It's lonesome away from your kindred and all,
By the campfire at night where the wild dingos call,
But there's nothing so lonesome, so dull or so drear,
Than to stand in the bar of a pub with no beer.
Now the publican's anxious for the quota to come,
There's a faraway look on the face of the bum,
The maid's gone all cranky and the cook's acting queer,
What a terrible place is a pub with no beer.
The stockman rides up with his dry, dusty throat,
He breasts up to the bar, pulls a wad from his coat,
But the smile on his face quickly turns to a sneer,
When the barman says suddenly: "The pub's got no beer!"
There's a dog on the veranda, for his master he waits,
But the boss is inside, drinking wine with his mates,
He hurries for cover and he cringes in fear.
It's no place for a dog, round a pub with no beer.
Old Billy, the blacksmith, for the first time in his life,
Has gone home cold sober to his darling wife,
He walks in the kitchen; she says: "You're early, me dear"
Then he breaks down and he tells her , that the pub's got no beer
Oh, it's lonesome away from your kindred and all,
By the campfire at night where the wild dingos call,
But there's nothing so lonesome, so dull or so drear,
Than to stand in the bar of a pub with no beer.
The performance is made by an elderly lean dry looking man wearing a battered hat. He accompanied his song with relaxed guitar playing.
Its noon at the pub that is queerly named 'The Drowning Dog'. It is also unseasonably warm - perfect drinking weather. Normally a large wooden tankard of cool beer or ale would cost just a few coppers but with the recent ducal order that taxes be paid in beer, even a small cup goes for a silvers, not coppers, and a jug of beer would sell for a gold crown!
Thats if the pub that you are in even has beer at all.
The Drowning Dog? All they have is overpriced wine. Lucky for the customers, the pubs meal of the day is a tasty fish stew that is very good value for its large portion sizes.
The bar is half full, with others sharing your misery at the current situation with the lack of brewed beverages, including a few dwarves. Somewhat of a rarity in Rhoona despite the relative proximity to Rockhome, they are dressed in heavy clothes and leather aprons, and they lay into the fish stew with a vengeance - eating quickly as if they've somewhere to be.
Vothe stood for a moment in the doorway before entering and allowed his eyes to adjust to the light.
Everything about the Half-Elf seemed made to draw attention to himself: he wore armor that was made of flowing silver scriptures that moved of their own accord. His rainbow-colored hair was neatly tied into a braided ponytail with nary a hair out of place. His angular yet perfectly symetrical face showed no signs of worry, age, or pain. The only thing that was off was that one of his eyes was a deep purple color, while the other's iris was slightly glowing silver.
The shield on his back was oddly diamond-shaped, and seemed to be entirely covered in fine handwriting, as if someone had used the surface of the shield when parchment or paper were unavailable.
The longsword on the man's hip was beaten of a single piece of silver that was intensely filigreed and likewise covered entirely in writing.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
After a moment of allowing his eyes to adjust, the Half-Elf walked calmly and quietly to the bar and asked for a beer. He seemed, if possible, eve more disappointed than one of the Dwarves over the situation.
"I will try your stew of fish then" he said, his Common clearly accented with another language, but only enough to lend a certain charm to his words.
It was clear from both the way he spoke, as well as his body language, that he was really excited to try the stew.
Sharee hated human cities. They were nothing like the villages of her homeland, Alfheim. By comparison, human communities were big, sprawling, masses of unwashed people. And the wine was overpriced, certainly the worst sin of all. Fine wine was worth the cost, but this wine was not fine, by any means.
She dabbled over her fish stew. Humans had no sense of taste, either. In elven taverns, even the smallest and most limited of scope, there would be a selection of fruits and vegetables, even a simple vegetable stew. And most would have roasted rabbit, fine venison...
Sharee stopped daydreaming and brought herself back to reality. This was not an elven tavern, and no amount of wishing would make it so. She idly stirred her stew before taking another mouthful. She silently thanked the fish for its sacrifice and took another look around.
The elven maiden is a contrast. Beautiful and lithe, she also has the look of one haunted by a personal demon of sorts. Her blonde hair is long, but tied back into a loose ponytail and her green eyes show the weariness of one who has seen much. Her leather armor is ornately decorated, in the fashion of the elven people and her longbow is finely carved. A fine shortsword hangs from each hip.
This half-orc towers above civilized humanoids at close to seven feet tall. While he has characteristic gray skin, pointed ears, and a toothy under-bite, he has a nose ring, a gold canine tooth, and short black hair with a chinstrap beard. He wears the biggest suit of chain mail you've ever seen and shoulders a greataxe, heavy crossbow, quiver and backpack with a coil of rope strapped to it. His weapons belt carries matching handaxes.
