last night, thinking he remembers the two men talking on the side of the room, but not sure.
His emotions tell him through subconsious instinct that the scarred man is good folk, but for some reason the wizened one rubs him ever-so slightly the wrong way...
"Quite the day indeed, master Voryn. Today shall be a day of rest and mediation. I have much to think about, scrolls to read and my body to train."
Swift notices the brooding half-elf sequestered in the corner. He gives Voryn an quick nod, and addresses the barbarian in a jovial tone.
"My, my, this morning does not seem to bode well for you! How about you join us at our table so that we may break bread together? Breakfast is on me!"
Swift flashes him a genuine smile. He also notes the presence of Bayan in the corner.
Vorelloex raises his left eyebrow for a moment in suspicion, but then quickly resigns to his stomach's desires, and hastily scoops up the rest of his coin before the shopkeep takes it.
He turns to the men as he approaches their table.
"Thank you... mister. Last night, I vaguely remember your company... What are the both of you called? I am Vorelloex Ledir."
As he announces his surname, again the memories of the night last come upon him in a flash, as if to strangle him.
His gut churns for his brother, but he is a man, a strong Kellid at that, and won't let the past or his emotions rule him as a slave.
His eyes focus, and he bites down his mournful scorn as best he can.
"Not to worry, you may call me Swift-Palm, or Swift if you prefer. You doused your inner fire with the caress of alcohol, and no one can blame you."
Something about Bayan seems to unnerve the monk, taking away his focus from the current conversation.
"What are your opinions of that man in the corner. The priestly one. Something about him has me on edge"
"Seems shifty, not strong. Wouldn't last a night in the mountains... Or in the northern forest..."
Vorelloex doesn't feel completely safe with these new people yet, but for the food he humors them. He supposes they are each hearty men however, and with the loss of his brother, Vorel doesn't know it but he desperately needs a voice of confidence and guidance in his life, if he means to keep some abstract semblance of humanity and civility...
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Calistria slept fitfully that night. Then she woke and headed to the basin to wash her face. Once that was done she went outside to use the outhouse.
And when that was done?
Calistria danced in the courtyard in glorious homage to the Goddess Desna.
"Blessed be, my Lady," Calistria shouts as she lifts her arms to the sky, "For you have welcomed another traveler into the world. Thank you for guiding my hands to help give save passage to the newborn babe. Guide my wanderings today. May I go someplace grand!"
Calistria steps back into the tavern and walks over to retrieve her pack.
"Time to be on my way, then. A quick stop to see if anyone has a message to courier away and I'm off. Calistria announces happily. Still, she cannot help but notice the delicious food. And her stomach rumbles even as her coin purse cries.
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Antal brings the food out for those who are downstairs. As he gives Bayan his food the two converse briefly.
"Antal, zie ik veel zijn hier nog steeds. hopelijk nu dat de storm voorbij is zullen ze verder gaan.
"Inderdaad, mijn vriend, ze lijken te veel munt voor eenvoudige reizigers hebben, de ene gaf me een volledige goudstuk gisteravond."
As the cleric enters the room, the monk notices her look of despair.
"Perhaps she doesn't have enough coin for a meal?"
"Lady priestess. I couldn't help but gaze upon you in your hour of need. Come, sit, your food shall be payed for. After all, no one usually compliments my beard!"
Calistria laughs and claps her hands together.
"Thank you lady." She offers thanksgiving to Desna. "And thank you, my friend. My name is Calistria. I'm a member of the Sacred Order of Couriers."
She takes a seat at Swift-Palm's table.
"Name's Voryn. Voryn Chaldov. Huntsman. Regarding the man in the corner, his name is Bayan and he is the local priest of Pharasma. He does a lot to help the people of Silvam. He tends to the sick, blesses homes, ensures the care of graves and other such work. He's a good man, but he's very cautious around strangers, as many people around these parts are. He always eats here at the Swiftfeet tavern."
When Calistria comes to the table, Voryn looks at her and says:
"Good day to you priest. I am Voryn Chaldov. Huntsman. I heard you helped deliver the baby yesterday and that everything went well. Lucky that you were here."
Rois comes down the stairs. The grime of the road had been waked away Ferrin hos gave and hair.
Vorel, I see you are doing better. He then acknowledged the rest of the crowd. Some he recognizes, some faves ate new to him. 'Morn everyone. Pleased to meet you.
Rois Walks over to the table, orders a small plate, and takes a seat next to the Half elf.
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As Garekk comes down the stairs, he scans the room as notices the priest from last night in the corner with the innkeeper and the rest of the strangers already clustered at a table. Heading towards the group from last night, he stops by Antal for a quick word. "good morning sir. I trust that your wife and new daughter are well?" After polite chat, and a good morning to the cleric, Garekk proceeds to the table and greets the group as he pulls up a chair. "Well met and good morning. I see we have all dried out from last night's travails.." He says, with a sideways look that lumps the storm, childbirth, and inebriation all under the same word.
As the rest of the group emerges from the upper rooms, Vorel begins to remember more or less the exchanges and compassion given, and decides that these men are good folk. He is curious about the joyous woman talking to his friends, but for the moment pays her no mind. He also doesn't notice or care at the exchanges of the small folk, not that he'd understand their glib tongue.
When Rois and Garekk join the ranks, he remembers what went on between those two in more clarity than the rest of the night.
Especially upon seeing Rois, Vorelloex revels at remembrance of giving his brother glorious homage, and looks outside to see if the horizons would allow the Kellid to pursue his threadbare hope.
"The day looks fine fitting for a bout of might and valor, wouldn't you say, er.... What are you called again , Sir...?"
The elfblood is embarrassed at his loss of words, but his dormant draconic pride allows for no missteps of appearance.
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"Good day, huntsman! A pleasure to meet... wait. Did you say a local priest?" Calistria slaps her forehead. "Desna's wings! With the delivery I forgot about my duties!"
Calistria leaps to her feet and rummages in the pack she dropped next to her chair. She comes up with a piece of parchment, folded and sealed with wax.
She hurries over to the priest of Pharasma.
Father Bayan?" Calistria says with a deferential bow to the village priest. "I am Calistria, a cleric in the Order of Sacred Couriers and I've a missive for you."
Calistria holds out sealed parchment out to Bayan.