As Laurel takes a sip of the ale, his entire face scrunches as if he was sucking on a lemon. This tastes terrible! I didn't think being an adult could be so disgusting... When no one is looking (rather while they are distracted by his story), Laurel attempts to pour the fermented substance into someone else's cup, so as to "save face":
"...Ya an' the wooves they was THIS big,..." Outstretching his arms widely "... an' we gave 'em a THIS an' a THAT..." Acting out Zurkha's mighty two-handed sword slashes with an "orcish" facial expression "an' cuttin' 'iz crikin' hed cleen off like ... - ain' thet right Zurkha? Yeh then Nosh 'eh sen's yeller bolt frem 'is feengers like DIS" Laurel throws his dagger at the wall to both model the Ray of Exhaustion and as a diversion to quickly attempt his "palming" of the nasty ale into Galen's cup "an the woov reels tha blow" Laurel flails backwards gritting teeth "an... o wait what happen first was - Oh ya switch those aroun: firs' t'was Nosh den Zurkha, yeah, an' then I runs up an..."
If anyone notices Laurel commit the perfect crime, it is not noticed at all. Laurel notices the little goblin staring at him with wide eyes as he spins his story of the gigantic wolves. Delma smiles broadly over to Galen.
"Now that's what I like to hear. Don't mind the folks of Etran's Folly. We've had some hard times and it makes them a bit untrusting at times. But everyone is willing to share their table and a big turnip with ya if you're patient and show some respect."
"Nyet, is tu-poy..." Zurkah tries to correct the child's pronunciation but it's clear he's already moved past that.
Relieved his orcish heritage hasn't yet caused an outrage, Zur sits with a mug of cider and lets the boy prattle on.
Galen raises an eyebrow as the boy pours his drink into Galen's but decides it's not worth saying anything. he takes a few more sips but then subtly sets it aside and pretends to just forget about it while waiting for dinner
Findlaine will sip at her turnip ale, cursing herself for not at least learning some cantrips back home. She smiles at Laurel's question.
"My name is Findlaine Arvine," she says, struck a moment later by a pang of sadness. "A would-be Knight of Lastwall on her way home to Kyonin. Where are you from, Laurel?"
"Sarright fyi'call ye Fin'laine or miss Arvine? Not teh be rude 'er nuthin' but I ne'er met no Alf up close ya know ya seems real nice not how like they say... Me 'an me ma we frum around yonder whut 'fore we got moved aroun' (and swear onnit gun go back when we're a'findin' mah bruthers 'n sissers) but yeah we used-tah move aroun' anyway mosly the plains far from the mountains ye know an we had a... oh how ya says it..." slowly pronouncing it "Care-Ow-Van... thassit?... ye 'til we'na met wit them ghodwickin' shambucks what run us out... well an' I guess that take'n us'ta about here - this fin'n'lovlee town of Plaigstow...:" Suddenly stops, catches himself, darts an eye to Delma, corrects into "-er-'Atrans Follee' here ye us'n tha ternips... say Fin'laine or miss Arvine (whichis ye prefer?) you bein' majick too 'en yer feengers? I done never had mush intrest in det stuff and bein' that I'm so nachrully strong" Flexes his biceps again "an whatnot t'ne'er curred tah me plus me 'n books yah know yisee mah smarts is more'n kin contain'n inna no books thas fer learn'd folk - which remins me uva story when I was only a wee'un an..."
Laurel recounts a story about the first time he Slayed a Beast with his Strength and his Smarts together...
...All the meanwhile, Laurel is watching the not-Nosh Goblin, not necessarily expecting trouble or in an angry way, but neither willing to be unprepared for any situation: That is, I'd like to Hunt Prey that Goblin, just in case the necessity comes up...
Nosh sits and enjoys Laurel's stories but recognizes their...embellished...nature but does nothing to disabuse anyone about the tales.
"Oh, for that spell, its this," Nosh holds his hand in a very specific manner, "Not like this."
