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Craggark grumbles at the collection of documents sitting in front of him, trying not to slosh the bitter cup of steaming liquid onto the scroll he's poring over. He doesn't notice most of the common room at the Knot Head from his lone position in the corner by the kitchen with his back against the wall, but then again, he didn't come down to people-watch. The half-orc reads ponderously slowly, brow furrowed, through the densely-worded document.
"...if such a time as were to be where the party the first were to take ownership of the majority of the holding, the party the first were to be responsible for the upkeep and the further good holding of the..."
A stiff breeze from the tavern door opening blows through the common room, disrupting the frostkin's documents all the way on the other side of the room.
"Donkey balls," Craggark says, hopping off his stool as he makes to pick up the scattered sheets of paper. He frowns at the front door as if to mark the face of the unknowing soul who broke his barely-sustained focus. The half-orc's eyes widen as he takes in the newest patron to the Knot Head.
Donkey balls," Craggark repeats, staring.
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"What a strange utterance." comes a small, feminine voice from the tavern's door way, followed shortly by a small feminine body wrapped head to toe in white fur-lined clothes.
Standing just over three feet tall, and with skin and hair as pale as her clothes, a little gnome girl walks briskly into the tavern, where she sees the frostkin trying in vain to gather his scattered papers.
"Here, let me help you with that." she says with a matter of fact tone as she quickly tries to grab what papers she can from the wind blown mess.
"Perhaps you should move further from the door before you set these down again." she offers with genuine concern in her voice. As she looks up to the much larger figure to hand over the captured papers, one can't help but notice her silvery eyes peering out from beneath her heavy furred cap.
"May I help you put them back into the correct order, if in fact they were in some specific order to begin with?", she offers plainly. "It is the least I can do considering they are likely out of order due to my entrance. My name is...Lia" she says the last with a short yet awkward pause, as if remembering something at the last moment.
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Just as Craggark and Lia get the documents settled once again, the door to the Knot Head is slammed open quite forcefully and the documents are flung from the table once again.
Looking around sheepishly, the dark-skinned Qadiran softly closes the door before offering an apology to the Innkeeper.
Seeing Craggark scrambling around on the floor, he heads over and takes a seat.
"Craggark, you would have an easier time reading if you sat down, I think. There is an open table right here. Just put a rock or an empty mug on the papers to make sure they don't blow away when the door opens."
Jawhar looks puzzled at the murderous gaze that Craggark sends his way, then glances over his shoulder to see if someone is about to attack. Shrugging, he signals to a waiter to bring a pot of tea.
"I couldn't convince Benarry to send us somewhere south. She apparently has plans for us. I'm afraid she is sending us back after the witches. I certainly hope I am wrong."
At that moment, Jawhar glances down and notices the small woman helping Craggark to collect papers.
"Oh, I see you have a guest. Pardon my manners, miss. Please, pull up a chair and allow me to pour you a cup of tea. Craggark, did you plan to introduce us?"
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Before the frostkin can reply, Analia speaks up, "I am perfectly capable of introducing myself, thank you. You may call me Lia." she says curtly as she pushes out a chair, seemingly with great effort, and hops up into it.
Seeing that the chair is now much too far from the table, she looks to the dark skinned human imploringly.
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The door opening and closing a second time interrupts any possible response that the blue-skinned orc could have come up with in response to the gnome. Craggark growls and throws himself after a few documents flying dangerously close to the fire.
He comes back to the table, and notices the cleric pushing the white-skinned gnome into a space at his table. He also notes the cleric clearing the remainder of his documents to the side.
First, Captain Benarry tells us we're headed into Irrisen, and now an emissary of the White Witches shows up in the Knot Head! We must be marked or something. Likely comes from messing about with Haltani or Uliyara or whatever she's calling herself now.
"I couldn't convince Benarry to send us somewhere south. She apparently has plans for us. I'm afraid she is sending us back after the witches. I certainly hope I am wrong."
"Yes, um, I just met....uh...Lia, yes." The half-orc looks alarmed at the mention of the witches, and eyeballs Jawhar within an inch of his life in an attempt to try to communicate that. He tries to hide it by appearing stymied at the social graces of putting the armload of documents on the table that folks are preparing to drink tea at. Sighing heavily, he drops the documents on the floor and sweeps them under his chair with his feet.
