Mos adds a little 'Thieves Cant' into his response, seeing if perhaps the blacksmith picks up on it. If not, then he will agree to the price and take the money. He will also give the two knives another once over to ensure he is getting the best price for them.
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...
Ulfbrecht eyes this elder as he approaches once Garyld announces him and gives the flour-handed man a nod of greeting. He studies the man, red face and all, listening to the exchange between the two townsfolk but turning his head towards the makeshift cell as Marko's mutterings emanate from it. When the line of questioning turns to him, Ulf stands attentive and extends his empty hands in front of him as if to offer little.
"cnāwe I not a great more than ye, fær I," he says bluntly. "Join-ed with some folc at a guest-hus near'n by to come here. Set upon by that lot," he says, gesturing towards the gaol. "Morev 'em left dead as dust. Eh..these that lifig...live, this Marko seems a lost lad, sway-ed by sangs of wuldor n' mynet...glory n' coin. Māra like than not his path can be righted by a strang hand n' payment for the crime." Truly, the dwarv did not feel as though Marko was too far gone. Let justice be served, punishment be meted, and give the lad a new start, as far as the ranger is concerned.
"This other though...Carlanis," his voice grows a bit more ominous. "With he I wȳsċe to speak...may be he bunden to deeds darker. Cannot say for true, but cnǣwþ māra of cults and thrall-makers may he."
The ranger nods in agreement at Ulfbrecht's assessment, tipping his pipe toward the gaol;
"As the good Master said Elder, there's two of them in our custody. One perhaps a paid patsy. The other a more blackhearted villain if these good folk are to be believed. However Squire Carmen will decide their fate."
Haldelar's flushed face ebbs slightly at the joint wisdom of the pair of rangers.
"Aye... Well... I shall be speakin' with the Squire too! Justice will be served... By the Gods it will!"
He glowers at the gaol, then nods his thanks toward Ulf;
"My thanks Master Dwarv. Our Jenneleth is our only childe, our pride and joy. I'm fierce protective of her, and to think of someone doing her harm..."
The burly baker clenches his meaty fist, then bids you both good eve.
As Mos converses with the two men, neither react to his Thieves Cant inclusion, bringing him to conclude, if they are dishonest men, then are not Guild dishonest.
As Andren waits on if Spiro and Elyan wish more fare, his expression lights up as new customers enter the room.
"Jen!"
The aelf-blooded pair watch as their innkeep rushes toward the newly arrived Jenneleth, who enters the place with Eireachdail, Ping and Hûƞidark in tow.
Even the drunken curmudgeon Dirkaster grins when he sees the betrothed pair reunited.
For her part Jenneleth blushes as Andren sweeps her off her feet;
"An-Andren! These are my friends... and we are not married yet!"
He sets her down with a besotted smile and nods toward your collective;
"Ah more newcomers! Welcome! Any friend of Jen's is a valued customer of mine!"
She jabs his ribs and beckons you all follow. Across the bustling tavern Spiro and Elyan are seated at a table with empty dishes and charged mugs.
Everyday Clothes
3x Tunic 3 sp, 0.5 lbs., EV 1
Robe 1 gp, 4 lbs., EV 2
2x Vest 2 sp, 0.5 lbs., EV 1
2x Trousers 4 sp, 0.5 lbs., EV 1
Leggings 5 sp, 0.5 lbs., EV 2
Skirt 4 sp, 0.5 lbs., EV 1
Fancy Clothes
Caftan 3 sp, 2 lbs., EV 1
Frock 5 sp, 1-10 lbs., EV 2
Girdle 7 sp, 3 lbs., EV 1
Gown 1 gp, 5-20 lbs., EV 4
Footwear
Soft Boots 4 sp, 2 lbs.
Shoes 2 sp, 1 lb.
Outerwear
Cloak 5 sp, 3 lbs., EV 1
Mantle 1 gp, 3-5 lbs., EV 1
Stuff I don't know the price for:
Hair Dye (black or brown would be preferable, but she'll take whatever he has) I don't
Fancy Slippers to match the fancy dresses (the Frock and the Gown) Not sure if they count as a normal pair of the shoes or not, or if they are included in the cost of the dresses.
