”I’m good at calm.” replies Trevor.
After a short time looking out over the valley the trollkin looks over to Mal and gives a slight nod. "Better let them know we're coming." He says to the quiet dwarf, who gives his own nod in return and then pulls a small horn from his pack.
Placing the horn to his lips the dwarf sends three long blasts echoing across the valley, followed by two short and another long. The effect down below is nearly immediate, as the reavers on the watch tower and the gate guards suddenly become much more alert as they grab gear and weapons. The two dwarves who were escorting the women, hurry their charges into the Frost Maiden. Moments later one of the tower watchers answers with another set of horn blasts. This time two short, two long.
Receiving what is apparently a satisfactory reply, your escorts encourage you to move along down the road.
Lurking in the shadow of a small copse of trees, Zove maintains her distance and tries to stay hidden. At one point both Mal and the big trollkin glance back in her direction, but both end up merely shrugging and focusing instead on the party members in front of them.
The walk down into the valley doesn't take long. Soon enough your little band approaches the marshy outskirts of Nargenthal. The foul stench of the rotting bodies and constant chatter of the ravens fill the warming midday air. The bodies all appear to be peasant folk, mostly men along with several animal carcasses and remains. Fortunately, the wind changes direction after a few minutes and blows the smell away as the village drawbridge and gate approaches.
The drawbridge is down across the rapidly flowing Grunvale river and the gate is currently open. Two crossbowdwarves wave from the top of the watchtower, while a half dozen other guards, including two more trollkin, greet Mal, Brodor, the other dwarf, and Ornfisk, the trollkin, warmly while warily regarding Aterro, Vrindel, Trevor, Ibrox, and Finnigan.
Everyone seems to defer to Ornfisk as the one in charge among this small group. The trollkin speaks quietly to one of the guards who then nods and runs off to the inn entrance. He then turns back to you offering another welcoming smile with a gesture toward the same door the dwarf entered a few moments ago.
"It seems you are in luck friends, the chief is willing to give you an audience right away and apparently they just tapped a bit of the Zobeckian Dark to help quench our thirst." He says with a hint of anticipation.
|
Aterro had been keeping his own council on the walk in, neither especially glad with the current course of things, nor really knowing an alternate course. So too, he was still curious about the enemy, and had no better means to hand save this welcome into their town.
Betimes he wanted to fall back on the old adage that 'murder will out' and wipe out these dwarves and pick up the pieces from the remains, but, simply, he had no means to siege a fortified city.
He was gladdened at the field of corpses, but dared not voice his joy, as few would understand so deep a wisdom. That the fields were littered with dead meant that the town did not go quietly. Many brave hearts did pick up STEEL and defend their homes. That they did not win is almost irrelevant. They sit now in Valhalla, drinking and feasting, waiting for any left behind to join them.
So too, a field of dead meant that the enemy was no longer at full strength. They must have taken a great many reavers with them, which meant that the handful of dwarves he saw here might be almost all of their full strength remaining.
He could not kill them all now, so he stayed his hand. But, if given a favorable field, or a chokepoint, he gave himself even chances to come out of it alive.
All of this passed in his sight in a few heartbeats of seeing so small a guard present themselves at the gate. Mayhap the dwarves were trying to intimidate him with a show of strength. Instead, Aterro liked his odds.
That they were preparing some kind of ambush was but a matter of course. You can no more be angry that a reaver is trying to kill you than you can at a hungry bear. Both are simply doing what their limited intelligence allows them.
He taps Trevor and Finn on the arm, and gives them a knowing nod. 'Be ready,' he seems to say with his eyes. The weapons the dwarves train on them say all the rest.
"What a waste." Ibrox remarks when passing the decomposing bodies. Not only were they not sacrificed in their killing, but they were not harvested either. They would have been better off alive.
The cheerful gnome recognized the look in the trollkin's eyes. He remembered it from his family and neighbors arrived in his home village.
In his defense, he starts counting and naming his potential adversaries: Sleepy, Dopey, etc. In addition, he looks for places to hide, defend, and gain advantage.
Trevor smiles at Aterro and his nods, saying: "I'm so glad I listened to you. We're doing the right thing. Who knows, we might change the chief's mind and become allies."
He moves towards the entrance: "I LOVE Zobeckian Dark!"
Insight
Vrindel realizes that the group might be in a pickle. They were more ready for action than they should be for a casual visit... still he was curious about these Reavers. How could they be so different.
