At Haldelar's ire, and more specifically his raised voice, Ping shrinks back and does her best to hide in Hunidark's shadow. Memories of the times her father lost his temper were far from pleasant, especially when he lost it at her. Thankfully, Eireachdail is there to smooth things over, though the gnome continues to hide in the shadows of her larger companions. Still, she finds herself torn between accepting the offer of food and continuing to be as inconspicuous as possible.
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"Well if you don't have Pickled Lamprey... that's my favorite... I guess the Jelled Eel will do. Serve me up a double helping".
Then to Elyan
"I don't think they're unfriendly... just curious. The fair folk are not common occurrences in any small village in the Empire. I guess it'd be kind of like a Cyclops dropping into one of your establishments and ordering a glass of Ice-wine".
He then raises his glass to toast Elyan when his ale arrives.
"To not appearing as you are and not being as you appear".
Face flushed Haldelar nods in thanks to Hûnidark before storming off toward the gaol.
As her husband lumbers off, Parella smiles nervously;
"He'll be fine once he blows off some stream. My thanks to you all, Jenn is our only childe an' her Da is fierce protective!"
She hugs her daughter then becokons toward the spread of fresh bakery;
"Please eat... and tell me of the misadventures you have all had!"
Andren nods in agreement;
"Alas Master, the Picklin' is still underway, be a few weeks before they're good and ready for customers. Two portions of jellied it is. Is that for you both or will Master Aelf be ordering his own?"
In the background a man identical to your host, save for his food stained apron hands the cantankerous old man a fresh bowl of chowder and and horn of ale. Both are consumed voraciously...
Ping follows the others into the bakery and takes one of the offered baked goods with a mumbled word of thanks. She keeps her hat on, and hopes that it won't be seen as a sign of rudeness as she nibbles at her food.
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Jenneleth sits nearby Ping, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder as she introduces the group;
"It was quite the eventful journey Mama. We have been charged to bring a box to Maester Tausthäuser. My friends here protected the package and me along the way. Eireachdail is a skald, already well met. The shy one seated here is dearest Ping. The big lad is Brother Hûƞidark, and next to him is Master Mos Smallbarrow. There are more to their number but some are at the Baron, whilst one watches the criminals they brought to task at Garyld's gaol."
The young apprentice smiles at the group;
"They are all good folk to a fault Mama. And I am proud to call them friends."
Parella nods as she passes a jug of buttermilk;
"I can see that Jenn. You keep good company daughter... hungry too..."
She laughs as Eireachdail stuffs another warm scone into his mouth - the skald temporarily silenced save for sounds of satisfaction!
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Dearest Ping? Good folk? The others are good people, but Ping herself? No, she is, at best, a scared gnome who is out in the wide world for the first time in her life. At worst, well, she is a selfish, scared gnome that would run at the first sign of trouble. Except she didn't. She ran in like a fool to try and stop something terrible from happening. Is that enough to make her a good person?
She blinks as she feels a drop of water hit her hand. When did she start crying? She has too many stupid emotions running through her head to think straight. She'll feel better after a good night's sleep and dying her hair. Ping couldn't be all that uncommon of a name for a gnome, right?
Realizing that the others are staring at her, she wipes away the tears and looks up at Parella.
"Miss Jenneleth is too kind. She didn't see me running around scared out of my wits," Ping says quietly.
Or that I killed a man I thought was a slaver.
Mos places a hand on Ping's shoulder and shakes his head.
"You were brave and even if you were scared, to helped! Be proud of that achievement."
The aforementioned ‘big lad’ nods politely to Parella before cautiously diving into a savory pie held in his rather large hands.
"Erm, I'll have the same, just a single please."
"A cyclops? In my establishment..." Elyan's eyes widen and grow distant as he loses himself for a moment to the terror of a cyclops brute stomping through his favorite moss patch and smashing his herb garden. He blinks himself back to reality as Spiro makes his toast and swiftly raises his mug as well. Unsure what to make of his companions toast he falls back many centuries to his parents teachings on decorum and he blurts "To friendship, a warm bed, and a hot meal!" He takes a heavy quaff and feels an unfamiliar warmth spread.