Ping winds up going through all of the clothes in the barrel sized for folk of her stature, curiosity and more vanity than she really wants to admit to having driving her on after she finds a lovely green and white frock under the first tunic she picks up. Her other finds were a deep blue gown with flowing sleeves, a deep pine green caftan that would go with either dress, and a white and silver girdle. She does also pick out some more practical clothing; a few tunics, a couple of vests and pairs of trousers, a skirt, and a pair of leggings in various colors; as well as a cloak, a hooded mantle, a set of robes, a pair of boots, and a pair of shoes. By the time she's gathered it all up, she feels a little abashed at how much she's gotten given how small she is and how much she had intended to get, not to mention the hair dye and looking for some slippers to match the dresses she'd grabbed practically on a whim.
She finishes up just as Jenneleth stops by to help her find the Baron of Mutton, and after a moment to consider things, asks Rastifer if he'd be kind enough to send everything to where they will be staying the night and deciding that she needs to see if she can purchase a pack mule or something before they leave.
The sights, sounds, and smells wash over Ping, and she feels her stomach rumbling as Jenneleth and her fiancé see each other. There's a flash of jealousy in Ping's mind, but she convinces herself that it's just her empty stomach and the smell of the food. She moves over to where Spiro and Elyan are and sits herself down next to them.
"Is the food as good as it smells," she asks them.
"Well there's always room for a little more. Who knows when you'll get the chance to fill your belly again".
"Hi Ping. It's surprisingly delicious for such a small town. I recommend the eel".
He then carves a sliver off the table and begins picking remnants of his feast from his teeth.
"I trust your shopping trip was fruitful"?
Ping blushes furious when asked how her shopping trip went.
"I-It went well," she stammers before looking around for someone to take her order. "You said the eel was good, right?"
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Eireachdail releases Jenneleth to be taken into the arms of her love, grinning at the girl's embarrassment.
Then his face grew pensive for but a moment, as he pondered his uncharacteristic failure to woo the beautiful Jenneleth, both on the road and here in the village. "Perhaps, I've grown a conscience?" he asked himself. He then grins and shakes his head, realizing that he'd grown used to the slightly older, definitely more jaded widows and bored wives of the big city....Jenneleth just wasn't his cup of tea. Or at least that was what he was going to tell himself! It couldn't be that a sliver of morals and rectitude had somehow slipped into his mind! Never!
With that settled, Eireachdail casts about and sees some of his companions sitting across the room, he bellows, advancing across the room, taking up a chair, and catching Ping's last comment, "Eel, you say! Eel it will be!"
Then feeling in his element, he begins to sing....
Oh I sailed to the bay with a rumblin’ gut,
Dreamin’ of dinner and what I could cut.
Saw a slick little wiggle in a fisherman’s pail—
“Aye, that’s an eel!” he said with a tale.
Eels on the grill, sizzlin’ hot,
Tastes like chicken? Absolutely not!
With a splash of sauce and a lemon peel,
Nothing hits better than a plate of eel!
Jellied or fried, I don’t complain,
Smoke it slow or braise it in cane.
Pan-seared, glazed, or cooked in a stew,
One bite of eel, and you're brand new!
Eels on the grill, sizzlin’ hot,
Served on rice or in a pot.
Golden, tender, slippery meal,
Raise your fork for the mighty eel!
So next time you’re hungry and near the sea,
Order some eel, and thank it from me...
It may look odd, it may not squeal,
But oh sweet RISSINIS — that’s a meal.
Mos arranges to sell all the items (minus the dagger Spiro claimed). He will take the money and return to the Inn to share out the loot.
Ping sinks lower and lower into her chair as Eireachdail sings of the virtues of eel. By the time his last refrain rings out in the large room, the only thing that the others can see over the table is the crown of fiery-haired head.
I wonder if there's a spell that can make people not notice me, not that it'd work with Eireachdail belting out songs at the top of his lungs!
Hûnidark moves through the tavern towards the group’s table, eyes alert to where trouble may be coming from: large men with the look of brawlers or anyone who gives the half-orc too hard a stare. He takes a seat at the table’s end, making it easy to meet trouble without having to skirt around other people. The chair protests slightly as he settles his bulk in it.
He nods politely to Jenneleth’s beau. ”Nice to meet you." He glances at the serving board. "When you have a chance... I’d like chowder, bread, and cheese, please.”
