The conversation and music quickly start up again once Dawnflower takes a seat in a far corner of the room, Kalisuel at her side. Suspicious and confused looks continue to flash in the direction of the two, but no one seems to bother them or pay any direction attention.
"Those are glad tidings." Rosemary says to Gunnar upon hearing that Britta is safe and on her way back to Nargenstal. Both relief and worry are obvious in her face and words. "It'll be good to have her back and although this isn't the Silver Maiden, I hope she'll be willing to help us continue restoring and running the place. With all the...changes...most of us aren't likely to be going back to town much these days."
She then leans in close to Gunnar and Luthael, her eyes flicking toward the elf woman in the back of the room. "I don't know where she got those clothes, why she's decided to dye her hair, or how you came to be travelin' with her." She says tilting her head toward Dawnflower. " But it's the worst disguise I've ever seen. Everyone can see it's the Commandant's secretary. And they won't take well to her coming out here to spy and do her master's dirty work. Or to you folk running with her..." She adds sliding each of you an ale.
"Hello Scramsax." Illarya says turning to greet you with a smile. It's as if she simply knew you were there. A pipe is clutched between her teeth, tendrils of smoke drifting from the deep bowl. An intoxicating blend of smells signal the first crops of the dryad's own gardens and fields have been harvested for whatever blend burns in the pipe.
As she turns another is revealed sitting behind her. A plain looking young girl. Hair of blonde and blue eyes. Although young, she is already tall and her bare arms are like sleek iron bands as she adds a layer of beeswax to a thick wooden sword. She offers you a friendly smile that even in the dark of early evening seems to shine with the light of the sun. It is a radiance similar to that of the magics conjured by Luthael, but shining at some deeper level beyond what most could even fathom.
Illarya points to the sky and waves her hand in a circle. "I see you found some new toys...and a few new friends." She says giving you a look that you can't quite determine what it might mean. Curiosity perhaps. Or uncertainty. After all, you have shared much with this fae creature, more than most other mortals could ever dream of sharing and still live. This shared knowledge. Will it be bond or curse or of little import?
"Have to say, I didn't expect to see you again."
"Came to ask for help, course you owe me nothin'. Makin' a gift...for my daughter. Ever hearda dsilyidje qacal?" he took out a bag of the Dawnflower Mound's gem dust, letting a conical pile spill out in his hand before her lavender eyes. "Like a proper paintin', but outta sands and hands instead o'paint and brush. Seen one once, stolen from the Dominion of the Wind Lords way south. Heard its like a portal to healing sort of thing, good spirits bless or protect kinda thing or whatever. Want to try it, to...er..." he couldn't help but blush "...try something special for her. Look, this emerald green's just like her eyes! And this topaz yellow...like the sheen that clings to Heartwood. Thought maybe I could use some sticky sap from that whatchamacalit shrub we used to texture the waterscape, to make the dust stay...and well, you've an eye for beauty and I just feel more complete here, ever since...you know. What you say, make somethin' new with me?" holding up bags and bags of the stuff.
It was a candid pitch from a genuine bastard, and much more than he deserved.
Luthael nods at the lady and replies with a smile, "we can assure you that the fae lady in your inn is certainly not the "Commandant's secretary." However, this fae lady does have have evil sister with whom she wants to have some challenging words."
"Can you tell us more about this "Commandant's secretary?"
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The Honey colored fur of Ingryd was clear and bright in contrast to the dark forest green shirt and skirt that she wore. Her feet were wrapped in the stained cloth of the poor. Still, she seemed to enjoy the many beverages laid out before her. at least 6 cups rest empty with another two full.
Strangely the women and their entourage who came with them caught her eye. Absently the woman touched the necklace on her chest. Ingryds' left eye closed the old scar from the three-fingered hag claw bringing her back to the tragedy that had befallen her children, her husband, and her. This prompted her to bring the warm amber liquid to her muzzle and down the ale.
AS she slammed the tankard onto the table Ingryd brought her paw up and wiped what probably was half the contents from her face. She had been here for a few days and well-heard stories of a party of adventurers. Ones doing good deeds and protecting the families here. Ingryd herself had done a lot of fighting and slaying since that tragic night. Ghouls, Zombies, dark fae, and the twisted things that got in her way. She was until now one bear against a Mountian of evil!
