WftC Recruitment (Inactive)

Game Master Granta

Ninja-dot by making a post and then deleting it. Please do not post anything else in Gameplay until the official start.

The exterior of the Wounded Wisp is the image of an iconic dive bar. The only distinguishing feature on the Wisp’s exterior is a lantern—referred to by the staff as “the wisp”—which hangs from a wooden sign above the doorway.

On a raised seating area, someone has squished a few tables together to make a small stage. It's hard to tell whether the singer is a man or woman, but both their voice and charisma confirm they're a bard—except their clothes disagree. Maybe barbarian fur trappers just like to perform? Either way, several patrons sing along, as the bard bangs together a warhammer and battleaxe like cymbals.

"Do not go meekly into that hard fight,
Your rage should burn and rave, and dragons slay;
Rage, rage with glorious and righteous might.

"Though brave men at their end know death is right,
Because their swords had fought so fiercely they
Do not go meekly into that hard fight.

”Brave men, the last fight won, crying at night
Their shoulders slumped, strength waning and hair gray,
Rage, rage with glorious and righteous might.

”Mad men who cut and stabbed the corpse in spite,
And learn, too late, they too are something's prey,
Do not go meekly into that hard fight.

”Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage with glorious and righteous might.

”And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go meekly into that hard fight.
Rage, rage with glorious and righteous might.

Shen is a tall, bald Elven woman with crystal blue eyes that is standing at the bar with nobody around her.

She is wearing an elegant purple dress that underlines her attractive Elven physique and is watching the bard perform. Those watching her notice immediately that her disinterested facial expression does not invite anybody to sing along with her or to start a conversation.

From beneath her dress you sometimes see a timid, snow white albino rat appear and disappear.

* * *

When Shen hears the bard perform her heart almost skips a beat.

She looks at the performance with mixed feelings of wonder, disgust and desire at the same time. She starts whispering to herself.

"She ... she has that, too? The ability to draw me into her world? Where do you they get this power from?"

Shen raises the sleeve of her fine purple dress and looks at a birthmark on her right arm that resembles the holy symbol of Calistria.

Suddenly, people looking at her see a tear in her eyes.

Encrusted with mud and dust from the road, Caitlyn shivered within her furs as she stomped along the path. Coated as she was, there was no color to her beyond her long flame red hair which whipped behind her in the wind. As was often the way of late her thoughts turned to melancholy as she considered all that she had lost: her home town torched, the once proud trees ashes; her best friend Mariel fallen, how she missed her laugh and her wisdom; the minotaur wizard Jackun, she knew magic would fail him one day; even the little one Thistletorp although his antics had driven her to distraction. Now there was naught left but her and the road.

At least she still had her hammer, her knuckles cracked as she gripped its haft. There were desperate men and women abroad these days and its indomitable face had made a red ruin of several would be muggers. So she still had her hammer and her life, she knew she should be thankful but what she really wanted was a drink and a place to by the fire and bask in the luxury of warmth.

Time and miles passed and by increments she realised she'd come across a town of sorts and found what by the looks and the sound of it was a bar. She sniffed as she breathed in the rank smell of unwashed humanity mixed with the heady smell of fermented hops and barley. Lingering on the doorstep she almost backed away, the place was the worst kind of dive but there was music, her kind of music. Setting her jaw, she swept in and after reserving a seat with her cloak and glowering at anyone who might gainsay her, she strode to the bar.

Leaning there for a long moment she listened to the bard sing of the thrill. Well she knew that feeling, that glorious cocoon whose heat made her feel invincible, that let her dare to try the seemingly impossible like tackling Onyx head on, the intoxicating thrill that made it hard to tell friend from foe. The ghost of a smile crept onto her face, she turned to the barkeep and dropped a handful of coins on the counter. Indicating the bard she told the barkeep sweetly, "Two of whatever they're drinking..."

Drinks in hand she wandered past the bald elf over to the tables where the bard was singing, and she stopped once more to listen. When the bard eventually fell silent she told them, "A fine song! It seems to me you've earned a drink." And with that she thrust a the flagon and asked with a grin, "Do ya know any more like it?"

The coins haven't even finished clattering before a large arm sweeps them off the counter and into a pouch. The bartender tosses two coasters at Caitlyn, the worn pieces of cork landing and stick in front of her. A thick hand grabs two scummy pint glasses while the other draws a dark stout.

Not ten seconds have passed before the glasses rest on the cork.

Wearing danger like a dress the pantherine woman slinks into the seedy bar. 'A bit above my normal lurk, but for the now it'll have to do.'

Her clothes stick cloyingly to her low-frequency sine-wave form. Comely, aye. But always the question behind the eyes. How much? For business or pleasure, what's the color of the coin?

