Lucan appreciated that Persephone did not decide to press him further. He assumed she was smart enough to realise he had avoided her questions, but whether or not she actually trusted him, he couldn't tell. Taking another sip of his drink, he let out a sigh of relaxation. He had not avoided Persephone's questions out of ill will, in fact, he held no ill will to anyone in that town, Lucan had particularly recently been trying to avoid breaking the law to any degree, it wasn't his fault when he came across a particularly gullible group of gamblers, and ended up walking off with their hard-earned money. And as for being a bandit, he hadn't used force to steal from anyone for at least two weeks.

Tapping his fingers against his mug once more, he shifted his gaze out to the bar, spotting the fatter man with the large brim hat wander through the tavern, giving a class to any attentive enough to notice in 'how not to eavesdrop'. Sipping at his ale, he tilting his head back toward Persephone as he spoke, following her finger back to the very man he had just been watching. "He's an odd one, obviously looking to hear something." He had now properly caught Lucan's attention. He didn't appear to be a spy, or a criminal, and if he was either he was certainly a very bad one. He was larger than the average adventurer, so Lucan doubted he left the town much, at least not on long trips... The purple trim of his clothing made Lucan think he had at least some degree of wealth, as did the seemingly reasonably sized pouch on his belt.

"He might be looking for someone, actually." Lucan had established that this man had the look of an entrepreneur, a businessman. There was always money to be made in a time of war, and right on the edge of a conflict one could usually find people to help get that money, either because they desired some coin of their own, which would usually be his case, or because they had some childish fantasy of being a 'hero'. "Looking for workers, mercenaries, something like that, if you ask me - then again, I might be completely wrong." He chuckled with a shrug, taking another long drink to finish off his ale, setting down the mug and pushing it aside slightly.

Venua had been on the road for some time now, as she headed for direction of the little hamlet of Salarn. She had heard of the settlement's problem with Orcs and their plea for any able-bodied help. Clad in her hand-stitched leather and hide dress underneath her hardened leather armour, she had the warmness of fur coat draped snuggly around her neck. Dusk had fallen not too long ago, and the temperature in the air had began to drop. The weather was surprisingly muggy, considering the fact that they were more or less entering the winter seasons.

Armed with a bastard sword and a backpack on her back, her other hand carried a bulging hide sack that seemed to be drenched in some kind of thick liquid. She was on foot, without no mount to her name. As she began walking to to gates, an authoritative voice rang out in the quiet evening air. "Halt, go no further! State your business in Salarn!"

The voice had belonged to a guard on the gate, or probably the watch sergeant himself. Either way, it made no difference to the woman. She could see the armed guards ontop the walls, judging her to see if she was a threat. If she didn't do anything, she very well might seem like one, with her painted face and strange looking attire. She decided to prove her case, indicating that she meant Salarn no harm.

She rang out with a reply of her own, her tone equally firm and authoritative. With a simple toss, she flinged the bulging hide sack over the walls, onto their side of the settlement. "A gift, to illustrate my intentions on entering Salarn. I got rid of them." She made doubly sure to emphasise the last point. Venua could hear steps running down stairs as voices chattered before a cry of disgust and a pungent stench pierced the air followed by sounds of gagging and vomitting. A sly and satisfied smile spread onto her face just then. "Found the pair of them wandering near the settlement, hiding among the trees. They were spying on the hamlet, it seemed." She had found an odd orc and goblin pair wandering around the outskirts of the settlement, spying and chattering away to themselves. They never saw her coming.

With quick and decisive blows, her blade had liberated their heads from their bodies, living their bodies lifeless. The young woman placed their heads into a sack, whatever life-blood still contained in them drenching the hide sack a blackish red. Cries of "Oh my god!" before the sack came hurtling back towards her direction. There was no more chatter for a time, until the same voice came back.

"Alright, you've made your point. Speak to the constable if you require more information. The Crossed Swords is the tavern, and they provide warm food a mugs of cold ale." The guard indicated pointing in the general direction of the tavern. The gates slowly opened to let her in, before they closed once more and Venua went straight in, leaving the stinky bag where it lay. It had served its purpose, she had no more use for it. It could rot for all she cared.

The first thing on her mind was to head towards the tavern. Her thirst for ale was real and strong. Eventually approaching the Crossed Swords, she entered and took a seat at the bar, ordering herself a mug of ale.

The roads in town were Salarn were busier than the road to it, but that wasn't saying much. A few drunks who had made an early start on the festivities, street urchins who should be home, grumpy militia men on patrol.

He shuffled past an outfitters, now shuttered for the night. Replacing his missing pack would have to wait a while then, unless he wanted to break in. He stopped for a moment, glanced around to see if anyone was watching – then ran a finger down the door jamb feeling it out. Then called himself an idiot for seriously considering robbing some guys home and business just because he was having a bad day. There was no reason shopping couldn't wait until morning.

There were other matters to attend to, anyhow. The pressing matter of a tavern that he needed to locate before it was drunk dry by revellers for example. So he strode on through the streets, trying to ignore the growing ache in his leg from that recent wound.

He paused at a street corner, noticing the way the streetlights threw shadows here. A man could just stand there and be almost out of sight, if he felt the need to wait for someone. He paused a minute longer, weighing the advantages of an ambush in his mind vs his need to get to the tavern and dull the pain in his leg and his increasingly dry throat. Then he stepped into the shadows and started to wait.

He didn't have to wait as long as he had expected before an urchin came wandering by. Poor kid, ragged old shirt, ragged old trousers, and an equally ragged and torn wool blanket wrapped around him to keep out the night. No shoes. Every town had them, the orphans that luck and gods had left behind. The little guy nearly jumped out of his skin when Kent laid a hand on his shoulder from his hiding spot in the shadows.

“Argh!”

“It's ok.” The weathered dark haired figure spread his arms wide to show he wasn't armed and ment no harm. It didn't occur to him that the the stained tunic he wore was almost as scruffy as the urchin's own. “Shouldn't you be home with your mamma?”

The kid spat on the street. Kent just looked at him, as that answer didn't tell him if the kid even had a home to go to. “Mamma's drunk, better off out here.”

