Kilain gave some thought to Melanth's question, then with a glint in his eye he said Well ifn yu count paying fur a painting of the Prelate and three Goblin maidens somethin thatd upset authority....
he waited for the reactions...then said Nay Lass. The High Priest had reason to believe somethin of import be in the ruins. foul magics that need to be secured.
Ostler's eyes twinkle with amusement as he steps back from the group of adventurers as they drink and carry on at the bar. The large man continues to clean and dry glass mugs with a cotton towel, during which he pretends he cannot hear the loud conversation going on right in front of him.
After a few minutes, he says, "I believe a table is opening up for you all, if ye want it. Right over there." The balding proprietor of the Welcome Wench motions to a long table with benches just to the left of the bar, which makes it a bit more secluded than the bartop where the tavernmaids and servers, along with a few other patrons, are currently gathering just behind the adventurers.
"There ya can talk openly...and I might be inclined to send a fellow I know your way that might be of some assistance to you..."
’there we can talk openly’? Indeed, perhaps there is more to Hommlet than farming.
Melenthe nods appreciatively to the barkeep and her half-smile plays across her lips once more, ”Thank you.”
Sitting at the table, Melenthe addresses the group, ”I had not considered that locals might take a dim view of our actions. Perhaps that human phrase ‘let sleeping dogs dream’ is how some view the Temple?”
They probably remember the time when the temple was in power and adventurers were flooding the area.
'Send a fellow your way. That will work. Raising an eyebrow as the bartenders offer, Rory nods, "t'anks, we's'l head 'at way, yeah." Considering leaving a tip for the bartender, he thinks about the prices of a pint of ale and decides the man could afford to give away information for free.
Jumping off of the barstool he turns back to the others, making sure they were headed that way. Seeing the half orc hesitate, he waives his arm, speaking loud enough to be heard over the din, but not yelling. "Oy! Strongoak, yer wit us, come on!"
Heading to the table indicated by the bald proprietor. Going around the table to the corner, Rory tosses his rucksack on the bent wood chair and climbing up he sits on the rucksack so he can look over the table. Raising an eyebrow at Melenthe's observation about dogs and dreams and Dain's response Rory shrugs, "If 'airs anyt'ing still down 'air they's'll be glad we rooted it out, yeah."
Dain heads to the table as well.
Figuring his reward will be delayed, the half-orc reaches into his beltpouch and withdraws a handful of silvers, laying them on the counter. "Dinner and an ale, please." He hears the Burglar (the ranger can't recall ever hearing his name...) call out to him and a small surprised smile erupts across his coarse features. "Guess I'll take it over there." Horek says to the ostler, then moves to join the others, sitting down on the bench with a small sigh of satisfaction.
Melenthe looks over to the halfling, "I hope you're right, Boram. People are more likely to feel that way after we've done them a good turn."
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Kilain was the last to leave the bar, he made his way to the table, took his pack off and slid it under the table with in front of his legs.
Took a drink of his ale, and looked at his allies. So on the morrow, we go to be lookin at this moathouse ye think?
Sounds good to me. Perhaps we should set up marchen orders when we go in. Haven a strong front and rear guard would be good.
Horek sips his ale, listening to the dwarves talk back and forth. "So what's this moathouse? A keep of some kind? Or an old mansion? Do any of you know it's history? I'm guessing it's a ruin now, from the way you're talking about all of us just tromping on in there. If it's abandoned, could be something nasty's moved in. I could scout ahead a bit, take a look around for tracks that might let us know if that's happened."
Nodding his head as Melenthe agrees, Boram sips his ale waiting for the bartenders friend to come talk to them. Pleased to see that the half orc and dwarves were getting along so well. He answers Kilain, "Tha bartender is sendin' a fella over ta speak wit us. Maybe he recomends tha moat house, maybe he recommends somewhere's else. We should wait's and see's yeah."
Looking from Dain to Horek, "I like's tha idea o' a marchin' order, But I don't's like tha idea o' you's headin' in by yer lonesome. Partially cause it ain't safe." He give a grin. "And partially cause 'at's burglar work." He points from the orc to himself. "We's all should's stick together. You's lead tha pack, outside. I's'l lead tha pack inside."