"So, Lia," the frostkin says with emphasis, again trying to wordlessly warn Jawhar to guard his words, "it appears that you've been travelling. From where do you come?" He smacks himself in the forehead. "Ah, my manners. Um, I'm Craggark of the Miusunnit."
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Mimicking the actions of the frostkin before her, Analia quickly places her own palm to her forehead with a slight slapping sound. What a peculiar greeting...
"I travel from many places, but most recently high on the ice at the Crown of the World. My family lives there. You are of the Miusunnit? I am familiar with them. I have even visited them on more than one occasion with my family. What a fascinating city you come from." she says with unblinking eyes.
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The Crown of the World?!? Well, she might well be a Snowcaster! But wait, weren't they elves? Wait! Could she be a small elf?! Like, a miniature elf?!? Maybe the Snowcasters were all just small elves? Why did she slap her forehead? Is she making fun of you? It's not like you don't deserve it...
The seconds tick by with Craggark's mouth hanging wide open as various thoughts occur at once.
"......"
It becomes a little uncomfortable. Craggark needs to blink, unlike Lia.
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With a slight tilt of her head and a quizzical look upon her face, Analia asks, "I heard you mention the White Witches. My family has warned me to keep clear of them, but my family has always been less sociable than I am. In what way will you be going after them?"
...it is as if the very air in the room has frozen over...
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Seeing that the chair is now much too far from the table, she looks to the dark skinned human imploringly.
Jawhar notices Analia's predicament and starts to rise, before noticing Craggark's shushing motions and plopping back into his seat.
"Um, yes, The Witches are a group of traders our friend Jamir get his feed from. Very, um, difficult negotiators.
My, what is taking so long with that tea? I should go check on it. Perhaps I could grab you some cakes, Lia?"
Without waiting for a reply, Jawhar bolts out of his chair, nearly knocking it over and rushes over to order a plate of whatever pastries are on hand.
What in the world is going on between Craggark and that um... halfling?... woman?
Nevermind that, Jawhar, what kind of display was that anyway? Have you ever been more rude? Get a hold of yourself, man
Did I just start talking to myself?
Returning a few minutes later with a plate and the tea, Jawhar seems more composed. He pours a cup for everyone, sets the plate near Lia's end of the table, and finally pushes her chair in for her.
"Terribly sorry for that display, Miss Lia. I'm afraid I was a bit unsettled from my latest encounter with the Venture Captain.
The name is Jawhar Dhakir, servant of the Dawnflower. Very pleased to meet you."
After introducing himself, Jawhar moves back to his side of the table and allows Craggark to continue his conversation.
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She kicks her feet in front of her, tirelessly, while sitting in the tall chair, waiting to be pushed in. When Jawar returns she smiles in thanks, her silver eyes beaming, as he helps her with the large chair.
It is a pleasure to meet you as well Jawhar Dhakir, servant of the Dawnflower. That is a beautiful appellation but would it offend you if I just called you Jawhar?" she says with all sincerity. "My family calls me Daughter of the Burning Ice around outsiders, but the Erutaki I am friends with call me Lia."
Tilting her head to the other side, with a new quizzical look upon her face, she asks, "Venture Captain you said? Then you are a pathfinder?"
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Craggark seems to have his mouth stuck in a permanently-open position.
"Erutaki.....Miusunnit.....White.....Snow.....Pathfinder.....unh-hunh."
Jawhar blessedly returns to the table, breaking Lia's trance on the frostkin for a brief second.
"I'm sorry, but Miss Lia.....WHO are you? I don't mind telling you that we've found ZERO friends so far here in Trollheim, and the fact that you know my family and, likely, my mother - Speaker Irikh Stonyfish? - it's all just too much to hope for that you're a friendly face." He swallows heavily. "Please, please, please, tell me that you follow the Glyph of the Open Road like Jawhar and I and our other two companions, and NO ONE ELSE in this Asmodeus-take-them excuse for a town...."
Craggark realises his voice might be a bit too loud and tries to cover the outburst.
"....is what this loud drunken jerk said at that other bar that we were at, Jawhar, right? I mean, I - OF COURSE - wanted to have nothing to do with him, but what could I do?"
Craggark attempts to shut up.