Nosh keeps his eye on the large man, but does not make eye contact while they sit there. He also makes no move to interact with the goblin.
Findlaine listens to Laurel's story and give the boy a smile. "I have a little bit of magic, just whatever healing Iomedae grants myself and my allies," she says, continuing to drink at the turnip ale. She's definitely not a fan of it but doesn't want to be rude. "You can just call me Findlaine, Miss Arvine feels much too formal. You sound like you're on track to be a real hero, you know. Slaying beasts is tough work."
Laurel decides that the goblin, Phinick, is a shady type and keeps her eyes on him. He mostly just looks scared and stressed.
As you settle in to start talking, you see more farmers making their way into the Feedmill to start drinking alarming amounts of turnip ale.
The Feedmill continues to fill with people and soon Bort arrives, looking pleased with himself. He settles down and calls out another round irrespective of where your drinks are.
"A feast awaits us friends! I know some people may complain about the food here but I love a good turnip and Etran's Folly serves the best. The turnip porridge is to die for - speaking of dying, that reminds me..."
The first course is set out onto your table, a variety of wild game with roasted turnips. He grabs a big turnip and a piece of rabbit before starting onto a story.
"One day, back in my youth I was crossing the waters of the mighty Lake Encarthan." He meets all of your eyes to make sure he has your undivided attention. "Well Gozreh was irritated with us that day and a mighty storm hit our ship and we capsized! As the sea took my crew, I grabbed a hold of one of my treasured lock boxes before I sunk beneath the waves..."
He takes a huge bite of rabbit before washing it down with some turnip ale. "I was dead! I woke before the Lady of Graves herself to be judged for the life I had lived. But Pharasma was having a might awful time judging me fore the storm winds that brought me to the Boneyard were just tossing her hair back and forth - getting in her eyes and all, what a fright. I'm no inconsiderate dwarf, so I dug through that lockbox for a silver comb that I gave to the lady to tame her hair. So impressed was she by this gift, that she bid me farewell, and I awoke on the shores of Encarthan with my entire crew! Always keep a good lockbox with ye friends, ya never know when you may need it."
He grins over at the lot of you. "Hard to believe eh? Well let's see if you can do one better. What's your story? Where ya from? Where ya going?"
Nosh stares wide eyed all during Bort’s story, gasping at the appearance of a god and grinning in appreciation at his quick thinking. A well told story is something to savor, and when Bort finishes and asks his questions, Nosh sits back and relishes the experience. But when no others are forthcoming, Nosh speaks up haltingly from his corner of the table, ”I don’t have the grand background that Bort has, but mine has a long dead wizard, a tower, and betrayal.
Goblins don’t usually have a long memory, so I can only assume about the tower we found. It had some growth about it but hadn’t been completely overrun with plants. It must have been destroyed during the Goblinblood Wars I would guess. The tower of a wizard of some skill would be a prize you would think but my kin did not agree, it scared them, but not me. I searched the wreckage and finally found this!” Nosh holds up his strange book with loose papers spilling out.
”Most of the notes in it were in Infernal, but I had learned it when no one else had bothered. I was able to reproduce some of the easier spells in it, but even that small accomplishment turned my family against me and they chased me out. I made my way to Bort here and he’s offered to take me too Andora. Hopefully life will be better there for one of my kind.”
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Zurkha takes in Bort's story wide-eyed, and noting to himself that he should try and pick up a nice comb in case of emergencies .
After Nosh tells his story, Zurkah tells his own. "Is not yet much to tell of myself. I come from a tribe up in the mountains, in Taldane you call them the 'Menador'. My tribe is the Malinovyye Furii . In my limited travels, I have heard tell of tribes from the otechestvo , whose stands against the horrors of the Shepchushchiy Tiran even make them heroes to people of other races. If these tales are true, they have yet to reach the ears of my kinsmen in the mountains," Zurkah says matter-of-factly. "The tribes of my home are still a wild and dangerous lot, content to prey on anyone foolish enough to come near them."
