Rolling thunder echo’s from behind and through the stone walls and vaulted ceilings of this passageway. The cries of pain, pleading for mercy, come from all around but those quickly pass.
Turning west, there is a loud chant in an unrecognizable language coming from a head. The pace hastily increases as you rush through four statues of some otherworldly beast. It looks as if they move but the sound of your boots on stone echo’s as you turn down a corridor that bends to the north.
An olive skinned hand reaches out for the stone door ahead and with a quick flick of the wrist, the doors opens. As the door opens it reveals the source of the chanting. A tall dark-skinned man is standing before a swirling storm. On the floor there is a silver circle containing the storm
“What are you doing! We aren’t ready. You do not know what you are doing!”
“Master, it’s finished. He will be here soon. We…. I did it!”
Reaching out you knock the book free from the tall man’s hand. He shifts to the side allowing the book to fall. Looking down, you see the book is outside of the circle… but his foot is within the silver ring. In a flash large hand grabs hold of that leg and pulls him deeper into the storm.
Not before… “Master! Help!” He grabs hold of your robe and pulls you in too…
Thunder rolls outside of the Dancing Bear. Rain pelts the ridiculous image of a dancing frocked bear that adorns the outside of this three-story inn and tavern. Inside stuffed heads that show their age of wild beasts and even a few monsters adorn the cavernous common room’s walls. All trophies of Nurlon Rekunen, the inn’s proprietor and retired adventurer. Nurlon has owned the tavern for well over a hundred years since deciding to retire.
The common room is filled with people who are sheltering from the cold. The aroma of leek and chestnut stew coming from the patron’s tables. There is a warm fire in the hearth with an empty stage standing before it.
This is where you find yourself on this cool wet evening.
Alistair, a handsome young man with sharp pointed beard and a flamboyant hat complete with waving feather, raises a mug and salutes those around him, at his table and others, "I tell ya boys, I am not a fan of getting wet if I can help it. If this keeps up, I may have to give ole Nurlon a few coppers to sack out on one of the bear rugs."
Dargys almost feels guilty entering the warmth here. Still, the fireplace at home is working last he checked, and they had some spare wood. His grandmother and siblings will be fine. At least tonight.
But what about tomorrow? This cold keeps up and i don't get a fight soon, or some other method, wood is going to go fast, food too.
He was hoping to find an opportunity at the Bear, unfortunately, he doesn't know if he's going to find one here. He does smile as he sees his sister working in the back where some food is being prepared. Gyra is going to be busy tonight. Crowds won't be light.
Rasmus' unkempt, long white hair hangs in strings as he nurses his drink, forming a curtain in front of his eyes. But his eyes show none of the dullness of drink, and cut into the crowd like two ice-encrusted sapphires.
His faded tunic, covered with careful patches that mark the thorny nails of vines and the bite of wild beasts, is dripping wet. The blue color, once a vibrant hue, now dully complements the tarnished silver embroidery of his lapels, pulled high around his neck as if to spite the chilly embrace of the dark.
The longsword that hangs at his belt, clattering against the chair as he shifts, is strangely well-kept, however. Its shining scabbard is inlaid with scenes of great battles, and the sword's hilt itself is inlaid with an emerald with red streaks like blood in veins running through it. Carefully, the hilt has been wrapped in fish skins, and the faint impression of age can be seen on the whole set.
He drinks quietly, nodding and smiling agreeably when he sees a friendly face. Upon seeing Kalron and Erik, however, he truly breaks into a smile, creasing his unnaturally aged face.
"Deshe, and Erik! Hail, and well met! How fare ye? I haven't seen ye since, well, it seems like ages!"
He nods in a friendly manner towards the others,
"And are these your friends, lads? Introduce me, won't you."
He scratches his beard and laughs a deep, rich laugh.
The green eyed warrior glances over the most boisterous members. One he recognizes.
The other, not so much.
Nurlon, the middle aged half-elf, overhears Alistair’s call to sleep on his bear rug and it pulls the retired adventurer over along with his mug. Raising the mug up and joins the conversation; “That one right there is a cuddler. I was with a band exploring the Forest of Gray Spires when one night we were awaken to Delvin being mauled in his bedroll.” he lets out a laugh; “He earned some scars that night, but we made it out alive…”
Nurlon dives on into the story about how they overcame the grisly that caught them by surprise. Rasmus overhears the tale and it takes him back to the Winbald estate and those moments he escaped to explore the surroundings in his youth. At times needing to outsmart the wild animals and beast or quickly become their prey.
Gyra sees Dargys enter the common room and she smiles and gives him a “one second” motion as she waves him to sit down somewhere warm. Dargys finds a spot near the fire when his sister sneaks over with a bowl and a mug that she sets down in front of him; “Nurlon won’t mind, this was the bottom of the pot so it’s a little burnt… but I think it adds to the chestnuts in the stew.” she gives his arm a squeeze and returns to the kitchen.
"Thank you, Gyra," He enjoys the fire, and takes the bowl, "Nurlon seems a good fellow." He returns the squeeze before she goes. He'd love to talk to her more but best not to push her luck even with a good boss like Nurlon.
Hearing the half elf's tale about the bear rub's origin, he DOES join in, calling from his spot, "Exploring the Forest of Gray Spires? Who hired you and Delvin for that?"
Rasmus' eyes mist over with rememberance, and he sighs contentedly,
"Reminds me of a tale from me youth, it does..."
“It was a crisp autumn morning. I was just a lad, no older than twelve. Me parents had always warned us young bairns about the dangers of the forest, but curiosity got the better of me.”