Oh Well I guess I'll find out soon enough what they have in store for us.
He looks around at his companions confident that they'll find a way through this situation... if they remain calm...
Walking close to Trevor he whispers to him. "Well the good new is it looks like they'll be boots available".
He nods slightly at the pile of bodies.
Finnigan perks up noticeably at the mention of ale.
"Zobeckian Dark! Trevor, be a good lad and fetch me mine while I converse, and maybe I'll let you make use of those boots Vrindel noticed, to replace the ones I took off your feet. I think I'll fit right in around here! I love what these dwarves have done with the place. Sheep are lost without a shephard I always say."
Finnigan blusters with a cold steely gaze, attempting to ingratiate himselves to the dwarves and make them believe he is sympathetic to their way of life. In case the party faces capture, he wants to have an edge.
"A carriage here from Morgau, I see. How do you get on with their kind, Mal?"
Finnigan wants to get a feel of the reavers sentiment towards the ghost knights and dhampir before he indicates his own feelings one way or the other.
"At the first opportunity, I'll give a cordial greeting to the chief, the doctor, and the rest of these fine gentleman... " he remarks, to be sure his friends know where his true allegiances lie. "Just as I greeted Vadik back when first we met."
Finnigan looks about, wondering if Zove can hear him.
The reavers escort you all into the a dimly lit room that smells of smoke, stale ale, and even more stale bodies. It's clear the room and inn was once a very fine establishment. The tables are sturdy and well built with a bit of decorative carving while many of the chairs are padded and also of high quality and design. Despite an obvious recent lack of attention, the hardwood top of the bar still retains a high polish and shines where it isn't covered with platters of old food or half empty mugs and bottles.
Scones line the wall but most are unlit leaving the room much darker than it would be normally. Is addition to your escort of Ornfisk, Mal, and Brodor, two other dwarves look up from where they sit at a table near the smoldering hearth. Mugs in hand they give you a quick look before returning to whatever low spoken conversation they were having moments before. A corvee dressed in the colorful garb of a bard, strums a lute in the corner near the end of the bar, dark eyes glancing back and forth between you and the other remaining group in the big common room. That group consists of a trollkin, a one-eyed dwarf, and partially undressed village women who seem to be the ones you saw brought in earlier.
The dwarf grunts loudly as you enter and quickly polishes whatever drink was in his mug. The metal cup bangs against the table as he slams it down and orders the two women upstairs. As the two frightened villagers quickly scurry up the stairs, the burly dwarf runs a hand through graying hair while his eyes follow the two with a hungry look.
Meanwhile the trollkin maintains her focus on you. Coal colored eyes watch from beneath long braided and beaded hair that rattles slightly with every breath. A variety of fetishes hang from her bear hide armor while her arms crossed arms are decorated in a variety of tattoos. After a few more moments she leans back slightly, letting the dwarf be the one to make the first move whether out of deference, boredom, or mere whim, it is unclear.
Brodor is actually the first to speak. Stepping forward he clears his throat and relays a brief description of how you encountered the reavers on the road and that you shared news of Vadik.
With another grunt, the old dwarf steps up and walks forward toward Vrindel, completely ignoring Aterro, Finnigan, Trevor and Ibrox. As he comes closer and into the light of the still open front door, it is easy to see the numerous scars on his arms and face. His chain armor is equally used, but well oiled and maintained as is the heavy bladed axe and various knives that hang from his belt. Three gold armbands line one thick arm while another two plus three silver line the other.
He looks at Vrindel, his one blue eye pearing out from bushy salt and pepper brows. "Tis not often we see one o' the kin traveling with so many slaves on 'is own." He says in a deep baritone with a rough northern accent. "But nevermind that for 't moment. Ye say you know wha' has 'appened to one of me own." He says waving for Brodor to bring him another mug. "Let's 'ere what you've t' say and then we can talk trade. Although I'd say your goods aren't much at first glance." He adds with glances toward the rest of the party.
The small cheerful gnome steps forward and introduces himself, "Well, hello, chief. I'm Ibrox and a mapmaker. We've been traveling north to investigate the source of some necrotic slugs that wiped out the next village south of here."
"We met your Vadik and his two companions when they attempted to share our campfire. They were disgruntled with your leadership and heading south. We could not reach an agreement, so they decided to camp somewhere else."