"But I wish to see more of the world than the mountains. So when I came of age, I sought to undertake the ispytaniye otpravleniya, a... well, 'ceremony' is far too dignified a word for it." He unconsciously rubs his forearm and a fresh scar there, managing to not wince as he does so. "When I had recovered enough to travel, I made my way down to the lowlands. Once in Eilidir, fate led me to Bort's caravan in the marketpace, looking for guards. Is not as dramatic a tale as Master Bort's, but is mine," Zurkah says with a shrug.
2. Fatherland, i.e. the Hold ofBelkzen
3. Whispering Tyrant
4. "Trial of departure," I envision something similar to something I've heard for guys looking to "leave"a street gang, where they basically have to survive a beating from the rest of the gang, a sort of "blood in, blood out" ordeal as I've heard it.
I'm jealous! you all ahve had such interesting adventures! I am afraid I have very little to tell about myself, which really is partly why I left home. I wanted to see the world and do more than just follow my parents in their work. My family runs one of the temples of Sarenrae along the path that many followers take on a pilgrimage. we supplied food and drink and a place for prayer and reflection. I helped them in their duties since i was a young boy. but with all that has been happening in the world with the Whispering Tyrant and the refugees he can't help but glance over at Laurel and his mother I finally convinced my parents that I could do more good out in the world instead of being apart from it. I have come to bring the word of Sarenrae, to aid those who need it, and to help fight back the darkness with Holy Fire. and hopefully to have some wonderful stories of my adventures by the time I return home
After intently listening to Bort, Nosh, Zurkha, and Galen's stories intently (taking Bort's with a grain of salt and not entirely understanding Zurkha's), Findlaine figures she should tell her tale next.
"My life was rather boring up until a few months ago," she starts, putting down her cup and resting her elbows on the table. "I grew up in Greengold, the only city in Kyonin that accepted foreigners and their customs. Though my parents were devout followers of Findeladlara—hence the name Findlaine—I went down a rather different path from a young age. You see, Greengold sits on the edge of Lake Encarthan. I could look out at that lake, listening to the stories from my parents and the other elves who remember the day Aroden disappeared. The tales of a lich who killed a god. An evil so old and so powerful that his cult would stop at nothing to facilitate his return.
"The elven children that I grew up with took many paths. It is accepted, though still frowned upon, that children of Greengold may not uphold elven ideals. I certainly did not. The first time I saw a paladin of Iomedae, recruiting for the Knights of Ozem, I was awestruck." Findlaine stops for a moment, blushing in remembrance of a childhood fascination. She takes a long drink from her cup before continuing. "Physical strength is not exactly admired among my people, being known for our unnatural finesse and all. That particular blessing of my ancestry was one I was not granted. I was tall, even for an elven girl, and because of my sneaking off to mimic the training of the Iomedites my body grew to be more muscular than the lithe forms of my peers.
"Just a few months ago, I went off to Lastwall against my parents wishes to train to become a Knight of Ozem. That, for obvious reasons, is a dream never to be fulfilled. That's why I'm here—I need some work to pay for my way home so that I can figure out where my life goes from here."
Having laid her life's story bare for the first time since the first few nights back in Lastwall, Findlaine feels both relieved and vulnerable. The chill that runs through her blood is a constant worry, but she can hope that some companions and some hard work can get her mind off of the recent past.
Bort smiles encouragingly, noticing Findlaine's own unease with sharing her past. "Fine tales, all of them! You've come from far and wide and the Whispering Tyrant's rise has put a bit of a pallor over everything I'll say. Glad the Lucky Drunk is with us in friendship and community."
As Bort talks you see a snaggle-toothed human tuning a lute missing a couple of strings come up. He settles on a chair next to the dais. The place is getting louder and rowdier and he appears to have seized the opportunity to show up when everyone is drunk.
"Hi Flonk," says Bort, flatly. "Oh Bort! A pleasure to have you in town again. Here - I have prepared a little ditty for you and your companions."
He strmms an opening chord which is.. not in tune.