“One day, I decided to venture deeper into the woods than I ever had before. Armed with nothing but me father's spear, which I had stolen, and my old hunting knife, I felt invincible.”
“The forest was alive with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant bird calls. As I moved quietly through the underbrush, I stumbled upon tracks—large, unmistakable bear tracks. My heart raced with a mix of fear and excitement. I knew this was my chance to prove myself.”
Rasmus’s eyes gleam as he continues.
“I followed the tracks for what felt like hours, my senses heightened with every step. Finally, I spotted the bear—a massive creature with a thick, shaggy coat. It was foraging near a stream, unaware of my presence.”
“I knew I had to be careful. One wrong move, and I could become the hunted. I crept closer, my grip tightening on the spear. Just as I was about to strike, a twig snapped under my foot. The bear’s head shot up, its eyes locking onto mine.”
Rasmus chuckles softly.
“In that moment, I realized how foolish I had been. The bear let out a roar that echoed through the forest, and I froze. But instead of attacking, it turned and lumbered away, disappearing into the trees.”
He leans back, the firelight dancing in his eyes.
“I never did catch that bear, but the experience taught me a valuable lesson about respect and humility, especially the hidin' I got from me father when he found out about his favorite hunting spear. From that day on, I approached the wild with a newfound reverence.”
Suddenly, he seems to notice the rest of the conversation for the first time.
"Forest of Gray Spires, ye say? Can't rightly say I've been there, but I admit my wanderings are rather limited."
”I like the bear better the way he is now but I appreciate how it got here. Particularly if this rain doesn’t break. Hopefully that bear’s as comfortable as you say. I have to get an early in the morning and head over to the Sheriff’s office and see if there are any active wanted posters.” Alistair said. His burgeoning bounty hunter job was kickstaring slowly. He had managed to bring in a teenage pickpocket but he needed something a little more significant if he was going to make ends meet.
Sethiel is a much less frequent feature of the Dancing Bear, but the pouring rain outside makes him all the gladder for his choice to come here today. It isn't what drove him to it, though. He finishes off his first glass of wine with a contented sigh. If his traditional white robe didn't immediately mark him as a member of the Darlen temple, the rising sun sewn onto it certainly would. Serving as both a holy symbol and rank insignia, its permanence indicates that he was no mere acolyte but a full-fledged priest, while its size and placement indicates he still has a long way to go.
The real reason he's here-- well, two reasons-- are the newly-minted acolytes placed under his tutelage a few days ago. Green as spring clovers, both of them, he inwardly complains. Was I ever so... useless? "Another glass, please, Nurlon," he calls out.
"Deshe, and Erik! Hail, and well met! How fare ye? I haven't seen ye since, well, it seems like ages!"
He nods in a friendly manner towards the others,
"And are these your friends, lads? Introduce me, won't you."
Deshe raises his eyes for a moment at the voice, familiar but unplaceable before turning to Rasmus and recognition dawning on his face. "Rasmus! Good to see evaded the storm! Wouldn't do for old bones to get soggy." He joshes.
Like many others, Deshe was here to weather the storm, making for strange fellows in the boat. "Nay, not friends yet, but never any time like the present. There's been strange talk and stranger dreams. Not sure whether I'm finally getting visions from Kalron or I'm simply enjoying some idle nightmares."
Deshe for his part isn't kitted for war, expecting only another day of errands around town, his armor at home. Still, a holy symbol dangles from his neck and the battleaxe of Kalron's design rests in a leather loop on his belt, and a Cleric is never defenseless with such things at hand.
Busted!, thinks the blue-eyed halfling as he runs his hands through his short blonde hair nervously before waving at Rasmus. "Hi, Mr. Rasmus! Could you, maybe, just not mention to Dad that you saw me here? I was sorta supposed to go straight home after I dropped off my load of wool, but Shep here convinced me that it might be a good idea to come in out of the weather." He gestures towards the canine creature next to him.
Belfer sits at a table near the back, half hidden behind a weathered post. A heavy book lies open next to several glass vials; viscous liquids intermixed with beer mugs and half empty bowls. The table shakes and the glass rattles in unison. Belfer looks up, alarmed, to see an uncoordinated patron maneuvering about. His brow furrows in annoyance as the crowd starts to infringe on his work space. "This won't do at all. What a wasted opportunity for studying the effects of ionized storm water as an activated reagent... I could just collect some more and head upstairs... but then again, I haven't seen the inn this packed... maybe there's a lead for more research."
Hearing Rasmus’ story of venturing deep in the woods, feeling invincible caused a wide smile to be on Nurlon’s face. “It’s stories like yours that will bring someone out of retirement. That was my favorite part, exploring with no real goal but to discover something new.” Turning to Dargys; “That is why we were out there. Not on any specific cause for someone but our own. See what we could discover.”
Looking towards the older ranger; “Never been to the Spires? Just turn south and you’ll see the forest. Before the gods sees you home, you will need to explore it. But not tonight, it’s a bit wet and the gnolls are excellent hunters.” Giving Rasmus a respectfully firm smack on the shoulder he begins to move away from the table; “You took me back tonight. A round is on the house. And if you have more tales like that.” pointing to the empty stage; “Jump on up there and entertain the room.”
He stops behind Alistair; “The riff raff mostly stays away, but keep your eyes open while you’re hear. A bad rain brings in all sorts beyond the regulars.”