Though The blessing of the Bear Maiden was with her, she knew that she could no longer do this alone. What wasn't was healers, spell flingers, scouts, and the like. She needed them, her journey and Ingryds' current purpose demanded as such. So upon hearing of their local exploits Ingryd had determined to ask them if she can join them.
Ingryd rose and headed over to the table these heroes sat. She stumbled a bit, the alcohol having slowly taken effect. As she gets to the table she smiles and slowly speaks."Are you d' er, um ones dat saved d' girl, d' Narg Naughty Nine, or were it d' Narg Secret Six."
The bear folk woman then straightened herself after a bit of a cough stopped her. Ingryd stopped and turned her head slightly to the left and nodded."I'm getting there, I am!" as she turned back she blinked "Sorry, but I was wondering if you could use some more muscle! I am strong and have the blessing of the Bear Maiden with me. If you need me too, I can prove myself. Just take me along next time!" She says as she reaches in and pulls out a small jar of honey and begins to eat some of it.
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"O by Huginn and Muninn here is proof that Thor's blessings are upon us in full force! Who but the Thunderer himself could ensure that so splendid a place again graces these once thrice-cursed woods? Let us take the place by storm and partake in the revel that our many victories have been too long denied!"
Aterro pauses only long enough to gaze at the game of Hnefatafl enfolding in the open. He shakes his head and says, soberly, "You move your Eastern Spearman unwisely. Attack to the North or the King will escape in three moves." Is he right? Who cares when there is serious eating to be done!
Aterro stomps in sits down heavily. "Wench!" he calls out for service in the traditional manner. "I've hunger that has never had a rival among Men! Tonight I shall put myself against Odin's Trial. Yes! I shall endeavor to devour one of each and every dish made under this roof. And cursed be he to first cry 'Hold! Enough!'"
What follows next is warfare unrivaled in the gourmandizing world. Aterro plunges into hot breads and steaming stews and tankard after tankard of strong drink like a full wing or heavy cavalry plunging into the flank of enemy archers.
As the she-bear approaches them, he pauses in his assault on a shepard's pie. He had noticed her when they arrived, as any force that could have half-a-dozen fallen soldiers in front of them as testament to their thirst must surely be a trencherman of the first rank.
At the first mention of their ne'er-do-well nickname, Aterro washes his mouth with some brown-colored fluid (exactly what he couldn't say, as he'd stopped keeping track of the specific name of the ales) and quickly retorts. "Oh, please, no. Just the 'Heroes of Nargenstal' would be fine if the group must needs be called a thing. Our erstwhile halfling came up with the name on the fly, to an archmage. I'm not sure if he knew the power of one to spread a tale so tall, but I'm even of a mind that he was aware and proceeded with the greater gusto.
I am Brother Aterro, bear maiden. And you are?"
As he listens to her go on and offer her serviuce he was about to answer with gusto...when she took out the jar of honey.
'Could you be a dear and feed the kids?' a multi-eyed and honey-sweet voice echoes in his head, the memory laced with a venom of its own. 'Go out? Whatever for, dear? We have all we could need right here. Forever.'
Aterro's flush face sudden goes a pale white and he lowers his head to his hands.
"This is a moment in time. I will face my fear and will pass through me."
Ingryd looked down at the man and huffed and snorted at the name 'Heroes of Nargenstal', The others sounded way better! As she did she began to chuckle and nodded as she dipped her fingers into the jar and ate some more of her honey.
"Ingryd, Ingryd Honeyhair to some. No relation to the Glorious Queen back in My Homeland. T'was given t' me by the Priestess of Bengta the Dear Maiden after my right of passage." She says with a bit of pride. As she does she taps the necklace on her chest. She softened a moment before she then looked back at her table and the drinks awaiting.
The barbarian then laughed "That aside d' udder name is more entertain' It b' also perfect for d work I've done" Slurred the bear folk warrior as she took a random tankard off one of the passing trays and plops a coin on the tray. She takes a drink then chases it with a little bit of rich honey.
"Makes me think I'll like d' halflin', d b funny, I like funny" The woman says as she shifts from her right foot to left popping out her hip. Standing at full height she was just a little bit over seven and a half feet. Making her an imposing figure amongst those assembled.
