Nelrem takes a passing interest in this new Halfling to grace the bar, giving a "check him out" head gesture to Master Belgretor while lifting a mug to his lips again. Trying to catch the attention of the bard Tosh Nelrem beckons him to his table excitedly.
"Spare a moment and sit with the little master Belgretor and I. Should you have the time, I would love to hear more of this language you speak of, perhaps see it's written form."
Pulling out a chair, Nelrem hopes he comes to sit.
Suddenly Belgretor jumps up from his chair, and bows deeply to Nelrem
"Oh, I just realised that I have some things to take care off before the festival. Really important halfling business, you understand? Maybe you should join a table with some of the other nice people over there, perhaps one of them is in need of your services?"
As he wiggles himself through the crowd towards the exit, a small knife apears in the palm of his hand and without much trouble he cuts the strings of what seems to be a fat purse which vanishes under his cloak, just before he vanishes into the night outside.
Looks over at Rohan and chuckles. "Well, true love has come from smaller things. I imagine not many people around here have seen a wyrmling; I know I haven't. You may find yourself to be something of an attraction!" Is silent for as moment and then vaguely addresses Copperscale, Ash and Vestad but seems to be just as much talking to himself, "Good festival crowd this year...as good as any I remember. Grew up here but it's been three years; almost seems like another life." Sorin seems to be lost in his own thoughts a bit.
An attraction indeed. "Did you come for the Festival or just any chance to find love for that poor boy?"
Vestad turns to Sorin, "Greetings, my name is Vestad. You are a local I hear. I hope your travels were blessed. But if I could have your ear for a moment I'd like to know what can you tell me about the Festival."
"Well met Vestad, my name's Sorin. I did grow up here but I've been away the last three years only recently returned. As for the festival, this is just the warmup, the real festival begins tomorrow. There will be all manner of events: plays, fortune telling, games, drinking, music and what have you. It's all quite entertaining and uplifting. The town needs it too; had its share of misfortunes in the past. As for what it stands for...well, I never really thought about it. I never asked and my dad never mentioned it to me. You never think about these things when you're young. It's both a testament to and a blessing from Shelyn in my opinion though I have to admit that I'm a bit biased in that regard. It was at this very festival three years ago that I realised my true calling."
"Hah, listen to me ramble on." Addressing both Vestad and Ash, "But enough about me, what brings you two here? Oh, I'm sorry Copperscale, what brings you three here?" Sorin can't resist peeking over to Rohan every now and then just to see how he's doing.
Looks over and notices Viorela. She looks vaguely familiar, Sorin thinks to himself. I could swear I've seen her before but I just can't remember where. Am I mistaken?
"Well met Vestad, my name's Sorin. I did grow up here but I've been away the last three years only recently returned. As for the festival, this is just the warmup, the real festival begins tomorrow. There will be all manner of events: plays, fortune telling, games, drinking, music and what have you. It's all quite entertaining and uplifting. The town needs it too; had its share of misfortunes in the past. As for what it stands for...well, I never really thought about it. I never asked and my dad never mentioned it to me. You never think about these things when you're young. It's both a testament to and a blessing from Shelyn in my opinion though I have to admit that I'm a bit biased in that regard. It was at this very festival three years ago that I realised my true calling.""Hah, listen to me ramble on." Addressing both Vestad and Ash, "But enough about me, what brings you two here? Oh, I'm sorry Copperscale, what brings you three here?" Sorin can't resist peeking over to Rohan every now and then just to see how he's doing....
"I was about to say, I'm sitting here too! But that's alright, as long as you recognize how great I am." Copperscale says with his unique smile.
"We're here for the festival and to get out of the sun for some real food. Rations are ok, but nothing beats some juicy meats!" He exclaims, proud of his unintentional rhyme as he continues to chow down. Seeing how much he has consumed, you wonder where it all goes."So tell me more about this festival. Games, music, and drinking are all things I appreciate!" He says while gorging himself.