"It seems more than curiousity from our elder friend in the corner, closer to animosity really. Well perhaps... I shall meet him... After we eat!"
[ooc]The Bakery/Mill-House
Parella smiles politely at the interchange between the companions, noting Ping's emotion;
"Best perhaps I do not know the dangers you encountered on the road... At least the villains you encountered left your beautiful cloak unblemished, if not your pretty head daughter..."
Jenneleth rolls her eyes between bites of a pastry, before brushing crumbs off the aforementioned cloak of sky blue with a silver clasp;
"Mama always brings up the cloak. A gift from the townfolk to celebrate me being accepted as Apprentice to the Maester... Blue cloth with clasp of silver mined from the Blanryde Hills. I love it, but am always being reminded by a certain someone to keep it clean and tear free!"
She shakes her head with a chuckle as her mother now rolls her eyes in a mirror of Jenneleth's earlier reaction.
Parella smiles with satisfaction as you collectively tuck in;
"So how long will you stay daughter? One night? More??"
Jenneleth looks to you all;
"We are tasked to deliver Maester Tausthäuser's goods Mama. Best we continue onward on the morrow... So one night."
Andren nods in acknowledgment of your request;
"Good choice Master Aelf. I'll return shortly."
He leaves you both to your toasts and heads to the kitchen.
Dirkaster continues to lick bowl and ladel clean of the soup between draughts of his ale, with a jaundiced and milky eye occasionally looking your way...
As you sit a smartly dressed half-elven man approaches and bows;
"Good day Gentlemen, new in town? I am Baztán, humble valet to Squire Carmen. If I may enquire what line of vocation are you both in..?"
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Ulf frowns at the talk of bandits. "Cumen a time for some in such werk when the mynet from stelende things falls short, and the stelende of folc is longer." He sighs but accepts the pipe with a nod. "þanc ye."
His frown turns smirk at the news of the count's son running off. "This I understande. oþer-sonu...second-son..was I of my folc. brōþor tōc the blōd-cræft, and slanc away did I. Scout, explorer, tracker. Much time spent from home and folc. Had time in the top-lands before...but not in some years." He takes another drag as he reminisces for a moment before passing the pipe back to the carpenter.
He stands with a start as the man explains the place where the followers of the cult were said to gather.
" 'Gleaming Glade..'" he rubs his beard. "Is this land near?" This information was the most significant lead the ranger had received as to the location of these people and their activities. He goes over the name of the place again and again in his mind until it cannot be forgotten. "A fell land as ye tell it, but a land that may have what I seek. cnǣwst ye the way to this fyrhþe?"
Garyld enjoys the interplay, clearly at ease with someone akin to himself.
At Ulf's questioning about the Gleaming Glade he nods slowly and opens a drawer upon the work table. Pulling forth some scraps of parchment, he sifts through them, then places a map of the region upon the table.
His calloused finger taps the map
"There or there abouts... 20 miles out of town and into the wild. But be warned my friend, the place is haunted. Accounts say Ahlaksız's tower was sundered by the Holy Count's forces and consumed by the earth itself as the druids buried the living and the risen dead..."
Garyld takes a deep puff as he contemplates his words;
"Amongst us Rangers even the more powerful like Schyreaz the Swanmǣden, avoid there. We watch but rarely enter. Heed my words brōþor tis a baleful place."
He passes back the pipe, then tilts his head curiously as the sound of distant shouting draws closer;
"Sounds like our Elder Haldelar! Wonder what's got his flour lumpy!?"
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Eireachdail follows the conversation, eyes moving from speaker to speaker, not willing to interject himself, so occupied was he in discovering all of the wonderful flavours offered by Jenneleth's talented Mother.
