From the Primal tongue,
Language of the ancient ones,
Supernal the voice of the gods,
Mother of all that is spoken,
common, elvish, dwarven, dragon,
goblin, ork, giant, and gnome,
There the tower lies sundered,
and so the word is broken.

Ntaj's use of elvish was... Surprising. And surprisingly well spoken compared to his common. Although the bar wasn't set too high on that, then again, Thomas' use of Dwarven was akin to Ntaj's common. The dwarven tongue was not quite the most pleasant of languages to the untrained ear. Compared to elven which flowed a bit better than the guttural runes of the bearded folk.

{"You surprise me Ntaj, Then there is not much I can offer as your elven may surpass mine!"} A joyous exclamation, as a joke shared between two companions may in their secret tongue. Not barring that the others did not know elven, but if such was the case, perhaps they could all speak elven through the entirety of their three days. Turning to Cyneburg who had chimed in "I would also be grateful for it, two teachers are better than one, who knows, maybe I'll be able to hold a conversation between the three of us yet." A smiling hopeful Thomas beamed like the radiant sun, his cosmic self projecting outwards to illuminate the warmth he felt compared to the coldness earlier. And yet the comeuppance of a scholar in a lot of pragmatics came.

In the form of something uncouth.
So very uncouth.

In drunken stupor, that just happened. So immaculately portrayed that nothing more could be said. For what more could be spoken of an inebriated belch that made Altas himself shrug? Or at the very least Thomas nearly fall back down in the glorious minutes of Keystone's symphony. Although had Thomas known of Keystone's musicality, he should be more than pleased to experience the burp from the man's mouth, than to appreciate what could come out from the other end of his rather boisterous trumpet. Better to take 1d8 Sonic damage than to take a critical. Or something like that in the roleplaying games Thomas used to play with his friends back home, until he found out he was an actually wizard, or rather a sorcerer.

"Yes, but I didn't quite catch that." A good sport about it and fixing his hair. The sorcerer was obviously dancing on the ice of not being murdered by one of three people left in this six persons party. It was going to be some pretty tense travelling. It was best to just keep in the company of Cyneburg and Ntaj for as much as possible. Maybe Thomas should leave the group at their destination.

---

Well, here they were. A tavern, the start and end of any classical adventure. And sometimes the continuation of them, as the tenders were a awfully good source of information. They seemed to have an excessive memory, often remembering every last person that went in and out of their place and town. Offering such details as if in some guard's fantasy. Else they would be completely and utterly useless in the means of information. But since Kyra and Keystone seem to be leading this thing, for now it was just best to shuffle along and head on in.

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Location: Salarn, Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern

Interacting With: Sana, Femnal

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When Keystone entered this town about a week ago, he was alone and particularly intimidating, mostly because of his uncaring, stoic silence, large frame, and extensive scarring. Of course, when you're a six and a half foot tall slab of solid, angry meat, people you don't know tend not to react with a cheery disposition. Admittedly, some of it was his fault. Crunching up to the main gate in the gravel and mud, giving the simple utterance of "Hungry" to explain his presence wasn't the best route to go, hindsight being what it was. He had been on the road for a while at that point in time, mostly alone, and had no patience for people between himself and the comforts of an Inn. Keystone was a man who preferred civilization, in its many forms. His lack of sophistication notwithstanding, he was originally a product of Humankind's more urban tendencies.

Now he was back in Salarn, offloading his pack and Sana, both, in front of the very place of business where this foolishness started for him with Cremwise and his double-dealing; dragging outsiders into his underhanded plan to make quick cash selling arms and equipment to the Orcs. Keystone was willing to bet that Femnal wouldn't want his part in the arrangement made public knowledge.

Kyra was back to telling people what to do. It was her way, he supposed. The warm and spiffy part of it: Keystone likely wouldn't have to listen to it in earnest for very much longer. He delivers the message to the town elders (or whoever the hell ran this place), convince them as best he could that the Undead were a threat to everyone, Human and Orc both, and a third party was responsible. But first...

The main doors to the Crossed Swords flew open with some force, as if kicked by some large, brutish oaf with mild stomach dysfunction. "Oi, Femnal!" called Keystone from the doorway with exaggerated enthusiasm. He had Sana in his arms and an unhinging look in his eye. He stepped inside, carrying the physically depleted Bard across the threshold in the manner of a deranged newlywed and spoke in clear, almost excited voice. "How's about ya then, yeah? We gone an' finished up that... eh, that thing you and Cremmy wanted us do out thataway, right guv'nor? Right?" He made a grand showing of the worst possible "knowing wink" in history, and kept pushing his point. "You want I should shout the details from 'ere, or talk at the bar? Bar? Yeah." He smiled broadly and sauntered up to that most sacred of tavern surfaces.

"Right. First and fore, I'm needin' rooms for my people. Make absolute that one of em's got two beds and bath access. I'm puttin' her an' my pack in that one now. Good clear water for her, and whatever else she needs. Bath drawn later. Rest of us, decent eats and ale on the quick."

"Don't look so shocked, neither. Believe it or no, but I'm back to 'elp you lot out. Keepin' quiet in the meantime's just a perk. And to that ungen'lemanly topic, we'll talk after everyone's fed n' settled."