Ordrud sprawls next to Sharee on the small, human-sized chair trying to get comfortable. "Any good, Sharee?" He asks conversationally. But she didn't vomit, so it passed the test.
He shouts across the bar while holding up two fingers of his barrel-top-sized right hand. "I'll have what you don't finish, too." He nods to the elven maiden.
"Ah, I see you've learned to count to two." said Vothe. The tone in his voice never changed, but he winked at the barmaid who returned with his stew and said "better get my friend some stew as well. He's a little on the slow side and tends to pee himself when he doesn't get his way."
Vothe then sat a single gold coin on the bar and went to join his friends at the table, bowl of a mysterious concoction sitting in front of him.
Setting it down, Vothe pulled out a small notebook and began to take notes, then shoved a large spoonful into his mouth. His face soured a bit, but he continued to make notes as he ate his food.
The bar maid brings the two bowls of stew. She smiles at Vothe but gets distracted after she puts the first bowl down in front the large half-orc. Her pause is uncomfortable as it is obvious she tries to figure out where the fourth bowl goes when each of the three people at the table has a bowl in front of them.
The former viking takes a spoonful and savors the fish stew swishing it in his mouth, then swallows with a nod. "Here honey. I get the second bowl, too." He says without looking at her. The server sets the bowl down quickly spilling a bit and escapes, not even looking at Vothe.
"Warmer and bit of that island spice that we had." He says to himself accentuating the key words while waving his huge hand above the bowls. He tucks in a second mouthful followed by a contented rumble noise. "That worked. You want to try?" Ordrud asks Vothe and Sharee if they want his Prestidigitation flavor, but they know he likes it spicier than they do.
Vothe is shook from his reverie at Ordrud's question, and replied with "No thank you. The last time you flavored something with magic, my bowels felt like they were melting. I am just fine."
"Pass," is all Sharee says. She knew better than to trust the half-orc's culinary magic. She took another look around, noting the dwarves with some distaste. "So what is this nonsense about riding horses backward?" she asks of her companions in a low voice.
"I don't know, but it was likely hilarious." said Vothe. "I'm sorry I missed it."
The hubbub continues around you.
The dwarves mutter among themselves, one of them glancing noticeably at you and then turns back to the conversation animatedly.
The barmaid comes back, a little surly in the tone of her well practiced and worn apology. So worn in fact that there are edges to it.
Apologies M'lords, there is no ale to be had here. We have wine. There's the House wine or we do have some Glantri and Darokin wines in stock. House wine is 3 silvers a cup. It used to be 3 silvers a pitchers but... , she trails off with a shrug, clearly expecting a flair up but with the air of some one who has endured a lot of abuse already and is prepared to endure another bout.
"I'm hardly a lord, but thank you." Vothe looked up at the woman.
"Bring me a cup of each of your wines please. I'd like to try them." he said; his voice had the same eager timber as when he had asked for anything else.
After the half-orc polishes off his two bowls of stew, he slams his fist on the table causing all the bowls and spoons to jump and clatter,
Vothe lowered his voice and said "Perhaps YOU want to spend your entire life in prison, but I would like to enjoy my freedom a while, thank you."
Marcus was just about to step into the bar when he heard Ordrud yelling something about the beer tax. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "What trouble is he starting now?" he wondered to himself. He then stepped inside to see what was going on. Scanning the room, partly to find his companions but partly out of habit, he notices the dwarves eating quickly. "I wonder what that's about," he thinks to himself as he moves over to the table with the other three.
"How the fish stew," he asks as he takes a seat. He looks towards Vothe and Sharee for a response as he knows Ordrud will eat just about anything. With limited options, he orders a bowl when the barmaid returns along with a glass of the house wine.
He takes a sip of the wine and winces. "Not the best but I refuse to pay more for such inferior wine. Darokin keeps their best wines for themselves. Now that's good stuff and worth the gold. What they send here is the bottom of the barrel. For one thing, the travel doesn't affect the taste that much but they also know most aren't going to pay a lot for wine here since beer and ale are the drinks of choice. The guild must be loving the extra money they are making off of this stuff,” he says as he pauses to take a few bites of stew.
”I remember this one hot summer a shipment came in. While the caravan master was reviewing his paperwork, he mentioned they had a hard time finding water during the trip. They got so desperate, they opened up a cask and let the horses drink from it, then they closed it back up. Before they got into town, they filled it back up with water so they could still sell it,” he says with a chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. His smile quickly fades when he sees Vothe pause mid-sip. ”Oh, um, I’m sure yours is just fine,” he says taking a sip of his own wine.
”So what’s up with the dwarves? Anyone seen the priest lately? Maybe he can tell us what they are up to,” he says trying to change the conversation.