"I've seen such works." The other girl, Katrina says suddenly. "They often craft huge sand paintings in the Mharoti, Open Temple of Harkesh and many other shrines throughout the Dragon Empire where Azuran of the Four Winds is worshiped. It is said the wind carries the prayers and power of these works up into the sky to Azuran's great domicile above the Roof of Heaven where the the great god returns them fortune, victory, and enlightenment."
The words are strange coming from one who looks so young and even Illarya appears a bit surprised by the youthful woman's speaking of the far away Dragon Empire with such ease and authority. For her part, Katrina does not seem to notice the dryad's unsettled look. Instead she steps forward and places an easy hand on Illarya's shoulder. "I will aide you in the crafting of such a thing. While most works are set upon the winds. Occasionally a very few have been crafted for more permanence. With your knowledge of saps and resins, mine for the designs and technique, and the halfling's strong arms, open heart, and clear desire, we should be able to make something that would make this daughter proud."
With Katrina's words still lingering beneath the great willow tree, Illarya turns back to Scramsax and grants the halfling a thoughtful smile. "It seems this daughter of yours shall have three working toward this treasure rather than simply two. But tell me, you did not have a daughter when we...ummm...shared our minds. I do not always understand mortal ways, but does it not take longer than a few weeks for children to be born?"
Rosemary leans back from Luthael and Gunnar, her eyes taking a long hard look at Dawnflower sitting at her table talking with Kalisuel. Finally she shakes her head, a confused look furrowing her brow. "It is hard to believe what you say is true and yet, I would surely trust each of you with my life given all you have done for us. If you say the two are not the same person, then I will believe it is so. Yet, the resemblance is uncanny."
She starts to run a damp cloth along the bar, wiping away crumbs, wet rings, and scattered ash from pipes and more than a few folk smoking a pungent tobacco wrapped in thin papers.
"Surprised you haven't met her yet." She says speaking of this mysterious secretary. "Be glad you haven't. She's warm and friendly enough the first few times you see her. But she'd as soon see you an oarsman chained to one of the new navy galleys or conscripted into that rabble they're calling the Army of Orzu. That or, if you get too far out of line, throw you over to her own private army of thugs and brutes. Few good folk every return from their dastardly clutches. She claims it is all on orders of the Commandant, but Hildigunn swears it is this woman's work alone."
Scram's exaggerated virility and subsequent master class in fatherhood seemed a close second priority.
Catching a glance from the young Kat "...eh, I know, its unfortunate. Don't ask me why they insist on such a group name for themselves...loose cannons, all. Say, I don't think we've met? I like your pluck! You weren't with Book's caravan?...er, I mean Rook." correcting himself as he leans back with his hands on his waist to take in her enchanting visage and strange wooden armament a moment "What's that you got there? Little stinger, aha?" then taps his foot wondering if Illarya is going to pass that amazing smelling blend his way.
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"Are you going to be eating...that...often?" Aterro asks, doing all he can to not look at the honey.
"Well I'm for visiting this secretary and inspecting her 'army'. We seem to be overrun with women who are long-lost cousins, and this seems a mystery of the first rate.
No no, Luthael, I'm not saying we should turn away from the sword, but after than business, I think we should return home and see what has been done in our absence."
Aterro's eyes look back at his half-done pie, trying to get back the ardor he had before the honeypot walked back in to his life.
" Yes, be part of d Bear Maidens blessin' like d bee is" Ingryd says letting the bee be shown now. It was a regular bee but seemed to hover and cling to Ingryd.
" Also tower me former per'fession,, was a hivekeeper n mead maker! Now I fight evil and protect the weak!" Ingryd says as she seems to sober up towards the end. Her face was also intense so much she slammed her hands onto the table smearing a bit of honey on the table.
" She b why I'm 'ere" Ingrid straightens to her over seven feet height and looks for something to wipe the table off with. " Bear Maiden guided me 'every. The bee said great heroes here. So here I be and you are the great heroes right?" She says a bit questioningly as the bee buzzs about.
"Well, Brother Aterro is a certified Big D**n Hero; the rest of us just bask in his reflected glory and try to keep him from getting killed in the course of his heroics," smiles Gunnar as he looks up from his own more modest repast. "I'm Gunnar; nice to meet you."