Well ain't this town just a right fucking riot? Nor should've seen this coming when he stopped seeing other people on the road about 3 days ago. Humans were a bunch of right weirdos, but it was obvious to anyone with working eyes and a functioning brain between their ears that the people here were on a fast track to a ghost town. Staying shut inside their flimsy little shacks like a wee mouse ducking into a hole hoping oit won't get scooped up by an owl and then taken on a slippery, slidey trip down into a pit o' stomach acid. And the people that weren't doing their best tortoise impression were busy heading over to the tavern to see who's the best at drowning all o' their sorrows in the cheapest ale they could get their hands on.

And the worst part about this is that none of them could be worked over and fork over their meager funds before the whole place keeled over. All of them were either too skurred or too schnockered to actually be able to buy something as trivial as the best godsworn shave that they'll ever get in their miserable lives before they all keeled over and had their belongings snatched up by the wretched, low-life, pusillanimous, sniveling, conniving, envious, scoundrels better known as one's kinsfolk. That or graverobbers would just filch anything of value from the corpses before running off somewhere. Either way, the town was a bust.

All but assured the town was a waste, Nor was on his way to take himself and his goods on to the next town when he spotted a most curious, and profitable sight. A wagon rolling in on its way to town, and not just that, but an orcish wagon with all sorts of oddly dressed people, most of whom carrying weapons? Travelers more than anyone needed a shave and a haircut the most. Doubly so for adventurers, so focused on gold and blood that they neglect proper self care. Aye, these people would make a proper stop worth the hassle. With a bright 'n welcoming smile plastered on his face, he lead Dorka over to the much larger orcish wagon.

"Ello there, chaps! Just rolled in te town did ye? Jus' did the same meself. Didn' think the local stock woold be so deery, if'n ye know what I mean. Happen te have any clue as te what's up?" Start a conversation, get them drawn up. Once you're nice and comfy, then you cozily invite them to get a nice shave or haircut. Really relax after all that hard travel. Trust me you'll come out of it with a face smoother than polished granite. Walk away with satisfied customers and a pocket full of gold. Everyone wins.

Satilla Valen

The journey was not the best that could have been. Sana's condition was so unstable and questioning that the witch couldn't help but wonder at what exactly it was that was going with the Bard. She had never seen someone's body react quite like that to healing. The backfiring of healing spells wasn't an impossible or unusual concept, but the way it happened with Sana was just strange. The witch didn't even dare attempt a healing hex. She just focused on preparing the salves and herbs for the bard, medicine that Kyra could apply.

After they got some information from the bard about what she knew/felt/learned, Satilla wasn't sure which of those it was, the situation turned even worse and more confusing for the witch. The events that Sana described were rather terrifying and if it came to pass, Satilla felt that unless she starts running now, she'd be dead. Strangely she wasn't feeling like running though, she felt obligation to stay and help those in need and the group she was with in specific.

“Ahhh... ouch...”The witch mumbled, stretching her arms, and neck. Her whole body hurt from the travel. She hoped that there will be a warm bed tonight for her... or at least a warm bath if bed wasn't possible.

“!!!” She suddenly cringed in pain as she was moving not too far behind Keystone who was as loud as usual. Her ears hurt like oblivion right now, she needed rest. She barely noticed a dwarf showing up and asking some questions.

“Undead problems...” She groaned a short reply to the dwarf, holding her head with pained expression.

---

---

Magnus listened to the old man’s words intently, even though he wasn’t given much to go on. Nothing that he hadn’t managed to figure out himself in fact. The dead went missing, not of their own volition, until they came back decidedly more upright and active than they had been before. No real new information at all, in fact.

He wondered if the caretaker was lying to him, or holding something back. Didn’t seem to be outside the realms of possibility. What if he had been helping whoever it had been stealing the corpses? That’s not something that he’d be keen to share, and would explain why the fellow looked so guilty. Or what if he was the culprit? Wouldn’t be the first time that a crypt keeper turned out to be a necromancer. But if that was the case, what could be possibly hope to gain by his deceptions?

The swordsman tried, and failed, to hold in a sigh of frustration. This bloody town. Each question answered just raised more questions. If matters continue on like this, and I’ll start rooting for the undead. Not quite true, but not quite a lie either. In desperate need of something to smooth his nerves he withdrew his wooden pipe from a pocket inside his leather overcoat. The old briar had been with him through many an adventure, being his constant aide and companion. If anything could see him through the mysteries of Salarn, it would be his pipe.

He filled the bowl with some of his precious seasoned pipe weed, fetched a taper from the fire, returned to his seat next to the caretaker, lit up, and took one, heavenly deep draw, allowing the relaxing smoke to caress his insides, easing his tensions and massaging his muscles. Gods, that was the goodstuff. He’d had people tell him that smoking was bad for his health, and maybe that was true. Wasn’t going to convince him to stop anytime soon. Just like Da always said, if you live your life without vice you won’t live forever, but it will feel like it.

He was just settling in, getting himself nice and cushty for a relatively quiet afternoon of supping mead and interviewing townsfolk when the half-orc loudmouth barged into the tavern. All that good cheer towards his fellow men that the pipe had managed to inspire; Gone. Groaning under his breath at the lack of manners in people nowadays, he forced himself to count to ten. He’d heard it help keep one’s temper under control. It hadn’t worked before, but there was a first time for everything. Seemed like today wasn’t the day either though. Rotating slowly on his stool, Magnus turned to face the boorish newcomer, puffing away on his pipe like it was going out of fashion.