Rohan on the other hand, has seem to struck out with the lady as she seems to have this uninterested look on her face. The young man looks for an excuse to end this awkwardness and finds one when he hears the cantankerous old man speak. He excuses himself so he can hear more what
Brodert has to say.
"You said something about a war machine? I'm afraid I'm one of those fools that know nothing about Thassilonian history. Would you care to enlighten me?" Rohan asks of him seemingly relieved he could talk about something else.
Shocked that someone in these parts would not know of Thassilonia, Tosh shakes the surprise on his face into a smile.
"I speak it because my mother taught me. My people are descendant of this mighty empire."
Borhald nods, pensive for a second. "So much to learn, as I thought." He smiles a bit ruefully. "I am afraid my schooling has been limited to woods-lore and the hunt." He then laughs. "And since my own mother was born in the lands of the Linnorm Kings, I imagine my childhood stories were quite different from yours!"
He then notices the red-haired woman who sits alone, and seems to be inspecting the other patrons. He lowers his voice politely. "That lass there... what is she up to, do you think?"
"I love the northern stories! It would be a tremendous honor if I could hear a tale or two from a true Ulfen. However, perhaps that could wait a moment or two, for it is a terrible tragedy when a woman that beautiful has no one to buy her drinks. Come man, you talk to her and I'll support your interest!"
3...4... Viorela stopped counting to herself.
She noticed many of the men, already stumbling and swaying, raising their tankards towards a rather large man, and overheard a slurred "Thanksh Drokkush".
The drinks are free! Well no use waiting for someone to come along and buy one.
An eclectic group had formed in the Dragon - men, dwarves, halflings, and some sort of draconic creature.
A halfling waved in her direction, beckoning her over. Ah, halflings, she mused. Before she could even smile back, the small man leapt out of his chair and was through the front door, leaving Viorela to wonder if perhaps he was some sort of thief who had reached his personal goal of cut purses for the evening. She reached down and patted her own purse, feeling safe that it's contents were still intact.
She noticed a few others glancing in her direction. A knight of some sort, perhaps, speaking to a man who had every appearance of a priest. Another appeared to be a veteran of the outdoors, dressed in earthen tones. He appeared Chelaxian, but there was something else to him - his build was larger and stronger than the typical Chelaxian. His Varisian friend seemed to be encouraging him and gave Viorela a knowing look. Did she know him?
She lost track of her counting. Master Davaros would be disappointed - she had spent her time working out each man's origins, and had completely forgotten to study how each was armed and how weathered their weapons had looked. I suppose that's why I barely received a passing mark in his class.
3...4... Viorela stopped counting to herself.
She noticed many of the men, already stumbling and swaying, raising their tankards towards a rather large man, and overheard a slurred "Thanksh Drokkush".
The drinks are free! Well no use waiting for someone to come along and buy one.
An electric group had formed in the Dragon - men, dwarves, halflings, and some sort of draconic creature.
A halfling waved in her direction, beckoning her over. Ah, halflings, she mused. Before she could even smile back, the small man leapt out of his chair and was through the front door, leaving Viorela to wonder if perhaps he was some sort of thief who had reached his personal goal of cut purses for the evening. She reached down and patted her own purse, feeling safe that it's contents were still intact.
She noticed a few others glancing in her direction. A knight of some sort, perhaps, speaking to a man who had every appearance of a priest. Another appeared to be a veteran of the outdoors, dressed in earthen tones. He appeared Chelaxian, but there was something else to him - his build was larger and stronger than the typical Chelaxian. His Varisian friend seemed to be encouraging him and gave Viorela a knowing look. Did she know him?
She lost track of her counting. Master Davaros would be disappointed - she had spent her time working out each man's origins, and had completely forgotten to study how each was armed and how weathered their weapons had looked. I suppose that's why I barely received a passing mark in his class.
Though Rohan seems to be very much so.