"I see" Ingryd said as she fished out some more honey from her jar.
" SO he is the only heavy hitter you have?" She says a bit more soberly as her bee poofs away."I am Ingryd Honeyhair, brewer and beekeeper turned warrior."
Illarya smiles and passes a pouch of dried herb over to Scramsax while Katrina does her best to answer his question.
"Nay, I did not travel here with Rook, although I have heard his name mentioned. My arrival here is...somewhat like that of your Vee." She says hesitantly as if searching for the right words or not necessarily understanding herself. "Oh...I am not a magician's construct come to life. But neither was I born from flesh and blood. At least...not recently. Based on what Illarya has told me and what those who brought me back say, I have been...away...for a long, long while. I recall very little of who I was before, but more and more I get...glimpses."
She beams a smile at the mention of her sword. Her hands hold the lacquered wood in an easy confident grip as if she has done so for a decades. Her movements as she steps forward are those of a graceful swordswoman of immense skill. It is an unsettling look on one so young in appearance.
"It is from where I was found." She says holding up the sword for Scramsax to get a better look. "A weapon for practice but still sturdy enough to provide some level of defense should a need arise."
A serving girl slides a steaming plate of bread, meat and roasted potatoes and carrots in front of Aterro along with a pint of dark stout.
"That should see you started Aterro." Rosemary says with a laugh and then returns her attention to Gunnar and Luthael. To the dwarf she leans in and speaks a bit softer so as not to alarm any of the other patrons.
"You'll also be glad to know we've blasted them passages and tunnels running below." She says knocking on the bar to indicate the tunnels beneath the inn. "Hopefully that'll keep them undying monsters from creeping up on us unawares. We also keep a watch most days and nights. Listeners for any sound or sign of digging. Best safe rather than sorry Hildigun says." Rosemary's nod signaling her own agreement with the old grandmother's caution.
Pausing a moment for Aterro to bask in the praise, Gunnar says, ”We all contribute in our own ways, but Aterro here usually holds the front line, though I have joined him on occasion. I would venture to say our opponents have been shocked at times when I decide to bring the thunder.”
At Rosemary’s information, Gunnar responds quietly, ”That sounds wise indeed. If you would like me to come and inspect the tunnels at some point, I can do so, but it sounds like you have the situation under control.”
"I see, I jus' summon bees and use my paws, teeth, and weapons" Ingryd says as she looks at the food sniffs it, and smiles.
"Smells good!" Ingryd says as she then looks at Gunnar.
"Er is der trouble?" Ingryd asks wondering what all the whispering was about.
Chatting Kat on and on, Scram kept Illarya steady in the corner of his eye, slowly climbing the isolated palm rooted in his consciousness to sneakily bridge again across the stars with the dryad ::My friends'll be wantin' to speak with ya soon enough about you-know-what. Got a way to keep it safe and take the burden off ya. We'll be outta yer hair a few days tops...think I could bivouac here in the meantime? You could meet Vee...grove we built here is as close to home as I've got anymore. And guess'n ya trust this one to let her so close.::
"Pleasure to meet you Ingryd Honeyhair. I'm Luthael Invictusol, a prophet of Khors. And yes, Aterro is the heavy hitter." Luthael replies to the bearfolk.
To Rosemary Luthael says, "That looks amazing. I'll have what he's having."
"Tunnels? To the Imperium? Interesting."
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Brightened by delivery of both praise and consumables, Aterro regains his composure. As long as he doesn't think about the seven-foot-tall bearfolk eating the...eating the...eating the H-word, he should be okay.
"Aye, by Brother-in-Thor Gunnar has the right of it! I am WarCleric, with a capital WAR. I bring death and doom to those that would seek to bring my homeland low.
Well, um, lower, I suppose. The land is only 'mostly' taken over, as things stand."
'Wait, she has a bee, too? It would probably be bad manners to smash it at our first meeting. Well bees don't live that long, so it'll be dead soon. Specifically 2.7 I CAN'T KNOW THAT ANYMORE.'
"Ah yes a destroyed homeland... Mine has suffered..." The bear folk woman says softly and somberly. A sniffle, as well as one with a bear muzzle, could sniffle, comes across as she reaches up and grips her necklace. The bones and beads rattle as she clutches them and then quickly puts away her honey.