Following suit, she matches the old routine. Coins rattle on the rough-hewn planks that make the bar. In moments the coins find a new home and a learthen jack full of a hearty stout is taken to her full, red lips. She nods, 'tis a passing vintage.

From the corner of her eyes she spies a bald elf. Odd. Then a ferret peaks out from under her dress and she can't repress a snicker. That's even more odd.

With purse emptier and hands fuller she wades to the front. Indeed, she'd have it no other way.

Plopping down next to the fire-haired woman she yells out to the bard, "Ya ya, rage and might is all good but how about a song where the price right? What good's a fight without a good paymaster, amirite?"

Allison nods to the red-haired lady and makes a salute with her drink. "Hoi chummer. I'm Wraith."

Entering the room is a woman of Qadari descent whose hair has been tied up in a ponytail. She is dressed in a comfortable red blouse that extends to her elbows and waist while her slightly loose maroon pants extend to her complete with white shoes. It seems a bit modest, but she was dressed to impress as well as to enjoy the festivities.

The woman stretches her neck with a crack before putting up a smile, ready to see what entertainment she will go through tonight.

Starting off with the bard, she hands out a couple copper pieces to them before heading straight towards the bar.

"Why don't you surprise me? I could use something to forget the day."

Caitlyn gave the provocatively dressed woman a sidelong glance, dressing like that really wasn't her style. Not that it bothered her, far from it, reminding her as it it did of a time before the war when the world had seemed normal. She took a long pull on the dark stout before replying lightly, "Can't say that I've ever been paid to fight, they mostly seem to happen anyway, although chance would be a fine thing! Anyway name's Caitlyn, guessing you're not from around here either? Wherever here is..."

A young man stands near the bar, dressed in simple traveler's clothes. He has a lanky build and unruly dark hair that give him some boyish charm. He listens to the bard playing and while their percussion has him nodding his head, the lyrics have him frowning. Rage with glorious and righteous might? He looks doubtful and thinks back of his experiences back in Tarman and on the Isle of Terror. That sounds like losing your head and would just get you killed...

When the bard is done singing, the young man has some thought to go over and ask about the lyrics, but he sees there's already plenty of interest. He politely waits until a later opportunity and turns to order another beer. Halfway, his eye rest on the Qadiran woman entering the bar and he does a double-take, staring at her for just a bit too long. He then quickly averts his gaze as she approaches the bar close to him. He's obviously blushing. Gods, why did it look like Ilimara just entered? She's half a world away.

Unfortunately for him, his gaze has not gone unnoticed. After taking a sip of her drink.

"You look like you've seen a beautiful woman for the first time."

She only turned her head towards him after she spoke. She looked curious more than anything.

"I mean... I'm not even trying that hard to impress. Still..."

Her eyes narrowed. "It's not polite to stare."

"I'll just, I'll just sit right here. Is that alright?" Penelope stammered as she took a spot at the bar two stools down from Byron. She was looking at him from the corner of her eyes, always looking away when she thought he might notice. Shifting her attention to the barkeep, she gives a small wave to get his attention. "Can I get a um... can I get a drink?"

Her hand went down to her side and found nothing, and then to her other side, and found nothing. The color started to drain from her face. "Oh no, ohhh no. Barkeep? Barkeep! C-cancel that order please!" Penelope turned to Byron, tears welling up in her eyes as she gave him a crooked and toothy smile, putting on her bravest face. "It's nothing, who hasn't lost a few purses in their life?" She slumps back into her stool and holds her forehead in her hands.

Caitlin only just resisted rolling her eyes at the haughty newcomer in the red blouse and instead butted in, "Aww, c'mon cut the lad some slack, he's kinda cute and probably more than a little out of his depth! Look how red he's gone, maybe he thought he knew you..."

With a big grin she called out to the lad, "Hey you! Don't just stand there gawping, C'mon over and introduce yourself to the lady!"

"The pleasure's mine, Caitlyn. That's a fine you have there, a mighty fine name. You sound like you've been in a tussle or two, but you've never made coin on it? That's not right. Not right at all. Sister, you've been mistreated, I can tell.

And you? You're a local I take it? This guy their normal bard or do they let anyone bang two weapons together on open stage night?"

A tall, muscular Ulfen man listens transfixed by the entertainer, lost in thought. When the bard completes the epic recital, the warrior stands and claps. Over six and a half feet tall and muscular, his well-groomed blonde hair frames a handsome face with a forked beard.

A greataxe, sword and shield lay near his table. His scale armor is emblazoned with a dragon on the shoulder guard, and the honorific ‘huscarl’ broach of the Ulfen Guard clasps his cloak.

'Do not go meekly into that hard fight.' An excellent line!

"Well told!" he exclaims as he walks toward the bard and strikes up a conversation.

"I am a bit of a warrior-poet myself," he says jovially. "Often the star of my own tales!" he adds boisterously.