Nurlon hears his name following another glass, please and he gives Sethiel a nod to recognize that he was heard. Then his head quickly scans the room as he throws up his hands. Those who are close enough hears him say “Where’s all my servers…” as he heads into the kitchen. Quickly three serving girls make their way out of the kitchen, none of which are Gyra, all looking embarrassed as if they had been scolded by their father.
The three girls make their way through the room bringing mugs of ale, glasses of wine, or stew for those who are taking refuge this evening. One of the girls eyes goes wide as she approaches the gnome and stairs; “Is this…” eyeing the vials, liquids and the tome “safe?” Looking beyond the girl, Belfer scans for familiar faces.
Hearing Rasmus’ story of venturing deep in the woods, feeling invincible caused a wide smile to be on Nurlon’s face. “It’s stories like yours that will bring someone out of retirement. That was my favorite part, exploring with no real goal but to discover something new.” Turning to Dargys; “That is why we were out there. Not on any specific cause for someone but our own. See what we could discover.”
At THAT, Dargys' face falls a bit. "Must be nice if you've got the luxury to risk getting nothing." Glory appeals, the chance of treasures certainly appeals, but he isn't just gambling his own health but his siblings and grandmother's needs. Without something up front he'd be putting their well being on the line purely on stories.
If I wanted to trust in stories I'd listen to Nanny's rambling about our 'noble line' more
He notices Gyra doesn't come out and figures she's doing the cooking, but if one of the servers comes by he does ask "My sister okay back there?" He JUST saw her and has food from her, but protective brother instincts are a thing.
"Well there's truth to that, but you've gotta have some appetite for risk. I've seen you at the Golden Skull- and there's always a chance a fight goes sour and say you lost an arm or worse. The fight's payout'd be poor compensation for that." Deshe offers his take.
"Well there's truth to that, but you've gotta have some appetite for risk. I've seen you at the Golden Skull- and there's always a chance a fight goes sour and say you lost an arm or worse. The fight's payout'd be poor compensation for that." Deshe offers his take.
"Depends on the fight," He admits "And there are clerics such as yourself who sometimes take a bit of pity on a poor warrior trying to feed his family help him on his feet with a bit of discounted healing," He raises his mug to Deshe "For which I'm grateful."
Musing on it, he adds, "Also if I die in this city, at least my family will know of pretty quickly instead of wondering how many weeks I've been gone and if I'm dead or alive. Still, I..." Thoughtful, then he admits "It would be nice to fight for something...greater."
”Fortune and glory my good man. That’s where it’s at. Fishing around here for petty criminals is such a dead end. If we could get a lead on a dragon’s treasure or even a goblin treasure I’d help organize an expedition.” he looks about the gathered men, ”Think about it. After our travails we could return with our riches, have stories written of our deeds, and most certainly get the pick of the most comely of ladies.” with the last statement he looks to catch the eye of the most attractive serving girl and gives a wink.
Deshe's is given pause by Dargys' answer, and his eyes drift upward and his response to the thanks is halfhearted. "Hmm. You're welcome, of course-."
That's a thought he hadn't considered yet. If he dies on adventure, his folks might never know for years, simply thinking Kalron had sent him on some grand quest.
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Rasmus glances up in surprise at the "old bones" comment, a good humored smile on his face and dancing in his eyes.
"Old bones?"
He jestingly feigns offense,
"That's a bit of a stretch there, lad. Just because I knew yer father, that don't give you young rascals any right to disrespect your so-called 'elders.' I admit I ain't what you'd call a 'spring chicken,' but I've got a strong sword-arm and a good head on me shoulders all the same."
He lightly swats Deshe on the back of the head and addresses Erik.
"No, I don't reckon ye'll be gettin' into any trouble with yer father. Shep thought rightly, it ain't healthful to be out in this sorta weather fer anyone. Yer father may have a word 'bout ye settin' foot in a tavern to escape the torrent, but sure as the blazes, I ain't gonna be the one to tell him. Yer secret's safe with me, youngun."
Once the conversation turns to darker matters, of fire and steel and adventure, Rasmus' eyes harden and narrow. He heaves a heavy sigh upon listening to the young people speaking of fortune and glory in adventure.
"I've had me fair share of adventures in me life, and there ain't one of them that lives up to the glamour of what yer discussin'. Adventures are damp, sweaty, messy businesses, filled with all manner of creatures, some of which should crawl back under the stone from which they came and rot. Too many times, I've been huntin' some foul unliving creature, just to find it too late, already feedin' on some poor soul out too late at night."
He tries to introduce some levity back into the conversation, but clearly it has worried him a fair deal.
"I suppose if I die on an adventure, ain't nobody would attend me grave. Me family sure ain't coming, they don't want nothin' to deal with me anymore, but I don't mind. I learned aplenty that they would've never taught me, had I stuck 'round."
He turns serious once more.
"However, if ye are contemplatin' goin' on an adventure, I figure it's my duty to yer parents to watch over ye, make sure ye don't get yerself into too much trouble."
He pokes Erik and Deshe in the back,
"I know I promised yer father's and mother's that I'd watch out fer ye whenever I can, and let it not be said that Mr. Rasmus ain't a man of his word!"
The three girls make their way through the room bringing mugs of ale, glasses of wine, or stew for those who are taking refuge this evening. One of the girls eyes goes wide as she approaches the gnome and stairs; “Is this…” eyeing the vials, liquids and the tome “safe?” Looking beyond the girl, Belfer scans for familiar faces.
"Yes, of course it's safe. Mostly. Unless the ignus powder mixed with the salt peter. Or the copper flakes touched the dragon bile. Or the nirnroot getting added to the soup. The latter would have you belching up the scent of rotten egg for days. You get the idea. But I assure you, the risk would only exist in unskilled hands, and mine are most certainly not," Belfer answers, adding a flourish to the last bit.