“Wanna make some money?”

“I told 'em, I ain't no thief.” Young boy stood maybe half as high as Kent did himself, and here he was trying his best to stand up before him. Granted, there were still enough people and witnesses around that Kent probably wasn't going to do anything here – but it took a bright kid to realise that. “Might not have much mister, but I got my pride. I ain't gonna rob someone just cause you will beat me if I don't.”

“I'm not looking for a thief.” Kent considered assuring the boy that he wasn't thieves guild either – his reply suggested he had been troubled by them already. “I'm looking for an honest kid, can carry a message.”

“Honest work?” The boy brightened up a bit at the thought.

“Honest work.” He reached into his purse and pulled out a couple of coins. It was a bit too dark for the boy to see them clearly, but both were silver and of good size.

“Awright.”

“One is for the head priest at the temple. Tell him the constable would like to see him in an hour.” Kent held out both coins to the boy, whose eyes widened somewhat on seeing them. “The other is yours for the trouble.”

“Thas a lot of money mister. For me, I mean. Priests do like their silver.” He was almost reluctant to take the offered money, almost not believing his luck. But almost doesn't stop you when someone offers you a chance to buy a whole new set of less worn clothes in return for a brief errand.

“You know there is a war on, yeah?” Kent answered as he started to walk away. “I might die in a battle tomorrow. Figure I can at least buy a young boy some new breaches before I die.”

“I'll see the priest gets your message sir.” Said the boy as the two parted ways in the night. “An Thank ye!”

---

It wouldn't have taken him long to reach the Crossed Swords where promises of strong drink and song awaited him for the slightly less than an hour he had before his meeting with the constable and priest. But something happened. There he was, limping down the road and – for once – mostly minding his own business when he heard shouting from an alley. He couldn't make the words out, and he couldn't hear the distinctive sound of steel on steel on steel on flesh but it was late at night, and a warzone about to be destroyed by undead. Any form of back alley altercation was probably something he wanted to at least know about.

So he ran over there. It wasn't far away so didn't take long.

Two figures at the end of the alleyway.
One armed, the other a minstrel or entertainer or some kind.
A crusading priest – or a man pretending to be one – at his end, with his back to Kent.
And...something in the shadows right at the back.

Kent didn't break stride as he ran round the corner and almost straight past Sundos. He leapt for the bottom of the roof of the house on that side, coming up a little short because of the bad light and jumping a bit too soon. He hung here from his fingertips for a moment scrabbling before he managed to get a foothold and push himself up. He also didn't scream from putting all his weight on his injured leg doing it.

Then he sprinted across that roof, leapt onto the next from which he could finally see the critter hiding in the shadows. Which was a dire wolf, sitting on it's haunches looking somewhat bemused. Well, only about half a dire wolf actually – it must have been quite young.

He looked down at the three figures gathered in that alley.

“Hi.” He tried to shrug nonchalantly. “...Err, would someone mind filling me in on what whatever it was I clearly just missed?”

---

---

Season: Late Fall/Early Winter
Time Of Day: Night has arrived
Weather: The temperature is dropping quickly and the mugginess that hung in the air is starting to clear out with the breeze.
General Ambiance: Most have turned in for the evening, lights around the town dot the uncurtained windows. Inside the tavern is the usual frivolity.
Location: Hamlet of Salarn in the region of Gorlf just south of the Orc Settlement of Yzewz
Setting: Salarn Currently

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---

In the tavern Femnal took the gold coin gleefully and bit it between his pearly white teeth before giving a wink and a nod. “That I will,” he said before sliding out the chair and wandering over to Cremwise, tugging on the end of his coat tails a bit as he motioned towards Keystone. Cremwise took note of the towering brute of a man and nodded before he continued his wandering through the tavern, listening to this and that from those spilling ale and tales of war.

Femnal went back over to the bar and continued to sell his ale and take money for rooms for the evening. He laughed, he joked and he put on quite the show as he balanced an apple on the top of his head, daring any within the tavern to knock it off. Many a man and several women took aim with coins of copper, some utensils and several empty goblets; each flying through the air towards the old mans head. None of which seemed to be enough to strike is off the flat of his head as he jumped and laughed; several items hitting but it remaining in place and a playful tongue sticking out at their feeble attempts.

---

---

”And see what judging the present around you against your past gets you? Nearly an arrow into your eye socket,” Kyra quipped as she dropped the arrow back into its quiver and slung her bow back over her shoulder. ”And you can lower your hands, I onl;y shoot if attacked, never before.”

Kyra gave a sideways glance towards the newest attention to their little shindig that was forming outside of the tavern and perked a brow. This surly was the most mismatched bunch of merry men and women she had come across recently, then again war did breed strange bed fellows. Shrugging slightly she wrapped her fingers around the string of her bow which laid against her chest and adjusted it slightly.

”I am sure there is much to talk about but currently the real conversation I wish to have is with a plate of food and a nice down feathered bed this evening. The tavern is to the north, or so I have been told by Marcus the Constable,” Kyra said as she pulled the hood of her mantle up and tucked her platinum tendrils back beneath the fur lines leather hood.

”And don’t worry little one, not all wolves are bad, they are just….how do you say? Moody,” she chuckled before giving the group a bit of a wave and heading towards the tavern.

She had been traveling far longer than she would have liked and right then kicking her feet up, enjoying a bit of food and sleep sounds far more enticing than a drink. Drink was the last thing she wanted, with Orc attacks, the prospect of Goblins and more looming over her thoughts she did not want to dull her senses. She slowed her walk a bit as she heard yet another new comer show up and speak; glancing over her shoulder she looked the man over a minute before she decided to answer.

”Just a bit of misjudging character is all,” she said softly before giving a nod and continuing on her way.



Within the tavern Femnal continued his teasing and torturing of the patrons, daring each to take another shot and stating that he would provide free room and board for the week to any that could actually throw the apple from its resting place. A quick whistle of air and the apple was scored through its center and ended up impaled through the back wall of the tavern, held in place by a fine tipped arrow. The tavern owner froze in his place as juice rolled down between his eyes and he turned sharply to see who had let the arrow fly.