Borhald feels self-conscious for a moment, when he hears the old man criticizing those who know naught of Thassilonian history... he certainly qualifies. But Tosh's words bring a smile to his face. "My grandfather had some tales you would enjoy, albeit many of them are unfit for mixed company," he laughs. "I am sure that although my telling would be dry, you can polish them up nicely!"
He looks again at Viorela. "As for meeting that comely damsel, that is the best plan I have heard in some time, my friend." The tall forester leads the way to the red-head's table, and gives her a small polite bow. "Well met, lass. You seem to be a stranger here, much as we are. I hope you would like some company. I am Borhald, and this is Tosh."
Dargail chuckles as everyone seems to gravitate towards the lovely Redhead who entered the room. "HAHAHA! Look at that. Bunch of single men to be sure HAHA. Dargail then looks around. "Well with all the talent around here, I have to wonder if this is merely just for the festival, Or is there a greater interest." He turns to the one of the others. "So what do you anticipate for this year's festival?"
"Well met, lass. You seem to be a stranger here, much as we are. I hope you would like some company. I am Borhald, and this is Tosh."
"Indeed," Viorela gestures about three empty chairs at table, "it seems you are the boldest two at The Dragon."
I must remember to finish the observations she reminded herself.
The Varisian carries a well-tended rapier, and has the look of an entertainer. Actually, she vaguely remembers him, and forgets to study Borhald in further detail...
"Tosh? I haven't been to Sandpoint since I was a small girl, but you do seem vaguely familiar. Is it possible you have been playing here that long?" Viorela gestures towards the small stage.
As Borhald and Tosh sit, she smiles and shares her name, "Viorela, but I've been called both Vio and 'Ella more often lately."
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Well, Vestad, since you ask, I am here for several reasons, the most current of course is that Swallowtail festival, and a little moreso, for the dedication of the newly rebuilt cathedral. But what brought me here ultimately... cocks his head at the little outburst from Brodert, Was the Old Light, itself. I am an... enthusiast, of all things old. Especially things of Thassilon. Please pardon...
Ash turns to Brodert, only a table away, Hey Old Man! What makes you think the Light was a weapon? Why not a watchtower? Eh?
Borhald sweeps his cloak back to reveal he is clothed in well-worn yet well-kept huntsman's leathers over plain homespun tunic and trousers and knee high boots. A broad leather belt holds a heavy broadsword at his left hip, balanced by a short-ax and hunting knife on the right. He signals the nearest server for another round.
"Nice to meet you, then, mistress Vio. Sandpoint is your home, then?"
"Well met, lass. You seem to be a stranger here, much as we are. I hope you would like some company. I am Borhald, and this is Tosh.""Indeed," Viorela gestures about three empty chairs at table, "it seems you are the boldest two at The Dragon."
I must remember to finish the observations she reminded herself.
The Varisian carries a well-tended rapier, and has the look of an entertainer. Actually, she vaguely remembers him, and forgets to study Borhald in further detail...
"Tosh? I haven't been to Sandpoint since I was a small girl, but you do seem vaguely familiar. Is it possible you have been playing here that long?" Viorela gestures towards the small stage.
As Borhald and Tosh sit, she smiles and shares her name, "Viorela, but I've been called both Vio and 'Ella more often lately."
"With you permission lady, Viorela is too fitting for a beauty like yours. T'would be a shame to chop it when it rolls so nicely off the tongue."
He bows and gestures to Borhald.
"May I present Borhald. He is a true son of the Ulfen and an honorable and worthy man. I believe your attentions are best paid to him, rather than a scoundrel like myself."
"Alas, if you heard my name as a child, you must be talking of my parents. Ioulia Besnik has seen the fortunes of many in Sandpoint while still more love to throw their silvers to Yevgeniy and his Dancing bear Mormo. Still, now that you've heard of me, I better give you something to report."