To his mild surprise the newcomer wasn’t a half-orc at all, but an abnormally large, muscled, and ugly human. A woman was bundled in his arms and while she was undeniably full grown – and quite pretty to boot - seemed vaguely childlike in size when compared to her brawny companion. The man was a warrior, Magnus noted, taking in the extensive scarring across his face and head, and the armoured plating sewn in to his jacket and trousers. Those ain’t the kinda marks you pick up shaving.

Seemed the big man new the owner, shouting at him in quite a conversant tone, speaking of a job that he had performed for the ‘Femnal’ and ‘Cremmy’. Despite his chummy attitude though, there was an unmistakable undercurrent of threat to the man’s voice, perhaps not one speaking of physical violence, but a threat nonetheless. A threat of secrets shared and conspiracies laid bare, perhaps. It would be a lie to say that Magnus’ curiosity wasn’t piqued, and as the fellow wasn’t exactly whispering, it wasn’t too difficult to lug in on the exchange, even while continuing his own interrogation of the caretaker.

He returned – most – of his attention to the old man.

“And that’s it? All of it? Ain’t nothing you’re leaving out. People are dying old man, and while that’s probably a good thing for your business, you sure you want it weighing on your conscience knowing there’s something you could’a done to stop it?”

---

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Femnals eyes widened as he saw Keystone enter the tavern carrying a.. bride?!?!?!? How in the hell had that sour ass gotten a woman he thought to himself, remembering the last time Keystone was in the tavern. The thought alone was enough to make Femnal's eyes water and his gag reflex kick in as his eyes started to water. He actually threw up in his mouth a little and was forced to swallowed it back down hard in the process at the memory of the alabaster chum that had ejected from his mouth portal.

"I swear by the gods, if you do what you did last time you were in here you will be the next in a grave Keystone!" he warned as he slid off his chair and stalked over to the man who towered over him by at least three feet. Looking at Sana for a moment, who was curled weakly in Keystones arms his anger went away and were replaced with concern. Now that he was out from behind the bar it was clear he hadn't fared well over the last days. His once bright clothing was war torn and burnt, torn and tattered with a heavy layer of blood and mud. He held several new bruises on his hands and his fingers tips were turning black. His once cheery face was ragged and scared slightly down the left side.

"Take her to the temple, quickly..." Femnal said in earnest before directing a few tavern wenches to prepare rooms for the travelers as Kyra came up next to them. "Greetings Lady Kyra, I take it you all haven't had a good trip..."

"To say the least, that ass Cremwise you set us up with betrayed us and the entire town," she spat, not caring who heard at this point. Femnal looked honestly shocked and asked for more information. Kyra filled him in as quickly as possible and he spat on the floor.

"Where is he..." the little man growled like a beast under his breath. Kyra was further forced to explain she had not seen him in days, since the last fight. "I see...." he added before looking back at Keystone. "Hurry, get her to the temple, take any healers you have with you."

"Satilla, that means you. Go with Keystone, I'll take care of the rooms and the food. It'll be waiting when you return," Kyra said, taking charge again. Sana coughed slightly and curled up tighter against Keystone, shiver slightly. She was not longer suffering from hypothermia but it was clear she still had the after affects.

The old man looked at Magnus and narrowed his eyes. "That's all! I wish I knew more! I don't get paid per head ya know. Why'd you think I'm drinkin' meself to an early grave? Ain't because I likes the taste," the man snapped before downing the rest of his ale and tossing a few old coppers down on the table. Turning he stormed off, knocking the chair over and not really caring. Stumbling drunkenly towards the door he nearly ran smack into Sana and Keystone but was quickly elbowed hard in the ribs by Kyra who sent him flying into another table. "What where you are going you ass," she hissed.

The journey was, fortunately, largely uneventful. Because the group was constantly on the move when they were awake, Ntaj had very little time to do any hunting. The best he could do was forage since wild herbs didn't migrate. Though he did swipe a few eggs from some birds nest. For the most part he gathered enough supplies to last perhaps a week if he rationed and fed only himself. Maybe a day or two if he had to share with the group, but they seemed quite well supplied all things considered. Honey was oddly successful, always bringing in small game like rabbits or moles. Granted he already ate most of them, but Ntaj appreciated the gesture nonetheless. When Ntaj wasn't walking, foraging, or sleeping, he was carving a branch into another Totem Club. Just an extra one in case he loses his current one. So far he's whittled it down enough that it was a smooth stick and just needed the carvings.

As for his interaction with the others Ntaj didn't really do much. If they asked him to do something he did it and generally stayed out of their way. He did keep an eye on Thomas knowing that the talkative mage was bound to get himself into trouble with Kyra and Keystone, and if Sana was conscious she probably would have done something to him too. Ntaj did do his best to keep Thomas company however, giving him a friend in the group. Ntaj also stayed with Cyneburg for a bit but after a while he got the feeling that perhaps he was being awkward. Much for the same reason he generally stays out of orcish populations in human cities and other settlements; he worried that he was trying too hard to stay with "his kind", that is, orcish people. Admittedly it was a bad habit because he still missed home. If it weren't for the circumstances behind it he would probably have stayed in Dark Star, or at least sought his fortunes in another predominately orcish area. Indeed, if he hadn't found this group first he may have stumbled across the chief and his war party, Ntaj may have joined him and become another blade among his ranks. But no sense in worrying about what-ifs.