Standing in the doorway of the tavern a bow went reslung to a figures back as the hood of a cloak was drawn back and silver like hair fell from beneath. An amused smirk graced the lips of Kyra as the room fell silent for a bit, unaccustomed to such a thing within the tavern walls.

”So, about that room?” she said as she brushed passed the people in the tavern and walked over towards Femnal, who was now cleaning the juice from his face with a wet bar rag.

“Well I’ll be, room is all yours lass,” he said laughing as he tossed a key over to her and she caught it lightly within her fingers. Stepping over to the arrow she pulled it from the wall and took a bite of the apple. The people within the tavern taunting Femnal that a little girl had taken his apple, a first for those that were there to witness. He just laughed it off as he watched Kyra sit down at a table, Cremwise eying her intently as she did so.

Sundos smirked as he lowered his hands. He looked up at the man on the roof and those around him and said,"Now we can do proper introductions. I am Sundos Solito of Lathander, the MorningLord. May the Glory of Lathander always shine upon you. I have come far and been on the road alone for too long. I would welcome the company. After the others introduce themselves (or not), he continued,"Allow me a few minutes to see to Honor, my mount, then I shall join you inside. A glass of wine would be good right now. Sisters, Brothers." He nodded to Thelin as called him 'brother' and gave a slight bow as he left the others.

Sundos led his horse to the tavern's stable. A young lad run out to take the horse from Sundos. Much of Sundos' childhood was spent working in the stables and caring for the temple's horses. Seeing and smelling the stable hand brought back many fond memories of his youth. Sundos watched the others enter the tavern.

Petting the horse's face Sundos said,"This is Honor. She is a great and noble mount. She has saved my life more than once. Please care for her. She has been on the road a long time. Would you please take my shield and helmet to the tavern when you are able to? The saddle bags and crossbow can just stay in the stables. Please do not play with the crossbow, it is not a toy. Ware the Darkness, but Dawn shall arrive soon." He gave the led a copper coin for this trouble.

As she took a seat at the bar, Venua signaled the barkeeper, an energetic and excitable gnome tending to other customers, taking their orders and filling their respective mugs of ale and other alcoholic beverages. The gnome was laughing and joking around with her fellow patrons, balancing an apple on his head starting a mini game of his own. The bar maids seem to be busy as well, tending to the other patrons, spending a noticeably longer time with the male patrons of the tavern. Preoccupied with his game, the barkeep failed to notice her, so she grabbed a passing bar maiden through the arm, indicating that she wanted a mug of ale and some hot food. "I'll be wanting a hot food, something savoury and a nice frothy mug of ale." She then retrieved a few coppers from her pouch, placing them into the girl's hand to show that she had money to pay for what she'd asked.

The young bar maiden widened her eyes in surprise at her rather intimidating appearance, war-paint and all in its full glory. She simply nodded in answer before she went to carry out whatever she was supposed to do. Several minutes later, Venua was accompanied with a mug of frothy ale and a plate of savoury meat stew that was adequately spiced. The gravy was decent and the ale was pleasant, and that was all she could ask for in a place like this. No one had managed to knock down the apple on the gnome's head yet, despite the flurry of objects that had been flung at him. Then the apple was gone, shot by an arrow fired by a fair-haired girl. Attempting once more to get the attention of the gnome, she waved, gestured wildly as she asked. "Hey! You there, Tavern owner! Do you have any room left for a night or two? If there's no rooms available then a bed will do as well. Looks like I may be staying here for a bit."

Persephone listened to Lucan's estimation of the man in question, the one with the large hat, and she nodded slightly. "He does have the appearance that he's done fairly well for himself, doesn't he?" The comparison immediately came up in her mind with marks she used to pick out for herself as a child and a young teen, back in the city. Well-fed men who felt the need to flaunt their status on the streets with finery. She didn't necessarily still lump men like him in the same category now that she was older, but as a child Seph most certainly would've wanted to follow this one, and reach her little hands where he kept his undoubtedly heavy coin pouch.

"I don't know about you, but I'm interested." Being the naturally curious sort, Seph found a number of the tavern's patrons to be of interest, in the way that she had found Lucan interesting. Skilled-looking sorts on the fringes of war, each for their own reasons. For everyone had to have a reason to stay, did they not? If they lived here they were either defending their homes or otherwise unable to leave, but the visitors all had options, and made the choice to come here.

Smirking slightly, Persephone sat up a little straighter, and whistled loud enough for the sound to carry. She signaled with a brief wave when she had a chance to catch the man's eye. "Excuse me? Yes, you there. Mind breaking a few words with us?" She hoped Lucan didn't mind, too. "Can we help you with something?"

Location: Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern: Private Rooms (2F)

Interacting With: Bathtub, Barmaid

Ignoring the snowballing abdominal rumble, Keystone set to the daunting task of his personal hygiene. He passed the coarse rag over his powerful form, unconcealed by the civilized trappings of "clothing". For the first time in a long while, he took stock of the disturbing coverage of bodily scarring he had acquired over his lifetime.

He could recall every injury that led to the Roadmap of Ouch upon his body; a broken bottle here, knife wound there. It was his way of marking the passing of time. Like tree rings, he had said once. As his memory of each scar resurfaced from the shadows of his psyche, the faintest echo of the pain of their creation played in his flesh.

The highest concentrations of imperfectly healed skin marked his childhood and the beginnings of his career fighting. He had learned much since his younger days - many lessons those he broke and destroyed did not. The scars gradually became fewer and lighter.

Until the past few years, anyway.

His present state, something of an Errant, put him out into a wider and more dangerous world. For the longest time, he existed in a realm thick with magic as a wanderer, utilizing neither arms nor arcane knowledge, learning more of his craft and quite inadvertently involving himself with one epic story or another. Almost without exception, they involved battling hordes of the Undead.

Lucky for him, this was merely a territorial dispute with Orcs.

A knock at the door snapped Keystone from his thoughts. "Bintfisting 'ell you want?" he snapped at whomever was on the other side. Thought-interrupting bastard. A woman's voice, sweet but impatient answered from the hallway.

"You wanted a bottle of something 'local, floral, and goat-stink-peeling?', sir? Do you want me to leave it out here?"