Tosh bounds to the stage returning a moment later with his mandolin. He plays a romantic tune, trying his best to seem absorbed in his music. He listens to Borhald's conversation with Viorela, ready to play up the Ulfen should he find a tale to embelish.
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Rohan, dear boy, you try too hard! You have prompt what interests her, not speak of your interests. Ask her about yourself! Ash laughs a bit, Worry not, young friend! There are plenty more where that one came from... Have another drink! Cop! Where have you wandered off to? *hic* Ooh, me thinks an ale too many... Heh...
Dargail watches the proceedings with interest. He looks to the bard. [b]"Mighty fine melody you have there lad. Makes me wish I had a dame present. But I will drink and enjoy the soothing music all the same! Play on!" Dargail tosses Tosh a gold coin. Dargail watches.
Soring looks over at the crowd slowly gathering around Viorela and laughs. "Some things never change; it's just like old times," he thinks. "She seems more relaxed now. I should just ask her; it'll drive me crazy if I don't."
Sorin gets up and moves to the table where Viorela is at. Hello everyone." He gives everyone a quick glance before settling on Viorela. "Excuse me miss, my name is Sorin and I apologise for interrupting, but I'm postive I've seen you somewhere before but, for the life of me, I can't remember where. I've been away from Sandpoint for three years and it couldn't have been during that time; I would surely remember that. Is Sandpoint your home?"
Tosh strums passionately, allowing the reverberations to echo a bit, thus giving him time to catch the coin Dargail tossed.
"Thank you master Dwarf! Now we'll have a fine dwarven tune in honor of my newest patron!"
Tosh ends the current song with a complicated bit of finger picking into a key change. He then begins plucking the bass strings and stomping out a thumping rythm.
"Ho! Ho! Ho! to the bottle I go
To heal my heart and drown my woe.
Rain may fall and wind may blow,
And many miles be still to go,
But under a tall tree I will lie,
And let the clouds go sailing by."
The bard ends with a flourish and looks at Borhald imploringly as if to say "Sorry mate, our window of opportunity seems to have shut for now."
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Turning to Dargail, Ah, another kin of the sturdier folk, stories of the fairer ones? Well, I have a couple, but most end in heartache! Ash laughs heartily, Most of the ladies I knew were as pretty as that one there... he nods toward Viorela, And easily capable of tearing a man's heart a twain!
You will have to excuse me, but I do not share stories with strangers. Ash extends his hand to Dargail, The name's Ash, and yours?
"Nice to meet you, then, mistress Vio. Sandpoint is your home, then?"
Viorela shakes her head, her long hair obscuring her face. "No, although I had visited often in my childhood. I grew up near Nybor, if you know it?"
The woman blushes at Tosh's compliment and arches an eyebrow at his self-description as a scoundrel. She claps her hands and smiles at the mention of the dancing bear, exclaiming "I remember Mormo! My father once bought me a stuffed bear from a gnomish toymaker, and I named him Mormo even!"
As the bard lopes off to the stage, Viorela seems quite content reminiscing of her early summers spent in Sandpoint.
"Ulfen?" she finally says, with a glance at Borhald. She looks upward in concentration, and speaks as if at a recital. "Ulfen are fond of competition - dueling, hunting or drinking. They are known to keep thralls and have an unusual affinity for lycanthropy...?" She ends, as if a presenting a statement to an instructor, and questioning it's accuracy.
Dargail applauds Tosh. "Harhar! Well done laddy! You can stand with the best minstrels of Janderhoff. Here's another coin for being such a sport." Dargail tosses another coin to Tosh. He then turns to look at Viorela. "You know lassy, I visit here often on business and I can't help but get the same feeling as this young fella here that you're important in some way." Dargail strokes his beard. "Just curious. What is your family name? If you don't mind me asking."
"Excuse me miss, my name is Sorin and I apologise for interrupting, but I'm postive I've seen you somewhere before but, for the life of me, I can't remember where. I've been away from Sandpoint for three years and it couldn't have been during that time; I would surely remember that. Is Sandpoint your home?"