Ntaj did feel that things were too quiet however. He always kept watch at night and kept his flail and sword near by. He always slept in his armor too, only taking it off to clean it during stops. It wasn't the most comfortable way to sleep but after the last attack Ntaj had a healthy amount of paranoia. The undead didn't sleep after all and they certainly would have no reason not to attack a group of sleeping travelers. He was still pondering about that red mist creature that attacked them and kept forgetting to ask Thomas what he knew about it. Perhaps it was a special monster that Ntaj would never meet again, but if the group was going to dedicate themselves on eliminating this undead menace than better to be armed with knowledge. Despite all the preparations however, the worse they've faced on the road was mediocre weather and wet ground. Not even so much as a corpse to investigate.

Eventually the merry band of adventurers would arrive to the village/town known as Salarn. Ntaj knew very little about this place and it wasn't even mentioned to him when he was traveling through the area. Apparently this is where Keystone and Kyra found Cremwise for a job, which after a series of convoluted events and meetings brought them back with a whole new wagon load of friends and psychopaths. The town didn't seem so bad, though it didn't seem very active either. Even when he was traveling through unknown kingdoms ravaged by war villagers tend to be out and going about their business. But aside from a few peeking eyes from closed windows this place seem to have very little to no people. "Undead get here first?"

But no, the undead did not arrive first. People simply weren't around to mull about. Kyra took the wagon to what smelled like a tavern: a classic place to rest. Perhaps here Ntaj could get a full night's rest and a feast! But that was just wishful thinking on his part. He hoped he at least had enough money left on him to buy a room. Since he usually slept outside he's saved up quite a bit, but most of it was gold coins minted in Dark Star. Hopefully they still served as legal tender outside of that nation.

As Ntaj dismounted the wagon and made sure that no one would run off with the wagon or the horses, a dwarf came up to them. For some odd reason this dwarf didn't strike Ntaj has a native, though considering how little he knew about the town the half-orc might be wrong. However Ntaj's suspicions were confirmed when the dwarf mentioned he just recently came into town. His accent wasn't nearly as hard to make out as Keystones, though Ntaj was a bit slow to understand anyways. The dwarf asked what was the deal with the locals to which Satilla simply mentioned the undead. Nodding his head Ntaj chimed in. "And orcs. Orc tribe near by, people scared. We try make people not scared." And by we, Ntaj meant everyone else but him. Ntaj can try and make a convincing argument, but between his broken common, questionable charisma, and his preferences for a direct and violent approach, the villagers were not going to be endeared to him.

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“Hrrrm.” That didn’t go quite as planned. He’d wanted to make the old man emotional, see if he couldn’t crack his façade a little. Now Magnus was forced to consider that maybe there wasn’t a false front in place there after all, maybe all that old man’s guilt really was just the product of him realising that if he’d investigated the cause of the empty graves earlier then perhaps he could have averted so much death and tragedy.

The beginnings of a headache was making itself known, a steady pulsing forming at his temple. He wasn’t a man for solving mysteries, he realised. What he needed was a good, sturdy something to swing his sword at. And orc, a bugbear, a dragon. A problem that was simple and tangible, far more suited to a man of his talents.

" To say the least, that ass Cremwise you set us up with betrayed us and the entire town,"

An angry feminine voice roused him from his musings, and he looked up to see that an ashen haired huntress had joined the man-mountain and his delicate burden. Betrayal? Treachery? Could that be linked to the undead problem besetting the townsfolk? It would be a hell of a coincidence if it wasn’t. Mayhap it was time he introduced himself to these adventurers, and find out just what it was they were going on about. Downing the dregs of his pint, and tapping the last embers of his pipe onto the floor before grinding them under his boot, he left a small stack of coppers next to the Caretaker’s own before moving towards the huntress.

Before he could reach her though, the old drunk nearly barged straight into the ugly giant, though before he actually hit them the ashen-haired woman elbowed him violently away, straight into a sturdy wooden table. “No wonder these folk aren’t well regarded ‘round these parts. Hardly the most endearing lot.”

Magnus picked the caretaker up off the floor from where he had crumpled after hitting the table, dusting the fellow off, though he didn’t seem appreciative of Magnus’s efforts, and shook him off once he was back on his feet. There’s gratitude for you. The swordsman turned his attention to the huntress, raising himself up to his full height, while resting his thumbs upon his belt buckle.

“Can’t say I’m all that fond of that craggy ol’ geriatric myself, though I think the townsfolk have had enough shit thrown their way recently without the likes of us knocking them stupid, eh? I’d thank you to keep them elbows of yours to yourself in the future.” He admonished her gently, yet there was an edge of iron to his relaxed tone. He’d never been all that fond of the strong lording it over the weak. Still, he hadn’t come over to tell her to mind her manners.

“Names Magnus. Magnus Arhakaine. Couldn’t help but overhear you lot when you came in. Been investigating some happenings of my own, concerning the restless dead crawling outta their final resting places and attacking the town. Wondering if our two problems ain’t linked. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind sharing whatever it is you know with me. I’d be mighty appreciative.”