When Marcus sat down, Vothe was just in the process of pushing his half-eaten bowl of stew to Ordrud. As Marcus ordered, Vothe's wine service was brought to him. He verified each, then sampled each before making notes in his journal. Vothe then pushed the remainder of each glass in front of Ordred without comment.
"I haven't seen our holy father, and I am not sure what particularly is 'up' with the nice Dwarven gentlemen over there; perhaps they are just late back to work from lunch." Vothe commented without looking up from his writing.
Ordrud gets some glances at his outburst... some a bit nervous, some amused and some have more than a hint of approval. The dwarves are noteworthy in their nodding of the half orc's sentiment.
They become more animated as they talk in their native tongue.
A burst of laughter comes from a nearby table as several drinkers chat, somewhat ruefully, about the Duke and his latest edicts. The barmaid returns with your drinks... those who ordered just the house wine are charged silvers.
Vothe finds he has eight cups delivered to him... and the barmaid declares You DID say one of each, right? That will be fifteen gold. This one is from Glantri. That white there is also from there but it's a winter wine. Those two there?, she indicates two cups, Those are the really good Darokin vintages.
She holds out her hand and grins, apparently proud of her malicious compliance.
Vothe just shrugs and pays without comment.
She scoops up the coins and heads back to the bar.
While Vothe May have been scammed on prices, some of the wines are quite good.
One could wonder how a town tavern would have such stock... until one remembers the Northmen of the region have a perchant for raiding and piracy.
Sharee glares at the dwarves, not understanding their gruff speech. I'm sure they're talking about us. She starts to say something to them, then thinks better of it and turns her attention back to her companions. She looks expectantly at Vothe. "Are they drinkable?"
Ordrud grins and pulls Vothe's bowl to him. After repeating "warm" and "spice" and hand-waving, he demolishes the stew. Then he really smiles pulling the wine glasses to him, unless someone signals that they want one. After another hand-wave and "cold" above the glasses, he starts shooting them one at a time.
"Ahh," the viking relaxes stretching his chainmailed arm's out and folding them behind his head. "So Vothe, do we have gig here yet? Maybe they need some extra beer tax collectors." The half-orc chuckles at his own joke.
"No, we do not have a job yet, but I imagine that will change soon." replied Vothe.
At Sharee's question, Vothe said "These two," he indicated the Galantri winter wine and one of the wines from Darokin, "should pair well with the fish stew."
Augar shakes off his cloak as he wipes his feet on the entryway floor. he looks up as he sees familiar faces. The old dwarf checks his gear and then heads to the table.
The dwarf with fiery red hair and bright steel-gray eyes nods at his fellow dwarves before he pulls out a few coins and utters in dwarven.
"Thanks for waitin' been workin' and prayin'. You know in the forge, may the flame strengthen as my hammer shapes" he says and then smiles brightly.
The Dwarf looked for a sturdy seat, testing them and then eyeing them with the eye of a craftsman. As he studies his simple but sturdy clothing held a suit of chain mail on his body, with a thicker wool cloak of gray. Once satisfied he then sat in a chair and leaned back pulling out a pipe and looking at the others.
"There you go Marcus. Now you can stop worrying." said Vothe, again without looking up from his writing.
The coins are pushed back.
The dwarves now mutter amongst themselves quietly after ordering the priest his meal and a wine.
"Ah, there you are Augar. I was hoping you would arrive before your kinsman left. They seem to be in a hurry, but none of us can understand what they are saying. If you're thirsty, you can ask Vothe to share. At first I thought he was trying to drown his sorrows by ordering so many wines, but when started offering them to others, I'm starting to think he has been doing some side gigs that he's not telling us about and just wants to throw his money around to show off," Marcus says gesturing to the table full of goblets.
"Well I understand the idea of side gigs. I myself have been doing a bit forgin' So I get it" he looks over at the dwarves and then to his friends.
"I think they'll address us soon, but its mostly cause o' Ordrud. I get it, took me a minute to warm up t' the fella too. Don't hold it against 'em" He says as he pulls out a chair and sits.
"No, I haven't be doing any 'side gigs' or anything. I'm just curious about how things are here."
The dwarves continue to talk among themselves as Augar's food arrives and he eats. Augar finds the meal to be both good and filling. Before long his bowl is empty and the priest's belly full.
It seems a consensus is reached the next table over, and with their meal finished the Dwarves approach.
One of them speaks in the common tongue adopted across the region, that of Thyatis, his accent smoothed out and practiced.
Forgepriest, Sirs, Madam... If you like a beer I know of a place where there might be some, and a business proposition besides. That is if yer for hire that is?
This gets Vothe to actually look up from his notebook.
Turning to the Dwarf, Vothe says "We might be interested. Perhaps we can have a discussion someplace more...private?"