"Yes the eel was fine indeed!" Elyan relaxes a little now that their company had arrived. The Bard's verse and Hunidarks bulk seemed to relieve some of the ocular pressure he'd been sensing. The group's numbers were also of some comfort. If I absolutely must see some of this realm, a group I trust will absolutely make the journey easier.
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As the group come together, any chance of a low-key reunion is stymied by the effervescent performance by Eireachdail!
The skald's rousing performance attracts plenty of eyes, some wonderous, some wary... one or two even appreciative with a toe-tap or two.
Hûnidark meantime eyes the throng for any sense of ill-intent... but finds none, save to half-blind scowl of the ancient man nursing an empty drinking horn;
As Andren breaks from his beau's embrace, he apologetically acknowledges the big brawler's order...
"Of course! Of course my friend! Plenty of fare for a Brother of the Brawler!"
Jenneleth seems to glow, happy that her betrothed has met this motley collection she has become very fond of.
"Andren... Could you also bring us a bottle of that fine City League Red. I wish to toast my friends here..."
He smiles and grins;
"On the house my dear. For these are your friends... which makes them mine!"
As he heads to the kitchen, his charitable gesture does not go unnoticed - causing auld Dirkaster to bluster and bellow;
"GivinfreedrinkstothesebloddyVagabondiAnd'ereismewithBLODDYEMPTY
Mos does the deal netting 43 Gold for the goblin-gear, bandit arms and the well balanced Baselard.
Walright nods at the departing Mos and Semeren gathers all the wares up in his mighty arms;
"Please doing business with you Little Master. You come across any more such items bring them back to me an' Sem. We'll do you a good deal. Honest like."
As the Elder departs, Garyld nods toward the prisoners.
"Elder there won't let this lie, most likely e'll petition the Squire this eve to have these two dealt with."
The ranger settles in;
"If sleepin' beauty there is indeed in league with bandits and followers o' The Reaper, then Capella will be swingin' her sword or tying a noose. She runs the Boathouse... an' doubles as town executioner... Good woman. Strong. "
He mulls the situation (or Capella), then turns to Ulfbrecht;
"More than welcome to keep me company Brodir. Or head to your friends. Most likely billetin' at the Baron of Mutton - only place to put them up unless they're sleepin' rough in the granary!"
The ranger chuckles as Marko sobs at the mention of executions;
"Pipe down lad. You'll not be for the blade or noose. Just your fat friend..."
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Ulf nods. "Under-stand I the ire when hearm befealle a kin. Seek I one of mine own from these thrall-makers." He sighs and his eyes flick over the outhouse. "Seems the orc-blod þaccode the mann god 'n well. Like'n be a-sleep til morn. wȳsċe I to spece with him..be-fore any such sweord a-swings, if'n ye could see to it." He gathers up his whittling and carving tools from where he left them and packs them away neatly.
"Mine thancs for the drink 'n smoca. Most for the..ech, what say ye upp hēr.. knowledge?" he fuddles with the word, pushing it out after a moment. "More'n thats found my ears yet. wealce I to the guest-house. brēad n' ċīese would be god." He thanks Garyld again for the visit before plodding off to the Baron of Mutton to afford himself a meager meal and check in with his newfound compatriots. Perhaps they would be willing to investigate this Glade, or at least more information about it and it's dark denizens.
Garyld nods in thanks through a cloud of pipe smoke as Ulfbrecht makes his way to catch up with the rest of the group.
"Pleasure is all mine brodir. I'm here if you be needing of me."
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Ping shrinks down even farther into her chair as it appears that their table has become the center of attention.
Is it too much to ask to be able to eat in peace. Maybe coming to a small town as myself was a mistake. I think we stick out more here than we would in a city.
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Ulf finds his way to the Baron o' Mutton, mind still a methodical strike of mallet upon chisel as he etches his most recent interactions into the tablet in his mind. He repeats the knowledge gleaned of the Gleaming Glade until the words are sure as stuck to him, still mulling over this as he pushed through the door and into the inn.
He accepts the change in atmosphere, feeling a bit more at home with a roof over his head and walls around him. He scratches at his beard as he scans the interior, looking for familiar faces. Spotting those he could call traveling companions, he lumbers over, his nose picking out the wafting scents of bread and drink.
