The stout halfling with beady eyes looks at you as you enter. Next to the door is a large, slobbering dogman with a squashed looking face and bugged-out eyes that look in different directions. A be-fezzed gnome, a shifty knight, and an unassuming chair are your companions in the taproom of the Proverbial Hook.
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With a blast of displaced air - a gnoll in desert garb sitting casually in a wingback chair and enjoying a cup of tea - suddenly appears!
"Well, that was... atypical." His red eyes widen, "Where did the chicken go?!"
A pop sounds shortly after Shaggar asks his question. A small, young woman appears, apparently in the middle of sitting down, just a couple of feet from the newly apparated gnoll and his fancy chair. She lets out a yelp of surprise as she falls to the floor, her chair having apparently been left from wherever she appeared from.
"Oooooowie," she groans as she rubs where her pride had been bruised.
"What just happened," she mutters as she looks around the unfamiliar tavern.
The gnoll sips at his tea. "I'm not a seer but it appears that you... fell on your ass."
"Really, I hadn't noticed," she grumbles as she stands up. She dusts herself off and looks around. "Uh, where's your fancy lady friend, and the chicken," she asks.
The gnoll bows his head with mock reverence, ”I miss that chicken.”
"You, my friend, are a person of rare tastes," Kiley laughs.
After his third cup of tea, and no roasted chicken magically appearing, Shaggar turns to his most un-gnollish habit... thinking. Patterns intrigued the predator and he had noted a set of them regarding some of the occupants of that strange metaphysical waiting room.
He remarks to his small companion, "You, Marith, and me - we come from races that are not... popular. We are outcasts in many lands. At best, we are shunned." He doesn't bother stating the 'at worst' options. "It is curious to me that we all share a hatred of slavery... doubtless influenced by our experiences on one side or the other of the whip. And all of us have beliefs that emphasize individual freedoms and ethical choices." His red eyes half-shutter as Shaggar ponders more.
"Huh, That is interesting, though I do have an advantage that neither you nor Marith has. I can hide in plain sight," Kiley says as she nurses a warm cup of coffee. "I would also say that it's a minor miracle that we didn't end up full of hate and spite, either. When you're an outcast, it can be all too easy to hate everything around you."
"Quite true." Shaggar nods, "And perhaps I would have hated all if I had not found a home among the Bedine. When an enemy becomes an ally, it is a lesson that endures."
He yips a laugh, "I would like to meet the artist who could disguise me as a human... I do wonder what it would be like to walk among them and not stand out."
"Oh? Well, Sugar," Kiley grins and only just manages to keep herself from busting out in laughter, "my mother was a spellslinger and she knew of some tricksy things that could make things look like other things."
The gnoll's eyes go wide. "Did she? Have you learned this magic? I should like to have blonde hair only on my head and a flat face with blue eyes."
"She did. She made me look like an elf once, though it didn't last all that long. Unfortunately, I never had the patience to learn. I think she would have taken it as a challenge to make you look human while still being recognizable as Shaggar."
Testing. Testing. 1. 2. 3.
Test 4, 5, 6….
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Mi miiii mimimimimi miiiii miiiiiiii...
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youuuu youyouyouyoooooooooooooooou
After a long day spent guiding a few of Kassen's wealthier individuals on a quail hunt, Moon and Meep take some time to clean up and get ready for supper. This time, Meep asks Moon to help her with the kimono that they'd considered for the evening before when they ate with Grobradon and his mother, Coldana. Arnama can't help but smile as she sees Meep getting gussied up for the second night in a row.
Meanwhile, Betzolte and Braggar are told to get bathed after their long day of hard work, Braggar at his forge and Betzolte with helping out the town's guard in strengthening Kassen's defenses. Once the young wizard is clean and dressed to her mother's satisfaction, she's put to work helping prepare the last couple of dishes. If Betzolte didn't know better, she'd swear that half the town was coming to eat. Morg, from all appearances is wanting to leave a very good impression on her guests.
As twilight sets in, shortly after Braggar has finished scrubbing the soot from the forge off and getting dressed in the clothes that Morg insists he wears on special occasions, there's a knock on the door. Outside stand Moon and Meep. The little goblin wears a style of dress that the dwarves have often seen Moon wear, a red and white silk robe that is tied at the waist by a wide sash. Her long, black hair is tied up with red ribbons that match the red of the kimono. She smiles as she sees Betzolte and her family.
"Hello! I am Meep," she introduces herself to Braggar and Morg, "It's good to meet you!"
Despite knowing that Meep isn't your typical goblin, it appears that her manners have taken Betzolte's parents off guard.
Moon is dressed to not upstage the goblin in any way and follows behind her. This is Meep’s night.