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As Craggark finishes his poor attempt at a bluff, the door to the Knot Head slams open once again and the wind roars through the room like an angry bear. A single sheet of paper escape Craggark's foot, soars up and is plastered onto his face.
A halfling walks casually into the inn. He grabs the door to close it, but before he does, something out on the road catches his attention.
"Hello! Yes, you! Your friend has had a nasty bump on his head. Also his arm may be sprained quite badly! I suggest that when he wakes up, you tell him to put some ice on both areas!"
"Yes, I do know how it happened! And in case your friend has forgotten by the time he wakes up, you should tell him that the next time he thinks to push a halfling out of his way in the street, he should think twice, because it might once again be Jamir Montajay, of the Cassomir Montajays!"
With that, the halfling closes the door, waves casually to the innkeeper, and struts over to the table where Craggark (still peeling the paper - wet from spilled beer - from his face), Jawhar, and a pale gnome are sitting.
Tipping Jawhar a wink, he says, "Craggark, my friend, is that veil you're wearing some new fashion from Absalom?"
Without waiting for a response, the halfling turns to the gnome and bows deeply. "Greetings, my lady. My name is Jamir. How may I be of service?"
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Clomping down the stairs comes a dwarf in a long apron and goggles. The apron is covered in scorch marks and stains, his beard is unkempt and badly in need of of comb--with one errant curl literally alight, the flame slowly creeping towards his cheek. His broad hands hold a small crate filled with small glass canisters, which he sets atop the table with a clatter.
"Sorry that took so long!" he booms as he starts digging through the vials. "Had a draft coming through the window and didn't realize quite how badly it was throwing the burner's heat distribution off! Nearly lost a batch there, but not to worry!"
Fishing out a small round glass jar with some sort of black goop in it, the dwarf seizes Craggark's wrist, turning his hand palm-up and slapping the glass into it. "Given that I've bombed you in two of our last four fights, Craggark, I made this for you: fireward gel! Rub it on your skin before we go for another rumble and is should protect you from my fire bombs--mostly. Only lasts an hour though, and it's expensive stuff so I only have the one."
Dropping into a chair with a pleased look on his face, the dwarf notices the tiny pale girl for the first time. Hopping back out of his chair he offers a small bow. "Forgive my rudeness, I didn't realize we had company. I am Torvald of Clan Stonecask," he does a poor mimicry of Jamir's voice, "of the Janderhoff Stonecasks!" Licking his thumb and pointer finger, he extinguishes the flame in his beard and extends his hand to shake. "And who might you be?"
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Craggark sighs in both a frustrated and contented fashion simultaneously as he peels the errant sheet of paper from his face and accepts the very warm vial from Torvald.
Lia, everyone. Everyone, Li---oh my sweet Scales of Justice that's hot!" the half-orc shouts as he tries to handle the fireward gel. The papers - moist with coffee, not ale (Jamir) - flutter happily about the table once again.
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With a slight turn of her tiny face as each new member of the group arrives, Analia looks back and forth from Craggark to Jamir and then over to Jawar and finally to Torvald "It is wonderful to meet all of you as well. Please call me Lia." she says with a simple nodding of her head and a small smile.
what is his hand out for? I didn't take anything... just smile... make eye contact, but not for long... the other races don't like it when they see your eyes for more than a passing glance...
Turning her strange eyes back to the frostkin, she continues, "To answer your pleading Craggark, I have tasted the same water as a follower of the Open Road and I found him quite compelling in his tales. In all my days I had only known the north, but after talking with him, now I seek to know the world. Joining the Society was but one step on my journey to do just that."
She smiles as the wait staff returns with the tea, asking for a smaller cup with which to partake. In the mean time she sits and listens to the group discuss things and question her. She has nothing but time and a willingness to learn. She feels something in her blood call to her, but she pushes it down as she has so often done before... then she looks to Craggark and she feels strangely at home.
Such an interesting group. One is my size, though obviously much stronger, and another is as wide as he is tall and he seems to enjoy fire. Then there is the dark skinned one with the pained eyes... and the frostkin... what would Kuriel say about him? "You barely leave home and already you have fallen in with the first interesting face you find, just because he is BLUE?"... Of course it's not because he is blue. He is just so peculiar. Blue is just ice peppers on the fish cake.