In a flash, she grabs the nearest beverage and downs it. MOst fell onto her front as she cared little for the contents and more for its effects. Another followed, and then another. As she drank she cried, soft tears as soon all alcoholic liquid on the table was drained dry.
"S..s..surry" she slurred as she stood there no longer crying. "fought fanger face er two n ma way 'ere. An er zomb or seven. Damn dead need stay dead! Same wif da dark fey!" She spits and then blinks and reaches up to scratch her head. 'Surry"
“Rosemary,” calls Gunnar, then continues speaking more quietly when she walks over, ”our ancient elven friend has a sister who betrayed her long ago; perhaps this sister has found a place as this self-styled Commandant’s secretary, given your description of their resemblance. If true, the grim tidings you bring could get significantly worse. Could you arrange to have Hildigun private appraise our whole group of the situation later tonight?”
A bit later on, Gunnar moves over to have a quick conversation with Kalisuel and Dawnflower, quietly informing them of the situation and the possibility her sister/betrayer may be at work nearby.
Flushing at the dryad's sudden praise, Katrina nods in shy agreement. "Much does seem to come to me naturally as if I've learned it all before. Performed the steps so many times it was a natural as waking with the rising sun." She slips the sword into a simple rope belt. "But I could tell you little of how or why I learned such things."
Illarya starts at first when you touch her mind, but then seems to relax. Ahhh...so the connection remains in place. I did wonder if our time together would result in the ability to converse in such a manner. I will be glad to pass that accursed weapon on to them. I can feel the illusions keeping it hidden waning along with my power as autumn approaches.
Rosemary nods at both Gunnar and Luthael. To the later she says, "Aye, Aterro, Gunnar and Scramsax, along with Trevor..." She nods to a rather forlorn looking young man sitting in the corner nursing a pint of light ale. "They brought Thor's justice upon the ghouls, killing them all, well, almost all, and finding the tunnels, and rescuing Illarya. And that was after freeing this place from the Old Witch who might've been in cahoots with the greyskins all along." She blushes after rattling on. "But then you've been traveling with them, so you probably already know all of that." She then dashes off to find Hildigunn.
Scram raises an eyebrow at the strange girl, then casually offers with a smirk "Well best thing about memories is making 'em, so you've a leg up there I reckon. Now if you'll excuse me I have a few errands in town...but I'll bring us a keg and some pumpernickel later and we can bivouac, maybe layout the dsilyidje qacal, I sketched out a few ideas already..." he drops a bunch of semi-artistic charcoal nudes down before them. Basically everyone has gigantic boobs for some reason, even Aterro and Radovan. "Anyways, ta." finding his way out.
After finishing his meal, Gunnar sits back and pulls out some rather esoteric looking supplies and tools he liberated from Radovan's tower, considering how he might repair some of the damaged magic items found there as well. He does lend an ear towards the ongoing conversations, though, and pauses with his tools when topics of interest arise.
The rogue made his way back into town, catching a glimpse of light from the tavern as his companions reveled and relaxed. He had promised Illarya a belly full of dark ale and toasted pumpernickel tonight, but with 4 silvers to his name that wasn't going to happen. This adventuring thing wasn't paying off like he hoped, at least not quick enough for the little greedy bastard anyways.
So, Scram did what Scram does best: steal.
Finger dipping wouldn't get very far, he suspected...at best he might double his silvers for an hours comb. Scram-burglaring around was similarly quickly dismissed, as any rare valuables he might take from one of the dung and rotted wood residences would be unsellable at any local market, at least not without a healthy risk of getting pinched.
But then an idea crept into the halfling's mind...one that just might work...he could use his skills to re-cut the stolen gemstones into different geometries, then further conceal them in the clasps of rings. In effect, he would launder the stones into jewelry...jewelry which could indeed be sold.
Seeing Gunnar starting to relax with a good book after sharing a meal, Luthael asks, "Gunnar. Um. Where's the artifact? Shouldn't we put it in the box as soon as possible?"
Scramsax borrows the keys to the Nasty Rug and slips off into town. No one is sure of his intentions, but when he returns just before dawn smelling of smoke, sweat, and the sharp, pungent aroma of pickle, sulphur, mineral spirits, and other compounds usually drifting along the metalsmith and jewelers streets of Zobeck or Triolo.