"The next morning we found their campsite and further in the forest, the site of their deaths. They had been blood-eagle sacrificed to fuel a dark ritual."
"So then on the road, we've met your scouts, Brodor, Mal and Ornfist, who have been kind enough to escort us here. So, would you know anyone who would practice the dark arts or necromancy? Neither are good for business."
Trevor smiles at Ibrox, thinking the Gnome is not entirely mad after all, but his stomach turns and he grows pale when Ibrox reproduces the scene of the sacrifice, and he turns away from it.
If he sees an empty pair of boots lying around, he'll walk towards them.
He remembers what the others have said, and keeps his anger to himself, for it was indeed true that there was more at stake, for now.
Finnigan was mid bluster and swagger when he hears the chief speak to Vrindel. He sputters and spews imaginary ale he was anticipating drinking as he realizes what the chief is saying.
"Trade! Goods! I mean, that is to say, what do you mean the goods don't look so good at first glance? Trevor here is strong as an ox, mate! Honestly!"
Finnigan manages to compose himself and play along of it seems it could be an advantages course of action.
From your vantage point hidden in a small copse of stunted trees at the edge of the marsh, you canspot several items that would burn nicely. The carriage is likely the most flammable with its cloth awning, wooden structure and who knows what inside. There is also a good amount of old straw or hay piled near the barn, it might be a bit damp, but still its aged and drying in the sun. The top of the watchtower is a bit harder to see from your location below, but the guards do seem to be sitting on some wooden crates. Of course the palisade and all of the buildings except the inn are entirely wood and could burn if given the right encouragement.
While you search you notice the guards have left their station at the gate while they greet the others and keep a close watch on your companions.
Vrindel seems confused at first be being the first one addressed... then it sinks in what the Dwarf is saying.
"Oh. I see. Well it's not really like that... I mean everyone has their own approach to life, and we don't condemn your lifestyle... but these... these comrades are far to valuable for me to consider departing with any of them".
"Let's instead discuss what we saw, and how we can work together against a common enemy".
Vrindel is sweating for the first time ever as he tries to answer the man without causing trouble.
If needed...
Persuasion or Deceptoin
Same using "Spirit Whispers".
Then in Northern "May your heart be racing when fate claims you, and the time be far away".
The dwarf raises his eyebrows in surprise as Vrindel allows Ibrox to speak first, which also causes the corvee's light plucking at the lute to suddenly stop as the ravenfolk leans in to see what happens. As the gnome weaves his tale and enhances it with his illusionary magic there are gasps and startled expression from around the room. Ornfisk growls low in his throat while the female at the table hisses in disgust. The chiefs surprise is soon enough replaced with a slowly growing fury. A fury that quickly spreads to the other reavers in the room. Those that were sitting suddenly stand and move hands toward weapon hilts, while others take a few steps back from the now red-faced dwarf who stands glaring at Ibrox. Viper-quick, a meaty hand flashes out and slaps the gnome hard across the face, causing no real damage, but leaving his cheek red and disrupting his concentration enough to dispel the illusion.
"You dare t' speak t' me out o' turn ye cursed devil's tool!" He says, seething with both indignation and general loathing while speaking over Vrindel's intial attempts at diplomacy. "And you weave your devil made lies w't magic an' show me my sister's son killed in the manner o' traitors and cowards!" Spit flies as his rage grows. "Vadik is a stubborn fool at times, but he is no coward! Nor would he have been bested by the likes o' a bunch of slaves unless magic and trickery were involved. I'll see you all...."
"HOLD Gronar!" Shouts the trollkin woman from the table before the chief can say anything further. "The cursed of grandmother is out of turn, true, but I sensed truth in his words." She rises, standing a good six and a half feet tall. Her body fit and solid, her green skin tinted with hints of brown and granite gray. Grabbing a thick ash staff she slowly walks across the room. Her eyes glance at the party, but linger on Trevor. His healthy, youthful physique, obviously of interest to her as her eyes suggest a hunger and desire beyond mere curiosity. Flashing a toothy smile at the knight, she turns away and walks up to Vrindel.
"You are correct, the world holds many different paths. It seems you let the reins run loose on your property, but for the moment I would recommend pulling them in a bit. Otherwise there could be some....unfortunate consequences." She says to the druid. "But perhaps if you don't wish to sell one of them, I could persuade you to let me....borrow one....for a while?" She says with another glance back at Trevor before Gronar let's out a frustrated shout.