"But since you are here, what have you heard about the storm going on outside? The room seems filled with people that had to give up on what they were doing. Nothing too serious, I hope."
"" a young man with chestnut brown hair belts out quite suddenly from just beyond Dargys' shoulder. Dressed in an clothing fit for a courtier but without the usual jewelry one expects to see. Only one lone amulet hangs from his neck, and anyone can see the metal is not one of high worth. "
"My boy!" While one wouldn't claim Klaus Reiser was collapses onto Dargys' shoulder, but he rather abruptly leans on him a bit. His eyes are half-lidded and his smile is broad as he gets a little too close to Dargys' face.
"I waz jes talkin' at your Gyra sishter...er, your sishter Gyra. Got me some more mead sinshe I already drank the other ones. Real anzhel, she is. This mead here is the besht." Klaus indicates his empty hand. He blinks at the emptiness and suddenly spins, almost over correcting and has to put down one foot heavily to catch his balance.
Just a little ways a way, a mug sits unattended on another table.
"Oh, I leftsh it over there." He makes a gesture and speaks an arcane word, and the mug lifts up and meets Klaus' outstretched hand with only a little slopping over side.
He turns back to the table and finally acknowledges everyone else. He smiles at the familiar and maybe not-so-familiar faces. "To good friends and good mead! First you meets them, then you meads them. And then you're all good friendsh...with mead!"
"Well now, Klaus is about ripe. I don't have the interest in too much mead or wine, need a clear head in the morning. As to you, Rasmus, fortune and glory my good man. You just haven't tasted it yet. You'd change your mind if it were to find you, I'm sure."
One of the serving girls who is bringing the table mugs of ale, or wine where needed, smiles and nods at Dargys; “She’s fine, she is tending to the stew.” Then she continues on and returns Alistair’s wink with a flirty brush of his arm and a coy smile.
The serving girl looks lost as Belfer dives into the interactions between ingredients but puts on a smile to look interested as she nods. When Belfer mentions the storm and the rooms she snaps back; “You know how these springs go; days with normal rain, days where its dry, then we get these downpours…” looking around the room; “But you are right, these days are good for business. And tips…” as she continues on serving those in the room.
With Klaus’ cheer of good friendsh… with mead is belted out, a table a short distance away of three men and a woman echo’s the cheer; “With Mead!!” None of you recognize the people at this table. Four humans that have the look of travelers, two of which are well armed. The armed female stands and lifts up a mug; “To good friends!” as she takes a drink; “And to the brave Sir Ozloc!” she says in jest point to a man who’s face turning red from embracement. “The only knight that can catch himself within his own Sleep spell while defending the road to Dunestone!” with that the other two erupt in laughter. This table draws the attention of the whole room.
”Fortune and glory my good man. That’s where it’s at. Fishing around here for petty criminals is such a dead end. If we could get a lead on a dragon’s treasure or even a goblin treasure I’d help organize an expedition.” he looks about the gathered men, ”Think about it. After our travails we could return with our riches, have stories written of our deeds, and most certainly get the pick of the most comely of ladies.” with the last statement he looks to catch the eye of the most attractive serving girl and gives a wink.
"AHEM, my sister works here ." But despite that he takes it in good humor. Fox has become a better man, Dargys knows that much, and that's worth some respect.
Rasmus' offer to look after Deshe strikes him as almost kindly.Gods knows what the gnome is discussing. It's always confused him.
THEN...
"Dar-!" a young man with chestnut brown hair belts out quite suddenly from just beyond Dargys' shoulder. Dressed in an clothing fit for a courtier but without the usual jewelry one expects to see. Only one lone amulet hangs from his neck, and anyone can see the metal is not one of high worth. "-gys!
Resigned, but bemusedly "Hello, Klaus"
""My boy!" While one wouldn't claim Klaus Reiser was collapses onto Dargys' shoulder, but he rather abruptly leans on him a bit. His eyes are half-lidded and his smile is broad as he gets a little too close to Dargys' face."I waz jes talkin' at your Gyra sishter...er, your sishter Gyra. Got me some more mead sinshe I already drank the other ones. Real anzhel, she is. This mead here is the besht." Klaus indicates his empty hand. He blinks at the emptiness and suddenly spins, almost over correcting and has to put down one foot heavily to catch his balance.
"Easy, Klaus. You're three sheets to the wind already." And he helps set the fellow down on a nearby chair, "Hope your family is well?"
One of the serving girls who is bringing the table mugs of ale, or wine where needed, smiles and nods at Dargys; “She’s fine, she is tending to the stew.” Then she continues on and returns Alistair’s wink with a flirty brush of his arm and a coy smile
"Thanks... and good. She'll be safer there," Only half joking.
With Klaus’ cheer of good friendsh… with mead is belted out, a table a short distance away of three men and a woman echo’s the cheer; “With Mead!!” None of you recognize the people at this table. Four humans that have the look of travelers, two of which are well armed. The armed female stands and lifts up a mug; “To good friends!” as she takes a drink; “And to the brave Sir Ozloc!” she says in jest point to a man who’s face turning red from embracement. “The only knight that can catch himself within his own Sleep spell while defending the road to Dunestone!” with that the other two erupt in laughter. This table draws the attention of the whole room.
Dargys simply says "To Friendship" And gives a raise of his own mug, but he IS curious and has to ask, "Are you folks adventurers yourselves?"