Oh once, there was merry,
A sweet little lady,
Who traveled, and traveled, about and out oh!
Well, she went a court-in,
But he was a snort-in,
On his whiskey, being .. being...
"Uh... right. Yes!"
frisky, and free-he-he-ho!
So she wouldn't marry,
Nor would she tarry,
But she left him, berefit him,
All - aaalloooonAUAUUGUHHH!!!
Flonk's voice is a warbling tenor that is always a good half-step sharp and he continually loses his place as he tries to coordinate singing and playing. Although the farmers largely ignore him, you see that Ulf and Olf have been playing cards with a particularly brutish, drunk farmer who is losing. He completely loses his temper as the bard starts playing, and stands, flipping the table over Ulf and Olf as he does! Turning, he flings a roasted turnip right at Flonk which pelts the "bard" upside the head. Flonk crashes to the ground just as someone retaliates by breaking a chair over the farmer's back.
"YOU WANNA FIGHT?"
"THEM'S FIGHTING WORDS!"
Within seconds the bar erupts into a fracas as everyone dives in on either side of the farmer to right some wrong or another, and soon the place is in chaos. Three farmers smirk at each other and stand to their significant heights and make for your table, clearly out to prove something.
Findlaine will stand up and stare daggers at the approaching drunks. "I'd suggest that the three of you calm down," she dictates, checking her longsword in it's sheath. She has no real intention of using it here for any means other than the threat it poses.
Impressed by the elven woman's courage, Zurkah backs her play. Pushing out from the table, he glares at them.
"Don't."
Laurel remained uncharacteristically quiet while listening intently to the stories of his new friends, occasionally nodding, dropping a jaw, uttering a "whoal no wayz des tru" and/or lifting one or more eyebrows at appropriate times. Finally these folks get to talking! he thinks to himself in his crisp cool home language even if they sound funny.
And the moment Flonk struck up a tune, Laurel leapt up and started dancing, including slamming his foot to the beat as a sort of percussion, leaning in with his eyes and ear to try and join a "vibe" with the toothless musician, who, perhaps, was unable to respond with what Laurel has before been accustomed to of a musical panache kindling a spontaneous "jam session". His thoughts as quickly fondly drift to memories of his caravan life - prior to becoming a "refugee" as Galen put it - and how folks would break into song and dance at the drop of a hat.
...
However at the break of a fight, Laurel springs stridently towards the largest looking farmer and tackles him to the ground as a continuation of the dance that Flonk had struck up in him.
"...Frisky, and free-he-he-HO!"
Nosh cowers behind Zurkha and casts Mage Hand and tries to undo one of the farmer's pants so they fall down.
Having never been in a bar fight (or really many bars in general), Galen has no idea how to react. he is a little slow to move as three men come towards the table, and he tries to keep the others between him and the drunks.
he stands up and moves to the far side of the table
Maybe let's all just calm down here? we don't want trouble!
<>to stand
<> to move behind the table
<> diplomacy
Flonk seems absolutely terrified by Laurel's intense enthusiasm, but he awkwardly tries to join with with Laurel with... mixed results, but it gets enough people watching - that is until Farmer Eallom flips a table and all hell breaks loose.
Findlaine and Zurkha both decide on a course of action of just telling the farmers that this is a VERY bad idea. Laurel springs across the room and collides into a farmer who has the physical and mental density of a particularly dense turnip. Laurel just bounces off and the farmer howls incoherently in response.
Nosh is a little bit more effective as he waggles his finger at the big scary farmer glowering at Laurel, and the man's pants immediately drop as his straining belt buckle pops open.
Galen tries to avoid getting hit by anyone and raises his hands, calling for peace. He immediately ducks a mug as it is hurled at his head, although he does see one of the farmers reconsidering his life choices.
The farmers that Findlaine and Zurkha were trying to calm down steel themselves and advnace, but their hesitant attacks miss wildly. Finally the farmer that Laurel just threw himself at does up his pants in a fury and picks up a chair.