Viorela pauses for a moment, narrowing her green eyes at Sorin, lost in thought.
"S...", she begins, with an elongated 'S', as she feels out the word.
"Little Sori!", she finally concludes, in excitement as she unearths a memory obscured by a decade of dust.
"Why you're a man, now!", she says in surprise, as if boys do not usually grow to become men.
"You know lassy, I visit here often on business and I can't help but get the same feeling as this young fella here that you're important in some way." Dargail strokes his beard. "Just curious. What is your family name? If you don't mind me asking."
Viorela was struggling to keep up with all the faces.
The time Davaros sat with her in Magnimar along The Avenue of Hours studying each passerby paled in comparison to this evening. There, her only distraction was the old man asking her unrelated questions while she studied each person. Now, she had multiple people asking her different questions so rapidly, she had forgotten which she had already studied. The Ulfen? The minstrel?
The dwarf pulled her away from thoughts of childhood memories and failed observations.
"Important? Me?" She smiled again and gestured about the room.
"I am hardly as important as Yevgeniy's talented son here - he seems to have a way to help men and dwarf alike part with coin."
Upon being asked her family name, she hesitated. No, they will certainly be less relaxed if they learn I'm the mayor's niece. She glanced toward Sorin. Hopefully Sorin won't bring that up... She gave the boy-turned-man a look to indicate that he should not answer this question on her behalf.
"I am but a simple farmer's daughter, here to enjoy the Swallowtail's release tomorrow," she offered, hoping it was a complete enough response to the dwarf's inquiry.
Dargial looks at her as if he is trying to remember something. He strokes his beard. "Hmmm. A little farmer's lass huh."
Sense Motive
Dargail simply nods and raises his mug to her. "Well tomorrow's festival should be a good one for sure. Lots of song and dance. I will definitely be there to enjoy it also." He extends his mug to anyone in reach.Here's to the Swallowtail! He will toast to others around the table and down his mug.
"Ulfen?" she finally says, with a glance at Borhald. She looks upward in concentration, and speaks as if at a recital. "Ulfen are fond of competition - dueling, hunting or drinking. They are known to keep thralls and have an unusual affinity for lycanthropy...?" She ends, as if a presenting a statement to an instructor, and questioning it's accuracy.
Borhald laughs at her quick summary of his mother's people, but then blinks his eyes in confusion as the man named Sorin little Sori? Odd nickname, he thinks and the dwarf pepper the lass with questions.
"Well, you know more of the Ulfen than most... and your words are quite kind, as many only ask me about bloodthirsty raiders, when they hear of my heritage." He gratefully accepts a new alejack from a server, and hands Viorela a refilled goblet. "Worry not, I am no pirate. My father was from Korvosa, and settled a homestead north of the Churlwood once retired from the Sable Company."
"I have indeed been to Nybor, several times. I have often guided caravans from the northern trade routes. What do you do in that fair city?"
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Dargial looks at her as if he is trying to remember something. He strokes his beard. "Hmmm. A little farmer's lass huh."
Sense Motive1d20 + 1
Dargail simply nods and raises his mug to her. "Well tomorrow's festival should be a good one for sure. Lots of song and dance. I will definitely be there to enjoy it also." He extends his mug to anyone in reach.Here's to the Swallowtail! He will toast to others around the table and down his mug.
Hear hear! Desna smiles! raising his mug!
Tosh bows graciously as he stows his earnings in a pouch concealed behind his sash.
"At your service anytime master Dargail. I confess I have a special love for Dwarven drinking songs. You can't help but stomp your feet and sing 'til you're hoarse!"
Ah, a proper vixen. A woman never tells, right?
"A simple lass she is indeed boys! I have oft' seen her selling turnips at the market and believe me, she is no less gorgeous in plain dress. To Viorela, the heartbreaker of the Rusty Dragon!"