"Yeah, um... sorry love, door's open. Bring it in, wouldja?" Keystone called back, anxious to sample the local flavor via flammable liquid but unwilling to exit the hot water of his bath to do so. The brawler in repose leaned just over the rim, grabbing for the his coinpurse. Though an unsociable bastard, Keystone tipped when comfortably able. It ensured vigorous attention in a way that his own misunderstood people skills could not. As it turned out, his last venture was profitable; he could share a little of the spoils with the working class - a state that, long ago, he aspired upward towards.

The barmaid entered with the solid proficiency of a woman who had done this hundreds of times. Her mood and action was impersonal yet polite, professional yet open. She was a few years older than Keystone, light of hair and pretty, if hardened of feature. She carried a small metal tray, upon which rested a ceramic bottle and a single glass tumbler. Without hesitation, the woman delivered it tubside, and introduced herself as Brighid.

Keystone nodded and handed her a silver coin. Brighid poured him a healthy dram of the liquid. The smell of the home-brewed liqour cut through the damp, steamy air, heavy and sour-sweet with whatever was used in its distillation and flavoring. The veteran service lady took the opportunity to give her guest a long look, allowing her eyes to go wide at the thought of a man who would let himself go through so much punishment, to allow his body to become thusly marked permanently by other people's aggression.

Totally mistaking the intent of her gaze, Keystone prompted, "Care to join, y'ladyship? Got plenty for two, if you get me..."

Brighid smiled, took up the glass she had just pored and leaned in close to Keystone's ear. She tilted her head back and drained its contents, allowing the soaking pugilist to catch a peripheral look at her respectable cleavage. With a breathy whisper, she intoned,

"It will take more than a shot and a silver for that, boy."

She tapped the glass flatly back onto the tray, rose, and strode confidently toward the door. "If there's anything else you need, m'lord, don't hesitate to ask."

As the door closed behind her, Keystone took a pull straight from the bottle, wondering precisely why he felt like a jackass at that moment. "Ey! I said floral, not fruity! Aw, bloody 'ell... n'mind."

Brighid was an interesting woman. He might have to meditate on her later.

Lucan's interest and curiosity was no where near the degree of Persephone's. Whereas she clearly desired to know more of the merchant - who looked precisely like the kind of man Lucan would rob on the road - and his intentions, Lucan would've preferred to remain entirely unnoticed by the man. He did not speak out however, nor make any effort to stop her from garnering the attention of the man with the large hat, instead reaching up to grasp his scarf, pulling it slightly upward in a feeble and entirely pointless attempt to conceal himself, barely tucking it over his mouth as he watched the man.

It wasn't that Lucan was afraid of being recognized, rather he just wished to remain unassuming, he wasn't in Salarn looking for work, coin, adventure, or anything really. He just wanted to spend the night there, and move on the next day as he had originally planned. He wasn't going anywhere, at least not in particular, and he had no real itinerary he needed to stick to, but Lucan didn't like to be held up, his last encounter with Captain Yorke, the bounty hunter particularly intent on hunting him down, had only been a short time ago, and he figured if he remained much longer, the man would catch up to him again.

Then again, there was not that much harm to just listening to the man, what he had to say might've been interesting enough, perhaps even, should the right mood strike Lucan, along with the appropriate sum of gold and no need to remain in one place, he would even consider taking up whatever work the merchant was looking to offer to the most able-bodied present. As the fat man with the large hat made his way over to their booth, Lucan glanced over to the door, watching as the new, large group of adventurers came in. Almost all of them looked like the sort of do-gooder heroes that he figured this merchant was dying to find, especially the cleric, at least he assumed it was a cleric, you could usually point them out from the mace and the 'holier-than-thou' way they held themselves.

The woman who wandered in along and took a seat at the bar, her face covered in war-paint looked more Lucan's style, she had the kind of rough and tumble weight about her that one only got from a tough, on-the-road warriors lifestyle, he appreciated it. It reminded him a great deal of the other sorts of bandits he'd fight alongside, he always got along with them well, and they were always especially fun to drink with. Tilting his head back away from the other patrons, he set his gaze on the merchant as he approached.

All a missunderstanding huh? Well, whatever it was it was clearly over now. And it also seemed everyone else involved wanted to get to the inn at least as much as he did. He hoped they didn't assume he was following them – they just happened to be going to the same place he was. At the same time. He still had a bit under an hour to find a constable in, and that was plenty enough time for a drink or two first. Besides, the Constable probably hadn't had a rest all day and would be thankful of a drink too.

The inn should have been packed. The earlier victory ment that anyone who had held a sword in it should be in here drinking to the fact they didn't die. And looking for whores – something about killing almost always made people horny. Then there was the fact this village had been hastily fortified, so should be packed with refugees. And yet the moment he stepped through the doorway, he could see some empty chairs. Not very many, but empty chairs none the less. Still, it was a big inn. Maybe it just had room to spare. Heck, maybe they even still had rooms to spare. That would be nice.

Kent picked his way through the mass of people as quickly as he could trying to get to the bar. It was clear there were plenty of new faces here. There were also a few muttered apologies as he bumped into people getting to the bar, but that was to be expected.

It took a few more moments before he managed to get the attention of a barmaid.

“What can I get you, darling?” She probably called everyone darling, including trolls and lepers.

“Let me describe it.” Kent half shouted at her across the bar. “You know how on market day when you get some young blowhard in here with a farmgirl on his arm, desperate to impress her?”

“Yeah?” She wasn't quite sure where this was going.

“You know how he always wants to buy the strongest thing you have, just to prove how tough and manly he is?”

“Yeah...”

“...And you serve him some frightful rotgut thats stronger than dwarfsteel and feels like razorblades tore his throat open so he coughs and chokes and looks like an idiot?”

“Yeah.”

“I'd like a big bottle of that.” He handed some coins to the barmaid....then, remembering he was intending to grab something for the Constable as well added as an afterthought “An a bottle of decent whiskey if you would.”