He runs a hand down his forked beard. "The sagas of my people are similar to what you have sung--stories remembered of real people and real events, perhaps embellished for the retelling. Someday, the tales will be told of me! And when I've earned my place among the legends of my people, I will seek a warrior's death in battle! It will be glorious!"

He turns back to the bard, smiling broadly. "Tell me--where is this from? I have not yet heard it."

Sorry, a little late to the party!

Caitlyn smiled, "It seems you and I both left something behind. I'm not from around here either, for the longest while I was in a war. Part of a people's militia, fighting for our homes and for survival. Got real ugly, wasn't exactly good for coin but I picked up more than a few scars and stories.... Speaking of which it seems you've earned your self a name, perhaps it's a bit early in the night and we need a few more o'these first" she drained the rest of her flagon to emphasise the point, "But I reckon there's a story behind that and I'd love to hear it."

A bar! With people and grog, Caitlyn had forgotten how much she'd missed that even thought she was certain the morning's headache was going to be of epic proportions...

A bear of a man enters the bar. He is tall, broad, and has unkempt red-brown hair and beard. Even his arms and the backs of his hands are thick with hair. Stopping as he clears the threshold, he glances around, quickly taking in the customers already there. As his eyes light on Egil, he nods, recognizing another Ulfen. Apparently satisfied, he walks straight up to the bar, tosses a few coins onto the bar, and says to the bartender. "Mead? Ale? Something hearty, if you please. You know your wares better'n I."

She responded with a playful glance over to the redhead.

"I was just messing with him. You never know with those types."

She nodded over to Caitlyn as she continued. "Funny story, I'm part of the local militia here, but I can't say I had as riveting of a tale. But who knows? Maybe I can reach that level."

She took a swig of her drink before turning her attention to the white-haired one. "Oh them? They do wonders every week at this very bar. It's why I pick this day of the week. The place is shady at times, but it's ripe for entertainment."

Her eyes briefly fixated on the two burly men. "Hello there. Talk about an Ulfen showcase."

“Oh no, oh no no…” she mutters, descending the small staircase as she ties an apron. She looks towards Ed behind the bar. “I’m sorry Piggy, I was tidying up! How in heavens did we get so busy so fast?”

Blowing a stray hair from in front of her eye, she surveys the room. “Well, if anyone needs something, just shout!"

He eyes Penelope "Sit where you like lass, I care not." returning to his drink. As her panic becomes apparent he chuckles a bit, "Absalom is not a place to be with your your purse" He takes a long sip of his drink. "You have friends in this place I hope."

He calls out to Toni, "Oi I called for another! He then mutters to no one, "It's murder getting drinks in this place when it get's like this."

He eyes the girl beside him, "By Caiden stop the blubbering. This town ain't gonna take pity, I ain't gonna take pity, and look around, who here is going to take pity on you? Why don't you see if Toni can set you up with some work or something?"

The woman shoots Byron an indignant glare, but keeps her nose pointed to the bar countertop and speaks quietly. ”I’d only desire your pity if I could use it to pay for my drink.” With a huff she looks around the bar, giving each of the patrons a long look, but finding interest in none. ”I don’t plan on staying in Absalom long,” she said, still not making eye contact, ”and I assure you that I don’t need friends.” She pointedly tapped a helm hanging at her side. It was a Gray Maiden’s helmet, recognized with ease if one had even passing knowledge of Varisian culture. The plate armor she wore was of a matching design.

Penelope’s voice was shaky, but she continued. ”So yes, I lost my purse, and yes, I’m upset about it. Bite me old man, I’ll be more than fine.” She turned to look at him this time, giving him another small smile. ”I’m full of surprises. Enough about myself though, what of you? You sound like you’re from here, what’s your claim in Absalom?” She waves at Toni when she manages to spot the woman, giving a subtle point to Byron’s empty glass.

Allison chuckled as she saw the big-eyed waif get all frazzled. 'Heh. Almost makes me feel bad for yanking her coinpurse. Almost. If they make an honest waitress out of her I'll tip her well. Heh. Tipping her in her own coin. That would bring a smile to my face.'

She takes a fortifying sip and turns back to Caitlyn. "A war, huh? And part of the homeguard to boot. Bad business that. I don't even know your war and I can say it's a bad business."

She takes a moment to acknowledge the newcomer. Wraith's eyes walk over the Qadari. 'Militia? Sheyeah. And I'm a WarCleric of Thor. But then, who am I to gainsay another's cover story?'

"Greetings to you. I'm Wraith. You got a name, Miss Militia? Ach, militia, that's a short end of the stick just waiting."

She pauses for breath before gaining a head of steam.

"Well I am sorry, Caitlyn, for what you had to go through. Seems t' me that homeguard in a war is about the worst as things can go. A sergeant shows up at your door and kicks it in and bellows 'To arms! An enemy is invading our homes! Turn out and toe the line!'