Hildigunn eventually shows up at the inn, but doesn't really have much more to offer beyond Rosemary's original gossip and guesswork. But she does recognize the same resemblance between Dawnflower, Kalisuel, and this mysterious adjutant. But none of you can be quite sure whether it is just the old woman's usual suspicions of outsiders, especially fae folk, or if this really is the missing fae sister. There is really only one way to find out.
Eventually, Gunnar and Luthael seek out Illarya beneath her tree. The dryad is only to happy to transfer the sword into the nullbox. In fact, as soon as the lid snaps close both priest and wizard can see the strain and weight immediately begin to lift from the dryad's body.
The strangest occurrence of the night is as Gunnar and Luthael finish with Illarya, Katrina steps into the grove ready with a warm greeting for the dwarf. But instead her eyes are immediately drawn to the sun symbol dangling around Luthael's neck and she lets out a startled cry and steps back hastily. The fear is obvious and clear as she shakes her head, raising her wooden practice sword before her.
"No....no....no. I'll not let it happen again!" She shouts, her eyes wide with fright but also a deep burning determination.
Ingryd grabs and drags a heavy chair from her table and sits down with this group. She focuses on her cups and listens her ears moving to take in the sounds as she seems to listen and inwardly reflect.
Luthael looks at Katrina with empathy, "my dear, what happen again?"
He has had many experiences with people having negative reactions to the symbol of Khors. His believers have not always been compassionate instead delivering harsh consequences, and sometimes not unintentional.
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Katrina does her best to gather herself back together as Luthael does not appear to be an actual threat. Confusion runs rampant across her features as she tries to untangle the skein of sudden, unexpected memories with her current reality. Her hand drifts away from the wooden sword and rubs at her forehead.
"I...I am sorry sir." She says shakily. "I do not know exactly what happened."
Illarya put an arm around the girl, an unexpected gesture of comfort from the dryad.
"The memories can come at any moment and it seems many are not of a pleasant nature." Illarya says.
Katrina nods leaning into the protective circle of the dryad's arm. "It was your sun symbol. Or not yours exactly. Similar, but with a blood red ring around the outer edge and the words 'Faith, Fury, Justice' set within the ring." She shudders, her breathing heavy and rapid. Her eyes close but she is unable to drive away whatever memories spill forth in her mind. After several seconds she gasps as if stabbed and then looks up in both terror and fury.
"It...was a man wearing such a symbol who...who wielded that blade and drove it into my heart." She says with a shaking gesture toward the sword so recently encased in the nullbox.
Yet there are those who believe that the Reformation was a terrible mistake. And that is was ending the Inquisition that allowed the Undead Empire to so easily conquer Krakovar using hidden agents from within. "If only vigilant Inquisitors had been allowed to do their duty, then Krakovar would still stand free." Is a common refrain heard in certain shadowy circles deep within the bureaucratic bowels of the Sun Gods temples.
"Oh. Oh!" Luthael reacts with revulsion when he starts to understand what she is talking about.
"You describe the symbol of the Holy Inquisition of Khors. The High Sunpriest Solomon exorcised them from the church during the Reformation of Light, but that was over a hundred years ago."
"Khors Himself sent me visions of this unholy blade shrouded in false light, these heroes, and this dryad's grove. I believe my mission from Him is to unmake this sword."
"But, but, how could you have had this blade driven through your heart?"
"This is unexpected--that is the symbol of the discredited Holy Inquisition of Khors, correct, Luthael?" responds Gunnar, worried suddenly what such a judgmental sect would do with the megalomaniacal sword of evil they were currently hiding.
Scram blew his soot-filled nose on the corner of the Nasty Rug just before the break of dawn, muttering confused jinxes at himself.
He had just done work.
What in the cursed name of slow swinging ice witch titties was going on? The halfling felt as if a great change were on the horizon, but it was moving out of his control at an incredible pace. It's nature seemed impossible to pinpoint...though of course some would say fatherhood irrevocably changes a man.
It was hard to shake this sense of impending internal change, with the day to day's reality only a faint echo of his forgotten dreams. Looping his pinky in the tiny and still warm silver hoop, he pressed on with the task he had assigned himself...setting the gemstone.