A ghost town wasn't quite the word to describe the quaint and quiet place they've found themselves in. Bar the dwarf making his pitch and having a natter with Ntaj (who had kept Thomas out of trouble thus far), and the pipe-smoking swordsman (or at least to the best of Thomas' knowledge given the garb). There was hardly anyone to greet them. Not that Thomas had been expecting a warm and friendly greeting, but a party this size with a wagon usually meant one of three things: Merchants from afar with goods to trade, adventurers looking for room and board, or raiders here to steal and plunder. If the town was poor, perhaps no one would bother with merchants, and they would just carry on down the road, but adventurers and raiders usually meant trouble. In truth they were often one in the same really, it depends on which end of the adventurer your town was on. That being said perhaps the population size made it more of a hamlet than a town or village. But to the dwarf's question, of what exactly happened already answered by quite a few people, Thomas held his tongue. He had no information that could contribute to their knowledge, alas if they had interrogated that crimson death proper perhaps they'd know more. Some might call it insanity to keep a violent bloody murderous beast captive, but someone had to study nasty killers of the world. As the saying amongst darker wizards went: Only a true monster knows what it means to be human, because they are the only ones who have taken one apart to see how they work.

Kyra and Keystone once again took charge, barking orders and commands to the barkeep/tavern proprietor they seemed to know. Sana was off to a temple with Satilla, and as much as Thomas wanted to come along, they probably wouldn't want him anywhere near the ailing bard. And a slight kerfuffle with some old codger (they seemed to have plenty of those in this setting, weirdly enough) seemed to have set the swordsman ablaze against Kyra. To which Thomas tutted to himself, and knew better. Introducing himself with his drawl after telling her off? Either he'd earn her respect or her ire. Let alone Keystone's or Sana's, once she gets better. Yet Thomas would just keep his mouth, surprisingly shut, and stick with Ntaj. Maybe there was more information to process, more minds to throw into this mystery.

Well, it was almost time for meditations. More spells for today, although they had a pretty quiet three days of travel given all the hubhub about the dangers of traveling. How did the elf and other ranger fare? Maybe they'll have some excitement tonight, and Thomas had to be ready.

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Location: Salarn, Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern -> En Route to the Yellow Rose Temple

Interacting With: Kyra

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"Of course. The Yellow Rose Temple just north of the Crossed Swords. It did seem the natural place to take Sana, if she was afflicted with debilitating aftereffects of unintended magic strain, coupled with the inexpert ministrations of their recently acquired spellcaster. If the past three days of rest (albeit in the back of a moving cart) was not sufficient healing time to rejuvenate Sana, then the wise monks of the Yellow Rose would be the most likely source of effective aid."

Now, that's exactly what Keystone would have thought, were he a man inclined to concepts mystical. As far as he knew, there wasn't a whole lot of difference between divine spells and arcane ones. Now, some of his own, less blatantly physical techniques seemed to border on just that, but he drew a distinction. Keystone knew nothing about magely studies, nor did he put his trust in deities, so much. His abilities came from punishing, exhausting body conditioning and solid strength of will, given refinement and specific edge. It only looked like magic to some people.

What he did know was that those people probably had a better idea what was going on than he did, and Keystone had intended to speak to the old, crazy man that ran the place anyway. He also knew that if many more people took it upon themselves to order him around out of the blue, he was going to need to find someplace to practice his martial studies. I.E., find a large mass of flat stone to punch until it concaved. Felling a tree barehanded would come a close second. Also, Sana didn't seem to be getting any better. Yellow Rose it was.

The thought of continuing to acquiesce to Kyra's demands was mildly irritating, but logic was with her at the moment. He was the guy carrying the Bard, she had someplace to be. Plus, Kyra offered to handle the arrangements for food and rooms, ready upon his return. That was something he could agree to. Keystone grunted a quick affirmation and began toward the door. It was in this moment that the older fellow came close to running into the two of them; Kyra and Keystone. The resulting deflection into a nearby table wasn't as satisfying as many barroom altercations could be. Rather a let down, actually. On the other hand, it looks like there might have been some sport shaping up with the guy in a mail shirt.

Keystone was not a charming man, but he could recognize a poor social move when he saw it. Talking to Kyra like she was a child, then asking to share information. He had no idea who this man was, but he had recently shed blood with Kyra against a common enemy. It might not make them outright friends, but there was trust building there. Definitely camaraderie. "Got my 'ands full just now, Kyra. I'm sure y'got this." he stated in his distinct urban underclass accent, glaring at the man who just introduced himself. "You want this 'Maggie' 'orizontal when I'm back, just lemme know, yeah?"

Not wanting to waste any more time, Keystone carried Sana back out of the Inn's main doors. Hopefully, their healer was close behind. He had a list of things he wanted to accomplish in Salarn before the trouble happened. And it would. He'd lived this story a few times now. Trouble was inevitable.

"Right, Yomdi. Let's see what you've been up to this 'alf fortnight."

Cyne & Nor

Location: Salarn
Interacting with:Keystone & Ntaj

"Undead and greenskins, eh?" Nor asked, feeling quite ignored by most of the people still outside of the tavern. Of course he had managed to catch the adventurers at the most inopportune of times: not when they were cheery and optimistic at the start of a quest or when they returned triumphant, jubilant and weighted down with coin, but during the middle of their quest when they were all sulking and serious. Just his bloody luck. Still, if he was to make something of this pit stop, he'd need to be more persistent than the novice blacksmith who throws away his first sword at the first sign of trouble. Nor hitched his wagon by the much larger Orc wagon and made his way into the Crossed Swords tavern, in the process almost getting bowled by Keystone (the fuck's his problem?). What he found inside looked like the start of what could be a massive bar fight. Maybe this pit stop wouldn't be complete boredom and business.