Dargail continues to drink and listen in to what is happening at the Bar. Gives a chuckle to Tosh. "She is a nice lass indeed but we should probably give to poor lass some space. It seems to be getting crowded over here hehe." With that Dargail scoots his chair back to give some space and gets another refill on his mead.
Dargail simply nods and raises his mug to her.
Her answer seemed to be enough. She worried for the slightest moment as the dwarf hesitated. Perhaps he was just looking for an excuse to dr... - seeing the dwarf break into a toast, she nodded to herself - drink.
"A simple lass she is indeed boys! I have oft' seen her selling turnips at the market and believe me, she is no less gorgeous in plain dress. To Viorela, the heartbreaker of the Rusty Dragon!"
Viorela's hand strays to cover her face as she glances downward, flushed by the sudden praise. It takes several moments for her to stop smiling. Finally, she glances nervously in Sorin's direction.
"Worry not, I am no pirate. My father was from Korvosa, and settled a homestead north of the Churlwood once retired from the Sable Company. I have indeed been to Nybor, several times. I have often guided caravans from the northern trade routes. What do you do in that fair city?"
The girl laughs when asked what she did in Nybor. "Well, I was sixteen when I left, so mostly I fed livestock, chased cats and sought out mischief when I could."
Viorela appears more interested upon hearing of Borhald's travels throughout Varisia. "Korvosa? How is that city? I've always heard it is... bleak?"
Finally sipping a drink, she grows bolder in her questions. "So, Borhald, tell me the most dangerous thing you've seen as a guide." Her question sounds almost a bit like a challenge.
Ha! Seriously, you guys should just keep this up. Who needs an actual adventure?
Sorry, my work and other PBP is taking alot of my attention. You're doing great - don't let me interrupt.
Ha! Seriously, you guys should just keep this up. Who needs an actual adventure?
Sorry, my work and other PBP is taking alot of my attention. You're doing great - don't let me interrupt.
Oh, sorry. What was the question? I can't find it.
Oh, sorry. What was the question? I can't find it.
Viorela appears more interested upon hearing of Borhald's travels throughout Varisia. "Korvosa? How is that city? I've always heard it is... bleak?"
Borhald looks pensive for a moment. Korvosa? I would not call it grim. People there are as friendly as elsewhere, unless you count the Hellknights... They do think of themselves as Chelaxian, though, no matter how mixed their blood. As such, they tend to be money-grubbing... and they love art. Theater, painting, sculpture, music... you name it. Fine fencing traditions as well!" The last is said with a particular gleam in his eye.
Finally sipping a drink, she grows bolder in her questions. "So, Borhald, tell me the most dangerous thing you've seen as a guide." Her question sounds almost a bit like a challenge.
At this, the young man laughs. The most dangerous sight was my own mother, the morn after my grandsire took me for my first night of ale-swilling with his former viking henchmen!
He goes serious for a second. The closest I have been to death, however, was when leading a caravan past the Stony Mountains. A brace of gray-skinned giants, twice my height, almost ambushed us. Most of us got away, at the cost of leaving the wagons. I still remember a hurled boulder that landed less than a knife-cast from me... Lucky for us that merchant was wealthy enough we were all on horseback. Otherwise...
"Yes Borhald, let's hear a dangerous tale from the dangerous Ulfen!"
Tosh's tone is sarcastic but playful. He drags his chair close to the table to listen.
"I'm hungry, anyone else care for some food? Its on me."
Tosh flashes the two coins dargail gave him with a sly smile. He then orders some sweet, dark ale and a bowl of of venison stew. He makes sure the waitress brings him bread: he's strangely emphatic about the bread.
"I am glad you are not dead Borhald. Still, I envy you for having such a good story. I have never even seen a giant. Are they really as mean as they say?"
