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.