He tucked the whiskey under his arm as he turned back to look around the bar and pulled the top off the other bottle. Where had she gone? That girl from the alley? As he looked around the tavern he lifted the bottle to his lips, took a big gulp and made a face like someone had just kicked him in the bollocks. Wow. That barmaid wasn't paid anywhere near enough. This really was strong, and it tasted like a cross between horse piss and lava. It was exactly what he wanted.

Ahha! There she was! Sat at a table near some fat merchant. He picked his way through the tavern to Kyra's table. She was prettier up close than she was in the dark from a rooftop. Looked stronger too.

“Now, I should probably ask if this seat at the lady's table is taken. But given there arn't actually that many seats left...” He said by way of introduction as he took another gulp of rotgut and sat down. “What I am actually going to do is sit down and hope you forgive me.”

“Can I get you a drink or something to make up for the inconvenience?” He glanced around, looking for a passing barmaid. “Nice shooting with the apple by the way.”

“I don't mean hitting it – you were maybe ten yards away at most. Many a seasoned archer could have done that.” He took another drink as he continued his disjointed monolog, enjoying the way the fire from the rotgut was seeping into his gut and bones. “I mean the shot itself. You had your bow off your shoulder, knocked, drawn and loosed before anyone blinked. That was impressive.”

“Now, given you can move and shoot like that, I don't think a nice lady like you is really here because of the drink...” He lent back in his chair, almost ready to give her a chance to speak. “Are you?”

Thelin too made his way to the bar, fading well into the group walking with him. He was nearly invisible in the group's forest like legs. At least to him they were that way. It was one of the best parts of being a gnome who enjoyed not being seen. He quickly remembered the not so fun part of being a gnome in a town obviously not settled by his people, and that was the distance between everything. It was all so far away, maybe not for someone twice his height, but for a man of his stature and his less than 2 foot legs, it meant a lot of power walking to keep up and eventually he simply fell behind, not finding the effort to be worth his time. "Ah, would it kill you guys to slow down? Walking so fast is so... not fun." the gnome complained. He watched the group walk on and had to jog to keep up, jostling the now overly tired hummingbirds awake once more. They were displeased but flitted about until he reached the tavern, where they quickly dispersed and announced his arrival.

It had seemed he was the last of the group to arrive, at least he thought. There were so many humans around it was hard to pick the ones he knew from the crowd and that's when he saw it. An oasis in this desert of humans. Another gnome, and he seemed to be running the place. Thelin was ecstatic to say the least and climbed up a bar stool, his chin peeking over the edge of a table and he stared for a moment at this gnome. This reminder of home, his natural movements and emotions so pure, so happy. It was the greatest mix of homesickness and euphoria that even the most skilled of bards could not portray in song! He hopped up, now standing on his chair and forgetting he wasn't buying his own drink that night. "This gnome needs a drink! And it'd be a shame he drink without his kin!" he yelped. He was holding a few coins above his head and he watched as the gnome perked up and looked to him. The smiles shared across the room were one for the history books.

---

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Season: Late Fall/Early Winter
Time Of Day: Night has arrived
Weather: The temperature is dropping quickly and the mugginess that hung in the air is starting to clear out with the breeze.
General Ambiance: Most have turned in for the evening, lights around the town dot the uncurtained windows. Inside the tavern is the usual frivolity.
Location: Hamlet of Salarn in the region of Gorlf just south of the Orc Settlement of Yzewz
Setting: Salarn Currently

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---

Femnal chuckled as he watched Kyra, he was impressed by the shot she had made. Not because she had hit the Apple but because he had always used magic to keep it on his head; a little bar trick he had picked up as his days as a wizard before he had settled down in Salarn. It wasn't much but it took one heck of a hit to remove it from his head. She had been the first, so he was rather impressed.

Looking over Venua as she got his attention and smiled broadly over towards her. Skipping over to her he pulled out his ring of keys and went over the options and costs just as he had done with Keystone not too long before. A copper a night for the shared room, a silver a night for a private room. He wasn't used to so many being in the tavern and looking for lodging but war had its benefits for those who had beds. He was thankful he had built the place to be larger than it needed to be. Seemed tonight it was paying off on spades.

Crimwise perked a brow as he was spoken to and shrugged before having a seat, picking his teeth slightly as he eyed the woman and man she had been speaking with. Hos eyes wandered over to Kyra for a minute before looking back towards Persephone and smiling at her.

"Maybe you can!" he said excitedly. "You know that woman over there? I'm looking for some people to travel with me and my cart of goods tomorrow. I'm just a humble merchant, Cremwise is the name, and I have to travel through orc territory. Need some protection just in case. She looks like she could be useful, what about you?" he asked as he flicked a piece of food off the top of his finger.

Femnal looked over at Thelin and laughed. "Ey it would!! Don't get much of our own out in these parts," he said motioning towards one of the barmaids. She quickly coming over with a couple of points for the brothers from other mothers.

"To us!" he cheered.

---

---

Kyra had already put in an order of food and the room was well taken care of. Leaning back in her seat she crossed her arms and let them rest in her lap as she watched everyone around her; taking mental note of those she felt she would need to speak with later. There were several she felt that might be able to give her information. Whether they did or not, only time would tell. That was if they were there Come morning. Tonight she was just wishing to relax, alone.

Seemed that wish was going unanswered this evening as Saul wandered over and sat himself down at her table. A slender dark brow arched deeply as she watched him, something of an incredulous look sweeping across her features as she listened to him.

"No, no thank you to the drink," she said as she straightened her posture. "I don't feel like it is wise to bury ones senses at the bottom of a bottle when war is knocking at your front door," she said with a rather charming smirk gracing her lips. The barmaid brought over her food, sliding in without a word before slipping away again.

"And no I am not, I was sent here to do some investigating," she answered as she placed her napkin in her lap. Eloquently she cut a small piece of meet, having the manners of an elven princess instead of that as a common ranger. "And what brings you here, other than to drown out memory?" she said with a quaint chuckle before she bit the food off the end of her fork. Chewing quietly as she watched the man and awaited an answer.

“Wisdom an me, we never did see eye to eye.” He stretched out, not realising he was sighing slightly as he took the weight off his injured leg.

Somewhere in the crowd, someone found the courage to pick up a lyre. Their voice was strong, able to carry mostly over the hubbub and conversation in the inn.