He shrugs, "Probablies could goes two by two's yeah." He looks around the table of six folks. "If'n we's is goin' two by two's me an' Horek in tha front, then Dain an' Sorika an' in tha back Melenthe an' Kilain."
He scratches his head for a moment. "If'n were in single file." Sipping his ale. "maybe me's in tha front in tha inside an' Horek in front outside, 'en Dain, Sorika, Melenthe an' Kilain." He smiles a little, "If'n it's a really rough neighborhood," He winks, "If'n ya catch me meaning, I' may slide a little further back an' let tha heavily armored folk, push forward. yeah." He finishes his ale, standing up on the chair, looking to see if the bartender had sent anyone their way yet.
Haven someone in armor anchor the back isn't a bad thing. If things happen and we have two fronts, some heavy armor on both sides will be a blessen.
"I could put up with those arrangement." Sorika Zan replies to Boram's marching order recommendations.
"As for the barkeep's 'friend,' he said he might be able to help us. So, we can't count on him being able to do anything specific until we learn more."
"I do hope there's something in the moathouse worth the walk."
Haven someone in armor anchor the back isn't a bad thing. If things happen and we have two fronts, some heavy armor on both sides will be a blessen.
Horek smiles slightly. "You've got a point. I promise not to stray ahead too far, just far enough to look for tracks before the rest of you trample over any trail signs I might find."
Melenthe joins the discussion regarding marching order, ”I need a little space to really be effective. I’d rather be at the back than get bunched up.”
As the group discusses battle strategies, a broad, robed figure enters the inn, and strides over to the bar to speak with the tavern owner. They share a quick moment, and Ostler nods a head towards your table, then leads the man over.
The newcomer is obviously a priest of some sort, as he wears the livery of St. Cuthbert, with the 'standard' morningstar favored by his sect hanging from his belt.
"Folks, here's the fella I was telling you about. I've only told him you were seeking background on some of the 'interesting' local sites. He might be able to answer your questions far better than a humble innkeeper like myself." With that, Ostler makes himself scarce.
The priest, human with bushy, brown eyebrows and a matching beard (sans mustache) stands next to your table and crosses his his arms. Doing so reveals that he's obviously wearing chainmail beneath his robes. "Well. Good evening. How is it that this humble servant of St. Cuthbert might assist you?"
Melenthe offers the man a seat, "Why don't you sit with us, we like to talk. Maybe I can get you a drink as well?"
Melenthe stands and turns toward the bar, "Then we can talk together as friends. What are you having?"
Dain just nods. Welcome. Having the guidance of a follower of Cuthbert is always welcome.
Smiling as everyone seems agreeable to his idea, Boram pauses wondering if he said it the wrong way. His mental backtracking was interrupted when he noticed the 'priest of some sort' walk to the bar. Boram hoped that he was the innkeepers contact. As the two headed to the table he smiled like an idiot as the innkeeper introduced the man. Looking at the mans odd beard, Boram had to bite his lip to not chuckle at the light whistling sound.
Nodding as Melenthe invited the priest of St. Cuthbert to have as drink with them, Boram hadn't realized that Dain was a follower of Saint Cuthbert. Standing on his chair, Boram waives at the empty seat, nodding towards Melenthe. "Melenthe is right padre, take's a load off, yeah." smiling proudly, "I"m Boram tha Burglar," He gestures towards Kilain, "Let me introduce ya's ta Kilain Gravendak, 'e' tha boss o' 'is mob." he looks back at the priest. "Sorry padre, I didn't catch yer name."
Muttering under his breath, you can probably catch at least part of "If you want what the Cudgels sell, anyway."
Kilain flinched at Boram's words. Hardly the boss. More Like Chief Mouse Herder. This Lot is quite skilled, but not the rules abidin type. he said with a chuckle.
Horek scoots over a bit to make room for the priest to sit down. He nods to the human, and cannot help but wonder at why the church of St. Cuthbert would be interested in offering their assistance in their search for a ruined moathouse. Then the half-orc recalls the talk about the old temple of evil reputation. Maybe the two are connected, then? The half-orc takes another drink of his ale, nursing the expensive beverage for as long as he can while he settles in to listen.