Finally, he pauses, then takes a deep ,draught of wine ,offers a polite burp into his closed fist, then declares, "A feast fit for a king, Madam Parella ! If yon Haldelar hadn't already snapped you up, why I'd be on bended knee in an instant!"
He holds his half-drunk wine goblet aloft, "A cheer for Dear Parella, a most welcome respite from the dust of the road! Huzzah! "
Ping hadn't noticed Mos' return and jumps when the halfling places his hand on her shoulder. Her cheeks burn with embarrassment and from the praise, though which has the larger impact is difficult for her to say. She nods, even though she doesn't agree with her fellow shortfolk.
The interaction between mother and daughter raises Ping's spirits. She wonders how much the two of them are alike and how much they'd both deny it. With only one night in town, Ping decides that if there's supplies to be had for helping with her disguise, better to find out sooner rather than later.
"Um, Mos, how did--y'know. How did it go," she asks.
"Well now. A lot of things. Currently we're serving as escort and bodyguard to a charge... but I've been known to scout, hunt, and mostly adventure".
Mos smiles at the gnome.
"I think I know where we can get what you want...as well as a place to sell some of the loot we gathered."
The well groomed Half-Aelf raises an eyebrow appreciatively at Spiro's catalogue of experience;
"A Jakke of All Trades it would seem... interesting. And what of your... rustic companion? Where do his skills lie?"
Parella blushes slightly at Eireachdail's praise, while Jenneleth merely smiles at her companion's charm.
She nods towards their home;
"Alas we cannot put up all your number... and besides your Da will want to hear all about your studies and The City League... We can however recommend The Baron of Mutton for room and board. T'is humble in fare and bed but I'm sure our daughter will happily guide you there!"
"Primarily gardening but I've many additional skills allowing me to live in harmony with the wilds. What of you ser? Why so curious to know such things?"
Baztán listens intently, then smiles knowingly;
"Knowledge of the Wyld... Excellent. As I said, I represent the interests of Squire Carmen who is influential and industrious both. He owns much of the realm's mining operations and farmland around Milbourne."
The half-aelf takes a sip of his cup as he continues to watch your reactions;
"My master cannot abide problems that affect his interests and when they do he charges me to find individuals who can solve such problems for a discerning fee... I may have a proposition for you both... However perhaps this should be put to your collective, or can I presume you represent their interests also?"
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Spiro sits down his ale and begins to hand-roll some stinking mixture of forest herbs into a rough cigarette.
"Well now. That is interesting if the compensation is fair. I can't decide for the others, but I think after we finish our current charge that might be of interest. Hopefully they'll gather here soon".
"Th-thank you," Ping tells Mos quietly. "I--I guess we all should go and take care of that."
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Baztán flashes a wry smile;
"Compensation? My Master is the richest man in the realm. I'd wager his coffers are fuller than the old Count's... Rest assured you and your companions will be rewarded for any... problem solving required."
He pauses before continuing;
"When you complete your current charge then do call at the Mansion House and ask for me. The Squire will assuredly have work that requires urgent attention and skilled individuals."
Elyan grunts at the talk of gold and mansions. He feels a pang of longing for the gentler, less fraught, conversations of his stream with the rocks of his side yard. The talk of gold does remind him of how light his purse is and how quickly the wide world demands more of it's weight. "Perhaps we shall ser, perhaps we shall. Errr afore you leave, our old muttering friend in the corner," he gestures at the grumbling man, "seems to have a problem with my, well, our kind. Should I be concerned?"
Ping follows Mos to Rastifer's Store and discovers, much to her dismay, that she'll need to haggle a price for both the goods they have to sell and for what they hope to buy. The halfling thief can feel Ping shaking as she steps up and prays her hat hides the color of her bright red hair from the proprietor, and everyone else in town. She swallows, trying to clear the lump that seems to have manifested in her throat before trying to haggle a selling price for the goods they will be selling.
Much to her surprise, Ping finds that she does fairly well, though she doesn't get much of a deal from the process. Perhaps she can do this, she thinks.