Klaus rather good-naturedly allows Dargys to place him in a seat at the table...from which he promptly springs in response to the neighboring table's response to his toast.
"To brave Shur Ozhluck!" Klaus echoes. Hearing the claim the man was affected by his own Sleep magic causes Klaus to double over in laughter slapping his thigh. "His-*wheeze*-own-*wheeze*-Sleep spell! HAHAHAHA!!"
Abruptly he turns back to Dargys still chuckling. "Family'zh same as alwaysh...too many shiblings to go around." He takes a long sip from his mug.
His eyes narrow and his smile become a little too sly. "Urikke's ashking about your nexsh fight. Somethin' about mushles and hoping yer shirt gets ripped off like lasht time."
The next time one of the serving ladies comes around, Klaus makes a swirling gesture to indicate the group and then points to himself. "Reiser tab. Shame as alwaysh."
Dargys ignores the talk of Urikke, but not rudely, rather commenting, "You drink like you have gills, you know that right?" It is hard to see if he's worried, amused, or just stating the obvious.
Klaus shrugs. If he notices Dargys' redirection, he makes no comment.
"What elsh do I haf to do? O-fishly 'grazhuated' from apprentishe." He makes air quotes with his non-mead-mug hand. "Mom, dad, and Aunt Olga couldn't be mer proud." Klaus face turns sour and his tone sarcastic. "Thunk I gotta achual grunt from Dad and a bare nod from Auntie when I toll 'em."
Klaus inspects the depths of his fermented honey drink; whatever flowers or spices had been added make the liquid a deep purple color.
"I'm shure they'll find sum place or biznesh partner to hand me off to fer sum kinda deal that jes makes the Reishers even richer."
His smile returns somewhat crooked as his gaze returns to Dargys'.
"Dun begrudge me the meads, mah friend. At leash the mead doesn't judge me," he slurs with a laugh.
At that, Dargys looks sympathetic, and nods "I'm sorry, Klaus. I don't mean to judge, though I do worry a bit. Then again, my family thinks all I do is worry and my grandmother still swears up and down how glorious our real heritage is. Different troubles for everyone I suppose. Worst nights to get drunk and have fun on. Enjoy yourself." He makes up his mind that if he doesn't get work tonight, he'll walk Klaus home if need be.
Rasmus claps Klaus on the shoulder with a hearty thump, almost knocking the poor lad off balance.
“Mighty kind of ye to pick up the tab, lad, but Mr. Rasmus don’t take charity from nobody. I’ll owe ye a favor to make up the difference. I always pay me debts, never ye worry. Even if it means rescuin’ yer pet from a tree or fetchin’ ye a pint in the middle of a storm!”
Upon hearing Dargys mention his grandmother, he swivels to face him, his eyes narrowing in a look of sympathy.
“I can tell ye, lad, heritage ain’t nothin’ to them beasts and monsters in the wilds. All that matters is an indomitable spirit and a spit-in-the-eye attitude to the darkness. If ye can keep that, ain’t nothin’ else matters. Well, that and maybe a good pair of boots.”
Rasmus seems to notice Sethiel out of the corner of his eye, and he turns, a friendly smile on his face.
“Well met, friend! Yer one o’ them elves I see. I’ve met a few elves while wanderin’ the Salt Mire. Good folk, and fine archers. Helped me hunt a few horrors out there at night once. Though I must say, they weren’t too keen on me singin’.”
His eyes catch the symbol of Darlen on Sethiel’s attire, and he points with a grin.
“Ye one o’ them sun priests? Well, that’s a right good thing too, and no mistakin’ it. Think ye could see yer way to prayin’ to yer god to lighten this weather, lad?”
He chuckles heartily, a sound that joins the lour murmur of the tavern, and turns back to the table with a satisfied sigh.
After hearing the strangers speak, he twists in his seat, craning his neck to look at the loud travelers. He raises his mug in a salute and drains the dregs of his drink.
“Hail, friends! Can’t recall seein’ ye 'round these parts, and I seldom forget a face. Ye can call me Mr. Rasmus, if ye’d like. What’s yer business ‘round these parts? Where ye comin’ from? And more importantly, do ye need a hand with anythin'? I'd be right happy to direct ye 'round if ye need.”
He lightly swats Deshe on the back of the head and addresses Erik.
"No, I don't reckon ye'll be gettin' into any trouble with yer father. Shep thought rightly, it ain't healthful to be out in this sorta weather fer anyone. Yer father may have a word 'bout ye settin' foot in a tavern to escape the torrent, but sure as the blazes, I ain't gonna be the one to tell him. Yer secret's safe with me, youngun."
"Thanks, Mr. Rasmus."
"I suppose if I die on an adventure, ain't nobody would attend me grave. Me family sure ain't coming, they don't want nothin' to deal with me anymore, but I don't mind. I learned aplenty that they would've never taught me, had I stuck 'round."
He turns serious once more.
"However, if ye are contemplatin' goin' on an adventure, I figure it's my duty to yer parents to watch over ye, make sure ye don't get yerself into too much trouble."
He pokes Erik and Deshe in the back,
"I know I promised yer father's and mother's that I'd watch out fer ye whenever I can, and let it not be said that Mr. Rasmus ain't a man of his word!"
Erik smiles. "They know you are, and I do too. We appreciate what you do, helpin' keep us and the neighbors safe. Family's not always the folks that are blood-related. That's why Dad and I would be at your grave, at the very least. Though, I hope you won't mind me doing whatever I can to make sure we don't have to make that trip any time soon."
Erik sits back, taking in the newcomers and the conversation about his compatriots' family troubles. I could do a lot worse than having parents that assign a bunch of chores and worry about me coming into town.