They say no one prospered from a protracted war. I say except the crows and the mercs."

She pauses to drain her mug. Seeing it empty, she catches the eye of the waitress only just now on duty. "Oy! A round for me and my friends here!"

The last job was a dry, dull affair. Almost a cloister. It felt good to have a wet throat and a story to tell.

"Aye, yes, I've a name. You caught that, aye? Well said!

I get in," as if by magic a dagger appears in her hand. It came from...somewhere. It circles and dances in her hand like an iron bird around its favorite tree.

"I get out," suddenly the dagger disappears.

"I get paid.

I'm like a ghost, or a specter, or a...whatever else you might call those things," she finishes with a wink, sharing an inside joke.

"So, Caitlyn. Did you win?"

As Caitlyn listened to Wraith's tale she noted the entrance of a powerful wild looking man with the reddish brown hair. 'One to keep an eye on' she thought.

She nodded politely to the woman in the red blouse and was about to ask where here was in particular but decided better of it. She'd just have to accept there where things she didn't know, like what was an Ulfen exactly? There was a certain similarity with the silver-tongued forked bearded one, perhaps they where countrymen?

Several eyes darted to the waitress? as she entered the in the room in an apron. Caitlyn smiled to herself, she'd met many over the years and more than a few had hidden depths to them.

Her attention was then drawn to the young woman who claimed to have lost her purse arguing with the older man. That was none of her business really but she mentioned a name she'd herd several times now in the bar: Absalom. It meant nothing to her, although it sounded a little Ansolon. Ah how she missed the endless planes! Truly she had gone far this time, for now she doubted she was on her homeworld at all.

Concentrating fully now on Wraith's story a slow smile crept across her features and at the end she told her, "You remind me of someone I once knew. I think they'd have liked that story very much. They once showed me how to take a coin in one hand and make it appear behind your ear. They slowed it down and down until even I could understand but done at full speed they where quicker than the eye and it appeared to be a kind of magic."

She took another long swallow of her drink before replying to Wraith's question, "We won a few battles aye, but the war? Last I remember the refugees where holed up in this misty vale, we'd secured enough food for several months and nobody was dying anymore of exposure in the night. But the dragon armies who had burnt our homes where still abroad and it looked certain their queen would come to rule the surface lands. We where searching for an entrance to a great Dwarven kingdom to claim asylum for the people when something happened and I found myself on the road. After walking for what seemed a very long time I found myself here, and now my past life is fading like a dream. Still there are worse places to be I reckon!"

The young man is obviously grateful and a bit relieved for Caitlyn's speaking on his defense. Stop being silly. All of that was a long time ago. He laughs at himself. Even if it was just three years.

Calden makes a deliberate turn to the Qadiran woman, pulls himself up to a proper posture and looks her in the eye just long enough to be proper. "Indeed, you look just like someone I know. She's from back where I grew up - she was my mentor actually." He's about to say more, but decides against it. "Anyway, that is quite far off, so it caught me by surprise." He takes a measured drink from his flagon. "My name's Calden, by the way."

For a while, Calden is content to watch the events unfold in the tavern. His interest is drawn when the nimble-fingered woman spins her tale of war and mercenaries "You seem to have a pretty low esteem of peasants and their pitchforks," he says when she's done. His tone is level and his phrasing reveals a maturity that doesn't quite match his boyish appearance. He's not exactly accusing her, but it's clear that he feels addressed by that choice of words. "Those 'peasants' are proud of their people, and of their country. It's them that make the world keep turning, and good for them to stand up and take part in the fight if that's threatened in war. Because it's right. And then you come in, and try to profit from... what? Common burglary? And you're proud of it?" He doesn't sound angry, but mostly curious.

He raises his drink to Caitlyn after she tells of her band of refugees. "I'm sorry to hear that. I hope they've found safety."

Staring briefly at each customer that approaches his bar, Ed fills the orders for "a drink." A chilled white wine from Taldor for Tanya, golden lager for Calden. Part way through shaking up a cocktail for Penelope, she rescinds her order. He sighs. "Don't sit at the bar if ya don't have the cash tah drink," he says evenly, his voice carrying deep bass tones.

Ed makes eye-contact with Cnut and gives him a nod. "Damn right I do," he mutters, the hint of a smirk hooking his lip. Finding the coins a new home, another stout appears on the bar.

With Toni's arrival, his face reddens gently and he smiles. "Evenin' T," he says, handing her a round tray topped with a glass filled with deep red wine. "De Straud's getting squirrelly again, would ya be a dear? This one's from the Chelaxian heartland, ya know he'll ask."

***GM ANNOUNCEMENT***

Caitlyn Weissman is continuing to post after being told not to. Do NOT interact with her at all. She is a trespasser, not a participant.