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Don't stare...don't stare...don't stare...
The half-orc glances again at Lia's unblinking silver eyes. He attempts to remove his eyes - with little luck - before Lia's catch his. Craggark breaks into a fit of coughing.
"....fine....I'm fine," he wheezes as Torvald slaps him strongly on the back.
I wasn't pleading. I simply asked if she was a Pathfinder. And she IS. Now STOP staring, you moron.
The now-purple-faced half-orc begins laughing heartily at a joke that no one has told.
"HA-hahahaha-HA-hahaha. Jawhar, you are a wit."
He looks into Lia's eyes, but this time actually addresses her. "So, we had an elven wizard travelling with us a few weeks ago, but apart from him, I've never met any other elves. I wasn't aware that your folk were so....different....up here. You know....'little'." Craggark's head bobs up and down in a nodding fashion as he scans the blank looks from around the table. He keeps nodding as he talks, as if willing his friends to nod along with him as he digs his hole even deeper.
"Or 'midget'. I don't know what you prefer. 'Wee'? It's not like there's anything wrong with that. I mean, look at Jamir! He's the only one of us who hasn't been knocked out in a fight so far! That's got to count for something....right...?" The half-orc trails off pathetically.
Oh dear Abadar, bury me now.
"Jala?" the frostkin bellows out, "I'd like an ale, please. A large one. Thanks."
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Jamir stares at Craggark in disbelief. He turns to Torvald, who appears equally baffled.
An elf? Has he gone mad?
Seeing the sludgy liquid at the bottom of the half-orc's mug, Jamir thinks he understands the problem. When Craggark calls out anxiously for an ale, he pats the brawler on the shoulder comfortingly.
"That sounds like just the thing, my friend. I will join you." He holds up two fingers to the barmaid.
He fixes Jawhar with a mock glare and shakes his head. "You gave him coffee again, Jawhar? Sweet barley brew, I will never understand Qadiran humor."
He turns to Lia. "You must excuse Craggark, Lia, my new friend. This 'coffee' that Jawhar drinks is delightfully warm, it is true, but it interferes with clear thought and makes one's hands shake uncontrollably." He leans forward to whisper. "Even worse, I believe that there may not be any alcohol in it at all!" Raising his voice again, he says, "Frankly, I am surprised that an establishment as reputable as the Knot Head would even have it on the menu!"
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"Me?!? I just got here moments before you. Anything Craggark chose to drink is his own doing, though I admit he is acting rather peculiarly.
It is almost as if this halfling lass has cast a spell on him."
Realizing what he just said, Jawhar's eyes get very big and he slowly starts pushing his chair back while his hand surreptitiously reaches for the hilt of his scimitar.
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Craggark shakes his head at Jawhar's words.
"What?! No! I'm fine. I'm just tired, is all, from chasing these flaming pieces of paper. Serves me right for trying to find some quiet space to do some head work."
He smiles genuinely at Lia.
"The lady is as gracious as she is pretty." Realising what he just said, he turns even more purple.
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Visibly relaxing, Jawhar exclaims.
"HA HA! So that's the source of his discomfiture, is it?
Don't worry, Lia, he gets flustered sometimes, but there is a shrewd negotiator underneath that blue skin and none are fiercer in a brawl.
As for your questions, Jawhar will be fine. I introduce myself as a servant of Sarenrae simply because most in this frigid land have not had the pleasure of her warmth. It is not a proper appellation, but an announcement of self intent.
We are indeed Pathfinders. I don't think there is much danger attached to that title here in Kalsgard, though the rest of this country seems to have different opinions.
Now, please tell us a bit more about yourself. From Craggark's reactions, I take it that he thinks every light-skinned person is in fact an Irreseni agent. Nevermind that the one Irriseni agent we met in Kalsgard did not actually appear to be Irriseni at all.
You aren't an agent of the Jadwiga, are you?"
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Seemingly unaware of any compliments or flattery, Analia sips her tea slowly, quite surprised by the warmth of the aromatic liquid.
Such a thing has never crossed my lips!
"I am not a halfling." Analia says, barely loud enough to be heard among the talkative group before her.
"I am not like my family in most ways." she explains to the group, her eyes looking to each in turn, "They are all much taller for one thing, like most of you." she stops to acknowledge Jamir with a nod and a grin.