Cyneburg did as she usually did, sitting back and watching (although she really should have gone into the Tavern with the rest of the group). How disappointing, she had gotten excited during the last day of the trip at the prospect of visiting a real settlement of people, not some adventuring group or military post, but they were all cowed by the threat of the undead. She probably wouldn't even be able to pick up a replacement veil. Oh well.

"Where are you going?" Cyne asked Keystone as he left the tavern, walking with purpose somewhere. He was still carrying Sana, but at this point, she wouldn't be surprised if Keystone would take a piss without putting her down first. The druid would merely follow behind and hope that she would get a complete answer from the cook.

Satilla Valen

“Of course, I will head there right away.” The witch replied to Kyra with a tired smile and a nod. The temple was indeed the place for a healer to be at a time like this. She'd be able to provide medical aid to those in need, learn the latest developments on the situation or to be more precise the latest decline of the situation. Cause things were going from bad to worse by the hour it seemed. She only hoped the temple had better stocks of medical ingredients than her own because she wouldn't be able to use too much of her own without leaving the group lacking in healing possibilities in the future.

Satilla then followed quickly after Keystone and Sana. Her muscles hurt from the movement, but it wasn't anything too serious. Just the regular aftereffects of lack of decent sleep and not really good position to stay in while traveling or resting. She was just a little bit stiff for the moment.

“I really hope the temple's holding up well... ” She said now walking next to Keystone, but not too close in case something happens so she doesn't bump into Sana.” If they don't know how to affect your health for the better, miss Sana, I'm personally out of ideas.... Unless the only thing I've not tried is to transfer health directly into you again, but I'm afraid of possible backlashes like with the ordinary healing magic...” Satilla said with apologetic voice, feeling really bad about not able to help the bard more.

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Kyra eyed the new comer and just rolled her eyes. She was hardly picking on someone, it wasn't weak being trampled by the strong. It was a drunk that about slammed right into Sana, who was so weak she was being carried and looked like she had just been rescued from beneath an avalanche. Then this judgemental prick had the audacity to ask for information when he just wrongly berated her. "You go fuck yourself," she said towards Magnus before looking at the others.

"It's alright Mis'Kyra. Had little too much tonight," the man said in a slurred voice before shaking off the shove and wandering in a zigzag fashion out of the tavern.

"Right, no worries, I got this," she said looking at Keystone before he headed out to take Sana to the temple with Satilla. "Femnal, gonna need those rooms and food. I have to report to Marcus," she added, referring to the constable that was in charge of the town. "Let him know what we found out and send word to King Alion."

"Right away Lady Kyra, I can fill you in on what happened here when you return," he said before getting the staff of his bar to get to work. Kyra rubbed the bridge between her nose and nodded, fighting off the fatigue of the days travel and stepping outside of the tavern where Ash met her and licked at her hand.

"You stay with Epona and watch our things." Petting the pale dyre wolf she looked at those that remained for a minute, explaining that Femnal was setting them up with rooms and food for the evening, and that she would be right back once she reported to the constable.

Over at the temple the place was guarded far more than it had been the last time Keystone had walked inside, yet the main guards remained the same. Recognizing the pugilist they opened the large doors that were sealed to those who were not part of the practice, eying his companions before giving him a questioning look, as if to go - don't tell me these people are monks as well.

---

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“Huh …” Came Magnus’ bemused reply. Not at the woman, Kyra’s, response. Truth be told, he’d long gotten used to women reacting thusly to any and all of his propositions. And neither was it her pet gorilla’s threats that led to his current state of confusion. The man looked like a flesh golem built only for violence, so it stood to reason that his primary communicatory setting was ‘intimidation’. Besides, the man obviously answered to the huntress, so the swordsman dismissed him, and the shite pouring from his gob, as largely inconsequential. He didn’t deal with lackeys.

No, what puzzled Magnus most was the caretaker’s response. What kind of right thinking man, drunk and surly to boot, took an elbow to the ribs hard enough to throw him from his feet, then got up to apologise to his attacker? Magnus considered himself well travelled, his boots racking up a fair mileage on the course of his adventuring career, but never, not in all his days, had he ever seen a person act such. It was probably the least likely, most unhuman response a drunk had ever had to being struck he’d ever witnessed. And this was just after the old man had snapped at Magnus for asking questions!

Ok, now I’m seriously considering leaving Salarn to the undead. Strikes me that the people of this bizarre place would probably thank the bonewalkers for putting an end to their miserable existence while getting their faces chewed off.

It was almost an attractive thought, but Magnus couldn’t in good conscience abandon this place to its plight yet, no matter how strange and unwelcoming the people were. With a bad tempered grunt and a string of mumbled curses, he followed the huntress out of the tavern.

With his longer stride he caught her up quickly, and when he did he fell into line with her, matching her pace, though he wisely chose to not try and stop her. Seemed like laying hands on this Kyra was a quick way to go about getting a dagger in the throat.