Wraith's face splits into a white grin and she chuckles heartily, lifting her jack in acknowledgement of Calden. "Ha! A fair point. my good man Calden! But soft, let us not confuse the two ends.

And for what? Will the kings and dukes that rule those peasants love them any more for dying to uphold their monarchy? Will all those peasants be given rights and privilege for defending those with inherited title? Would, in the end, they all be better to meet with the foe and ask 'will our life be better, or at least the same, under your rule?' So, by what measure is it right?"

Wraith pauses and taps her cheek cutely.

"As far as burglary, ah well you have me there. We all have our strengths and we all must needs make our way in this world.

So I'm all for peace really, and for everyone getting the happy ending they deserve. And what's better than that?"

Allison pauses to take breath and take stock of her supply of drink. Finding both to be in adequate supply, she catches a snatch of conversation and a memory in the back her head starts to tingle. She -hates- it when that happens.

As the waitress--Toni is it?--glides past her, Wraith surreptitiously catches her arm. She subtly passes her a few coins and asks, "Who is De Straud?"

@Wraith: Sorry, I only have three filks written for this PC, and none are mercenary-ish. When playing the character, I only use one stanza per round of raging song, so three poems lasts a whole scenario. And as each one took me several weeks to write, I can't fulfill any requests :-(

@Egil: You would easily identify the performance as a raging song. Reese is a fellow skald, though not Ulfen. And the song was written by me, it's a filk of Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night".

Reese looks at Wraith and holds the eye contact for several seconds before replying, "Honor is always the right price."

"Why, it's from my own adventures, of course." She says to Egil with a smile.

"Sure thing, Piggy!" she says with a warm grin. She takes the tray, which stays nice and level as she spins around. A few steps down the bar, and she delivers the drink.

Teasingly, she says "Here ya' are, Byron. This one has a special tax, you owe Pig for the drink, and me an actual smile!" Without waiting, she bustles over towards the "stage" to check for orders, but feels someone catch her. The coins offered are deftly moved into her pocket, and she replies at a rather normal volume.

"Just a regular who wouldn't like to admit he's a regular. I think he likes to put on air that he's too good for us, but then why does he keep coming in? Go talk to him, he won't bite!" She chuckles with that last statement, and moves to continue walking toward the stage.

"Woman," he rolls his eyes a bit, "If I bite you, you would be quite happy I assure you of that! Korvosa is a far way from here and I did not enjoy my time in Varisia," he glares a bit at Penelope, "Nor the company of it's women. The De Strauds do not brag, nor do they prattle about their place. We are old blood here, do not forget it."

As Toni swings by he nods to her, "Red eh, which god forsaken land did he get this from? Oh girl, we got ourselves a real honest to goodness Grey Maiden. Probably here to join the Society, as the other of their sad lot that roll through this place do."

He chuckles at his own wit as he sips at the red, "Barkeep! Taldan is it?" then turns at the regular comment from Toni, "Girl you shame me?" waiving his signet ring in the air, "I told you before, do not cross me, this is my town." He glances at Allison quizzically then shrugs and returns to his drink.

Penelope's cheeks turn a shade red as she chuckles at Byron's comment about biting. "Maybe that would make me quite happy." Her smile changes to a wince at his glare and comment on Varisian women. "I assure you I found no pleasure in their company either."

She shifted off of her stool slightly, lowering one foot to the floor and turning away from the bar. "Well Mr. De Straud, who does not brag of owning towns or prattle of being old blood, the night is young and pleasures are to be had. Besides, it looks like you've found yourself another admirer." She tilted her head toward Allison. "I hear intoxicated nobles and thieves get along quite well." Penelope set her pack on the ground and began rummaging through it, ignoring any looks she may get from other patrons and withdrawing a sealed ceramic container. "Get some food in your belly. It will keep your wits sharp when you start on that third glass." She pulled the lid off the container with a pop, and withdrew from it a wonderfully decorated snack cake. "Go on, I baked it myself. The fastest way to a man's heart is through his stomach, isn't it?" Without waiting for an answer she placed it in front of him, then pulled another out for herself. "And when you're done entertaining your many admirers, maybe you'll remember me. I'll be around."

With that she walked away, offering the bartender a quick nod of apology and finding a quiet corner to sit in. Now that she was finally alone she took several deep breaths to calm her nerves, mentally preparing for her next encounter.

A gnome stomps into the bar as if he was man thrice his size.

His colorful (yet miss-matched) clothes are clean but covered in scorch marks. He has a pistol on his hip and an odd spiky blade on his back.

He looks for the Ulfen who was chanting before he arrived. oi, hope tha blaggard be done for the nonce. Here to forget troubles not learn bout the troubles of someone else.