The priest glances around the table, smiling and nodding, then pausing just a moment too long at Horek, before nodding at him as well. He does better when the half-orc offers him a seat and he gathers the hem of his robe and sits heavily down. {b]"Brother Calmert. Well met, and be blessed by St. Cuthbert of the Cudgel."[/b]
"So...you mentioned a drink?" the middle aged man strokes his beard and asks again for their names as they wait for an ale to be brought to the table. When it arrives, he draws a long sip from his mug before asking, "Ostler's boy said only that I should '...come quick 'cause there were 'venturing types, asking questions.'"
"So, here I am." Calmert raises his hands grandly, in a flourish worthy of a stage magician. "The followers of St. Cuthbert live in service to Him, and to the cause of ridding the world of evil and the unworthy."
Glancing at Sorika, Boram pretends he didn't here the mans view, while holding his pint in front of his mouth to hide his smile. As Kilain tries to downplay his role in them being there. Boram Lifts his ale to Kilain in a false toast. "Chief Mouse Herder it is 'en, yeah."
As the priest took a moment to size up Harek, Boram notes the priests name. Chuckles to himself as the 'brother' waits for the ale before he starts to speak. Raising an eyebrow as the man declares the followers of St. Cuthbert committed to ridding the world of the evil and the unworthy. Sipping his own ale, Boram wonders who and what this man would consider the unworthy.
Mentally shrugging he sets down his pint and asks. "We heard rumors about's tha moathouse an' someplace the locals keep referin' ta as 'tha temple.'" He shrugs lightly, "Was wonderin' tha history of 'em and if'n 'they were worth investigatin'" He waives his hand in a general way. "You knows' ta rid 'em of any evil 'er unworthyness. yeah."
Melenthe returns with the drinks and finds a seat, ”Yes, tell us what you know. Our skills need putting to some use.”
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Horek recognizes the look that the priest gives him. It is the same cautious gaze that many of his mother's companions gave him when she came out her temporary retirement to introduce her son to the other rangers that spent their lives defending the Gnarley Forest. She never told him specifically about the circumstances of his birth, but Horek knew enough of his kin to have a good idea of what happened. The fact his mother treasured life above all things, that she firmly believed nurture would trump nature, was not an idea shared by all of the Gnarley Rangers.
Most of them tolerated his presence, barely, and all for her sake. Some of them hated him despite their respect for his mother, and a handful gave him a chance to prove himself to them. Over the few years he lived openly among them, he garnered the respect and even the friendship of a few. Though not nearly enough to overcome the prejudice he saw reflected in the eyes of most. It was the reason he left home. A decision his mother understood, though he also knew it nearly broke her heart to see him go. Perhaps one day he could return. Maybe.
All of this flashes through the half-orc's mind as he scoots over to give the priest room to sit. Perhaps one day the look that Calmert gave him would change. Or maybe not. Horek knows that all he can do is control his own actions, his owns words. Not the feelings of others, no matter how misplaced. Especially when they are misplaced, for that matter. He keeps silent as the others speak, hoping to gain some knowledge of the history of this region, and especially of this temple and the moathouse that appear to be their destination.
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Dain ponders deep thoughts about heavy questions. Ale or mead?
Zan just looks down at the table, shaking his head slowly. holy man of a god who thinks you can change people by beating them into submission instead of recognizing all you can do is force compliance. His entire world view is based on how he want things to work, not on how they do. All of his conclusions have to be suspect. MAYBE he knows something. Patience gets you past more obstacles than anger. Be patient. Look for the opportunity.
Kilain waited for the Priest to talk. He had the patience of the Graybeard. It would no good to rush the other.
Calmert nods at the invitation and sits, "The moathoushe you shay? The Temple. That curshed placesh of Elemental Evil? It hash been quite shome time shinsh that curshed shrine wash shealed up for good! And a fine day that wash!"
The priest of St. Cuthbert coughs quietly and takes a swig of ale, before continuing. "The Temple has been shealed up for going on ten years now. Sealed up tight by the forces of light. Ain't much more to shay than that."
The middle-aged cleric leans back and pauses, then says, "Now the moathouse...that's what folks here about call it...that'sh a different tale. It's not much more than a ruined keep about half-way between here and Nulb. Maybe three or four miles from here. There's some say it was built by dwarves. Can't say if that's true or not."
"It's been many things in it's day. A place for young people to sneak away from the prying eyes of their parents. Maybe fall in love. Was even once used as a lookout for servants of the Temple...but that was some time ago..." Calmert pauses, lost in thought. "More recently, though it's been more of a hideaway for various groups of thieves and bandits. Nothing really noteworthy. Although..."