“Look, I know I don’t make a great first impression, and you might be waiting on me to apologise,” which he didn’t, “and that cryptkeeper might’a been deserving of a good elbow-shiv to the sternum,” which he doubted, “but the people of this hamlet will probably be the ones to suffer if we don’t reach some sort of accord,” which they shouldn’t. They were nearing the constable’s office, and Magnus wasn’t sure how willing she’d be to put up with him when she reached her destination. He’d have to make his pitch succinct.

“I’d be just as lief leaving you to do you, as you’d not doubt be seeing me drown in a puddle, but the people living here are being threatened by something, and I reckon we’d save more lives if we pooled our resources. Not suggesting we tie our fates together until the end of days, our even that we become bosom buddies. All I’m saying is that we’re both here, and it looks to me that we both want to help. It’d be damned churlish of us if we don't at least try and work with some kinda shared purpose. After all, what sounds worse, having to speak to someone you mildly dislike for ten minutes, or risk this hamlet facing devastation unchecked erelong?”

That was it. That was his offer. Not a big ask, but if the Huntress could tell him to go bugger his own arsehole if she wished. If she did it meant he’d have to go back to investigating Salarn’s mysteries on his own, which wasn’t an attractive prospect, but he’d long gotten used to doing things that he didn’t want to.

Ntaj simply nodded his head at the dwarf as he reconfirmed what Ntaj and Satilla had said. Undead and orcs. There was probably more that could be said but unless the dwarf asked more questions, Ntaj didn't see the need to say anything else. His stomach grumbled, reminding Ntaj that he hasn't had a big meal in quite a while Keystone was an excellent chef, but sometimes Ntaj just wanted to gouge himself. Surely the group would be treated to a meal here, but Ntaj was willing to pay extra coin for more food. Honey squirmed from Ntaj's sack trying to get freed, but Ntaj put him back quickly. On the road or out in the wilds Ntaj had no problem letting Honey roam around but in populated towns not everyone was accepting of badgers digging through their gardens or eating their cats.

As Ntaj struggled to keep Honey in check Kyra and Keystone walked out. Keystone took Sana off in the direction of some sort of chapel with Satilla following, and following Kyra was a stranger. Ntaj wondered if everyone who spoke common had a strange accent with it because he had to stare at the man for quite some time to try and figure out his motive beneath his words. The best that Ntaj could parse out is that this stranger wants to help, somehow. Who he is or why he wants to lend his aid was questionable to Ntaj, but then again Ntaj himself only had a vague idea of what they were even doing here anyways. So what's one more to the party?

Ntaj imagined that Kyra however wasn't too interested in cooperating. Indeed, most of the group only seem to be following her because she knows where the plot leads; she certainly wasn't the most charismatic or charming leader he's ever had to work with. Even cowardly waifs could lead a group of heroes with sound reasoning and charm, and Kyra only had one of the two. So not expecting her to help this man Ntaj stepped forward and spoke slowly in common. "You want to help? There is undead in forest. Orcs also in forest, they think village cause undead. Village think Orcs cause undead. But neither cause undead. We here to find what cause undead, and make orc and village not fight each other." That was the basics of it. Ntaj suppose that now would be a good time for them to try to find clues, either about where these undead are coming from or contacting the leader of this village and trying to negotiate something with him. However Ntaj wasn't really good at charming people. He might be honest and he's vaguely noble, but even if he's factually right he has a hard time selling his words to others.

"But first we rest. Been on road long time. And don't know you. Don't know all of you. Short break to eat, talk, then find village leader to talk or find undead and follow. Name Ntaj." The half-orc extended his hand out to the stranger, a slight smile on his face. Ntaj hoped he was friendly enough, gods know this group could use someone who's a bit more welcoming of strangers. A party face perhaps.

---

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Location: Yellow Rose Temple, exterior

Interacting With: Nor, Cyneburg, Guards

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All things being equal, Keystone would rather have been sitting inside the bar with Sana, drinking something flammable and making crude comments about people around them. But things were most assuredly not equal. Perhaps there would be time for rest and relaxation later (Gods knew he had a little extra silver now to spend), but for now there were nonstandard injuries with which to deal. He headed out at a quick stride, and whomever wanted to follow could follow.

His purposeful stride nearly brought him into forceful connection with one of the more diminutive if broader races. The novelty of seeing a Dwarf out this far into Human and Orc claimed woodland was something to gawk about later on. He didn't break stride nor allow first passage for the individual he almost knocked over, but he did manage a quick (and remarkably well inflected) "[Pardon me.]" Demonstration of linguistic familiarity down, he pressed onward.

Cyneburg was the next to attempt conversation with Keystone. Thankfully she did not get in his way, and posed the question in such a way that did not require much in the way of explanation. "Temple of the Yellow Rose. Just north of 'ere. Follow if ya like."

The reaction from the guards, freely allowing entry to him, was slightly unexpected. He had assumed that he would at least have to answer a question or two about his intent, at the very least. Then again, when carrying a semi-to-unconscious woman into a place of, among other things, higher healing, there is a reasonable assumption of intent. The glance back at those flanking him was a little more understandable.

　　　”Nah, they’re good. Anyways I think they are.” Keystone nodded his head at each of them in turn. ”Druid, Spiritual ‘ealer. Unconscious lady’s an unconscious lady what needs care. And if Master Yomdi ain't got a thing more pressin', we need council.”