He strides to the bar. Bigjobs, ya got's a drink with a wee bit o bite ta it? Meself be needin sometin fer certain sure.

While waiting for his drink, he looks around the bar for anything or anyone interesting.

A foppish halfling throws open the door, dressed in finery more befitting a lord than a tavern crawler-- purple velvets and silks, slashed in gold, with a silver amethyst ring on his right forefinger. Peacocking, one might call it, though on a person half the size of anyone else the effect is more comical than impressive. The colorful songbird of Shelyn hangs around his neck. "I thought I heard unwashed masses! Toni, isn't it?" he says to the serving girl. "Elfwine, if you've still got some! I'll give the Wisp this, you know where to find your vintages." He digs into his purse for a coin and shows it to the girl.

He looks around the establishment and spots Penelope, sitting alone. Unaware that she had in fact only just recently sought her present seclusion, he slides up into a chair next to her. "Careful drinking alone like this, or someone might think you're easy pickings for company! Not me, o'course, but, you know, them." He gestures vaguely outward.

Accepting the stout from the barkeep, Cnut looks around again, then steps over to Egil. "A man from the old country, and not just that" he says, gesturing to the huscarl insignia "but a man of the Guard as well. As it happens I was hoping to earn a place in the Guard myself. Any chance you could give me some pointers?"

Egil smiles broadly at his fellow skald and waves for Cnut to come over and join the conversation.

"From your own adventures?!" he asks a little too loudly. "Why, that is the best kind of saga--a tale with a ring of truth! A little puffery, a little embellishment, that is all well and good and makes for a fine telling. But if, at its heart, it is not true, then it may as well be a longship's oar dropped into the churning sea."

To his fellow Ulfen, he says "Indeed, I was a member of the Ulfen Guard. My brother Floki earned me a chance to join. I am no longer a member, though, for I seek a chance to make a name for myself, to be part of something bigger--the legends sung by skalds such as this fine one here! But if pointers you seek, pointers you shall have. What do you want to know?"

He waves for the bartender to bring drinks for the three of them.

"Perhaps we can start tonight--we will make a place in the tales with a drinking game! As you know, Ulfen mead is made from honey. Let us drink until it is no longer sweet! Though I shall buy the first drinks, with the tales I shall tell, you will beg to purchase me round after round so that I will continue the telling! Haha!" he exclaims boisterously.

"Of course de Straud, ya know 'em all like tha back of yer hand!" Ed calls back. He chuckles quietly. "Ok, now where was I..."

He's about to say something when Penelope pops open a tin of food, but swallows it when she hands it to de Straud. He nods back at her as she passes.

"It's Ed. Or Barkeep. Or Bartender," the bartender says evenly to the Gnome. "Piggy if yer Toni." Never the less, he whips him up a drink: a Galtan whiskey. Neat. He holds it in his hand and off the coaster on the bar until coins arrive.

Rolling his eyes, as this Halfling walks in, he shoots the barback a look. Dutifully, the young boy scampers off to the cellar and returns with Elfwine. When Toni returns, he places it on her tray. "Lethaquealian Hills. 4699 AR. Coin before he starts drinking this time."

At Egil's beckoning, Ed tosses three coasters onto the tray. "Ask if they're stayin' awhile. I've got somethin' special for the Ulfens if they are, but no fighting."

"Lad, get the ice-maker from the cellar, its gettin' hot in here," he calls over his shoulder to the boy and he disappears again, taking gentle but quick steps down the stairs. Ed leans back against the wall and drinks some water, eyeing each of the drinks in the bar and the patrons holding them.

She tilted her head toward Allison. "I hear intoxicated nobles and thieves get along quite well."

'Well I can't exactly argue with that.'

Fueled by strong drink, her blood begins to warm at the prospect of money and challenge.

Negotiating the few steps with a dancer's grace, Allison pours herself into the chair next to the errant nobleman De Straud. "Hoi chummer, I'm Wraith," she says in her customary greeting.

A playful smiles crawls along her strong white teeth and she looks up into his gaze.

He eyelashes flicker at 3000 RPM.

"Did you know I have magic powers? Oh no, it's true. Close your eyes."

Whether he does or does not she bravely soldiers on.

"Now, envision yourself surrounded by a wiiiiiiide open field. It's a lush, verdant paradise, full of strawberries."

She pauses for a moment. She sure someone is having a good laugh, but she's not sure whom.

"Now, surrounded by so many ripe, red strawberries, surely you can't leave them go untasted. So you pick some.

How many strawberries do you pick?"

She waits for him to at least set a number in his head.

"As you chew your fruity snack, you notice a fence. How high is the fence? It's a magic fence, so it can be as big or small as you like."

Again the pause. Again she continues.

"Lastly, how does the farmer who owns the field feel? If can be anything. Is he a jovial friend who likes to share with persons of, say, worthy worth?"