Bort stands up onto a table. "NOW NOW EVERYONE THERE IS NO NEED TO--" someone runs up and breaks a chair over his back, sending Bort to the ground with a cry. From under the table you hear him muttering evil things before he emerges with a chair of his own.
Laurel puts up his dukes, ferrets around his farmer with some fancy footwork, then lunges learnedly with a combination to the body...
...catching a (flat-footed?) farmer in the ribs for a solid 6 non-lethal bludgeoning (or 12 if that's a critical hit)?
"Whut ya got more 'a DIS I may be small but yoo is nun-too-brite! Dun worry Bort we fittin'na finish this fas' an' non-vye-lent like! Ain't we gunna Findlaine!? Ya'll here dun' wanna messin' this'ere Holey Alf!!!"
"Bort!"
Alarmed at their employer's having been clocked, Zurkha hauls off on the clod if a farmer facing him, then moves to the caravan master.
+1 AC due to raised shield
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Stop this! we don't want to hurt anyone!
Galen cries out, then casts Light on his buckler, holding it up to draw attention
you wouldn't lay a hand on a priest of Sarenrae would you?! I don't want to hurt anyone, but that doesn't mean we're not dangerous!
Galen will keep his shield up to protect himself
<><>Light
<>Raise buckler
"This is getting out of hand, subdue them!" Findlaine yells to her companions.
Findlaine throws three rapid punches at the drunk in front of her, doing her best to aim for places that will just slow the drunk down.
Nosh waggles his fingers, mutters an incantation and casts Shield on himself and then gestures and again mutters more arcane syllables and the sound of a great clatter erupts behind the farmers as Nosh tries to distract them.
Laurel gives a farmer the old one-two and sends one flying to the ground, groaning and clutching his jaw. Zurkha shows his own quality as he takes revenge for the caravan master and sends a farmer absolutely flying from a haymaker. The farmer brawling with Findlaine is about to let her have it, but he's distracted by the sound of a crying baby thanks to Nosh's spell.
Galen tries to make it very clear he's a cleric and that it's bad luck to hit a cleric. Thankfully, people seem to be listening to that and Galen is left alone.
You see Flonk running over the tables to escape, just screaming "EEEEEEEEEEE!" as he's pelted with turnips. The farmer who started the brawl is currently getting the tar beat out of him by Ulf and Olf who are having one hell of a time.
A few people get out of the fracas as Delma charges out, shouting about getting the sheriff. The goblin Phinick dodges a mug and flees into the stables. An older mustachioed man looks around with haunted eyes before he slinks out, followed by the server Trin who has a bleeding wound on her head.
"Sombud' babe cryin!"
Laurel eyeballs the "older mustachioed man with haunted eyes": If something seems "off" about him (Sense Motive), Laurel chases him.
Otherwise Laurel chases Flonk instead
<1> Sense Motive (Secret Check using Laurel's Perception @ +5)
<2> Hunt Man or Flonk (switching off of Phinick)
<3> Stride towards Man/Flonk
Zur moves to assist Findlaine. Grabbing the farmer from behind, he says, "Enough, is finished."
Looking directly into the eyes of the man that Zurkha grappled, Findlaine speaks with a slow, intent tone. "Stop this. You have already lost this fight." Unfortunately for her, her growing frustration with this meaningless bar brawl hollows her words and dulls their edge. Considering her foe is only grappled, not pinned, she considers him fair game and throws two punches to try to slow him down.
Galen just looks around at the carnage of the bar fight, adrenaline still high. he has never seen much less been involved in a bar fight before. he sees that Zurkha and Findlaine are mopping up the last of the fighters, and he stands down but keeps a wary eye on the people in the room in case someone rushes him.
almost without thiking about it he starts picking up fallen cups and plates and setting them back on tables or countertops.
Nosh, seeing the "fight" is all but over, goes back to his drink, cheering Zurkha and Findlaine on from the table.