"God æfnung," Ulf says with a nod as he joins the ranks. "Carlanis walks still the dream-path. þaccode the mann god, Hûƞidark did. The Marko lad wealwaþ in his poor cyras . God folc is Garyld, þēah " He gives his report and offloads his pack to a nearby free spot. "þēah drenċas mind wel the tunge in this guest-house?"
After Ulf makes his order, Ping tugs on his sleeve.
"Um, y-you aren't the kind of person that draws a lot of attention, right?"
Spiro leans back in his chair, pushes back his chair, and loosens his belt a notch.
"Hopefully there's food left for you guys. I ate more than ever! Hopefully you had a successful shopping trip".
At the mention of a shopping trip, Ping blushes, turning her face bright scarlet.
I bought far too many clothes, but I'm not about to tell them that!
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Mos looks over all the clothes that Ping purchased.
"A very good selection. You should be able to make many different disguises out of these, if needed. As for me, I think I will be retiring for the night. We still have much to do, and morning will be upon us soon that we might like!"
With a smile and a wave, the halfling heads out to his sleeping quarters.
As Mos ups to leave, Jenneleth spots him and breaks from her chatter with her betrothed.
"Good night Master Smallbarrow. My friends I'll be staying back with my parents tonight... tongues will wag if I remain her with Andren, and Da won't abide that. I'll meet you all here or at my parents if you wish?"
Ulfbrecht looks down as Ping subtly calls his attention. "Hm?" He scratches his beard for a moment as he mulls over the question.
Jenneleth bids you all good night and parts from Andren with a mutual longing and whispered affections. Even old Dirkaster seems to approve, with a proud smile creeping across his weathered features;
"Hah. Madefireachotherthemtwowas."
For his part the bar-keeper returns to your table, slightly abash but thankful;
'My gratitude for keeping Jenneleth safe on the road. She told me of the foul villains who laid hands upon her. I'm no man of arms, but upon the day of their trial I shall bid Squire Carmen punish them most severe for what they have wrought upon my love."
He composes himself then smiles;
"Jenn said I should be merciful. I am not. Just thankful for your protections. So a final round on the house?"
In the distance Dirkaster splutters on his ale...
The color drains from Ping's face as Ulf somehow guesses that she's running. She hides behind her mug of ale, hoping to buy time for her to think and come up with something to say, but she can't think of any lies or at least any that would be believed. She sets down her mug after pulling a long drought from it and stares into it.
"It has been a trying couple of days," she mutters before looking up at Ulfbrecht.
She tries to tell herself she should be cautious, that she shouldn't trust this dwarf, but she can't. No matter how hard she tries, she can't see him as anything other than the concerned and kindly uncle he named himself as.
"Most of the others know bits and pieces, Mos knows the most. I would rather speak of it away from where others might take an interest," she tells the dwarf before switching to the common tongue and speaking at a more normal tone.
"I think I need some fresh air, Master Ulfbrecht. Would you mind joining me," she asks.
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Ulfbrecht leans back in his seat, chewing air for a moment as he processes Ping's response; the nervous energy, the hesitant stance. He did not mean to provoke any anxiety in the girl, only open a path twixt himself and another of this band, but perhaps in the forthright assurance of his own plans and intentions he failed to realize others may have cause to not be so open.
He opens his mouth to dismiss the issue but catches himself as the gnome invites him outside.
"Ah..eh, yes, gá I wiþ ye, if'n ye wish. o' course," he replies, getting back to his feet. "Moon-balm is a selden gift for I," he muses.
Once outside, he speaks low again, and in Dwarven to remain more confidential.
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Ping nods, grateful that at least she'd be able to speak away from the ears of potential eavesdroppers.
Despite the lack of anyone around to overhear and speaking in fluent Dwarven, Ping keeps her voice low as she talks.
"I suppose that's an apt way of putting things," Ping says with a wry chuckle. "An orc-blooded man, Gulven Malidont, is looking for me. My father owed him a lot of coin, and when he died, Gulven sent his men looking for me. I've been running ever since because he is the type that would sell someone into slavery, and I've seen the people he deals with."
She shivers at the memories and wonders what her father was doing to get mixed up with someone like Gulven or his fellows.
