Trelnir hurriedly gets up and moves towards the doorway. The rapping sound making him slightly cautious as he approaches.
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Trelnir, puzzled, turns to see what the bartender was looking at.
Trelnir does the same.
A little confused, Trelnir takes the glass. The letter did not prepare him for any other questions and he is unsure whether there is any hidden meaning behind the bearded man's request. Without saying a word, he smiles and raises the glass.
Trelnir enters the tavern and scouts for the stout, red-bearded man. It doesn't take long to notice him behind the counter. Waiting for the patrons he is currently dealing with, Trelnir takes a seat in one of the darker corners of the establishment. As the customers leave, drinks in hand, Trelnir makes his move. "Excuse me, my good sir, I'd like a taste of your Varisian Vintage 4611. I heard it is quite punctual," he says putting his arm on the counter, the last word he says in a hushed tone.
Hearing his words, Trelnir picks up the pace and unloads his equipment from his mule. He then makes way to the quarters. It doesn't seem like he really brought a whole lot with him on the journey. Everything fits into one bag, except his fishing pole he brought along.
Trelnir walks up to the wagon with The Quiet Figure, his excitement replaced with a mixture of confusion and intrigue at the company's welcome. As they approach the wagon, Trelnir says with a slight and cautious chuckle: "I don't see any lords around here, not yet anyway. The only lord here at Oleg's is Oleg himself, I am sure, and we are quite appreciative of his hospitality." Trelnir slowly gets his packs off his mule, who was hitched to the rear of the wagon, to see if he will get a response from The Quiet Figure but not completely expecting one.
As the party pulls up to Oleg's, a large grin overtakes Trelnir. His excitement to start the journey is expected for any young adventurer eager to make their own name from almost nothing. The singing ceases and is replaced with a deep breath and a sigh, almost saying in and of itself "Finally!" "We're here!" Trelnir says, the silent excitement of his grin being put into words.
Assuming everyone is in the wagon now, Trelnir gets the horses going with a yank on the reins and a click with his tongue. "Lead the way, girl," he says specifically to his horse in Elven. He then starts singing in Elven, almost as if to brighten the gloomy day.
"All I know is we are dealing with bandits, but I don't know what else lurks in the dark reaches of the wood. I'm guessing the tongue common to all man will be what is primarily spoken, though there might be some Dwarven blacksmiths, Elven rangers, or perhaps even some Halflings or Gnomes filling other sorts of odd jobs around the outpost. Even so, the common language should suffice. It will be interesting to see once we get there," Trelnir says, making himself comfortable with reins in hand. "Shall we make way?"
"Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready for a hot meal and a nice, comfortable seat." says Trelnir with an optimistic tone in his voice. "Doesn't seem to be anything else around here that can't wait until later..." he says with a sigh. He feeds the remainder of his apple, which is mostly core at this point, to his horse. With that, he picks up his buckler from the seat he was sitting in, before he jumped down from the wagon to interrupt Ivar, and tosses it behind him.
Trelnir watches as the two men depart down the road. He looks for signs of any other settlements in the distance and examines the wildlife.
"...Right, we'll be sure to do so." Trelnir says, unsure of what the gangly man is getting at.
Turning back to Radomir, Trelnir shares his enthusiasm. Taking a deep breath, he comments: "That's the spirit! But perhaps the power of the tongue could prove equally effective." He pulls out an apple he was storing in his belt pouch and begins to eat, just to tide himself until lunch at Oleg's.
Trelnir, a 5'7 half elf with white hair and white (with a hint of blue) skin, stands up and steps out of the wagon. His chain shirt jingles under the type of clothes you'd expect any explorer to be wearing...light brown leather pants with a blue tunic...and a longsword dangles in a sheathe at his side. His ears are about the same size as a typical human, but come to a noticeable point at the top. Though he claims a noble birthright, he seems to come from humble origins in his mannerisms and speech. Landing softly on his feet, he interrupts Ivar's farewell. "What is going on with your friend, here? Is this...ordinary for him?" He puts his arm around Ivar and and turns the both of them towards the gangly man |