"Enough of that ye blasted woman! You were saying I should believe this vile redcap." He says with a white knuckled grip on his axe.
"Yes, Gronar. Yes, if you'll just calm yourself for a moment." She turns back to Vrindel. "Now then, I do believe your story. It would coincide with energies I have felt. Strange disturbances within the ley lines." She says, her voice calm and studious. "What I do not know is whether or not you and your companions are the source of that disturbance or if it is some other source...as your gnome claims it to be? Perhaps knowing why you are here would help me understand. Hmmm?" She looks at Vrindel and then back to the rest of the party and adds quickly with a casual wave of her hand. "Oh! I give permission for any of your slaves to speak as well if that is helpful in some way."
The small gnome took the slap like a champ. His head rolled with the blow to minimize the pain. It was not the first time someone had made a point with him using violence. His cheerful smile flickered as his head recoiled. Those observant saw a demonic grin flash across his face for a split second promising revenge. His renewed cheerful smile was now fueled with the knowledge that Vadik was the chief's nephew.
He stepped back toward the group. Ibrox had not understood that the reavers thought that they were slaves of Vrindel before, but the chief had made his point clear enough the second time.
He looked around for a clue or a live animal. Maybe they would be know where the innkeeper is.
|
|
shouts Aterro, no longer able to stand it. "YOU will KEEP a CIVIL TONGUE in your HEAD or you WILL FIND that there is another WARRIOR still in this city!
We are NOT his SLAVES. We are NOT property to be given leave by your YOUR TONGUE or ANY OTHER! And you shall make MARK OF THIS or we shall SEE who ODIN calls to VALHALLA! THIS! DAY!
Know that I bore Vadik no ill will. He STOOD as a WARRIOR and our blows fell in the circle and he claimed his ground.
That he was SLAIN after giving me, ME, a fair fight should shake you to your bones.
And that is not ALL!
AFTER discovering the blood-sacrifice we engaged in GLORIOUS COMBAT with a vile creature from the nether-realms that corrupted all about it with a mere touch from its many-tentacled form. Only by calling down THOR'S HOLY MIGHT was I able to slay it and send it back to what ever dimension it came from.
You DISHONOR his memory by speaking of he who did SLAY his killer as if I were some SLAVE! I gave his soul rest with the blood of that which was brought by his death and you WILL observe proper manners."
Aterro wound down, his knuckles white from gripping the hammer and beneath his steel shell his face was flushed, blood-drunk and raging for a battle not yet begun.
Trevor feels the gaze of the Trollkin on him. The thoughts make him blush violently, and he can’t think anymore, for even a single thought would bring the wrong mental imagery.
So much for calm. Ibrox comments to himself and joins the emotional event. When Aterro mentions the many-tentacled creature, the cheerful gnome creates a five foot diameter visual representation in vibrant colors between the chief and himself.
Little can be seen inside the carriage due to the dim lighting, but in general it seems like a very tidy, well kept living quarters. A bed sits along one wall while several cabinets line the other along with a small folding desk and chair. The smell of raw grain alcohol and odd preservative chemicals fills the carriage and seems to mostly come from several liquid filled glass jars sitting on the desk.
Finnigan elbows Trevor in the ribs. ”Mate, I reckon she fancies you.... go on, show her a night she can’t forget, you’re our ticket out of this mess!”
He speaks out of the side of his mouth, grinning and leering all the while.
Trevor goes from red to green and elbows Finn back, weakly, clearly uncomfortable: "Dooon't."
Vrindel cringes a bit when he hears Arterro winding up, then prepares himself for the worst.
Time and a place for everything... we'll see if that time and place is now.
"Please! Please! We do not need to be enemies. Not understanding or communicating is not cause for violence when it need not happen".
Persuasion
”You see chief, you ought not have given Aterro permission to speak! Vrindel hasn’t finished training him! No matter. We all have one thing in common here, slaves and slavers alike. We all live and breathe! I’m not so sure that can be said of the other party currently paying you a visit.... Not that I am one to judge, but it strikes me as interesting that the village which fell to necrotic infestation had recently entertained similar emissaries from the blood kingdoms, if not the very same. Furthermore, the corruption which took the lives of Vadik and his entourage was of the same ilk. What does it mean? I’ll leave you to judge that for yourself mate!”
Finnigan finishes by winking at the trollkin and blowing her a little kiss.
