Tarn Westolv's page

"Riffraff? Spies?" Serena raises an eyebrow. "Best to watch your tongue, boy."

"Maybe it would be easiest for everyone if Falkon gave us a quick little tour to satisfy our curiosity, sans any important strategic locations of course, and we got out of your hair Lord ...? Maybe somewhere that offers lunch more delicious then trail rations."

Falkon takes a moment to search the heavens for some divine intervention.

"WHAT!? INSOLENCE! How dare you! Were you my women I would have you both lashed for impertinence!" The lad looks to Numalar and Alia to deal with their what- (certainly not friends--the elf and gnome are both too well heeled for that)-retainers? Mercenaries? Concubines? (Zokon too.)

"Serving the King is the point of the Kingdom isn't it, my Lord? But you may note - we are not in that Kingdom right now. Soo..." she took a deep breath. Sometimes she wish she had practiced disarming situations a bit more. Might have come in handy in times like this! "Let's start over shall we; I'm Illthir Winlove - adventurer and travelling skald currently *not* doing the bidding of the Dragonscale Throne. My companions and I are traveling to Mivon and were simply curious to check out the first piece of civilization that isn't a glorified bandit fort or seventy percent swamp-water. Well met!"

"You are correct for once Falkon! They are obviously spies! The woman practically admits as much!"

"You are going to need this if you are going to deal with the 'traitors'." Illthir insisted and redoubled her effort to hand the blade back. I mean it is a nice sword I wouldn't mind having; but that's not going to improve the mood. With a teasing smile she added: "And you might need it quickly too, if all the rumours are to be believed."

"Hah! I am the master of this land! I do not deal with riffraff! That is Falkon's duty! Falkon!"

"Foolish wretch! Stop your blubbering! You are embarassing me before these people." The boy says haranging the big man. "Medvyed? Lodovka? The names of those traitors that serve the memory of Choral the Usurper who once sat upon the Dragonscale Throne! And the newest usurper, Surtova from Issia! Tell me do you northern folk have so little honor that you would willingly serve any tyrant who sat upon that seat?"

The boy's face turns red with anger to the point of near-apoplexy.

"BLAST!" curses a long-haired human lad in fighting attire who comes stomping up out of the brush apparently in search of the blade. Initially startled by the party he recovers quickly and scowling says: "Who are you?"