She ends with a smile, waiting to take in all his...answers.

Calden turns to Wraith as she answers him, nodding and shaking his head at various points to indicate he's paying true attention. He smiles and briefly exhales through his nose when she's finished talking about the peasants. "That's where you're wrong. They don't fight for the kings and the dukes, but for their community. Or even for something greater - like my brother Tolle who joined the army of Lastwall." He shakes his head. "I can tell you're still thinking like a mercenary, aren't you?You think everyone expects to gain something from fighting. From my experience, you don't fight to get something you don't already have. You fight because you have to, or to keep what's yours. Nothing more... At least, unless you consider it 'right' to take by force just because you can." His tone makes it clear what he thinks about that, and he's said all he wants to say on the subject.

She can dress it up all she wants, but she's still a burglar for hire. And she'd even sell out her employer if the other guy pays more! He takes a swig of his golden lager and has a quick internal debate over the question of whether that makes it better, of worse. In the end, he decides it's two shades of the same color. "It's been nice talking to you," he says without full commitment, "but I've been meaning to ask the bard some questions. If you'll excuse me."

Penelope jumps as the halfling slides a chair out to join her. ”Oh! M-my apologies, I didn’t see you approach. Not err, because of your stature of course. That would be a horrible thing to say... and I just said that, didn’t I?” She sighs and shakes her head. ”Do forgive me, I’ve all the social grace of a newborn harpy. Please join me.”

As the halfling took his seat, she couldn’t help but overhear young Calden; the conviction in the boy’s words brought a smile to her face. After a brief moment of listening she returns her attention to her new guest. ”Unfortunately I’m not drinking at all. Not for lack of want mind you, but my purse for the night was lifted before I had so much as a drop of drink. A shame, this place seems to have an accomplished barkeep.” Her head rests in her hands as she watches the rest of the patrons drinking, laughing, and enjoying themselves. When her eyes meet Levin’s, she blushes. ”Listen to me, a right negative one aren’t I? Don’t mind it. Believe it or not I came out to enjoy myself!” She eyes the halfling with interest, looking him up and down. ”Pray tell, what brings such a well-dressed man down with the common folk?”

Probably a line, the halfling thinks. Well if this is all she's fishing for, it's a bite that comes cheap. "And yet you came anyway. I'm sure it hasn't occurred to you that your story might net you a handout or two..." He gives her a wink, then pulls out a few coins. "How you're dressed is one of the first things others notice about you, and you might say I like being noticed. And yes, I forget his name," he says with a nod toward the man behind the bar, "but he does know what's what. I wouldn't recommend the food, though," he adds, shielding his mouth with the back of one hand. "As it happens I've already ordered, so when it comes you can have a round. But I get to pick what."

He offers his hand. "Levin Hessel, by the way. What might your name be?"

Cnut lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He'd worried that a real member of the Ulfen Guard would have no interest in assisting a hopeful like himself "Well, the biggest thing is to know who to talk to and how. I suspect one does not simply walk in and ask for an application. Do I need to earn a reputation by great deeds and let my reputation speak for me, be recommended by a current member, beat someone in a duel...?"

Egil raises his tankard to Cnut. "The first requirement is do legendary things," he smiles, "starting with a drinking game. You must drink one tankard for each question you ask, and I shall do the same."

The large Ulfen man drains his tankard in one go, then smiles broadly again.

"Drink up! Now, of course it helps to know someone there, or a former member. But you know me now, do you not? Tell me--what have you done to earn a reputation? You better not say until you have finished your mead!"

Having extricated himself from the conversation with Wraith, Calden notices that the bard isn't occupied in conversation anymore. He walks over to them, flagon of golden lager still in hand. He can't help but admire the weapons they used in the performance as he approaches. "I wanted to thank you earlier for the song," he starts by way of introduction, "but you seemed a bit busy. It's really a tune to get your blood pumping, I'll give you that."

He hesitates a bit before continuing, choosing his words carefully. "It's just... I've had to do some fighting, me and a couple of friends from my village. And I don't recognize all that stuff about 'rage' and 'glorious might' at all." He's about to continue, but then suddenly closes his mouth. No wait, that sounds like I'm calling her a liar? He continues quickly. "You sing the words with the intensity of truth, so you must be singing from experience. But that's not what I felt at all when we had to fight. Rather..." He thinks back to the lyrics and snorts a small laugh. "When the odds seemed against us, when I knew I could die right then and there, and keeping up my defenses was all I could do to prevent it? Well, I went meekly into that hard fight," he confesses, quoting the lyrics out of context. "If you know what I mean?"

Flitting about, smiling to herself, she maneuvers her tray around the room and delivers the drinks upon it. There is a quiet humming following her path, just barely audible, repeating some of the melodies from the bard's song.