"One of them is one of the ones you're after, I think. The pretty woman with a broken nose? Her name is Prentyss, and--and if your niece is in her hands, she might wish she was dead, if she isn't already," Ping says quietly. Shadows of things seen in the past haunt her eyes as she looks away and rubs her arms to ward off a chill that has little to do with the weather.
"I just hope my father was wrong about trusting others," she mutters under her breath in gnomish as she shivers.
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Ulfbrecht listen's intently to Ping's story, taking each sentence into himself as if it were a parcel, unpacking each neatly to store in his mind. When her tale speaks of the broken-nosed woman, a flash ripples across his eyes. A door in his mind opens where he sees internally a series of floating stone tablets, each carved as a bas-relief of a nebulous, humanoid form, the only sure-cut features the ones he has heard of in his travels. A hunchback, a towering form in armor...a nondescript woman with only her broken nose a fine casting.
Ping's voice fills this mental chamber - "PRENTYSS" - and as she speaks it, an unseen chisel imprints the letters at the base of the carving. P R E N T Y S S. Since accompanying this group he has not only found out about a potential bastion of operations for this cult, but now a name as well.
His eye flickers a squint as she speaks of this orcish greed-monger and his ways, and his dealings with this Prentyss, but holds his tongue until Ping is finished speaking.
: "Coin is the darkest folly of all with a palm." he says grimly. "This have I seen with mine own eyes as the weight of gold and silver drowned another." He reaches to his belt and produces the smallest of purses, upending it. Naught but a single gold coin falls out, nestling quietly onto the ground. "This is all I dare keep for myself. For a bite of bread or a grain of knowledge. Sooner would I work as a man's barkeep for a day in exchange for a night's bed than have wealth enough to stay a week." His tone is some strange mix of resolved and somber. Much like his views on coin swaying folk like Marko to join in brigandry, the concepts of money owed paid in violence seems to touch some nerve.
"n' mean I no disrespect to your father, let it be known. But no peace have I for those that prey on folc's need for it, or for those who weight their worth in greed, like this Malidont. n' to come and collect on a dead man's kin...nay, not if'n this dwarf is 'round to cross paths with them. n' our paths be crossed for true, say I. If'n your orc-blood runs with this Prentyss. My Milde is a young girl, for true, but she's a child of stone, so I must need believe she is as solid. Whatever hands this woman has on my niece will make a fine necklace o' fingerbones, say I."
His words taper to a hard edge when he speaks of the peril Milde is in; the blade of wroth he has forged for her captors is tempered by his love for his niece, however, and he keeps a measured head. "Ech, mind not my furnace-words. But let it be so known that none'll stand between she and I. n' if this Malidont is involved, have will I his tusks for the folly. But ech, enough of the qualms of mine.. we speak of ye! If'n ye haven't seen, ye have a host 'round you now. Know not this Malidont...but seen have I your friendly orc-blood in a fight. n' the Lightfoot, the music-blower, the archer, the aelf... seems to me that Malidont is the one that needs worry." He offers Ping a grin. "Speak for the rest, I cannot, but you can take these words from a Dwarf already on the path of his blood-oath; be it the broken-nosed Prentyss or the greed-glutted Gulven Malidont, I've enough hammers for 'em all."
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Ping looks away as Ulfbrecht promises her that he'd protect her from Gulven or Prentyss should they come after her. It's unlike what she had been taught by her father. Others would trick her and use her, her father had told her, but when Mos, Hunidark, Jenneleth, and Spiro had learned of her plight, they'd more or less taken her side and promised to help her however they could. Looking back, she could remember dozens of times that her father had told her to not believe her own eyes and ears, and she'd wondered for a time if she weren't going mad. Since his death, however, she could only trust what she could hear and see, and that painted a very different picture. Still...
"Trust--trust doesn't come easily for me. My father told me that everyone else would try to trick me and use me for their own ends. Mos thinks he did that to protect me, but I--I'm not so sure," she admits, the last four words coming out reluctantly, as if saying them will lead her down a path she could not turn from once they were spoken, and it is a path she is none-too-sure that she wants to head down. Still, it was out there, and while she is starting to accept that she likes Mos, she's still not sure how much she should trust him. Ulfbrecht, however, didn't seem the type to mince words, and maybe that is what she needs now, someone that will tell her the truth, no matter how ugly it may be.