The ranger’s kimono and under-kimono are fitted but are in a very dark hue of the Ironhame clan colors to honor their hosts. The one adornment she allows herself – placed in the hair above her ear – is a pale white sprig of the winter cherry bushes that have just begun to flower. She bows to each of the Ironhames in turn. ”Thank you so very much for having us as your guests. It is a privilege.”
Betzolte emerges from her bath and gets out her best clothes. She hadn't worn the elegantly sturdy kyrtill, embroidered with geometrically-shaped flowers since she last washed it, but deciding to be better safe than sorry, she casts prestidigitation on it to spruce it up a little in preparation. As she puts it on, she realizes it's a bit more snug than it was previously, flexing her arm a bit and seeing how the sleeve hugs her bicep. She'd have to adjust it when she had a spare moment.
This felt like one of the first times they'd truly had guests in their home. Not just Cousin Bimbur or other relatives visiting from Kraggodan, but actual guests. She goes to help Morg unload the spectacular spread she's prepared for the evening: Chelish black bread, pea soup, grindlegrub sausages all the way from Kraggodan, stewed local vegetables, honeyed oat cakes, at the center is the Mutton-and-Mushroom roast that's made Morg's cooking famous in Kassen!
As Moon and Meep approach, Betzolte breaks into a wide grin, especially as the introduction's politeness surprises her parents.
"So glad you could join us this eve! You both look amazing!" she says.
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"Oh yes," Morg says, prodded out of her temporary stupor by her daughter's greeting. "Welcome to our home. Our hearth is yours so long as you wish. It is very good to meet you as well, Meep. I am Morg Ironhame, wife of Braggar Ironhame and mother of Betzolte. Please come in. No reason to stand out in the chill air." She beckons to Moon and Meep to come in. As she turns so they can't see her face, but Braggar can, she gives him a look that both he and Betzolte are all to familiar with. The one that says "don't embarrass me, remember your manners."
"Er, right," Braggar mumbles as he shakes himself. "I am Braggar Ironhame, son of Durin Ironhame, husband of Morg, and father of Betzolte. It is an honor to meet you," he says. "From what I have heard, you two helped make sure my daughter came home alive. For that, I am eternally grateful."
He kneels as he bows his head to Meep and Moon. Meep, looks at Morg, Betzolte, and Moon as she starts to panic a little from not knowing what to do now.
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Moon puts a hopefully calming hand on Meep's shoulder, then handles this matter. She curtsies - which requires skill in a kimono - as low as Braggar goes.
Her voice matches his formality, "I am Moon, daughter of Ellianna of the noble House of Dallion, of the elves of a’Shaeyel. As much as we ensured your daughter’s safety, she ensured ours. There is no debt among comrades. But we receive your gracious thanks – Silver-Tongued Braggar – son of Durin, and return it with our own."
She bows, bringing her head alongside Braggar’s and whispers, ”You have done your wife proud… but this dress is not made for this much elven pomp. What say we get up, have a drink, and get comfortable? Dinner smells delicious.” She offers the dwarf a wink so quick, it might not have happened.
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Meep starts to mirror Moon, but she doesn't have the same practice the ranger does with formal curtseys and almost falls before Morg catches her. The little goblin looks a little embarrassed as she apologizes for her clumsiness and thanks Betzolte's mother for saving her from a fall. Morg just pats Meep on the shoulder and smiles.
Meanwhile, Braggar smiles and gives a quick wink of his own after Moon's whispered suggestion. He stands quickly so he can offer a calloused hand to Moon to help her to her feet. As she finishes straightening up, he wraps her in a bear hug for a moment before letting go.
"There may not be a debt between comrades, but as a father, I owe you, Meep, and the rest of your party one I could never repay. For that, you are all always welcome at my hearth, and I'll always treat you as my own daughters and sons," he says before pulling out chairs for both of his guests. "Now, while we all get settled, would you tell me how you know Ironhame's colors? Not many know that we have them, much less what they are."
Morg helps Meep into her chair before filling everyone's tankards. The one at Meep's plate is smaller than the others, but still comically large in her small hands. The mead smells of mint and honey while the stout fills the house with an aroma not all that different from baking bread. As the conversation continues, everyone takes their seats.
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She takes the dwarf patriarch's hand to help her up and the offered seat then gives Morg a quick glance that says, "You've got a gentleman here". Moon accepts the tankard and answers Braggar's question. "I've known about your clan for a few years. My mother enjoys navigating social circles and is a stickler for etiquette. If we were to formally meet another elven family, I was expected to learn all I could to prevent any missteps. I applied that principle to Kassen's families, where I could. Because of the history between our peoples, and the importance of heritage that our races share, a registry of dwarven clans is kept by my people. I looked you up."
She takes a healthy swallow from her tankard. "Since Betz helped to repair this kimono, wearing it to honor the clan that returned my belongings to me seemed the least I could do."