With the same determined stride, Keystone entered the Yellow Rose Temple.

Everyone seemed to be on a mad rush out. Kyra, Keystone, and Satilla had their reasons. Cyneburg to follow Keystone perhaps as a druid. Ntaj went after the self-introduced Magnus who went after Kyra. And that was pretty much their entire party. While part of Thomas said it was probably better to stick with the party, another part of him suggested he's done enough and probably wouldn't be of any help at all. So deciding it was for the best that they either went on without him, or he should await their return, Thomas turned to Phlegmenol (Femnal), as named by Kyra and Keystone or at least Thomas thought that was he had heard, rather curious name actually, to settle his tab feeling the burden of guilt.

"How much is it for room and board? I met your associates on the way, and I... I made some mistakes, that costed them a bit, and I'd rather not be on their tab. I hope my coin is good here?" Thomas inquired of the strangely named innkeeper.

A good rest would ease his trepidations hopefully. If it was the will of the powers that be that Thomas should move on, or perhaps the group would move on without him... Regardless Keystone did mention their location and this innkeeper seemed to know the group well enough to probably tell Thomas which way to go in case they don't return in a timely manner. Or if undead randomly start appearing, although he would not have his escape spell ready yet. Another three days were needed to pass before the Stars could be tapped once more.

Cyne & Nor

Location: Salarn
Interacting with:Keystone & Ntaj

And the oaf who nearly knocked him over turned out to be someone who might be civilized in a land full of primitives and barbarians. Nor blinked as everyone who wasn't a blithering drunk left the tavern. Not one to miss out on a potential profit so easily, he turned around and followed them as best as he could given his short legs. When the greenskin brought up relaxing, Nor took that chance to try getting in a sales pitch.

"Been travelin' awhile, aye? Well if'n ye need te relax, do I have good new fer ye. I just so happen te own the right tools fer clearin' the brush if'n ye know what I mean. Fer only a minor fee I can have ye feelin spick and span, face as smooth as marble and even a new haircut if the desire so be it."

"I can provide proof for his claim," Cyne chirped. Sure she might look like a dirty woodsman, but that should only reinforce any claims of druidity. But regardless of appearances, she did have plenty of ways of identifying her membership in the Druid organization, as was a necessity for an organization as scattered and diverse as the Circle was. Having to ID herself was a bother, but if that's what it took to get in, she'd suffer the minor inconvenience without complaint.

Satilla Valen

When they reached the temple, Satilla was glad to discover the guards opened the door right away for Keystone, but the way they looked at her, made her feel a shiver creep down her spine. She hated being looked at like that. She wasn't some evil person that was wishing people curses....

The witch then smiled when Keystone introduced them in a way that would make the guards let them in. Being called a healer was a great pride for the witch. Having taken on the mantle of good partitioner of her craft, being called all kinds of names from people who knew not the difference was an usual thing to happen. Being called healers was a joy!

“I can provide magical healing as well as medicine expertise to a point.” The witch explained to the guards, opening her bag to show her potions and herbs that she had stacked inside neatly.

---

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Kyra looked over towards Magnus and had to forcibly stop herself from rolling her eyes so hard it would render her unconscious. His ego was only matched by level of assumptions. Looking over towards Njat she made a mental note not to tell him anything that needed to be kept secret. Blurting out some of what they had been dealing with to a perfect stranger was not the best means to go about things. They didn't know who was responsible for everything, for all she knew this fucker in front of her was the cause of it and was just wanting to see how close they were to figuring it out.

"He's right, we don't know you. Now I know the constable and I am going to speak to him. So please, if you have any information you really think if valuable that he doesn't already have, give it to him," her voice growing more sarcastic as she went.

"Njat, after you eat, if I am not back, do you think you could get Epona into the stables for Sana and settled in? Don't worry about Ash, he'll find his own meat later on," she asked of the "Face" before turning on her heels and heading towards the magistrates office. The man trying to get information from her was annoying her to no end. Her thoughts were on placing her reports and if Sana would be alright. Here he was going on about the town and they obviously didn't come into the place looking clean and easily traveled. Most of them were injured tired, dirty, bloodied from fighting and Sana looked like a half frozen corpse. It was rather obvious they had been through some shit.

Stepping up the wooden stairs of three to the Magistrates building she looked up as Marcus came out, looking rather worse for the wear. He stopped and looked Kyra frowning slightly. "Seems you haven't had a fun week..." he muttered.

"Hardly," she quipped as she came up onto the front porch and rested her hand on the hilt of her blade. "Doesn't seem like you have had it any easier."

"No, we were attacked. What was it...?" he said before turning to his deputy.

"Let me guess, three days ago?" she answered, cutting off his inquiry.

Looking over towards Kyra a bit surprised he nodded. "Yeah, skeletons and..."

"A red mist?" she said cutting him off for a second time.

Marcus nodded slowly. "Looks like we have a lot to talk about. Lose anyone?"

"Not really sure. I didn't come back with the same ones I left with if that is what you are asking. Some left before, some left after, new people were found in the woods. Know how it goes. As far as watching people die, other than some orcs no. Not from undead."

"Well good riddance, it's their fault!" Marcus snapped. Kyra shook her head. "It's not?"

"No, like you said, we have a lot to talk about...."