"While they all are pale of skin and hair to some degree or another, none are as pale as I am. I am also not nearly as distrusting as they are, for they feel that people like you, southerners, are simply as solid as snow." she says the last with a complicated mix of expressions, making her difficult to read but implying some conflicting thoughts.
Kuriel would not approve of all this talk of the family. "A friend is simply an enemy who has not yet revealed himself." he would say. Well until they reveal themselves then, I will enjoy this wonderful tea.
She smiles contentedly at some thought as she continues to sip her tea. Her eyes shimmer under the rising heat, and for a moment they loose their silvery color and take on a reddish cast. It is fleeting and likely just a trick of the light.
In response to Jawar's most recent question, she simply replies, "I am not."
She then quietly motions for her now empty tea cup to be filled again.
"You all know one another well already, but I know little about you, so please, enlighten me." she says plainly.
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"Wow, we ARE in Kalsgard, aren't we?" the brawler's burly shoulders visibly relax. "And here I thought that we were still in Trollheim! Man, I must be sleeping poorly."
He looks sharply at Jamir. "It's funny that we found an inn named The Knot Head here in Kalsgard when there's an inn of the same name in Trollheim. I wonder if the owners of both places are related..." The half-orc trails off, lost in thought, not cognisant of the fact that the Inn he's in is NOT The Knot Head.
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"Perhaps its a franchise?" Torvald offers, searching his pockets before withdrawing a sturdy comb. Waving to Jala for an ale, he leans fishes out another glass vial from his crate.
"As I mentioned, I'm originally from the Sky Citadel Janderhoff, a fair distance south and east of here in the Mindspin Mountains. I'm an alchemist by trade, and only recently came to the Pathfinders after Captain Benarry recruited me from the Gas Forges in Riddleport." Passing her the glass vial, he taps it. "That one's an antitoxin, for example. Fortifies you against poison, though it doesn't grant outright immunity."
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Accepting the vial from Torvald, Analia examines it closely, turning it slowly in the light as he explains its function, her eyes growing ever wider as he speaks.
Simple interest turns to excitement as something in her mind seems to suddenly change.
Her next words practically spill out, picking up speed as she goes, until eventually they all come at a rush, tumbling over each other and making her very hard to follow..."Fascinating! Such a rich hue it has! I heard you mention fire bombs earlier. Are all alchemical substances within your purview or are some schools of study forbidden or at least discouraged by your family? My family didn't believe that I should learn certain magics but of course I didn't agree because I think that all knowledge should be something we have access to and so I studied even the magic I wasn't supposed to but it turns out I have an especially good grasp of the elementalmagicsthatmanyothershavedifficultywithbutwhenIusethosespellstheytu rnoutmorepotentandIcanevenalterelementswithinaspellandnooneelseinmyfamilyha sbeenabletodothat." ...
Her abrupt silence is almost like a shout in a silent room.
She quietly sips from her refilled cup of tea, and for the first time since her arrival, blinks.
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[....]"It is almost as if this halfling lass has cast a spell on him."[....]
Halfling lass? Are their eyes so weak they cannot see anyone who doesn't come up past their waists?
Jamir looks to Torvald again, and then slowly shakes his head. He is about to launch into a tirade on the iniquities of tallfolk but Torvald - perhaps sensing the imminent eruption - diverts everyone's attention by producing another of his alchemical creations.
Accepting the vial from Torvald, Analia examines it closely, turning it slowly in the light as he explains its function, her eyes growing ever wider as he speaks.
Simple interest turns to excitement as something in her mind seems to suddenly change.
Her next words practically spill out, picking up speed as she goes, until eventually they all come at a rush, tumbling over each other and making her very hard to follow [....]
Her abrupt silence is almost like a shout in a silent room.
She quietly sips from her refilled cup of tea, and for the first time since her arrival, blinks.
Wizard!
Jamir unconsciously takes half a step away from the gnome on the bench he is standing on. Until that moment, he had been fully prepared to give Lia the version of his life story that begins with running away from home to join the Cassomir Corsairs, following his usual equation of: girl + tavern = pirate story.
But wizards know things, or figure them out. Anyway, she's a Pathfinder. Best to start a working relationship with something approaching the truth.