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I had a ranger buddy once tell me that he thought humans had the potential to be much meaner than the gray skinned big men of the mountains. Not to contradict your story, of course, brave Borhald. You are truly blessed to have come out of that encounter with your bones intact. Ash leans back to interject himself into the conversation.
After her rather energetic dance with Tosh Faunra goes to have a seat at the bar and rest her feet and her voice. She figured with all the entertaining she's been doing her boss wouldn't be to upset with her small break. She ordered a cup of tea for her throat and some peanuts to eat and the bartender just smiled Hey nice set by the way, you can really move he said as he brought her the tea and the nuts. Faunra looked at him a little suspiciously, having been hit on numerous times by this particular bartender. Hmm...you wouldn't just be trying to seduce me again. I told you last time I don't go for your type she said as she stood and took her bowl of nuts and her tea the last empty table in the room. She put her feet up on one of the chairs as she sat back and drank her tea, watching the festivities go on around her and suddenly missing the quiet of the forest.
Borhald bows to Ash in welcome. Your friend is right. I have seen human brigands far crueler than any giant, and hunted down more than one.... His face turns grim at some memory. But the lass asked about danger, not evil.
He then smiles ruefully. However, my encounter with giants does not qualify me as courageous, sadly enough. I was simply lucky to see them before they launched the first rock. Other than that, I am alive only thanks to the speed of my horse, and whatever gods spoiled their aim...
Borhald bows to Ash in welcome. Your friend is right. I have seen human brigands far crueler than any giant, and hunted down more than one.... His face turns grim at some memory. But the lass asked about danger, not evil.
He then smiles ruefully. However, my encounter with giants does not qualify me as courageous, sadly enough. I was simply lucky to see them before they launched the first rock. Other than that, I am alive only thanks to the speed of my horse, and whatever gods spoiled their aim...
Tosh waves a hand at Borhald's last sentence. Shaking his head, he swallows his mouthful of stew and speaks. His tone is somber, his features intense as he stares at the Ulfen man.
"As my mother was a seeress, I tell you: Do not doubt your courage son of the north. My ears and eyes are trained to percieve people capable of noteworthy deeds, and you, sir, are as capable as they come. In fact, I just might tag along when you depart our fair city. Gods willing, of course."
"Excuse me miss, my name is Sorin and I apologise for interrupting, but I'm postive I've seen you somewhere before but, for the life of me, I can't remember where. I've been away from Sandpoint for three years and it couldn't have been during that time; I would surely remember that. Is Sandpoint your home?"Viorela pauses for a moment, narrowing her green eyes at Sorin, lost in thought.
"S...", she begins, with an elongated 'S', as she feels out the word.
"Little Sori!", she finally concludes, in excitement as she unearths a memory obscured by a decade of dust.
"Why you're a man, now!", she says in surprise, as if boys do not usually grow to become men.
"Wait...what?" Sorin looks like he's been poleaxed. His face is screwed up in concentration trying to remember how she knows him and though it takes a few minutes, his face glows as the light of comprehension finally hits home. 'Viorela! Of course! How could I possibly have forgotten? I hadn't seen you for the fews years before I left for the south. You've turned into quite the charming lady yourself. Of course, I thought you were a lady back then too!" He laughs good-naturedly but thinks, "Farmer's daughter? What is she talking about? Well, she must have her reasons...I hope it's not family trouble."
Then he suddenly glances at everyone else at the table. "Oh, I'm sorry; I hope I didn't interupt. He bows to everyone. "Sorin Nicusor, paladin of Shelyn, at your service! I hope everyone's having a good time; I have high hopes for the festival tomorrow!"
He turns to Tosh. "Mormo...I remember, my father loved that bear!"
Picking up on the conversation now that his drinking partner has taken off. Nelrem chimes in a little redder in the face from the warm filling of Dwarven Ale. He raises his voice over the din of the room to grab their attention. He looks skyward and even though there is a roof over his head, his sight extends beyond to an older day. He begins his story, whether any listen or not. It is practiced, a memory relived rather than told from a voice that does not miss a beat. Almost poetic, though not to the standards of those bards before him.
