Kevkul nods at Muli's offer and peruses the prayerbook and then closes it before knotting his brows in thought.
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Kevkul doesn't really have anything in treasure to trade.
Kevkul breathes out mistily at the assortment of drink arrayed before him. Jingling his pouch of coins he peruses the many bottles of drink bought far and wide to the frozen north.
Mind addled at the joy of future intoxication, Kevkul strokes his hand on the bottles of brews of far off places. Tempting it may to relieve you of your wares there and then but the marc is off the mark. I would see you later on your journey and until then may these bottles sustain me. A robust flask would go handily with it all.
Aye! Agreed. To honour our gods by perfection of the brew and the quality of our inebriation. Kevkul follows in toast, whilst momentarily glancing at the grouching cook. [b]Perhaps tomorrow your wares would be of interest. I may be of even further service tonight should you lack a cleric to tend to your entourage's illness or wounds. Cayden Cailean would see the merchants of drink are in best health for the journey.
Aye! Innovation one would expect from a dwarf. The Highmettle clan's fame would soar with each keg opened at a king's banquet. By whose grace is this brew blessed?
Hah, don't mind as I'm still around for the game. Now time to let Kevkul drink himself to a stupor.
Kevkul takes Highmettle hospitality and takes a swig offered. He savors the brew and smacks his bearded lips with appreciation. With drink as potent as this, your kegs would be worth a king's fortune here in the North. True, what the puca may have, I only fear running out of this brew after giving a good head bashing to quench my thirst.
Kevkul looks over at his acolyte, then thinks nothing more of it. How many more nights as these before finding your destination, Ǽdensor?
The dwarf lightens up at seeing the presence of the young woman. The village a getting a little dull for you? Here in the wild trow and other wild creatures are afoot. I welcome your arrival. Kevkul nudges Petrik to mingle around as he does himself, who starts chatting with Highmettle.
However, he stops awhile and listens to Disa's tale.
Good to meet the brethren out here. Always a warm hearth to where a dwarf's at, in the mountain-homes or out here in the tundra. My beard's having icicles in it and my lips rimmed with frost. A dwarf fire is what's best for the beard and dwarf ale for the lips. Your generosity speaks the greatness of your clan. And who should the Lucky Druncan hear of this generosity? For I Kevkul Steelhide, would tell of it. Kevkul accepts a mug with ale and drinks, warming his belly. Gesturing to the rest to take up a mug each.
Natatakot hindi, ito ay isang kapwa pandak na tao na diskarte, ako, Kevkul Steelhide, pinakamahusay na ng alak maglalasing at ng pari ng masuwerteng lasenggo. Kevkul answers the challenge in turn, motioning his fellow comrades to keep their weapons sheathed as he approaches the fire. Dwarven: Fear not, it is a fellow dwarf that approaches, I, Kevkul Steelhide, best of the drinkers and a priest of the lucky drunkard.
Ye could take care of your own, young lass. It was my pleasure as well. Kevkul completes winching up his crossbow, before he stands ready to continue the journey.
With everyone back on their feet, Kevkul gladly reloads his crossbow, whilst chatting with his acolyte.. It is best those that heal stand the longest, young one, and make yourself the hardiest, fastest and calm at the same time. When others fall wounded or lost their minds, you still have yours to decide the day.
Looking at Ragnar's still wounded status, Kevkul considers further channels, but decides a nice scar or two would go nicely with the Ulfen's victory today. Perhaps later, though.
Kevkul trudges to the fallen Nadia's form. Brow furrowed with worry, it was after a quick examination does Kevkul find her merely unconscious. He hails the rest of the team together before calling upon Cayden's blessing to wash the white snow field with his blessed alcohol soaked radiance.
Stay behind Petrik, hold your spear fast and strong. Kevkul runs across the snowy field north as he watches Ragnar being mauled. Drawing his shield with his left, he takes a bead at the cat before triggering the crossbow's release.
The Ulfen do not back from battle. May that the bison find his backside not appealing for its horns. Kevkul watches Ragnar rush forward towards an unseen foe yet and keeps an eye on the wary bison.
Let the beast be, for the bison would nourish the cat and we would be on our way. Kevkul keeps his position, watching the events unfold and not seeing any big cat.
Kevkul's eyes glance around, hoping to find the cause of the bison's concern.
Kevkul hurries along, putting as much distance from the bull and ensures his acolyte does the same. He stops after making sure the bull is at a considerable distance away and trains his crossbow instead on the beast.
Watching Ragnar's actions Kevkul waits for the opportune moment before following the others sneak past the distracted beast.
Kevkul keeps mum and watches the beast intently. He pats Petrik's back holding him firm against any rash action. Let the warriors decide, I hope they do not go and pick a fight.
The hound whistles for himself, his true nature revealed soon, and the silver blades will be sharp. Kevkul trudges behind Petrik who carries his spear proudly and on guard. He wears his new wooden holy symbol close to his heart, worried not of the cold biting air.
Kevkul stares out to the white rugged terrain before him. His resolute dwarven soul thinks nothing of the hardship and starts putting one foot before the other.