"Aye. I've had my fill of stew and wine." Ordrud concludes standing up and clapping his large hands together. "Let's go."
"This better be some good beer!" Augar chuckles as he wipes his mouth and beard clean to make sure he is presentable and looks to his companions.
Marcus nods in agreement. "I'll meet you outside in a moment, just want to finish my wine," he says as everyone gets up. He casually finishes his wine while the group moves outside. He glances over his shoulder to make sure no one is looking, then grabs a goblet of the Darokin wine that Ordrud didn't touch. He takes a whiff and then a small sip to make sure it is palatable before quickly downing the whole thing. "Hm, not bad," he thinks to himself as he wipes his mouth with his sleeve and he heads outside to meet the others.
Shree joins the others as they head outside, checking to make sure she picked up all of her belongings.
The dwarves make to lead you the way. They lead you past the ducal palace, still under construction with stone facing gradually replacing the current aging albeit ornate wooden structure that is the original structure.
The eventual destination is the small stonemasons camp, a bunch single story buildings of wood. They lead you to the middle most one. Inside there are other dwarves enjoying a post lunch break, clustered around an Ale barrel and you are introduced to their leader, Grimmvat Stonebreaker.
So let us get you something to drink. You ARE adventurers right?, he asks as the other dwarves busy themselves with filling mugs.
"Indeed we are. Why do you ask?"
"Indeed we are. Why do you ask?"
Well... that makes you professional killers, righ'? Monster slayers an' all that. Also means yer no band of 'runaways', an' 'knock-knees'... no offence ForgePriest, yer know yer exempt wit' out having t' say I hope.
He waits until you have beer in hand... even the Elf.
We send a pair of grain wagons back to Rockhome on every ten day. We use it back home for bread and making beer. We also, at a midwaypoint, have our beer and supply shipment move in and meet us and we swap our delivery. We've need of stout fellows - we've had some ugly looks of late and some small troubles. We're stonemasons and while we are a crusty lot, our work is here working on the palace
Probably a bit humble fer monster hunters but we know if push comes to shove that you'll have the iron to do right by us. So what say you? Four day stint as a guards suit ye? We kin' pay. Food o' course... n'... say 1 gold piece a day? An' on return we'll either let ye' drink til ye' drop or let yer have a tankard a day fer a month... no takeaways, of course.
Ordrud drains the first tankard of beer that he receives and asks for a second during the negotiation.
Augar takes a sip as he listens to his kin. The canter was obvious and didn't seem false but he would wait for his companions to weigh in more.
"I assume that you're worried that your beer might be confiscated by authorities or an angry mob?"
"I assume that you're worried that your beer might be confiscated by authorities or an angry mob?"
Not so much, they're pretty law abiding here... Tha's probably why they are following these damn fool proclamations! Nay, 'tis a lot of rumours that have kicked off of late. People getting twitchy an' maybe thinking of settling any slights, be they real or imagined.
One of the dwarves snorts and does a credible attempt at a local accent while trying to act being tall.
The dwarves who are working on the palace plan to steal as much of Rhoona's wealth as they can carry off before returning to Rockhome, you can't trust them!
They other dwarves chortle and laugh at the performance.
Weel, ye kin laugh ye fools... righ' up to th' point ye be alone on tha' feckin' wagon in the middle o' the road, says Grimmvat sternly.
Marcus thanks the dwarf handing out the ale. He drinks from the tankard periodically while he listens to their offer. "Hm, work as a caravan guard for a few days. A gold piece a day isn't much but it does come with food and ale. I suppose that worth something given the cost of ale these days," he thinks to himself as he takes another drink.
"Seems easy enough. When do the wagons leave?" he asks as he tries to tell if the dwarf is telling them everything.
"Got t' puff out the chest more. and turn up ye' nose. More snoot, always more snoot 'ere" he says chuckling a bit at the antics and then nodding.
"I see what yer wanting."
Sooo, ye be in then?
"I believe, barring any objections from my colleagues, that we are in." Vothe gave the group a once over to see if anyone did, in fact, object.
When the wagons leave the city gates, leave a good few minutes after they pull out then catch up - we don't want to let it be known we have extra security and the other thing is that the cargo is important - we've paid a lot for this grain shipment and the beer coming back in is nearly liquid gold at the moment. You take orders from young Snorri here as well - he'll be drivin' one of the wagons.
A gold a day it is, and yer fill of ale with these conditions or one a day ifn yer wish. We will have a drink on it after we seal the deal. He holds out his hand.
Ordrud grasps the dwarf's hand to seal the deal, his half-orc paw completely covers the dwarf's hand and most of his forearm. "Good. Now, more ale."
Marcus nods in agreement with a smile then takes another draw from his tankard.