Smiling, Cnut effortlessly drains his first mug of mead. "I am no great teller of tales," he says, nodding to Reese and Egil, "but when I was but a young man I single-handedly slew an ice troll. We had heard of its marauding for weeks, and several villagers had disappeared. I was part of a search party that went out hunting whatever fell beast was killing our people. A scout located the beast, and I vowed to claim its head alone to prove that I was a man grown. I laid in wait ouside its lair, and when it came out I loosed flaming arrows upon the beast, and shot it several times as it roared and came at me. When it reached me, I drew my greatsword, which I had coated in alchemist's fire, and I set it alight! The battle was long, for my blade burned out, but in the end I cut the fell beast to pieces, and put my torch to the pieces. I took the scorched head back to my fellows, and was acclaimed a man that day."

Waiting patiently for the nobleman to go along with her psychological strawberry fields-test, Wraith quietly starts singing a song.

'In a world of mammon we have found it all!
Fighting for pride and for gold.
But the key to the reign, to the ultimate control:
wisdom of the old.'

She hasn't figured out what the last line means, exactly, but the rest of it really speaks to her.

"It may have occured to me," Penelope confesses to the halfling with a grin, "but I consider it making the best of a bad situation. My name is Penelope." She accepts Levin's hand as she makes her introduction. Her hands were rough and calloused, but the grip was weak. "Penelope Pennyton. 'Penny Penny', a rather silly name, isn't it? I swear my mother had a twisted sense of humor, Pharasma rest her soul." She lets her hand rest on his just a moment longer, and laughs sheepishly when he makes mention of purchasing her a drink. "Very well Levin, I accept your offer but I'm trusting you to have a taste for these things! I won't forgive you if you make me drink something foul."

She glances over at Ed, worried he may take offense if he overheard the last part.

Staring at the snack cake before him when the Wraith sits down. He turns and grins at her, "Careful," he takes stock of her for a long moment and seems to choose his words carefully, "Miss..." a long pause as she introduces herself.

"Wraith then." Letting her play her game he waits her out. "Magic powers or magic tricks? No matter to me, I will play along but expect a magical reward.

Strawberries aye," laughing and reaching for his wine, eyes still closed, "All of the strawberries of course! Bah what concern is it of mine about the fence, I have all the strawberries. The farmer is of no concern, for I have a sword and he shall be paid a decent amount for the berries."

He sips his wine, managing to not spill barely with his eyes closed.

"One piece of my magic you should know lass, I have no purse to lift, for I have paid in full ahead and have provided several bottles and casks to this very establishment for myself and those who are," he grins slyly, "friendly if you get my drift. So go ahead and look for a coin pouch, but I assure you, I will have the greater reward." One eye opens as he smirks at the Wraith.

***GM ANNOUNCEMENT***

At this point, we will continue without the NPCs. This role-play has 2-3 times the participants of a normal game, and I don't want that to overwhelm any of the applicants.

Egil claps Cnut on the shoulder, much too hard as two warriors might.

"An excellent tale, and well-told!" he roars as he takes two more full mugs of mead from the humming bard of a barmaid.

"Now, to continue our epic, we must drink another round! Or three! Or seven! It depends on how much you can hold, but I promise to drink you under the table this day, with tales told between each round!"

He drinks some more from his tankard, though this time he does not finish it in one go.

"I shall go next. When I was in Karlsgard, in the Lands of the Linnorn Kings, I was over-sized and strong from my youth. At twelve years of age, before I came of age, I held a shield for his brother Floki in a bloody battle with the minions of Baba Yaga! So bitter was the cold that my shield froze to my arm, and if a warrior left his sword outside overnight, he would find the cold had shattered it by the next morning. But I would not let my brother Floki win my share of the glory. As if the cold were not strange enough, the northern lights were so bright and sustained that they were mistaken for daylight. These events seemed like omens of the terror that was to come."

With a distant look in his eyes, he says [b]"Ice trolls, cold fey, frost giants--they all came at us, and but a lad I did not wield a blade. But I did save my brother from a small white dragon, which cleaved my shield in two and broke my arm. Ah, but a taste of the glory awaiting me!" he says.

Finishing his flagon, he says "You told a fine tale before! Tell me something else of yourself!"

Levin puts a hand to his chest in exaggerated offense. "Do I really look like the type? I only aim to please, love. So... Penny Penny. (tsk tsk) Two in your name, and not one to your person tonight, it seems." Levin chuckles at his own joke and sips his wine when it arrives, savoring it. They didn't disappoint. "Another, please, m'dear," he tells Toni, "in case someone else might want it."

When the second glass arrives, he insists Penny give it a try. "This place is a bit of a hidden gem, if you ask me. Must have an elf vintner in their employ, because this glass would be a bargain at twice the price. But of course," he adds in a low voice, "don't let any of them know I said that!"