Axes flash, broadsword swing,
Shining armour's piercing ring
Horses run with polished shield,
Fight Those Bastards till They Yield
Midnight mare and blood red roan,
Fight to Keep this Land Your Own
Sound the horn and call the cry,
How Many of Them Can We Make Die!

“Yeah, I'm here for the booze. I was pretty much out, and I don't see the sense in dying sad.” He raised the rotgut to his lips again and mostly kept a straight face as he took a few gulps. “Investigating, you say?”

Follow orders as you're told,
Make Their Yellow Blood Run Cold
Fight until you die or drop,
A Force Like Ours is Hard to Stop
Close your mind to stress and pain,
Fight till You're No Longer Sane
Let not one damn cur pass by,
How Many of Them Can We Make Die!

“You don't look like a marshal of the law...although you do have the smirk for it.” He placed the bottle on the table, shifted slightly in his seat. “But I am looking for more than just bad booze, a good bed, and a cheap girl.”

Guard your women and children well,
Send These Bastards Back to Hell
We'll teach them the ways of war,
They Won't Come Here Any More
Use your shield and use your head,
Fight till Every One is Dead
Raise the flag up to the sky,
How Many of Them Can We Make Die!

“I took a nasty fall on the way here, an I'm looking for a priest. That's why I'm here.” The implication was that he wanted to ask the priest to heal him. The fall had nothing to do with his injury of course, and the injury was nothing to do with the real reasons he felt a pressing need to find a priest. But the clear implication was otherwise. “What are you investigating? I might be able to help.”

Dawn has broke, the time has come,
Move Your Feet to a Marching Drum
We'll win the war and pay the toll,
We'll Fight as One in Heart and Soul
Midnight mare and blood red roan,
Fight to Keep this Land Your Own
Sound the horn and call the cry,
How Many of Them Can We Make Die!

“An I do believe in my rush to introduce myself earlier, I rather forgot to do exactly that.” He held out a grubby and slightly calloused hand. “I'm Saul.”

Persephone's eyes followed the gaze of this Cremwise as he looked over at Kyra, and shared his plans with her. She nodded her head in agreement. "Certainly, she seems to know her way around that bow of hers quite well." It demonstrated a great deal of confidence, loosing an arrow aimed so close to the gnome's head, and Seph wasn't quite sure how she felt about that. Skill was one thing, and good to know when one had it. Confidence was not dangerous in of itself. But a mere bump of her arm, highly possible in a crowded tavern such as this, could've sent the arrow through the gnome's throat instead. It seemed an unnecessary risk to take for the cause of... what? Showboating?

But Seph pushed the thought from her mind. The snow-haired woman had made the shot, and that was that. "You would do well to have more than a lone archer in your service, though. Orcs are more than hardy enough to withstand an arrow, and are not known to fight their battles at range." She glanced around, taking note of the growing number of skilled-looking figures arriving in the tavern, few enough of which she recognized from the militia. "But I don't doubt you'll find all the help you need here."

She took a long drink of her ale, tipping the mug back and draining the last of it. She sighed, contentedly. "I myself am Persephone, a traveling healer by trade, though I can hold my own in an armed conflict. I would be willing to lend you my services, if you believe a healer would be of use. An insurance policy, no doubt, I'm sure things will go smoothly enough, but good to have along, no?" She smiled at Cremwise, clapping her hands together softly.

"For a modest compensation, of course." Seph was often willing to lend her aid for no charge, but that was typically for those already wounded, weak, or poor. Cremwise was none of the three, and thus if he desired a skilled healer's help, there would need to be some exchange of coin to cover the expense. She glanced over at Lucan.

"Looks like I may be leaving town sooner than expected."

Tucked slightly back into the booth he sat in, Lucan allowed his eyes to drift back over to Kyra as the merchant motioned in her direction, one of those who had just entered the bar. He saw her little trick shooting an arrow off the gnome's head, and was reasonably impressed. He himself had done the trick a few times, of course, it was always rigged when he had done so - part of one of many cons in his usual act. But he could tell she had not rigged it in her favour, rather, she was just a remarkable shot, it was no surprise to Lucan that the merchant looking for protection had settled his gaze on her.

Turning his head back toward the merchant, he crossed his arms over his chest, listening with only mild interest to what the man had to say. It was as he had expected, the man was looking for protection while he moved his wares, why he was moving them through orc territory was odd, but he assumed it was to save time, rather than anything else. Really, the fact the work would go into orc territory was the only part of what Cremwise had to say that interested Lucan to any degree. His tail was tenacious, but even if he had the gall to follow Lucan into orc lands, he would be slowed down enough that Lucan might have had a chance to lose his tail, maybe head somewhere like Neverwinter where he might be able to hide for at least a few years before he was found again.

There was also the fact that Lucan was indeed running out of coin, that had not entirely been a lie. He had enough for a room and some more supplies, but fairly soon he was going to run out, and robbing another merchant on the road or whoever else he might've come across - while giving him some cash, would just give Yorke another lead from which to follow him. A little more coin, especially earned in a more honest sense, couldn't have hurt. He gave Persephone a gentle nod as she agreed to join the merchant on his trip, still considering it himself quietly.

After she finished speaking, he finally spoke up himself. "How much are you offering exactly? He questioned the merchant, for Lucan it had now boiled down to this, if he liked the number which was given to him, it was more than likely he would've offered his services along with Persephone, if not, then he would bid the two farewell, purchase a room and be off the next day, provided the rest of the night went as planned.

Location: Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern: Private Rooms (2F)

Interacting With: Everyone, whether he knows it or not.

The distress had moved to his lower abdomen now, a beast fighting for egress. It had become pain, actual pain, far from being merely uncomfortable as earlier this evening. This seemed to always happen when he moved to another area. He had suspected that it was the change of location; new food and methods of preparation seemed to throw his intestinal balance off, despite the fact that it was one of the very things that drew him ever onward to new locales.

Oddly enough, when he personally used new techniques, it didn't seem to bother him quite as much.