Her confidence buoyed, she does a little better negotiating a price for the supplies and the, to her, all-important hair dye. Still, it's not much of a deal.
Mos stands by and assists Ping in her bartering in the hopes they can get the maximum amount for what they are selling and get her a decent price for future sales and her hair dye.
Despite Ping's haggling attempts being charmingly persuasive, the Shoppekeep does not seem mightily swayed...
The scarecrow like merchant picks over the loot with a protuberant eye as his two burly hunds warily watch o'er the negotiations with drooling indifference;
"Mmmm. Lots of weapons an' armour... Gob too... Was it I did trade in such... but I don't. No arms 'ere... Save me own! Heheheh!"
He waggles his stick thin arms in the air to accentuate the joke, then points to several items;
"I'll take the belt pouches off your hands. All 6 fir 2 Gold. Pipe an' the baccy fir 3 Gold."
Rastifer holds up the wooden ring with silver inlay;
"Nice piece. Rustic charm... Jus' as well we live in the country then eh heheheheheh! Tells ye what 50 Gold for the ring in coin... or 90 in store credit... Mmmmm? What ye say Little Mistress?"
He extents a hand to shake on the deal...
Baztán looks over at Dirkaster, eliciting a hard stare from the half-blind, all belligerent old man;
"Ah... Dirkaster. He owns this place, purchased with coin from his mercenary days so the tale goes, so pleases himself how he behaves. His grandsons do the grafting while the old goat grumbles and glares at anyone who crosses his eyeline. Harmless unless you try and wrest a drinking horn from him - grip like an ogre!"
The half-aelf claps Elyan's shoulder with a smile;
"Nothing to be concerned about Master Botanist. Gentlemen I bid you both adieu until we meet again. Supper is one me."
He bows and departs, leaving a pair of gold coins on the table.
Spiro is glad he ordered a double helping of eel.
"Ah! My appreciation your eel is magnificent, and your ale is cold. I don't suppose you have anything to sate my sweet tooth do you"?
Mos nudges Ping and whispers into her ear.
"Agree with the amount"
Talking to Rastifer, the halfling inquires who might be interested in the armour and weapons.
"Thank you for your service Mr.Rastifer. Might you know of anyone who would be interested in this armour and weapons?"
Ping nods as she hears Mos advise her to take the offer. Honestly, she isn't sure if it is a good offer, but she is sure that Mos would know better than she would.
"Would you be willing to make it an even hundred crowns if it's all in store credit," she asks Rastifer.
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Rastifer pauses, mulling the offer, then looks to the hunds;
"Otus? Erol? What say ye lads? Should we accept...??"
Both mastiffs impassively watch proceedings, stalactites of drool dangling.
The shoppe-keep leans in with a wink and a whisper;
"They like you little folk an' say yes."
He nods toward the arms and armour collected;
"Carmen's Smithy is yer best bet. They make 'em but also buy and sell... mainly for smelting!"
The raggedy merchant skips through his shoppe, then pauses with a toothy grin;
"So what has taken yer fancy Little Ones? Can I interest you in some new stock? Belt pouches, authentic from robbers! Only 6 Silver each! Hehehehehehe!"
Ping, despite her more cynical and distrustful side, finds that she's starting to like Rastifer. The man's charm certainly isn't lost on her. Still, any temptation to let her guard down vanishes as he asks them what they would like.
"I'm certain the others will have things they want, but there are a few things that I need, hair dye and a few changes of clothes that fit," she says quietly, holding out her arms to show the voluminous robes made for someone of a much heftier build and how they hang off her.
Mos smiles at the human's antics and turns to Ping.
"Will you be alright here on yer own? I want to talk to this smith and try to get the rest of this gear sorted before we settle for the night. I'll come back and get you...or you can come and see me if you finish first. Ok?"