“I can tell ye, lad, heritage ain’t nothin’ to them beasts and monsters in the wilds. All that matters is an indomitable spirit and a spit-in-the-eye attitude to the darkness. If ye can keep that, ain’t nothin’ else matters. Well, that and maybe a good pair of boots.”
"Well, perhaps one day I can get those boots. Pay no mind to my grandmother, gods knows I try hard not to." He waves it off though seems grateful for the sympathy.
"Grandmothers are great, except for cooking. Mine has a mind if its smoking it's cooking if it's black it's done. I tell you, I think I cracked a tooth on her bacon the other day. As for the adventuring idea, well, it seems marvelous if you ask me but with no map and no hints of a treasure, it means we gotta go to work. I'm hoping to find a big bounty offer. If so, I'll track 'em down and maybe Dargys here will help me bring him or her in." Then he gets up and saunters to the window looking out. "When will this thing let up?"
The woman that led the cheer for Sir Ozloc turns to Dargy; “Adventurers? That may be. We are returning from Landguard after delivering bandits to be judged. We were on our way back and that is when Ozloc decided to take a nap.” with that, the man dubbed Sir Ozloc stands quickly causing his chair to topple over; “I’ll have everyone know in this tavern that yes, I did fall under my own spell. But I was distracted dodging attacks that I was not able to overcome my own arcane prowess. When you omit the fact that this ended our altercation on the road you make me look like a novice.” The man turns and picks up his chair and sits back down and returns to his wine.
The woman waves a hand at Ozloc and turns to Rasmus; “Like I was saying to your friend here, we are returning from Landguard. It is a bit longer but we prefer these roads over The Old Road when returning to Dunestone. Plus, you never know what jobs we might stumble across.” taking an assessment of the table here she quickly adds; “but don’t worry, we are not looking to intrude on your territory if you take care of things here in Dulwich.” she pulls an envelope free from her inner breast pocket. And tosses the yellowed envelope on the table. “That came in last night.”
The wax seal on this envelop has been broken but enough of it remains that you could tell that it is from Antero Kalervo, and successful merchant whose family has been in the business for generations.
To whom it may concern:
A few days ago I hired stonemason Matias Hirvi to do some repairs in my cellar. During the work, Hirvi removed some older stones to repair the wall. Doing so, he discovered a small sealed-up chamber.
I am seeking skilled workers to remove the seal and explore what is beyond. Once the task is completed, workers will be handsomely rewarded.
Antero Kalervo
He listens to Alistair with stoic amusement and interest intermixed. He's not leaping openly at the chance for adventure but others are. Inwardly he can't deny that he's tired of getting slapped, smacked, and stabbed for far too little coin all for the amusement of crowds; many of which wouldn't care if he lived or died unless they had coin riding on him.
Fox is right. WIthout a lead or hints, we'd have to make our own luck. And I'm not sure big bounties will just fall into our laps
he woman that led the cheer for Sir Ozloc turns to Dargy; “Adventurers? That may be. We are returning from Landguard after delivering bandits to be judged. We were on our way back and that is when Ozloc decided to take a nap.” with that, the man dubbed Sir Ozloc stands quickly causing his chair to topple over; “I’ll have everyone know in this tavern that yes, I did fall under my own spell. But I was distracted dodging attacks that I was not able to overcome my own arcane prowess. When you omit the fact that this ended our altercation on the road you make me look like a novice.” The man turns and picks up his chair and sits back down and returns to his wine. he woman that led the cheer for Sir Ozloc turns to Dargy; “Adventurers? That may be. We are returning from Landguard after delivering bandits to be judged. We were on our way back and that is when Ozloc decided to take a nap.” with that, the man dubbed Sir Ozloc stands quickly causing his chair to topple over; “I’ll have everyone know in this tavern that yes, I did fall under my own spell. But I was distracted dodging attacks that I was not able to overcome my own arcane prowess. When you omit the fact that this ended our altercation on the road you make me look like a novice.” The man turns and picks up his chair and sits back down and returns to his wine.
"Only way I can make anyone fall asleep is by telling my family their chores and a speech why we need to chip in together. So you're one up on me, Sir Ozloc." He says this deadpan.
Then the envelop is thrown down and his eyebrows rise though he doesn't touch the envelope himself, waiting for someone else to take it and read.
Always an opportunist, Alistair's attention is drawn to the envelope. He walks over to the table where it lay and opens the envelope. He reads it out loud in his best dramatic voice. "This sounds promising. You and your crew are not going to follow up on this?" He asks the woman as he hands the letter to the nearest person at the table.
A good swat to the head fixes Deshe's moment of introspection, and he's quick to smile again.
The temper and flow of the tavern gets busy for awhile and Deshe is content to listen as people give their perspectives and some are well, enjoying the moment, shall we say.
Alistair's quick reading of the envelope does spark something in his chest. It sounds like the perfect excuse to stretch his wings a little and get a modest adventure. He prays Kalron is perhaps giving him this venture, and the adventurers from afar will not say yes.
Erik smiles. "They know you are, and I do too. We appreciate what you do, helpin' keep us and the neighbors safe. Family's not always the folks that are blood-related. That's why Dad and I would be at your grave, at the very least. Though, I hope you won't mind me doing whatever I can to make sure we don't have to make that trip any time soon."
Rasmus seems surprised by this, his icy blue eyes melt for a moment, and, almost imperceptibly, a salty tear runs through the wind-weathered creases around his eyes and down his leathery skin. When he speaks, his usually rich and rolling voice is quiet and soft.