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Betzolte blinks in surprise when her father hugs Meep, but smiles and nods as he speaks. She takes her seat among the others.
"Very different from how we do things here," she comments. "Dwarven etiquette's very much 'be forthright when you say something, and if your honesty isn't enough for someone, then say it louder.' Still, I can appreciate doing a good bit of research! Navigating magic's very similar in a way: the way a small misstep can throw off how you relate to someone is a lot like how one mispronounced incantation can make a spell blow up in your damn face!"
She takes a drink of her own mead.
"But of course, it all depends on what you're trying to do, honestly. I imagine the kind of courtly stuff your mom gets into's like the big, flashy fireball type of magic, where casual conversation's more like that mendin' spell I used for that dress. I can do that cantrip in my sleep by now!"
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"A bit more forthrightness in the etiquette of my mother's people might be a good thing." She says earnestly. "I know little of magic but I don't think my mother is a 'flashy fireball'. Our family is not that well-positioned, And mother is not the head of our family - that responsibility falls on my Great-Aunt."
She adds a salutory tip of her tankard and a smile, "I'm glad you mastered that cantrip and didn't blow my clothes to tatters... not that they were in much better condition when you found them."
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"Oh aye, a Great-Aunt's power is NEVER to be underestimated, no matter the ancestry!" Betzolte replies with a laugh.
Both Morg and Braggar barely manage to suppress their laughter at Moon's comment about how elves could stand being a little more forthright, though the moment of levity passes quickly at the reminder of what Moon's father had done. Tatters was a pretty good description of what the hateful man had left.
Meep, does her best to keep up with conversation, but soon finds herself studying the food instead and wondering what everything will taste like, never having any of the dishes spread out on the table, at least until she hears Moon's comment about the clothes.
"We're both proud of Betz for doing that," Morg says before motioning for Moon's plate. "She's also right about Great-Aunts. Most of them don't get to be great by being soft."
"Umm, Wh-what's a Great-Aunt," Meep asks, not knowing anything about extended family structures since goblins didn't keep track of such things.
Speaking of missteps... Moon sees hers as soon as she remarks about her tattered clothes, bringing up the spectre of Temue.
She moves past it by focusing on Meep's question. "My Great-Aunt is my Grandfather's sister." As she isn't sure if 'grandparents' are a goblin concept, Moon tries to simplify it a bit further. "My mother has a father. He has a sister, and she is my Great-Aunt."
Seeing Meep's focus drift to the dinner table, the ranger tacks in a direction that the goblin may appreciate. "Betz, I have to ask... what are those sausages on the table? They smell delicious."
"Oh, grindlegrub! All the way from Kraggodan," Betzolte replies as she skewers a few to bring over to her plate. "Mama was saving them for a special occasion! Actually pretty unusual to make 'em into sausages. Most of the time, they're just chopped up and sold on skewers. I hear over in the Five Kings Mountains they can get so fat you can slice them up into steaks!"
Morg piles everyone's plates with food as the conversation turns to the food.
"Before I came here, I had a grindlegrub steak from a place a friend of mine recommended," Braggar says. "Definitely worth the coin, but ye have to have someone that knows how to cook them. They can get tough when they're that big."
"He's right about that. We nearly broke our teeth the last time we got grindlegrub steaks. While it is unusual to make them into sausages, my great-uncle, that is my mother's mother's brother, has been making them for years," Morg adds as she finally fixes her own plate.
Meep tries one of the sausages and her eyes widen as the spices from it hit her tongue. She savors the small bite she took before trying the other things on her plate. It's hard to miss the look of pleasure on her face as she tastes things she's never had before.
"It's all so yummy," Meep says with a grin as she looks up at Morg. "Betzolte started teaching me how to cook before went into the-- umm, what was the word? The crypt. I see why she says your a good cook!"
"Betzolte's always liked helping others. I'm glad to see that her previous experiences didn't discourage her from trying to teach others new things," Morg says.
"Careful, Gem," Braggar teases as he gives his wife a mock glower. "Some might think I was who you were talking about."
Moon's beatific smile is clearly a false front, "That is certainly not what your wife meant Master Ironhame. Definitely not..." She adds, "But it is my understanding that a rough gem only achieves its true beauty through a little polishing. And even the finest tool needs honing - from time to time."
Betzolte chuckles at the conversation.
"Wise words, Moon! Same thing with magic, too. And like I was saying to Meep earlier, no matter where you start at, if you work at something and keep practicing, it'll get better until it's best, whether that's turning an iron ingot into a sword or a ploughshare, a slab of meat into a delicious meal, or a weak person into a strong one!"
She munches on a few of the sausages herself.
"And what little I showed you at the camp, I learned from Mama here," she says with a smile.