And so it is that Jenneleth takes her leave, Andren and his brother continue to see to patrons (and your company) before the numbers dwindle and the fire's embers dull.
Even old Dirkaster has his fill, slipping into a grumbling slumber in his chair, one gnarled hand still clutching his drinking horn.
While Andren makes the old man comfortable, his twin Barthelew , shows you to rooms either private or common and bids you "A Good Nyght good patrons."
The night passes without incident ()...
6th Shriventīd 1400CY - The Baron of Mutton, Milborne
The dawn has barely broken, when you all waken (some perhaps more easily than others) to the sound repeated thumping upon the door of the inn.
When answered, muffled voices are raised in anger or alarm!
As you make your way down the stairs you are met with scene of commotion;
Jenneleth's father; Haldelar, bulky form stands at the door, his face is beet-red and he has Andren by the his throat! He bellows angry words, calling Andren a
Parella, clearly upset is trying to calm her husband, while Barthelew stands, angered holding a knife still bearing butter from the breakfast preparations.
Dirkaster for his part slumbers on, oblivious of the scene.
As you appear Barthelew hails you, his tone worried;
"Friends! Help him - Elder has gone mad! Accusing him of taking Jenneleth's honour, of besmirching his family! Breaking our traditions, but she ain't here... You all saw her leave... but the old bull won't listen, and he's
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Ping takes a moment to calm her racing heart after being woken up by the commotion downstairs. Once she's sure it won't be hammering her ribcage apart, she slips downstairs to see what is the matter, only to have her heart stop when Barthelew relays what's happening. She hesitates, being far too small and weak to help if it comes to a physical altercation, but she knows Andren is innocent. She saw Jenneleth leave shortly after returning with Ulfbrecht. Still, she sees the anger on Haldelar's face and quails. She can't do this. She's too small, too weak, and too frightened to do this.
But Jenneleth is in trouble! If she didn't return home last night someone grabbed her, and every minute we waste, is one less minute she has.
Hardly believing her own actions, Ping rushes down the stairs to tug on the hem of Haledar's shirt.
"Please! Stop! If Lady Jenneleth didn't return to your home last night, then she went missing between here and there. I saw her leave, and I don't drink enough to muddle my wits," she says, praying that she can get Jenneleth's father to see reason.
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At the sound of the activity, Spiro shakes the cobwebs of sleep from his tousled head, throws off his blanket and rushes from the common room where he had made his rest. When he sees what is going down he rushes into the fray.
"Stop! Stop! This is just wrong. I saw what Ping saw as well. If the Lady is in danger, we need our wits about it to find her".
Charisma Check (Empathy)
He then tries to wrestle Haldelar's hands from choking out Andren.
STR Check?
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Hûnidark returns to the Baron of Mutton after his dawn constitutional to find the place in an uproar. It takes a moment to sort out what’s happening. He doesn’t try to stop Haldelar as others seem to be engaged in that venture. Rather, he speaks to him quietly. ”Let him go, sir, so we can find the truth. If he sullied Miss, I’ll be happy to pin him down so you can give him a proper beating… But all we know is your girl is missing. That’s the bigger concern, eh?”
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Mos enters the room carefully. He makes his way to Ping and taps her on the shoulder so she knows he is there. While the others try to break up the fight, the halfling stays out of the way.
"Ping...the others are here...step away before you are hurt!"
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:"The world is wide; bigger'n any one folc can know. There will be them who ye cannot trust, but even more that you can, by my eye. All folc are not all one way. In the under-lands where from come I, ye have to rely on those around you. Expected to, for kin and clan is all. Still was I betrayed after a fashion, by mine own brother. One betrayal can feel stronger than a thousand stone-solid friends, but ye still have the thousand friends when the dust settles. But if the mind eye of ye sees a goblin 'round every corner..'round every corner will a goblin be." The dwarf looks left and right and shrugs. "O' course, ye can always smell a goblin ahead of time. And ye can usually smell a trickster too, if ye keep your nose sharp." Ulf walks a few steps away and folds his arms, looking out to the surrounding village. "Top-lands are strange to my eye. People here are as well, but I cannot afford to not trust any of ye sky-children. Stubborn may I be, but not too stubborn as to beg for whatever information, aid, and favors I can to find Milde. If ye need help, trustin' others to help is the first step, by my eye."
