Zebulon Monardo's page

The gnome nods. "No need to pay us for professionalism, it should come with the territory," he says reassuringly. "Lunches for the five of you comes to one silver and five copper." The gnome hands back eighteen silver and five copper in change.

"Now, now," he admonishes her, kindly but firmly, "let's not bother them too much."

He turns to Kork and says quickly, "I apologize for her rudeness. We're a small village, so even seeing a dwarf is unusual, let alone a goblin."

He gives Kork an apologetic smile before continuing.

"I’m afraid the monastery isn’t accepting any pilgrims, and certainly wouldn’t offer boarding to someone not affiliated with the kirche. But if you’re headed there on business, take the west fork in the road right past the constabulary." He turns and points at the door behind him to the left. ”In addition to fine food and drink, we also have rooms available for rent upstairs. The sun won’t set till eleven o’clock, so you’ll want one with nice curtains.”

He begins pouring ice out of the bucket and into a jug of lager.

”There’s a general store run by old man Higgins two doors down on the left, and if you need arrows or bolts there’s a fletcher five doors down near the edge of the village.”

Zebulon regards Okoteck with newfound curiosity. "Kassassi, I know. Tengu? Never heard of them. You must have come from far away."

"The goblin, obviously. The talking bird is obviously a man who crossed a witch or fey creature of some sort," replies the innkeeper staidly. "The forest west of here is lousy with such beings this time of year."

Zebulon grins and pats his wife's shoulder. "My lady Elysia is right about that! Though I'm biased, of course."

He turns back to Okoteck. "I can't say there's anything unique. Apart from the monastery, there only interesting thing about this place is the stoat farm half-a-mile south of town run by old Karl Eberhard. The wily old gnome grows the best pelts in the realm; the hirdmen pay dearly for ermine."

His curiosity overcomes him and he asks carefully, "You lot aren't from around here, are you?"

5-27-870, 1pm
You walk up to the tavern you were apprised of by Othek, the Stone Hook, and walk in. The first thing you notice, after the bulette head mounted on the wall over the fireplace, is that half the room is seemingly built for children, despite the full-grown clientele.

When the door to the kitchen swings open and the proprietor strides into view, the mystery is solved, for this establishment is owned by a gnome, his otherworldly heritage betrayed by his bright green hair.

”Greetings and salutations,” says the gnome, his chins jiggling. ”I am Zebulon Monardo, and I welcome you to my establishment. Would your party like a lunch? Or perhaps a drink? We have ice.”

He turns around and points to a bucket on the bar. Noticing that it is full of nothing but water, he frowns. ”Blast. One moment.”

He points his finger at the bucket and fires a thin beam of cold blue light that strikes the metal with a soft clink, causing the contents to begin icing over. He turns back to you and inquires conversationally, ”What brings you here, if I may ask? Perhaps I can direct you to an appropriate vendor.”

Upon spying Kork, his eyes widen for a moment, but he says nothing.