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Ping feels a stab of panic when Mos asks if she'll be fine on her own. She really doesn't want to be alone, as strange as that thought is to her, but she isn't sure if its because she doesn't trust Mos or because she does trust the halfling. After a moment's hesitation, she slowly nods, though she seems unsure.
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Ulf moves quickly over to the worktable and leans over to get a good view of the map. His gaze maneuvers across it, back and forth, studying the surrounding environs and roadways, his mind a steady, methodical turning grindstone as it processes. He nods as Garyld speaks, wincing slightly at the prospect of this foray being something he could very well likely be unable to surmount here and now.
"Aye..made glances have I at beorgas where the dēad once rison," he says, remembering scouting and spelunking old barrow-tombs in ruins and buried sepulchers in his past. It had been said that draugr and ghouls and the like had walked there, but when he had searched them there were only gnawed bones and claw marks in the stone.
"ōþer ways, if'n wyrd be cynd," he muses. "Say ye have watch-ed the plæċe ? Seen have ye the...ech..comings and goings of these deorc folc? May be could tace one off the pæþ..." he scratches at his chin, the early threads of different plans starting to spool.
"Be it so hwelċ way ever, be it a plæċe of gast or dēofol or ent..there trede will I, for mine blod there is no line." He lets out a sigh of resolve and looks to the carpenter. "Thanc ye, of all that found my ears, your words are the most help-full."
The stick thin storekeep mulls Ping's request for a second, then grins;
"Haha! Of course-of course! I have some items that might be more suited to your petite frame yes!"
As his big dogs watch Mos depart he beckons her to a nearby corner when piles of clothes sit in barrels. Each one is marked up: Little Folk/Children, Big Folk/Adults and Huge Folk/Giants.
The third barrel is empty save for a huge slipper.
Rastifer feels the quality of Ping's robe;
"Robes. Always in demand... Wizards and Holy folk... tho' not as much as they used to... Heh. No matter, I'll take the robe in part trade for what you choose!"
Seeing Spiro is ready for some more food, Andren approaches with a smile;
"Ah a clean plate! I will be sure to tell my brother. So something sweet... We have honey cakes from the Bakery - fresh this very morn Master."
In the background Dirkaster demands more ale... and soup... and ale...
Jenneleth nods with a smile;
"Aye Mama, I'll guide them there, then I'll return here for the night... Hopefully Da will'ave calmed."
She rises and beckons the remainder of the group to follow.
Parella passes a small sack to
"Masters. My thanks again for your guardianship o'er my daughter. Some work-bread for your next road... It is honey glazed with nuts, berries and seeds. Popular with the miners, but equally so for farmers, travellers and vagabon... adventurers such as yourselves. Half a dozen loafs as our appreciation."
As the rangers shared tales of tombs and dark-spirited folk, the man Garyld hailed as Elder Haldelar approaches.
The burly man's face is beet read, in stark contrast to his flour whitened paws;
"Garyld! Ranger! Where are they!? The basterds who set upon my Jenneleth!"
Within the cell, the sounds of stirring can be heard, as Marko begins muttering his innocence.
For his part, Garyld merely tilts his head toward the gaol;
"Good day to you an' all Elder. The villains are in shackles an' in the gaol. I'll send for the Squire on the morrow, so he can pass judgement sharpish. Save us feedin' an' waterin' 'em more than is necessary... Ulf here one of the party protected your lass. He knows more o' their nature than I... or you..."
At the ranger's comment Marko's praying intensifies, punctuated by sobs.
Haldelar's face remains beet but he pauses his quest for justice, his eyes turning to the dwarf;
"What say ye Master Dwarv? Who are these blackhearts that set upon my fair lass?"
As Mos approaches he draws the eyes of the two men working the forge and benches.
The older man, burly hefts a hammer against a lump of glowing ore he is flattening, while behind him a huge man tong-grips another lump of glowing metal from the forge as if it were nothing.
The hammerer smiles and hails you with a hint of Jenneleth's mother about his features... similar eyes perhaps...