"I'll can tell you a tale of danger. Though there would be no happy ending, no just in the nick of times, sadly this is a tale spun from my own memories, not penned to ink and told to children where the hero always emerges victorious."
Nelrem pauses to judge the mood of the room and tap his mug on the table empty of others, and orders one more pint.
"Danger is hunting a foe more cunning than yourself. I thought myself the better than my prey, a nearly fatal mistake. But I'll tell you this tale, if for no other reason than to spare you some of the same."
"It was a dark and stormy night..."
"No wait, that's not right, that's a different story. This was a crisp and clear night, the moon was only a fingernail shy of being full. The light danced on the sea of white stretched out before us like a living ocean of diamonds. The snow capped lair of a great white dragon lay before us, minutes away on foot, abandoned. So we thought. So we- were told."
"My mate and I still crept forward with caution, sticking to outcroppings of stone that lined the area, making our way slowly towards the opening of the cave that overshadowed this snow-covered plain. We had stood in the cold for hours, no signs of any kind did we see, until we finally got the nerve to breech the interior."
"I remember it seeming colder inside, even though there was no wind to whip the heat from your bones. Sometimes you just have a bad feeling about something, I should of listened to it hours ago. But something about the way she smiled at me, even behind layers of furs, always made me forget about silly things like reason."
"We traveled for what seemed like days deeper and deeper into the caves, with a hand drawn map made by my brother and a promise that the way would be clear."
"We delved as deep as the caves would go, where light simply could not shine. The air was thick with mist, no -anticipation. The lights from our torches struggled to stay alight, but lit they stayed. He had watched the great white wyrms habits, and knew she would be out hunting, and would not return for another night at least, her patterns were predictable and planned. Enough time to fill our pockets with treasures, for there was a stash there that would rival any kings. It was all there for the taking, my brother came through. "
"In my mind I had already spent the majority of my share."
"I remember the roar, it came before the very cave itself started to shake, as if the walls themselves were frightened. It tore through my resolve like a nightmare. This nightmare was all sinuous power, and heavily armored scales of glistening white. To stare into it's form was akin to looking into the heart of a blizzard, only it stared back and barred it's teeth and roared again."
"She was out hunting, but not for herself, for her clutch, here children, and for us. We had been betrayed."
"Roars from all sides now, one massive one in front of us, two or more behind us. But what chilled me even more than the cave, the night air, or even the breath of the stalking wyrmlings on my back were the words the ancient white bestowed upon me."
in Draconic: "Yrachan drziy? Nii myeunty edr chiemydr drnihuii."
"My brother set me up, why? The details that follow, not so clear. I have no idea how I still lived, how I escaped, how I didn't bleed to death wandering the white, armless and now wifeless."
"I think my mind shut down for several years, I don't recall what happened during those lost days. I did recall slowly coming to my senses, hell, years later in a remote village far removed from the ice and snow. It has taken me almost a lifetime to just muster the willpower to keep going. I miss her though still, every day."
"What my wife? Oh hell no, she cheated on me no less than thirteen times, though I didn't know it at the time. No, I miss my innocence, my adventuring spirit the most. I oil these swords and leathers, don the gear still, but out of habit now. A scribe, a one armed scribe with delusions of greatness."
"That is true danger my friends. Not a creature, but pride. Pride in yourself not to see the danger in front of your frostbitten face. Pride in thinking yourself immortal, pride in thinking yourself smarter than your prey."
Nelrem hiccups.
"Annnd, I'm now ...officially drunk."
Perform(Oratory):
Vors wanders over to the table, his attention rapt by the half-elf's tale. At the end of it, he nods with approval.
"A fine tale, with a fine moral."
With that, he grabs a fresh mug from the tray of a passing barmaid and sets it in front of the tale-teller.