"Lad..."
He begins, a small choke breaking his composure for a brief moment. He closes his eyes and seems to pull himself together. His usual, boisterous voice is back, but his eyes no longer are sharp like diamonds; they have been smoothed by compassion, and for a moment, the age and worry vanishes from his face. He begins again, seeming at a loss for words still, however,
"Lad, that's mighty comfortin' to hear, thank ye..."
He clears his throat and calls for another round,
"Nurlon, I'd 'preciate another drink; whenever ye got a chance, mind ye. I ain't in no rush, and I sure don't want to be an imposition. The cheap stuff too, if the lad's payin'."
When Alistair reads the letter aloud, however, Rasmus' eyes light up with interest.
"A sealed chamber, ye say? Well, if it's down there in a man's cellar, probably been there for awhile; I'd guess some crypt or mine or some such. Still, if yer all thinkin' of checkin' it out, I'll come along too,"
He jokingly pats Erik and Deshe,
"Keep these two outta trouble if I can. Still, they're capable lads: One's a full priest now, of good old Kalron, and the other's good with the land, real good; better than I am even. They could use the experience, and I could use the exercise,"
He grins and leans back in his chair, crossing his hands behind his head.
"I swear, the land's been gettin' uppity on me recently. It ain't me fault if those marshes pull at me legs harder, or if the trails are gettin' longer."
He fakes a glare at Deshe,
"And it ain't got nothin' to deal with me 'age,' 'back troubles,' or 'soggy old bones,' got it?"
He maintains the glare for a second or two, and then bursts into laughter.
Sethiel perks up at the mention of a sealed-up chamber. He turns to the group eagerly. "Take me with you, gents, won't you? I would very much like to get away fr-- to take some action, that is." Never know who might be listening. Sethiel is fairly certain none of these boys had close ties to the temple, however. He gestures toward the sun on his chest with a sheepish smile. "Those in need, you know."
"Old bones, who would ever say that? I'm sure all your bones are simply 'experienced'." Deshe says with rather on the nose sincerity before taking a drink.
When Alister reads it aloud, it seems almost everyone is intrigued...
"A sealed chamber, ye say? Well, if it's down there in a man's cellar, probably been there for awhile; I'd guess some crypt or mine or some such. Still, if yer all thinkin' of checkin' it out, I'll come along too"[/B]
Someone who has walked that area before.
Then the elf speaks,
Sethiel perks up at the mention of a sealed-up chamber. He turns to the group eagerly. "Take me with you, gents, won't you? I would very much like to get away fr-- to take some action, that is." Never know who might be listening. Sethiel is fairly certain none of these boys had close ties to the temple, however. He gestures toward the sun on his chest with a sheepish smile. "Those in need, you know."
And a healer and a holyman, well, elf. Idly he wonders how bad the temple life must be if Sethiel is tempted to rush off.
To all he admits "We could be 'to whom it may concern'" and he seems surprised he said that outloud as he joins at least two in interest.
Erik smiles.
"A sealed chamber, ye say? Well, if it's down there in a man's cellar, probably been there for awhile; I'd guess some crypt or mine or some such. Still, if yer all thinkin' of checkin' it out, I'll come along too,"
"That sounds like a plan, Mr. Rasmus."
An adventure, and with an alibi to boot! If I'm not home in time to do my chores, I just tell Dad that Mr. Rasmus needed help with something.
"Still, they're capable lads: One's a full priest now, of good old Kalron, and the other's good with the land, real good; better than I am even."
"That means a lot coming from you."
"I swear, the land's been gettin' uppity on me recently. It ain't me fault if those marshes pull at me legs harder, or if the trails are gettin' longer."
"Well, if I were depending on my legs to carry me, I'd sink right in. We need to get you some help like Shep here.
Ozloc’s mood shifts, and he begins to chuckle with Dargys’ chores and chipping in comment. Not saying a word, he slightly raises a glass to the man.
With Alistair’s question of the job the woman shakes her head no. “We were going to investigate it in the morning only because we were handed the envelope. But we need to get back on the road and return to Dunestone. Besides, we asked around and it appears that this place wasn’t the first settlement to be built here. Some of the older parts of the town were built on rubble and ruins of older settlements.” with a shrug; “Could be something, could be nothing.”
One of the serving girls walks by moments after Rasmus’ request for ale and places it in front of him. It looks to be the same kind of ale he had before.
The door opens to the common room and the sound of the storm continues as three people come in. A halfling female, a human man, and an elven man. They seem to catch Nurlon’s attention, and he moves to them. They briefly talk when Nurlon shakes the hand of the elf as he points to the stage. They are carrying a couple cases. As they approach the stage and set their belonging besides the hearth. They don’t say anything to those in the chamber, but opening a few of their cases the halfling appears on stage with a flute, the human with a hand drum, and the elf with a small harp that he is tuning.
They look at each other and quickly jump into a lively tune, The Sparrows of Spring. It takes a moment for the room to shift, but it is hard to resist the urge to dance and slowly patrons of The Dancing Bear begin to join in a familiar group folk dance.
The woman waves a hand at Ozloc and turns to Rasmus; “Like I was saying to your friend here, we are returning from Landguard. It is a bit longer but we prefer these roads over The Old Road when returning to Dunestone. Plus, you never know what jobs we might stumble across.” taking an assessment of the table here she quickly adds; “but don’t worry, we are not looking to intrude on your territory if you take care of things here in Dulwich.”
Rasmus takes ahold of his drink with one hand and waves off her comment with his other.