"Well met Little Master. Welcome to Carmen's Smithy. I am Walright... chief smith. That giant there is Semeren my apprentice.... Both here to serve. So what is it we can do for ye?"
Ping resists the urge to pull away from Rastifer as he inspects the robe she's still wearing. She nods in acceptance of the man's offer, after all the robe is far to large on her, and begins looking through the barrel of clothing sized for the little folk and children. After picking out what will suit her needs, she finds the hair dye to purchase as well.
"Thank you master Walright. I have a number of old weapons and armor I am looking to sell. Please take a look and tell me what you thinK."
He arranges the wears so to try and present the items in the best of light.
Walright eyes the diminutive Haefling laden with sacks that clank and clatter with a brow raised in curiosity and scepticism.
"Sem. Help the Little Master eh."
The hulking apprentice ambles over, easily relieving the rogue's burden, then offering up each sack to allow Mos to array the assortment of weaponry and armour out upon the ground.
Walright leans in, casting a critical eye over the arsenal. Semeren picks up one of the dented pot helms;
"Gob."
The huge man's rumbling tone is flat, with a hint of ire as he tosses it to his Master Craftsman. Walright catches it, tapping the metal with a look of disdain;
"Mmm. Interesting wares Little Master. Where exactly did you come by these?"
:
Belt 6 sp 1 lb *
Belt, Baldric 2 sp 3 lb *
Boots, Heavy 1 gp 4 lb EV 1
Boots, Soft 4 sp 2 lb *
Caftan 3 sp 2 lb EV 1
Cap/Hat 4 sp — *
Cape 8 sp 1 lb *
Cloak 5 sp 3 lb EV 1
Cowl 2 sp 1 lb EV 3
Dalmatic 5 sp 4 lb EV 2
Doublet 1 gp 3-5 lb EV 1
Frock 5 sp 1-10 lb EV 2
Girdle 7 sp 3 lb EV 1
Gloves, Cloth 2 sp — *
Gloves, Leather 8 sp — *
Gown 1 gp 5-20 lb EV 4
Leggings 5 sp 0.5 lb EV 2
Mantle 1 gp 3-5 lb EV 1
Robe 1 gp 4 lb EV 2
Scarf 5 cp 0.5 lb *
Shoes, Normal 2 sp 1 lb EV 1
Skirt 4 sp 0.5 lb EV 1
Smock 3 sp 0.5 lb EV 1
Trousers 4 sp 0.5 lb EV 1
Tunic 3 sp 0.5 lb EV 1
Vest 2 sp 0.5 lb EV 1
Winter Clothing, Set 5 gp 6 lb EV 4
* Items marked with a * have no appreciable EV. If carried in bulk (more than 10) treat the EV as 1 per 10 items carried.
"Had a run-in with goblins on our way here. Decided to gather up all their gear rather than leaving it out there for someone else to use. Maybe good as scrap metal?"
Walright grins at Mos' story and nods toward his apprentice;
"Sem here has had his fair share o' run-ins with the little basterds afore..."
The hulking man nods also flashing a wide toothed grin;
"Uh-huh. See Gobelins, they mostly pick up broken arms and armour. Cobble it together. Rusty an' run down like this helm."
Walright picks over the rest of the booty;
"Pot helms, cleavers and daggers are all likely for the smelt. Give you 6 gold for the lot... Ringmail is rusty and has some loose links but we can fix that... so 15 gold. Them 3 dirks are decent - 2 gold for all of them... So 23 gold all in."
Semeren lifts the two remaining daggers up, feeling their weight and checking their edges with an appreciative nod.
"Good ones these Master."
The Smithy takes them, smiling in agreement at the assessment;
"Aye Sem. That they are... Back to the forge lad, keep them bellows going..."
He turns his attention back to Mos;
"Poignard and Baselard are both expert crafted Little Master - good weapons. Them we'll take for what they're worth - 20 Gold each... So 63 Gold for the lot."
Walright eyes the haefling expectantly...