The dwarves all mutter various curses and shift around uncomfortably following Aterro's outburst, especially at the mention of Thor. In contrast, the trollkin shaman turns toward Aterro and laughs, maintaining a fierce smile while her chest moves up and down causing fetishes to rattle and jingle.
"Haha....I gave you permission to speak, not shout and get unruly." She says with another laugh and mildly rebuking tone. "As this one says..." She nods toward Finnigan.
"Perhaps some further training is in order. Plus, it seems we are blessed with one of the upstarts mighty warrior priests. His followers are always so tedious to break, yet, for some the satisfaction is well worth the effort. I'm sure there are those here who would relish the task." She adds thoughtfully glancing over to Gronar, who still seethes, his axe drawn and tapping against his palm. A constant thwack, thwack, thwack as the shaman speaks.
Then she turns away from Aterro and closely studies Ibrox's second illusion. "But first, as usual a trollkin seems to have the right of things. There are more important things to discuss, such as how this....abomination....came to be. If it is true that it was summoned by a blood ritual then there is a dangerous foe about. It is too bad the doctor went to the dig today his expertise could be helpful." She adds circling the illusion once again before turning back to Vrindel.
"You're rather unkept human there, seems to think this is the work of the blood kingdom." She says gesturing toward the illusionary void-creature. "True, blood magic and the undead are their forte, but this....is something different. And if what was sensed recently has any truth, much, much older."
"So brother....you say you are not enemies of the Mossback Reavers." She leans in, her eyes staring into Vrindels; two coal black stones surrounded by the gray green flesh of the forest. "So what would you have us be?"
Several other gruesome specimens sit preserved on the shelf, including a severed human head, woman, likely early middle age and from the south, a tiny Bucca with its bat-like wings mostly intact but torn in several places, a severed claw from carapace covered creature, a small octopus, and others.
As he explores the oddities, Snicker hears an odd sliding sound coming from the other side of the desk on another shelf set higher than the ones he is currently examining. Poking his head around one of the jars, the fog sees a long, undulating set of bones, slowly sliding from the shelf to the desktop. The near perfect skeletal remains of some snake end in a wickedly menacing skull that retains several long fangs once filled with poison. The eyes of the skull glow a dim, sickly green as the skull sweeps back and forth, searching for the intruder in its master's space.
::It's seems you're our spokesperson, due to your race. Please remember that Zove found a flyer saying that the trunk that delivered the necrotic ticks was Doctor Gandelossen's. So, the doctor killed the village Vandersthal and young Baldric who was carrying the message from Britta. So, we want this Doctor dead. So, it would be great to understand the relationship between the reavers and the Doctor. We cannot have the reavers protect him.::
::We also need to see Britta. And potentially setup trade of Bentknee's goods from his caravan.::
::Let me know if you want me to pass any messages to the crew.::
Vrindel stares back not flinching from the stare.
"I don't think it's necessary for us to determine our relationship at this time. If we have a common enemy then let's work together for now to defeat it. You mention this Doctor. Is he your ally, or someone you trade with"?
"You take what you want... but there is always a price to pay now isn't there? We came here on our own free will and expect to leave the same way once we have accomplished what we set out for. I don't expect you'll settle permanently in this village, so let's work together to find out what evil stalks the land, then we can both be on our way".
Persuasion (IF required)
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Trevor turns to Vrindel and nods, but then, he also nodded at Aterro who, just a few hours before, had him nod, but for the exact opposite idea.
His face crunched by confusion, he ends up turning to Ibrox, thinking the Gnome just might be the sanest one...
Finnigan attempts to size up the trollkin’s reaction to his earlier flirtation. He also studies the faces and body language of all the reavers to see if he can observe any reactions to his queries and comments regarding the visitors from Morgau. Mal had ignored his question but he wondered if in lieu of a direct response he or the chief might otherwise betray their feelings about the Blood Kingdoms in general and the doctor in particular.
::You alright, Elf-marked? Are you missing your armor, yet?::
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
First, and probably the most glaring, she seems to be the power in the room. The reaver chief has ceded the room to her. She speaks and bargains while he stews on the sidelines. Pretty unusual given what you know about dwarves and their usual sense of honor, stubbornness, and general annoyingly controlling ways.
You watch further, she enjoys throwing things off balance, her quip toward Trevor, less about actual interest, but more to see the boys reaction. Judge his effectiveness when confronted with something besides a blow to the head.
