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That sort of request especially from someone with a pronounced vulgar vocabulary is easily misunderstood. Nevertheless your meaning is clear and yet I am unable to comply for that knowledge is lost for the day. Despite the stickied dwarves's plight, Daeron takes his time articulating his reply.
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.
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'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?
Whispering a few words for guidance, Kevkul grips the trow head holding it aloft.
Kevkul bellows loudly to the barkeep Kevkul throws Gorruk's head, making sure it lands with a dramatic 'clunk' on the table. Once Kevkul gets the attention of those present he continues. Now, come closer all you fine folk and listen how Gorruk the Iss troww parted with his head and how Muk'luk left this world completely save his teeth with one fell blow! All of that with a soft nudge by the Spedig Wesa too.
Aye, nice warm hearth and medu to match. Yonder there sits a group of ears ready to soak up our tales of bravery and daring. Which of you warriors would boast of our deeds thus far? It would be excellent way for all the medu we could drink. Kevkul pulls out the head of Gorruk he's been lugging around this time. Luckily for the cold Northern air, it has been well preserved.
Kevkul brings himself to a stand before taking in the scenario. The loud guttural speech of the giants rings all too familiar to his dwarven ears, although much of its meaning is lost on him. Sensing the feeling of cornered and with their backs to the wall, Kevkul gently prods Petrik awake and speaks in a low tone. Morning lad, be ready and alert, above all, display your ellen. Ask from the Spedig Wesa like how I showed you. Another of the troww comes visiting. Help us prepare for battle by assisting me in donning my armour. Mayhaps another of the warriors may require assistance too.
Observing his battle eager comrades, Kevkul observes and quips. Let our plant heald do what it is supposed to do. Perhaps it too wishes to avenge the death of its deceased master. When the beast is weakened, we shall strike. ellen=courage
Yea, a blessing from old Spedig Wesa to ease his journey to the boneyard. Better to have the fires separate than the one we will use to incinerate the trow. Their journeys beyond should not be from the same hearth. Kevkul helps gather the fuel for the fire, readying it to receive a spark. From the mug, he melts some snow before sprinkling the water over the hermit's body. Kevkul completes his blessing by saying a few words. All out of alcohol, apologies. I do not know you old Quern, but seeing from my friend Muli, I am sure your heart is in the right place. But we did the trow in and I hope you enjoyed watching. But it is time to go on, farewell. After everybody's given a turn to speak, Kevkul mumbles a few words and a spark jumps out from his hand and ignites the pyre.
Kevkul approaches the fallen troww, before smashing his neck in with a measured strike.
Now that is done and liberally shall the favor of Cailean Caydean wash over you, should we all move closer. Kevkul motions for the wounded to gather before holding aloft his tankard and pulsing out waves of positive energy. Channel x3 : Ach, Muli, the head would make a plenty of nights of free mead if it were a better condition, but much character does it have now. Kevkul takes out his dagger before severing Gorruk's head, trusting the cold to preserve it before offering any of the warriors to pack. |