Yep, Kevkul's wrapped up tight in winter clothing just for this.
Don't worry about this dwarf, this one moves much faster than the other ones.
Kevkul slaps in a fresh bolt into his heavy crossbow and readies it to fire. With heavy shield on his back and clad in thick winter clothing Kevkul stands ready to face the harsh cold winds of the Icerimes once more. Gesturing to Petrik, he takes a swig of the previous nights medu and hands back the skin. The direct route favours speed and that is how we are going,
Taken a look at the map, the less rivers crossed the better. Those black crossings are bridges? Then I'll prefer to visit Halbriden and strike out from there.
The frosty dwarf melts inside, on hearing Petrik's request. With a reverence, Kevkul hands the young man his wooden symbol of the Lucky Druncan Hearing the warden's warning, Kevkul dons his winter clothing and hands an extra pair to his young acolyte. Kevkul also exchanges gear with the young lad, retrieving his dagger and crossbow back while a new spear and sling finds its way to the boy's hands. Keep last night's medu handy, useful to warm up ye toes on days like these.
The medu filled dwarf's mouth twitches a little, displaying an inner joy his atrophied muscles of grinning could not portray. His hands begin to move, intent on giving the young lass a dwarven pat but then thinks the better of it. Nevertheless Kevkul gives a respectful nod instead.
Kevkul stands apart watching the flustered Muli receive the attentions of the newest member of the group. Sadly looking at the bracers he had gotten off from Quern's hut, it has been evident lore of the magics surrounding the pair is sadly lacking. After the young woman pauses, Kevkul steps up and addresses her. Young lass, would ye be kind and fathom what would these bracers do? Kevkul offers her the bracers for a closer inspection.
How about offloading the loot so far? Though some magical items need to be identified first . (bracers, kettle)
Kevkul looks up at the captain as he voices his conclusions. His dwarven eyes catch the carved runes on the spear tip but his alcohol dampened brain refuses to make further notice of it. Raising his mug, Kevkul adds on, Gánnáhwǽr has to be thankful for a courageous captain as its walls. He drinks his mug in salute. But if there is a chance to bash in puca heads, then I would not stop myself from going. More so if it means the rescue of meduwyrhta and bryðen.
Kevkul continues sipping his drink, listening to the merchants chatter and charms to part him of his gold. Nothing I would need. Mayhaps I would trade them for any bryðen from warmer lands. The dweorgs are wise folk. I would not worry too much as we have much more pressing matters here. Unless coin is the primary motivator or it happens to pass on by our way, we would hasten to our current goal.
Lifting a mead filled mug, Kevkul joins in the toast, echoing the captain's salute.
Kevkul perks up, hearing the newcomer's offer of free drinks. Still seeing the night under a haze of medu induced semi-stupor. Kevkul calls for the innswoman. I wants something else for the night, strong without any honey, nei? Plonking himself next to the captain, the dwarf brings up idle conversation, with a simple, Cayden cheers your generosity captain, does tonight's watch treat you well?
Nice! Kevkul was dreadfully broke. He's worried not to have the coin for the drink.
I would prefer someone who could drink with the best of them and not stagger after a thimble of mead.
Kevkul's mead clouded mind looks on as he sits at the table, sniffing the burnt aroma of hair as he refills a horn and slow sips the mead savouring it. He considers the bruises of the brawler but then decides to let the Northman savour his victory and show the aftermath with pride, rather than making it short lived with a gesture from the Spedig Wesa. After all, a good boisterous brawl is what a cleric of the drunkard god would order after a good jug of mead. Kevkul considers the rough state of the ale-hus and calls out for the barkeep. Innswoman! The head of the trow would make a fine trophy adorning your walls, I would ámunan?
Kevkul waves too. He'd be happy to have another shorty in the pack.
Eying the pilfered ring, Kevkul burps a medu flavoured note and gives a short survey with an incantation for Detect Magic.
Har! That was just a warmer! The faith of the Lucky Druncan gives me fortitude when mead's a plenty. He welcomes all that would listen and heed.
The skittering of the loose tooth comes to rest at the foot of the alchemist. Pointing at the tooth Kevkul hollers out to Ragnar. A trophy worthy for yer taking eh brawler?
Kevkul looks on to the brawling Northerners with a warm feeling in his gut. Noticing what his new disciple is up to, Kevkul fishes out his tankard within his pouch and gives it a good slide up on the table towards Petrik. Yar! Fill it up and drink! 'Tis mead to be savored now and we'll haul all the drink we can later.
Har! The Lucky Drunkard drinks too at this table! The dwarf peers on to the form of the sleeping giant before Luke pats him on the back and Kevkul pats Skolrykk in a gesture that would be noted as pride. Ye drink like a dwarf! Let us watch the brawl and invite the law for a round of medu on the house. Kevkul fills up a horn and pulls a chair, gesturing the guards to help themselves to the medu jugs while he looks on the vikingr trade blows.
Yep..missed the new updates, thanks for the heads up BD.
We could always pilfer money off from their stone cold pouches, eh?
Kevkul plonks down his mug hoping the brute will topple any moment now. |