"For spoils and tall stories!" - IC
The old woman peered at the hotchpotch company in front of her. “So, yer lookin’ fer adventure, ain’t ya?” She was rumoured to be wise and slightly magical. You sure couldn’t tell when you stumbled over her in a dark alley! Still, the big, sharp gaze of the woman made those in front of her cringe with discomfort.
“Those thangs’re mostly lethal...”, she murmured. Meeting blank stares, the wise woman elaborated: “Adventure! Dangerous thangs...” Still, the company assembled in front of her bristled with weapons and she even spotted one of those fancy wizardry hats. Perhaps they might be all right. “Well, then. ‘Ave it yer way”, she grumbled. With that she casually pointed at a huge cupboard against the far wall. “Thru the door, into the ‘allway. Then second to las’ door on the left”.
As the members of the company looked at each other, the old woman could see their hesitation. It mattered not to her. They would or would not follow her instructions. Waiting for their decision, she oggled them shamelessly. Just as she could sense power in them, the ancient witch also could peek at their recent history. It surprised her that the company had only recently found each other. Between them she saw connections deeper than could be justified by their brief time together. With some time to spend, the old hag let herself be swept off to the moment of the company's meeting.
Ribbons and paper flowers decorated the houses. The carnival had arrived. People had been anticipating it's arrival for weeks. With winters becoming increasingly harsh the colourful parade, with it's jugglers and other entertainers, it's colourful sweets, and it's exuberant festivities warmed cold hearts. The harbour town of Frostfjord had been flooded with revelers. Hordes of foreigners, wanting to experience the winter carnival, made Frostfjord groan at it's seams. The three squares of the town were overflowing with people. Amongst them - unaware of their future collaboration - were the members of the company. 'The Adventure Company', the old witch cackled to herself.
It was a virtual impossibility, but there in the midst of the ballyhoo a rough oaken table offered seating. The benches which flanked it were empty. Well, except for the dwarf. Auburn bearded, bald headed and deep in his drunken stupor. Perhaps his loud snoring had cleared the benches, perhaps it was just a coincidence. The empty seating promised a calm moment. A moment to rest one's feet. And surely also the right moment to sip on a tall ale.