"If yer lookin' to help the people of Dulwich, that's all that matters to me. I ain't territorial 'bout helpin' as long as it gets done."
Once the band starts playing, Rasmus' eyes light up, and he pushes his chair back and stands up, tying his hair behind his head.
"Excuse me lads, but I ain't never turned up a chance at a dance, and I ain't gonna start now!"
He finds a partner and takes a step into the dancing circle, bowing deep to her. His movements are practiced and fluid, hinting at a refined past. Despite the years of wandering and the hardships he has faced, an rigid propriety still lingers in his step. He moves with an almost unnatural ease, his body bending to the rhythm as if he were born of the flames, leaping and dancing for all eternity.
As he joins the dance, his presence is immediately noticeable. His weathered tunic billows around him, seeming to weave a complex tapestry of dull blue hues, like the sky after a sunset. His steps are precise and measured, and he dances the folk dance with elements of his own mixed throughout.
Despite the lively and somewhat chaotic nature of the dance, Rasmus maintains a sense of control and poise. His eyes sparkle with a rare joy, and for a moment, he allows himself to forget his burdens. The music, the dance, and the cheer of the tavern create an escape, a brief respite for his weathered form.
As the dance continues, Rasmus finds himself lost in the rhythm, his movements becoming more strict and complex. He dances with a skill that is surprising for a man of his apparent experiences. In this moment, he is not just an old protector or a wandering soul; he is simply Rasmus.
His eyes gleam with fiery enthusiasm as he dances, his mouth bent into a delighted grin. Back and forth, he leaps like a stag, always landing exactly on balance before springing to the next move. A youthful flush attains his pale face as he dances, making him seem like a man half his age.
After a while, he tires, and bows deep to his partner once more, returning to his seat. He grins and addresses the rest of the table,
"Spry for an old ranger, ain't I? Me bones don't always behave, but when they're called to attention by the pipin' of a flute and the whine of a fiddle, well, they dance the tune like any other."
He leans back contentedly, sipping his drink and observing the letter. His grin fades a bit as he thinks deeply about what might be hidden beneath the surface of Dulwich. Slowly, like spreading fire, shallow lines begin to crease his face once more, kept at bay only by the pleasant company and the wonderful music.
"Well," he says inclining his head to the woman, "Thank you much." Then sitting at the table where the others are mostly gathered, he calls to the others, "Gather round boys. We need to figure out who all is going to go check this out. Let's see, I'm in of course, Deshe, and Erik it would seem, that brings in Rasmus, and"[b] he points at the other table, [b]"Sethiel wants in. What about you Dargys, give us a hand on this?" Alistair prompts the fighter. "What do you think? Is Klaus in any condition to consent? Probably not right? We'll ask him in the morning." He looks around the table as the message gets passed around. "I guess we'll need some torches, and a pick or two, maybe a sledge. Anyone own any those? If not, we could swing by the general store on the way over to the place and pick some up. I doubt they cost much. Everyone game for a little excitement tomorrow?"
"Well," he says inclining his head to the woman, "Thank you much." Then sitting at the table where the others are mostly gathered, he calls to the others, "Gather round boys. We need to figure out who all is going to go check this out. Let's see, I'm in of course, Deshe, and Erik it would seem, that brings in Rasmus, and"[b] he points at the other table, [b]"Sethiel wants in. What about you Dargys, give us a hand on this?" Alistair prompts the fighter. "What do you think? Is Klaus in any condition to consent? Probably not right? We'll ask him in the morning." He looks around the table as the message gets passed around. "I guess we'll need some torches, and a pick or two, maybe a sledge. Anyone own any those? If not, we could swing by the general store on the way over to the place and pick some up. I doubt they cost much. Everyone game for a little excitement tomorrow?"
Rasmus snaps out of his rumination, drains the rest of his mug, and slams it down on the table, letting out a loud laugh,
"Don't worry 'bout the supplies lads, I'll pick those up when this rain softens. Ain't no trouble at all."
"I'll lay it clear on the table so no assumptions are necessary- I certainly wouldn't want to let this offer pass me by. Kalron practically pushed it into my lap." Deshe nods in agreement with Alistair.
Hearing the boisterous cheer, Belfer turns and notices Klaus.
Ah... a friendly face that can sling a spell... the night might offer an intellectual discussion yet...
Walking over to greet the fellow wizard, Belfer manages to hear Klaus' slurred words through the jovial tavern. Surprised, Belfer can't help but to grin wryly as he shrugs his shoulders and continues to walk between the tall folk.
Heh, so much for that. I guess I'm too late. Oh well, maybe it is time to put the books away for the night....
"Good evening Klaus! It looks like you're enjoying yourself. What was all that excitement about?"
Ozloc’s mood shifts, and he begins to chuckle with Dargys’ chores and chipping in comment. Not saying a word, he slightly raises a glass to the man.
He returns the gesture, wondering if the fellow is a true knight or just called that? Nobles are something he knows damn little about despite his grandmother's assuance that their own family is of such stuff.
When the music starts, Dargys doesn't dance, but he does tap his fingers along. He notices one woman in the back who observes him, and he wonders if she'll hope he asks, but no, she goes back to her own drink. And would she really be so eager to dance with just you? Likely not.What about you Dargys, give us a hand on this?"
He ponders this, then nods "All right. No one hiring for fights at the moment anyway." He tries to tell himself that's just practical, checking on chances for work during a slow period, but he knows it's not THAT practical. A part of him is dreaming. Probably not wise but he's commited now. "As for Klaus, let's give him time to sober, aye."