For the task he plotted an expedition back to that shady corner of Illarya's grove, where (in the time of their shared existence) they had set a smooth, comfortable sitting stone along a concealing shrub of honeysuckle. The kind of spot perfect for pipe smoking, and avoiding the days worries.
But it would now suit the focused practice of a halfling lapidary.
Unfolding the tight leather pack of tools revealed a small bow and various abrasive minerals, mostly collected from the river beds of Scram's eastern migration following his exile. Best of course was the nepheline syenite, which in rare samples yielded a particular igneous derivative known to the southern gem masters as Cerianite. Scram had filched some once at the end of a three day bender, and thus its ultimate origin remained unknown.
From his collection of stolen gemstones, he plucked out a healthy specimen...one that would catch the eye, but not turn heads. He had narrowed it down to a carnelian brown (which he suspected would look rather handsome as a simple cabochon), and a cut agate with interesting striations that suggested movement. Ultimately, he settled on the carnelian, for of course resizing the agate would lead to a relatively large amount of material waste, and thus an unacceptable drop in value despite the no doubt glorious result.
The design considerations behind him, the jewel thief set out on the bruting arts, reshaping a beauty fallen from nature to match the greater one ablaze inside his imagination.
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Aterro sat back and let out a loud, appreciative belch. He hadn't really been able to do a full Odin's...such a thing was almost impossible at a good wineshop like this. It was more a thing to aspire to then a goal to achieve.
He knew not what the others had got to, and did not care. There were times you had to put down weapons belt and let the world find a way to get on without you. He briefly, in the drunken way men do, contemplated what was on with the boy he had almost taken under his wing, but had been robbed by him by that paladin. What was his name? Bah, what matter it? Eat drink and be merry and all that.
Only now did he notice the bearfolk, really notice her, and she had the unmistakable universal look of wanting to arm-wrestle. (Such was a favorite pastime amongst the WarCleric's training barracks and he knew that look from long practice.)
He nods to himself and puts forth a right arm. "Best two out of three?" he offers.
"That...that I do not know. Or remember." The young woman says to Luthael as her hand reaches up to rub her chest where she recalls the feeling steel plunge into flesh. "Only that it was so." She adds.
At the prospect of a bit of physical sport between bearkin and warcleric, spectators begins to gather and in the time honored tradition of pubs and inns across the multiverse, bets are wagered.
The ring is a fine bit of work. The stone gleams in the light and the silver is brilliant and polished.
= 24 total
"You poor soul. I'm so sorry. That must have been awful." The prophet extends his deepest sympathies toward her.
After an emotionally settling pause, he says, "where are my manners, m'lady? My name is Luthael, a prophet of Khors, which has earned me the moniker of Invictusol."
"Who might you be?"
Ingryd hruffs as she then smirks."Two outta three eh, Bet" As she pulls her hand up and slams an elbow on the table. Her forearms huge and fur clade as well as her big meaty paws.
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"Done," Aterro echoes. "And I'll not use magic if you don't rage," he adds with a rare cheesy grin.
Aterro flexes his thick wrist before clasping to the grip. He'd known guys that had broken bones by arm wrestling without knowing how to avoid it. Not that such was a problem for his profession, but he didn't want to go through it, if it was avoidable.
He admired the bear-folk's great size, with slabs of muscle and high-piled fur. No doubt she would be a terror in a fight. For a moment he worried at his chances, wondering if he was not so full and drunk if he would have started this. But few would call him small, too, and he was fresh off some notable victories.
Gripping the meaty paw he called upon Thor's grace to see him through and bring glory to the pantheon of Asgard!
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Scramsax spots the sucker...er buyer...coming from a mile away. One of the newly arrived soldiers from Courlandia. And having spent the last year out in the field on several successful raids of Krakovan territory, he is flush with coin. The halfling just happens to notice the lovestruck look upon the boys face when the youth is talking with one of the also newly arrived 'working girls.'
Seeing an opportunity, the halfing swoops in. Less than fifteen minutes later, Scramsax finds himself 100 Gold Dragons richer and the young soldier is off to propose.
"It was indeed." The girl says in all honesty. "My name is Katrina. Unfortunately, I do not know much else about my own past, although those you traveled with claim there is much to it."