So Jamir, who rarely encounters a silence that he does not immediately want to fill, launches into (something approaching) the story of how he joined the Pathfinders.
Bursting into surprised laughter, Jamir claps Torvald on the shoulder. "You may have some competition in blowing up our adversaries, my explosive friend!"
"Lia, my new comrade, we are delighted to know you! Why, it seems like only a few days ago that we all said to each other how helpful it would be to have a wizard as part of our local team of Pathfinders. Or perhaps it was something I said to myself, while the others were all bleeding and unconscious in the snow.
"No matter! As for me, I am from Cassomir, in Taldor, on the coast of the Inner Sea. Not quite as far south as Jawhar's home, but close. My mother is a foreman at the shipyard, building great vessels for the Taldan navy. My father is a tavernkeeper and a priest of Cayden Cailean. As a youth, I decided I would rather sail ships than build them, and that I would rather drink beer than sell it. So I signed on to a merchant ship, lying only a bit about my age to keep from being sent back to my parents. I served on that ship happily for several years, until we took on a Pathfinder as a passenger. The stories she told of her adventures were enough to convince me to jump ship the next time we docked in Absalom harbor. I found my way to the Grand Lodge and ... persuaded the Pathfinders to accept my application."
"Wow, we ARE in Kalsgard, aren't we?" the brawler's burly shoulders visibly relax. "And here I thought that we were still in Trollheim! Man, I must be sleeping poorly."
He looks sharply at Jamir. "It's funny that we found an inn named The Knot Head here in Kalsgard when there's an inn of the same name in Trollheim. I wonder if the owners of both places are related..." The half-orc trails off, lost in thought, not cognisant of the fact that the Inn he's in is NOT The Knot Head.
Jamir returns Craggark's look.
"This is the Famous Original Knot Head. The one in Trollheim is a cheap knock-off. Serviceable enough to meet our needs at the time, but nothing like the original."
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"Thanks, Jala," Craggark murmurs, passing the bartender a gold piece as she delivers three ales to the table. "You can take this," he says, passing the mug of coffee to her.
The half-orc turns to Jamir with a sly grin, toasting his ale. "May your hairs ever be curly." Recognising the company now kept, Craggark almost does a spit-take, but swallows painfully instead and coughs forcefully as he turns to Lia.
...*wheeze*...it's a Taldan saying....right? Yeah, so I'm of the Miusunnit people. My mother is Speaker for our people. I was sent here to Kalsgard as a youth to train. That didn't go well, and I came back home. We were visited by some Pathfinders who suggested I train in Absalom, and well, here I am. Back in Kalsgard." The frostkin ends his origin story abruptly, as if there's a lot more to tell.
He drains the rest of the glass in one gulp. "Jala!" he calls, holding up a hand.
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Not a Halfling, not an elf, obviously not human... It seems impolite to inquire further. Maybe someone will mention it at some point in the future.
She says she doesn't work for Irrisen, that should be good enough for now. Plus, she is a Pathfinder like us.
"I hail from Qadira, which is quite literally as far away from here as you can get and still be in Avistan. Horses and trade are what my people deal with. Outside of my training at the temple, that had been my entire experience before joining the society.
I decided that it was time to expand my worldview, and set out to experience the world. So far, all I can tell is that the rest of the world is very, very cold."
At this point, Jawhar leans back and sips his tea, content to listed to the conversation unfold and learn what he can through observation.
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Looking directly at Craggark, with yet another quizzical look upon her face, Analia asks, "How long has your mother been Speaker? It has been over twenty summers since I last saw the Speaker for your family and I was not ... the ranking member of my family during the trade meet." once again she pauses strangely at the end, as if suddenly remembering something.
Before anyone can answer, Analia blurts out a bit more of her own history... this time at a more reasonable pace but still completely out of the blue and off the topic she was just asking about, "I traveled by the magic of our elders, from my home near the Ice Gate to a much warmer place. It was called Absalom. It was there that I met a strange pink elf who went by the name Kreighton. He sent me on a mission with others. When we were done, I was handed this and told I was a Pathfinder." From within the folds of her a many layers of fur, she produces a small box like device. It bears the symbol of the Open Road and the group recognizes it immediately as a Wayfinder.
He really is very peculiar, and such a nice shade of blue...
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