Postulating on the root cause of his disturbance did nothing to ease the present situation, however. He knew what was to occur next. All he could do was brace for it, and put his mind in a happy place. Perhaps it for the best that Brighid tactfully withdrew from his clumsy attempt at first-meeting coitus. He had no desire to kill her.

Keystone held his hands out in front of him, still seated in the warm water of the brass bathtub. He closed his eyes and let out a massive exhale, centering himself for the fight to come. The pugilist bulwarked his nerve and tried to offload the pressure in a light, sustained release.

He failed.

By the second of the first breach, Keystone knew that he was doomed to failure. The constant shoving against his colon wall, equal in ferocity in all directions, lay contained in too small a space for too long to go gentle. What began as a nonosecond of barely noticable squeaking exploded from him into something monstrous. Something worthy of poetry, dark and terrible. A battlecry of the sadistically faithful against the onslaught of the righteous. His ass shouted.

The rectal roar deepened in intensity, displacing the warm water under which it struggled. the mere shock of the first moment of this constant, unabated arseblast moved the once cleansing liquid away from Keystone, simultaneously slamming his back flat against the tub wall. The blow knocked the wind from the battle-hardened fighter and forced him to grab the rim on either side of himself, his iron grip the only thing preventing him from being propelled from the 20 gallons of ass soup he steadily and involuntarily brought into being.

Keystone gulped and horked for air, giving frantic prayer to gods he didn't fully support to allow him the regained use of his lungs. Slowing his mind, he opened his airway seemingly by way of pure willpower, and took in a chestful of sweet, blessed air.

Except that it wasn't.

His dietary choices, and the methane based horror of their escape, had turned the atmosphere of his bathing room toxic. If not deadly in their own right, the noxious Thunder From Below coupled with the warm, wet environs mingled together in ways perilous for sustained human activity. This tainted, but life-sustaining air was the only thing keeping Keystone conscious, though it threatened to take said consciousness away at any moment.

He knew then the awful truth of this - Keystone, Slayer of Undead, Warrior of Slums and Badlands, Protector of Innocent(ish) Barmaidens, Weilder of Righteous Fury and Master of Unarmed Combat, must fight. Fight for his very survival. Fight for the lives of those who he would one day save. He must fight, lest the darkness take him, and claim any who approached Room 2F unawares.

"I made you, you bloody Arse Demon!" he shouted over the ongoing underwater hamflappery, determination and rage building within him, "You're my task now, me old beauty! RAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

Below, in the common room of the Tavern Proper, one could plainly hear the Battle of 2F taking place, but no one thought much of it at first, let alone understood the nature of the noise upstairs. Keystone's roar, and what followed, brought conversations and music to a sour halt.

Drawing from his experience studying under Shou and Xiang Masters, Keystone steeled his resolve, flexed and released his sculpted abdominals in such a way as to center and steady his physicality. A lesson about force and direction crept into his thoughts, as taught by Grandmaster Feng, martial artist and philosopher of great renoun:

"When traveling down angry water, one will lose control fighting against the current. Instead, endeavor to move faster than the river. Only then will you be able to steer your boat away from the rocks."

A moment of clarity hit. He knew what he must do. The Juggerfart continued, but instead of attempting to contain, Keystone redoubled his roar into a cry of defiance and bore down, forcing his angry ass air from his body with the control of a trained aesthetic. It was then that the Pillars of Heaven shook. As did the Crossed Swords.

A concussive wave, part flatulence and part harnessed Chi, radiated outward from Keystone, knocking unsecured knick-knacks from their resting places inside the room. The roars, both his and his ass's, grew to kaiju-esque proportions and took on demonic undertones. Keystone paused for breath. The fart did not.

The sound was the trumpet of a screaming elephant, held underwater and thrashing in its death throes. A deafening, bubbly, bass staccato, scream-murmuring through cloudy oil. The constant, unabated horror reserved for an afterlife of judgement, a sound which drives the sane to madness and the fractured to perfect alignment. A noise that sent all non-sentients scurrying for dear life for miles around, invoking a fear so primal as to not have a proper name in any of the languages of Men or Elves. Horses neighed fearfully, bucking against their handlers. Trees cried blood. The First Seal of Armageddon started to hairline.

The Kraken had been released, and it was angry.

---

Slowly, laboriously, painfully, Keystone recovered himself. He noted with amazement that his tub, while emptier, had not been befouled. The surviving pugilist climbed unsteadily from his place of battle, changed into fresh clothes, and clasped on his bracers. His drink had somehow survived the brouhaha, a fact for which he was particularly grateful.

Keystone sat on his bed and poured a glass with an unsteady hand. One drink down, he opened the shutters to his window, hoping the night air would carry the brunt of this remaining nightmare away.

Satisfied that no one would die, the Errant Monk donned his layered leather coat and trudged back downstairs, hoping there was still an opportunity to enjoy the evening before the inevitable happened - the same inevitable thing that always happens when he graced an unstable situation with his company.

After seeing to his mount, Sundos entered the tavern. he always knew taverns smelled bad, but he has never smelt one as bad as the Cross Swords. Maybe it was chili night...

He had heard of the victory today over the orcs. He had mixed emotions about it. He was happy the hamlet was safe, for now and they had a great victory. However, he was sad and angry with himself for not arriving in time to help in the battle. He was sure that if he had arrived in time, he could have helped save lives of the defenders.

Sundos saw Thelin at the bar with another gnome. He felt bad that he had mistaken him for a small human girl. Of course, he could never tell Thelin, but he feared the damage has already been done.

There were empty tables in the dining hall. But Sundos had been alone for too long on the road. He wanted to sit with people he knew. He saw two warriors from out in the street. He could not say they were "friendly" but he didn't want to eat alone again.

Sundos approached the table where Kyra and Saul sat and said, "Excuse me, Sister Kyra, Brother Saul, would you mind if I joined you two?" Not waiting for an answer, he sat down as he spoke.

A young barmaid came to the table and asked Sundos for his order. "Yes, Sister, may I have a glass of Chateau de Beaucastel Chateauneuf-du-Pape wine?" Being told they don't have that, Sundos listed three other makes of wine before giving up and asking for a glass of "house wine". After being told there was no wine, Sundos replied, "Fine... please bring me a glass of ale, a glass or water and an empty glass." Looking at how few coins he had in his coin pouch, he asked, "Maybe, just bring me the water? No ale. And a bowl of stew, please, Sister."