He frowns, "Why were you asking, again?"
Though Sorika does manage to catch the young wench's eye at least once, she doesn't seem to be specifically impressed.
"A hidey-hole for bandits is good. Should be possible to improve our position with goodwill of the village, and maybe make some coin. If we don't have to return it to build the goodwill."
The cleric arches an eyebrow, "It's possible there might even be a bounty or reward for something like that. I'm not sure, but you could find out if you were to speak with Rufus or Burne." He says these names as if everyone should already know who they were.
Interested in making a little money, Boram Raising an eyebrow inquires. "So who's Rufus an' Burne, yeah?"
Well it couldn't hurt to see if bandits have taken up there. Maybe we could clear it out so it can be reclaimed.
Gaining the goodwill of the locals has appeal for Horek. The thought crosses his mind that perhaps if he could make a good name for himself in a community so close to the Gnarley, he might even be welcomed into the ranks of the Rangers that serve to protect the forest.
He takes another drink of his ale and suddenly finds the mug empty. The half-orc signals the barmaid for another as he listens to the priest speak more on this Rufus and Burne. And perhaps some more about this moathouse. "Do these bandits prey upon the people of Hommlet? Or do they stick to the roads? Any idea of how many of them are holed up there?" He asks.
Melenthe tilts her head thoughtfully, Bandits out here? I wonder where they cash in their coin and fence their goods? There’s no city nearby...
To Boram: "Who are Rufus and Burne?? Well. You shertainly ARE new around here. They are semi-retired adventurersh, somewhat like yourselves, I shuppose. They've taken it upon themselves to protect Hommlet from, well, just about everything. As such, with the blessings of the townsfolk and the Church, they've building a tower up there on the hill, on the other side of town." he pauses. "Burne's quite a talented wizard, and Rufus is a fierce warrior...or so I've been told. They do their best to organize the local militia and whatnot."
To Dain and Horek: "The bandits stick mainly to the roads these days, mosty due to the aforementioned militia. They haven't tried to raid the village in several years." Another pause, then "Though there's been some rumors that they've been sighted traveling with orcs and hobgoblins in their bands."
Calmert makes a face, then finishes his mug and gives a nod to no one in particular. "Come morning, you should probably see Burne and Rufus. They can tell you more, if you're interested...'specially about the Moathoushe." he purses his lip and adds, "Though I suppose if you were to hold off on that and run down a few bandits on your own before that, they might find you more interesting..."
Raising an eyebrow as the priest describes the two retired adventurers, building a tower and organizing a militia. Boram picks up on the fact that Calmert thinks they should 'run down a few bandits' first. Willing to bite on the inference, he asks. "So's is 'air any particular road 'at get's robbers 'at we can go searchin' down?"
Huuuurrrmmm! Kilain sits thinking. Then says Ya. yu guys and gals up for a bandit hunt on the morrow?
Horek had helped the Rangers of the Gnarley kill mainly goblins for the most part on the handful of patrols he'd been allowed to accompany - 'milk runs', as his mother would call them. The half-orc smiles at the memory, but the grin fades as he realizes that hunting bandits would mean killing men. Humans. The half-orc quickly drinks down the rest of his ale and orders another as he feels some dark surge of emotional triumph deep in his heart. Could he keep it quelled? Was he strong enough?
In response, the half-orc's brain begins to rationalize. These humans were cruel and violent, preying on the weak and innocent in the name of profit - or perhaps simply out of the desire to inflict pain and horror. Right? No better than the cunning and evil goblins along with their worse kin that dwelled in the Gnarley. "Aye. Count me in." Horek agrees after a few moments of thought. Then he drinks another ale, downing it swiftly.
"Bandit hunting could be a good start, yes. Though I have to agree with the short one, there, that knowing where they are normally seen will help make things go more quickly."
Plus, how much robben have they done? I'm doubting that they are just hanging around in the trees waiting for us to pass by.
Melenthe’s calculating mind whirrs but she says nothing, just sips her drink.
Bandits on the road but they leave the town alone. Either because they’re scared of the militia or because they are the militia? Or maybe they funnel goods through Hommlett? Nothing’s ever as simple as black-hearted bandits on the road.