Laurel gets a good look at the man, but he just seems old, sad, and drunk. There doesn't seem to be much that's suspicious about him so Laurel focuses on Flonk, who just dove behind the bar.
Zurkha manages to grab the farmer from behind which allows Findlaine to just wallop him with a left hook. The farmer crumples to the ground. As he does so, Delma storms into the bar with a fat, stern-looking man in tow with a nice turnip badge.
The sheriff's voice rings out int he room and you see everyone slowly stop their chaotic brawling. Flonk's eyes poke out from behind the bar. Delma looks at everyone before settling her eyes on the farmer who started the brawl with Ulf and Olf.
End of Combat
"Eallom you and your troublemakers get themselves over to talk to Sheriff Rolth right now!"
You see the farmers who instigated the fight head over to pick their unconscious friend up from in front of Pollo and Osveta and gather the one that Anghariel just decked. The Sheriff has a kind of irritable, dull way of speaking as he starts going through some routine questions with the farmers.
Soon enough, the debris from the brawl is already being cleared up. Flonk gets back to playing his terrible music, and the feast is back on. Bort gets back to the table, laughing. "Right! Where's my porridge?!"
Having had his fill of porridge and brawl, Laurel resumes dancing to Flonk's tunes, joyously whistling an increasingly distorted (but rhyming!) version of the half-remembered lyrics - perhaps about a young boy downing a dozen burly turnip farmers (?) and a "Frisky, and free-he-he-HO!" until such a time as things wind down, and is just as likely to pass out where he lay, or outside even, as to remember to retire to a "room" per se.
Meanwhile Marin watches Laurel and happily drinks herself red in the cheeks with a thirstiness reminiscent of a habit subjected to a long if premeditatedly temporary leave of absence.
GAlen is a bit surprised when things go back to normal so quickly, but when he sees everyone else go about their business he sits back down with the caravan group and picks back up his cup. he takes a drink, then remembers that Laurel had dumped his own drink into it as well, and sets it aside again.
As Bort settles with you, a pink porridge is placed in front of all of you.
"My favorite thing about this town!" he cries. "Well, not the bar fights, but the turnip porridge is the last thing you'll ever wnat to eat, mark my words." He immediately begins demolishing his bowl. For those who try it, it's surprisingly good, well-spiced and sweetened with honey, and very turnip-forward.
Bort's porridge is gone as quickly as it shows up in front of him. "Seconds!" he calls out, waving his empty bowl. While he waits for that he launches into another story.
"Speaking of a good fight, there was this one time.." he suddenly grimaces. "Oof, ate that porridge too fast. Nothing like some turnip ale to wash it down though. Where was I? Right, so I was traveling down a high mountain road in the Five Kings Mountains and my caravan was captured by mighty fire - hck hck - ahem sorry. Giants. They were gonna turn me into soup!"
He hammers a fist against his chest before going on. "So they strung us up and were gonna lower us into a kettle - I offered up a - hck hck rare plant I had on my caravan called 'frostbloom'. I called it firebloom, said it was spicy - hck hck - when the giant tasted the broth, it froze his mouth shu--"
Bort's face goes wide as his incessant coughing suddenly ceases. He begins scrabbling around wildly and froth starts bubbling at his lips.
Laurel eats the porridge, and assuming Flonk continues to strum, pauses just long enough from dancing to swallow it in nearly a single gulp, as if nourishing his body was a simple but necessary nuisance to attend to periodically.
Marin eats slowly, nursing her third (fourth?) turnip ale, listening to Bort's stories in a relaxed manner, perhaps pointing to Galen's ale with a single eyebrow upturned like "ya gunna finish that?" when suddenly Bort has his fit, looks down at her half-eaten stew, and pushes it across the table...
After the fight, Zurkha sits back down with the others. The very concept of "turnip porridge" is making him rethink the idea of coming down out of the mountains. After one careful spoonful, he decides it might not be as bad as he feared (but he still won't be attacking it with much gusto).
As Bort starts having his attack, Zur's face betrays a sudden flash of panic. e rises and goes over to Bort, asking, "Is he choking?" Looking at the food and drink on the table, his face goes a bit pale. "Poisoned?"