Looking at Saul, he continued, "Brother, are you injured? I noticed you were limping as you entered the tavern. I have some small healing blessings. If you like, I can attempt to heal your wounds."

He watched the others talk, his face nonchalant, his ears sharp and that precious bottle of moonshine getting lighter and lighter.

The merchant nearby was rounding up mercenaries to join him on some errand into harm's way. He'd talked a raven haired lady into joining him first. She dressed like a travelling peasant or priest, although she sensibly wore plate boots so clearly wasn't that poor. She didn't move like a peasant tho – there was a fluid grace and pose to her that spoke of training and discipline. One to watch that one. He found himself watching her for a little longer than was perhaps polite, and he was just turning back to the table when he saw her smile. She smiled like a real, kind, loving person – not a killer. He liked that.

Which was more than could be said for the dashing swashbuckler opposite her. He had a warmer smile than her, the sort of rakish good looks that would have girls lining up in a ballroom and the sort of lazy self confidence that only came from killing someone – and knowing you could do so again. Kent couldn't help but feel he should be able to place that mans face from somewhere too.

“It's just a slight stabbing, I'm sure it will be fine. I thank you for the offer mind.” He answered the fresh faced cleric. But the boy seemed to bear no orc clan markings, so probably had no right to call him battle Brother. It would be a rare lightbringer that had stood beside the scarred clans in battle. “And I doubt very much I am your Brother. I would thank you not to use the title again.”

But what about this priest who had sat down with them? He was young, and had lousy taste in booze. However, there was no arguing that a cleric was exactly what they needed right now. Let's just hope this one had the courage to see it through.

“A pleasure to meet you, m'lady. I hope your investigations go well, and look forward to another chance to chat. However this night grows late, and I have an appointment.” Kent pulled himself to his feet, bowed a little to the archer infront of him as she finished her dinner. He picked up the whiskey bottle from the bench behind him and then took another long swig from his own bottle. Then tapped Sundos on the shoulder. “Come on father, you should probably join me for this. I regret the work of the gods rarely has the decency to wait for a man to finish his dinner.”

And with that said Kent made his way to the doorway and out to his intended rendezvous with the constable and the local priest, swaying a little on his feet from the rotgut. He only looked back to see who was following him the once as he left the Crossed Swords.

---

---

Season: Late Fall/Early Winter
Time Of Day: Night has arrived
Weather: The temperature is dropping quickly and the mugginess that hung in the air is starting to clear out with the breeze.
General Ambiance: Most have turned in for the evening, lights around the town dot the uncurtained windows. Inside the tavern is the usual frivolity.
Location: Hamlet of Salarn in the region of Gorlf just south of the Orc Settlement of Yzewz
Setting: Salarn Currently

---

---

Cremwise smiled at the two with a big toothy grin, happy to see some may come with him bit he would need to know a bit more and while one already seemed handy, he was still interested in the fair haired woman who had already shown skill; one that he felt would be useful.

"Well of course compensation would be in order but to give such a quote without knowing more about you and your cohort here would be unwise. Would be best if you told me a bit more about yourselves. And I am sure you would care to know more about just what you are getting yourself into before we venture it," he said with a charismatic flourish of his hand.

Kyra, in the meantime ate quietly, enjoying the song somewhat, it was a nice change to the screams and thralls of death which came from battle. Resting back in her seat, she nodded to the question and rested her silverware on her plate.

"Yes, I was sent by the King of the Woodland realms to check on a few matters," she said cordially. She kept it short and sweet, if he wished to know more he could ask and she wouldn't lie but she felt it prudent not to show her entire hand at once.

Then it happened, it was slow and muffled at first; causing Kyra to gain a rather perplexed look on her features. Then it grew, the boards of the floor above her table seemed to quake slightly, rattling like Jacob Marleys shackles and sounding twice as ominous. Slowly her head tilted back, eyes widened as she placed her hands on the edge of the table and pressing back slightly.

"That sounds obscene," Kyra muttered under her breath.

The noise grew, death thralls of Water Dragons were more pleasant to the ear. The tavern seemed to go silent as men looked at each other, shaking their heads no; denial that they were the cause of such a monstrous rear exiting of bodily noise. A voice from above, was it God? Or had God just been driven out of heaven by an angel of hemorrhoidal abyss?

No one was left time to ponder, the smell hit like a fog of rotting flesh; seeping through the cracks of wood that were no protection to those on the ground floor from the acid death from above. Kyras hand covered her nose and mouth, dry heaving as it hit her first. Others soon followed suit, several rushing out the door for fresh air.

The place was in havoc thanks to the sounds and smells from above. Femnal wrapping a wet rag around his face, eyes widening as Keystone came down the stairs.

"Dear sir, your gold is spent! It will take me a fortnight to clear out the smell!" he yelled towards Keystone.

Location: Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern

Interacting With: Femnal

So, they did know it was him... And he had tried so hard to be subtle. Sooo very hard. A multitude of potentially sarcastic responses swirled in Keystone's head as he descended the last few stairs. He opened his mouth to speak one aloud, but thought the better of it.

Truth be told, Keystone had been in this situation before. Not quite as publicly, but it's not like he hadn't done socially upsetting things in full view of the citizenry before. At least this time, he was clothed. Not wearing pants makes many situations worse, he'd discovered in hindsight. Now, for this instance, he knew how to handle it.

"Yellow Sulphur, little squire." he intoned, voice flat and seemingly disinterested. "Any chemist'll have it, or a really good culinarian'll powder some yolks. Touch a little to fire. Air the room. Problem solved." Though detached, his words carried the feel of certainty and experience in the matter.

He sauntered up to the bar and lay a silver coin in front of him. "Now, if my coin from earlier's no good," he narrowed his eyes at the bubbly proprietor, "This'll have to cover my drinks tonight. I'll be havin' an ale, then. Bigg'un." His solid underclass accent seemed bolstered by irritation.

"And I'll be looking for opportunity to recover my losses. Got talents to trade with, y'see."