He looks back at Ping, arms still folded but his right hand now gripping a hammer lifted from the loop on his belt. "O' course, always pays to have a knee-smasher at the ready. Don't ever go 'round saying old Ulfbrecht Thragimthal ever suggested to trust blindly." He twirls the hammer once and puts it back in its place and heads back over to Ping, clapping her shoulder as he passes. "Mine belly still calls for bread and cheese. Ye can calm your hare-nerves in time, cousin. Foxes aren't all to scary anyway. Doubly so when ye can cast magicks, I reckon." He gives a wink and heads back inside.
The next morning, Ulfbrecht appears at the tail end of the commotion but lets the others handle the situation, reckoning he's not the best choice for diffusing a tense social situation. He stands nearby just in case, giving the others a nod to let them know he is there to help if need be.
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Elyan follows Hunidarks inside, also returning from his dawn meditation and repast. He observes quietly, as he holds little faith he won't add to the confusion and hostility.
Between Ping's protestations, Hûnidark's Korddian wisdom and Spiro's calm interjection, the burly baker releases his grip on Jenneleth's beau.
Face still flushed he sighs heavily;
"I should have came an' got her. Escorted her home... I went abed thinking she'd be there in the morn, ready to tell us more o' her friends and love for Andren..."
His voice cracks as Parella squeezes his forearm. She looks to you all with worried eyes;
"If she's taken... and may the Gods prove us wrong... Someone will have seen her! Milborne is so small... Perhaps one of the guards or Auld Grizzler..?"
Haldelar scoff's at the notion;
"Bah! That old dwurv is so deep in his cups he'd not know what he saw to be real or a figment o' the mead!"
Supported by his twin brother, Andren too looks shaken, not just by being set upon, but also the realisation his betrothed could be missing...
"W-what about those prisoners of yours! They'll know! We need to make them speak! They must know something!"
His voice has an air of desperation and worry...
Ulf mulls the situation, listening in from the side. He certainly doesn't like hearing that the Lady Jenneleth has gone missing - too many folk going missing as of late - and especially doesn't like if it has anything to do with the new-made prisoners.
The dwarf steps forward, clearing his throat a bit before he speaks. "Could be this Carlanis has fouler friends," he says pointedly. "If'n ye know the pæþ the Lady was like to take, look for her trace, will I." He looks to her father with a nod. "God-ġemōt onġēan, brēad-mǣster. A tracker n' hunter am I, bring mine eyes to where ye dohtor would have walk-ed." He looks to the others around. Be it wyse to make visit with your mann Garyld, s'well. If'n them clȳsde in that shed are to do with any of it...right make sure that none that runs with 'em set them to loose or harmed yer wood-shaper."
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Ping listens to what Ulfbrecht has to say. It's clear that he's given her some food for thought, even if it is also clear that she's having trouble chewing through it. After a minute or so, she follows the dwarf back inside.
Realizing what she's doing, Ping lets go and steps back with a look of surprise and delayed horror. Jenneleth's father could break her like a twig, and she'd run up to him as if she had nothing to fear. She shakes as Haldelar calms and Ulfbrecht lays out what their course of action should be.
What is wrong with me?! The question echoes again and again in her mind as she goes back upstairs and prepares for the day.
As calmness prevails, for at least a time, Andren bids his brother to hold at the Inn and send word if any patron hears of Jenneleth, or, God's Willing she walks through the door.
Bereft of his bellicose bluster Haldelar looks a smaller man - one resigned with worry as he knits his heavy hands against his floured apron.
It is Parella, who remains calmest;
"So we go to Garyld and the prisoners. What of Auld Grizzler - should we at least speak to the dwurv? Perhaps too we should ask Nafton? He may have hounds that could find my dear daughter..."
Her voice on waivers at the end...
All eyes turn to your company - as vagabondi your ilk are know as both heroes and sellswords. It is clear Jenneleth's family need the former...
The half-orc tugs at his beard, thinking. "We don't know this has anything to do with the prisoners. Seems like we should do a few things quick: Look for Miss or traces of her, ask folks if they saw or heard anything odd last night, and then maybe talk to the prisoner. But, even if he had nothing to do with it, I'll wager he tries to barter his freedom using her."