"He knows," Morg tells Moon with a warm smile. "I've been married to him long enough to realize that."
Both of Betzolte's parents beam with pride as their daughter shows her wisdom. Meep, as careful as she was when eating with Grobradon and his mother, continues to enjoy the meal.
"Miss Morg," Meep asks after a moment, "can you teach me how to cook like you do?"
Morg looks at Braggar as he nods before answering Meep.
"Of course I can. I'd be more than happy to," she says. "It'll take time and patience though."
As Morg and Meep discuss learning how to cook and that Meep has already asked Coldanna to teach her as well, Braggar leans over to Moon and Betzolte.
"Are you sure she's a goblin," he asks them both.
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”She is 100% Meep... That’s all that can be said with certainty.”
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"Aye, one of a kind!" Betzolte adds/
"That's for sure," Braggar says, agreeing with his daughter.
After a little while, when there's a lull in the conversation between Morg and Meep, Braggar cuts in.
"Meep, I know ye want to cook, but what else do ye know how to do? Skills are a lot like tools. Ye may think you only need one or two, but it's better to bring what ye need to handle any situation. I can see ye're a kind and thoughtful lass, but not e'eryone's had their mind stretched by Betzolte here. Some o' 'em may want to hurt ye, just because ye're being accepted and they weren't. Ye may have to use what ye know to protect yerself."
Meep looks down at her plate and frowns.
"I-- I'm good at hiding and finding things," Meep says. "I-I-I th-think I am, at least."
"You are good at those things." Moon confirms, "She's also good with a bow and with sneaking around. She'll get better. Arnama and I will see to it."
She looks at the dwarf, trying to determine if he has someone specific in mind, "Grimscar?"
"Aye," Braggar sighs. "He and his mates are tryin' to stir up trouble."
Moon's eyes narrow. She glances at Meep, debating how openly she wants to have this conversation. "Which friends?"
"Couple of troublemakers, Gargle and Higgs. Both of them are almost as bad as he is."
"That augdunar's fart?" Betzolte asks disdainfully.
"What kind of 'stirring' are they doing?"
Gargle and Higgs are two thugs that hang out with Grimscar more out of convenience than any friendship. The three are known to get into fights and hate each others' guts, but they're also the only ones that will hang out with the others. All three of them are lumberjacks working for the woodcutter's guild, and probably would have been out of a job long ago if they weren't as good as they were at their jobs.
Gargle isn't the man's real name, but no one remembers what it is anymore. He chugs ale as if there's no tomorrow and is probably the dumbest out of the trio. He's short and squat with thick, hairy arms.
Higgs is a big man with long arms and legs. He's been caught a time or two with things in his pockets that weren't his, but he's a smooth enough talker that he was able to get out of any serious punishments. There are rumors that he's part bugbear, given his size and penchant for moving far more quietly than someone as clumsy looking as he is should.
Grimscar is the most notorious of the three, due to his drunkenness and tendency to chase the skirts of any girl that's under twenty-five. He's also the smartest of the three, though that isn't saying much. His one loyalty is to gold, which probably explains why he works and hasn't tried moving somewhere else.
"Mostly they're trying to cast doubt on Meep's honesty. Questioning whether or not she can really be trusted or if she's actually trying to get us to lower our guards. I don't think anyone who's met the lass is going to believe them for a moment. Unfortunately, I think Grimscar's smart enough to point out that's exactly how someone trying to pull something would act, and he's not wrong," Braggar says.
"Pull something?" Meep's brow furrows as she asks the question. "I'm not very strong. I don't think I'd make it very far."
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"Nah, it's an expression, Meep. When someone accuses you of trying to "pull something on them," what they're saying is they think you're trying to deceive or trick them," Betzolte replies somberly.
"I'm vaguely familiar with all three of those louts: they're lumberjacks who work for Grobradon's uncle, and that's about ALL they're good at apart from drinking and starting fights. They give you any trouble, Meep, you let my Papa know: Grimscar doesn't like anybody and nobody likes him, but the man rightfully FEARS Braggar Ironhame!" she says, giving her father a jocular punch in the arm.
Braggar brushes off Betzolte's praise, but the twinkle in his eyes and the grin on his wife's face show that he's happy his daughter thinks so highly of him.
Moon weighs Braggar's words. It's axiomatic... those who lie think everyone else is a liar. Those who aren't trustworthy, assume that no one else is.
"That says more about Grimscar than anyone else. Thank you for the warning."
"And of course, he's also gotta worry about the fact that you're friends with both of Kassen's up and comin' wizards! Even an arse like him wouldn't be stupid enough to mess with a mage!" Betzolte says proudly.
She raises her mead stein.
"A toast, to Moon and Meep and a bright new future for us all!"