Findlaine listens to Bort's story and relaxes, finishing up her glass of turnip ale and getting halfway through another. It was uncommon for her to drink alcohol at all, but the events of the past few months justified it for her.
As Bort's stuttering begins, Findlaine shoots up and goes to his side. When Zurkha suggests poison, she lets out a muffled swear and lays her hands on Bort to heal him. She watches the symptoms to see if she knows anything about what kind of poison it could be, if it is indeed poison.
Galen stands up quickly as Bort starts choking and can't stop. he panicks a little when he sees foam at the mouth. he tries to remember what to do in this situation
Findlaine channels her holy energy while Galen starts trying to figure out what to do. The issue here is that whether or not the poison is out of his system... his throat has closed and he cannot breathe. Galen tries in vain to figure out a way to open his windpipe, but to no avail. Findlaine's magic does less and within moments, Bort is dead.
The Feedmill has gone eerily silent as you realize a crowd has gathered around. Everyone is just staring with dropped jaws, and slowly starting to look at their own food... and one another.
Tamli lets out a wail of pain and rushes over to Bort's side. "BORT! NO! MY GODS DON'T LEAVE US!!"
Laurel stops dancing...
Nosh laughs with Bort’s story and cackles when he starts choking, thinking it a fun trick. When Bort doesn’t rise, Nosh realizes that something is wrong and scurries around him and Galin as he tries to heal him, helpless. When he dies, and everyone looks around, Nosh subtly hides behind Zurkha and tries to look as unobtrusive as possible.
Zurkha whirls around, looking for the proprietor. "Delma! DELMA!"
Galen slumps to the ground. I'm sorry Bort... I tried... I, I didn't know what to do...
he puts his head in his hands for a moment, before speaking a traditional blessing of Sarenrae over the dead man.
The silence breaks as everyone in the bar starts talking at once. Tearfully, Delma brings a table cloth over to Bort's body while Tamli is comforted by Ulf and Olf.
She quickly looks to Zurkha, shaking her head. "J-just Amora cooking as always!"
Finally the sheriff starts to take charge. "Right! You lot who were traveling with him - we need to talk, then his caravan. None of you leave. The rest of you... well I know where you live. We'll talk to you if we need to."
He nods to a couple of the farmers. "Take that poor dwarf's body to the cellar so it stays cold while I talk with the out of towners." He gestures for the five of you to head to the stables for a talk.
Laurel professes his honest innocence "Oy Shairf sir inna tell ya I din see ner do nuthin sir cuz we was jes' gettin' here hours ago an' I know whut ya must think whut wif me an' me ma stowin' way on the care-uh-van 'n all but swear ta ya I ain't no hard feelins ben ta Bort matter-fack we been attacked by sum ten'er'twenny wooves what come up the way and tha big'un he'na done spitted burned up Zurkha's arm..." to Zurkha "'Ey show'em willya!?" back to the Sheriff now "An we don' be wantin' no trouble see cuz dem farmers on'lee mad cuz Olf o'er there an' 'is identickel brother Ulf day got ta gamblin' an' tooken the money whut fair 'n skware den Flonk o'er yonder starse playin' uppa storm an' I get ta mah moves - I got the good ones see?" shows the Sheriff some of his footwork " an nex ya know we's all fightin' non-vilent-like doncha worry an' then you get's here an' e'ryting goes regular once-agin but den alls'a'sudden what Bort 'ere gone hed'or'foot an bless 'is soul Shairf butcha see sir id wadn't us got no motive 'tall an' if'n em bein' onnist I 'spectin' sum typa fowl play but det got nuthin' ta do wif us because..." And sort of continues on about two or three more reasons why himself and his friends "couldn't" have been culpable each time with a similar refrain.
Meanwhile, Laurel's watchful eye settles upon Delma...
Before compying with the sheriff's request, Zurkha heads toward the kitchen to find this Amora person.