As for your own flirtations, she plays along. A wink here, a grin there, but who is flirting with who and for what reason? It's unclear, until you see her look back at Vrindel. Then it hits you, he's the one she's really interested in, but is it purely carnal, or something else? It's clear she likes power, is drawn to it. What if she draws her power from the same natural realms as Vrindel does? What could she learn from your companion or maybe the question is what could she take away if given the opportunity?
Your mentioning of Morgau causes little reaction among those in the room. A couple of the dwarves grimace slightly or frown at the mention of the Blood Kingdom. But there is little more than that. Ornfisk, the big trollkin, simply stands there continuing to eat a piece of jerky, eyes watching the room carefully, flickering most often toward the increasingly agitated Aterro."
"We have no alliance with the fine doctor. But neither is he our enemy." The shaman says, answering Vrindel. "He arrived here shortly after our own landing. Offered gold for the use of some of our newly acquired property." She shrugs. "His offer was reasonable, so we traded. Ten peasant slaves and the protection of his carriage while we remain in Nargenthal or until his work is complete for 300 gold." She smiles. "A fair enough price."
"We are not interested in fighting evil or freeing oppressed people. We are here to gather slaves, goods, gold, and other things of value, then, as you say we will be on our way." She glances toward Gronar once again. "It is true there may be a blood price to pay for the killing of Vadik and the other two. But you say you do not know any more than what you've said so far. You do not know the enemy, nor do you know where he, or she, is. Perhaps if you were to bring us this hidden killer and user of forbidden magics, then we would have something to bargain about?"
::I'm sure that this hidden killer will eventually kill more reavers until we can create some evidence that the doctor is this hidden killer and user of forbidden magic. Sound good? Let me know if you want me to chip in here.::
::By the way, I can hear you if you want to reply telepathically.::
Trevor's eyes grow wide. He remains still as stone, but his eyes slide left to look at Ibrox, then he nods positively.
As the shaman speaks, he feels he wants to say something, but he cannot find his tongue, frozen by the thought of becoming a Trollkin Reavers' plaything.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Ibrox
Sorry. I wasn't aware I could reply. Not familiar with this magic. I agree. The important thing right now is to try and talk ourselves out of this situation, and be more wary going forward of these folk".
"I hear your wise words and find a common ground. Perhaps we will leave for now, and try to find more evidence about the forbidden magic and it's user. Information can be a valuable trade item as well".
He then turns to the rest of his group.
"What say you do we perhaps rest for the day, then set forth to investigate these vile rumors"?
The then turns back to the Reavers.
"Since you have right of first occupancy I request that you let us rest here, and perhaps trade for some mundane goods. Maybe even speak with the good Doctor... he travels widely so he might have information to assist us... Then we'll be on our way to attempt to find information to trade"?
”Aye, mate. We should investigate. And if these reavers want to be the ones to claim the debt of blood for what happened to Vadik, we shall honor that.”
Finnigan nods rhythmically, his frowning face a mask of stern resolve.
The trollkin nods thoughtfully at Vrindel's suggestion. "You may stay. She says with a silencing look toward the glowering dwarf. "You safety will be guarantted for the night, unless you or your...companions...should initiate bloodshed." She adds the last looking at Aterro and his own glowering features which match those of the reaver chief. "I am afraid that space is limited. The inn's rooms are all being used. I believe one of the longhouses may be unoccupied at the moment, if you wish to bed down there for the night."
She turns to one of the dwarves standing nearest to the bar. "Now to seal this peace for the night, let us share a drink. You there, bring ale for each of our guests."
The dwarf in turn looks to Gronar who nods stiffly, then continues to sullenly glare at the shaman before grabbing his own mug and draining the remaining contents in a long series of gulps.
The trollkin appears oblivious or uncaring of Gronar's anger and dissatisfaction, and simply returns to her seat while the other dwarf serves out the drinks. Once everyone has a mug, she raises hers in a salute.
"Let us share this drink to mark the agreed peace for the night. May no blood be spilled by either side. To go against this pledge would invite the curse of the serpent upon the oathbreaker and his house." She says and then takes a drink and is soon followed by the rest of the reavers who then watch you all expectantly.
The cheerful gnome raises his cup which looks huge in his hands and replies, "To hospitality." Then, he drains the cup.
Trevor follows behind Ibrox and repeats what the Gnome said, too focused on avoiding eye contact with the Trollkin: "To hospitality!"