Aterro slams the bearkin's arm to the table hard enough to rattle the gathering of empty mugs. Cheers and complaints erupt and coins are exchanged as the warcleric takes the first bout of the contest with the big barbaric bearkin.
Acting as adjudicator Rosemary waves the two contestants back into position, her small hands holding the burly fists of Aterro and Ingryd.
"Ready...." She says eyeing the crowd to see that final bets are placed. "Wrestle!"
As the two well-muscled arms rippled and flexed Ingryd began to grumble and then a big hard Blench escaped her lips. It was loud and long, and in that chaos, her arms tension waned and down her arm went to hit the table with a heavy thud.
Once the blech ended she laughed and took another drink of whatever alcohol was nearby. She then resets her arm."Looks like you are the victor this round!"
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Having written the check where he ignores all else while in the heat of struggle, once the bear's arm hit the table, his nose demanded leave to report the atrocities it had recorded. Surprised and stunned, Aterro scrunches up his face and reels back, desperately grasping for air.
Once she moves he mouth to drink more, Aterro is granted reprieve enough to fill his lungs with new, cool air, and recover his wits.
"Ha! Luck that! We will see. That is why matches must needs go further. Endurance and Will will win through where mere luck cannot deliver."
Aterro toes the battle line again and eagerly enters the clench.
The room echoes with another resounding *SLAM* but this time it is the WarCleric's fist that tastes wood.
"One more time?"
Ingryd was still drinking when this round came. She tensed her arm and sent the clerics' hand into the table and then let go knowing she won.
Ingyrd smiles and nods."You did say best outta three we are matched at one each"
Ingryd readies her hand and when the Cleric clasps her moves to push his hand down.
Luthael turns to Gunnar and asks with great anticipation, "What do you know of Katrina, Gunnar?"
Smiling at Luthael, Gunner quotes, ” Behind my shield find shelter. With my blade find courage. Under the light of god find true wisdom.”
”I dare say this young lady is the reason you were drawn to our group. Behold, the Handmaiden of Khors, Saint Katerina reborn!” proclaims Gunnar, bowing slightly and carefully watching Luthael’s response to this revelation.
A dark green shadow was expelled from existence as bright ribbons of red sunrise consumed the night sky. The sweaty, grit stained, barrel rolling halfling with a loaf of bread for a hat was revealed...but he didn't care, he was back in friendly territory.
Perhaps it was some residual fae dust from the Null Guard's pilfering, or maybe a curse from the devil's middle finger jangling in his hidden pocket, more likely though it was simply an affect of the wacky nabber's constitution...he collapsed. Scram was after all built like a lean unfed tiger, good for quick rush...not for the marathon of a night of hard labor.
Illarya found him later that afternoon curled in a ball next to a full untapped keg of dark ale, a hearty loaf of toasted pumperknickel, and an enormous sack of coin.
He found himself back in the desolate wasteland of Dawnflower...or some reflection, recreation, some annex of it.
The Scouting Suit was another wise purchase from Uncle Albert's Teradyne think tank, with a water carrying capacity of 7.5 liters in cleverly distributed pouches running along his femur, clavicle, and spine. The narrow tubular intestines of the highplains mutant coyote delivered moisture through a network of capillaries braching towards his nostrils and the corner of his eyes. Meanwhile, the woven wing flaps of the lunar moth bats was a comfortable, springy material ideal for long rides such as this.
Kimmy, the strange chimera of mule+dolphin*feathered griffon^2 was cool to the touch, Scram's little hand gripping the hairy dorsal fin as they glided upwards from the heat below. *Ek! EEEPititaeekggrp!!* it chippered in the aquatic tongue of the Cetacea.
"I see it too, girl..." they had crested the highest dune, more a mountain of compact purple sediment stubbornly baked crisp, and beyond the sea of sands yet endured in its battle against the wind. But a silver spire glinted in the light, hovering far above...or perhaps it was a mirage, and instead penetrated deep into the cold earth below. "...the lost fortress of Meadowcourt."
He wasn't searching for the god-like creature, or the spider minions protecting its incursion into this space. He had long ago shelved an unfinished business plan (really more of a hostile takeover) of Teradyne systems and their astronomical profits. Instead, he sought the Dawnflower's greatest treasure...hidden miles away. The thief's mark was always more spectacular to imagine than to hold...and his blood was replaced with something more alive.