Delicate elven hands continue to move over the zither until the song Rinx had been playing comes to its end. While he'd been playing, he considered the options in the room. Humans were much more likely to buy into mysticism of a fortune telling from a moon elf, though he didn't entirely rule out the half-elves or dwarf. Though most dwarves scoff at the idea of luck and fate, those that had strong convictions in their deity could be played just as easily as a piece of music. The one present likely had such faith, but Rinx would hold his reservation for now. Half-elves were a stronger bet, depending on which half ruled their sensibilities. Honestly, it all came down to individuals there.

So, instead of hone in on any one specifically, he decided to move about the room and observe for the time being. The finery of the dress the elf wore making her appear all the more graceful. If a request was asked of him, he would play or spin a story, ultimately ending up alongside one of the human's he'd noticed earlier. In a tailored feminine voice only one such as a changeling could create and practice with until perfected, Rinx spoke to the not-quite human. "Good evening, sir."

Though it was bait, a little piece, it hadn't been abnormal now that the moon elf had mingled along the hall. Hopefully the response would be telling. "Care for a tune, or perhaps a tale?"

Once the chwinga had given him the stone, Kythor briefly recessed into his own thoughts as he realized what he had been given. This magical trinket, a small gesture of gratitude given to him by the chwinga - it was exactly what he needed at this point. The stone held a small mote of magic that could be invoked to conjure a shelter that granted them sanctuary from the harsh weather conditions of these lands. It was hardly a substitute for the warmth of an inn or tavern due to its limited usage, but it would be useful in a pinch. Despite the tiefling's normally gruff and reserved appearance, joy and relief were aglow in his eyes. He remembered the request they'd been given in Easthaven, about tracking down and rescuing a group of fishermen. Having this would certainly make their journey a lot easier - he and the others he'd been traveling with would be able to pace themselves better without having to worry about getting a campsite scouted out and set up...

Speaking of the others, the faint smile on his face quietly transformed into a frown as he watched the others depart. On the one hand, less people he had to escort felt strangely liberating. Less people he had to worry about, especially in the event of a conflict of interests. Nothing of the sort had come up thankfully, save for the four of them snagging themselves slightly on the matter of how exactly they were to deliver a chwinga to Dannika. For what it was worth, though, he saw that as less of a 'conflict' and more of a 'discussion,' and one that had ultimately ended quite favorably. It was because they had spoken to the chwingas and convinced it to go with Dannika that she had paid them a greater amount than initially discussed. Speaking of, he broke himself from his thoughts to collect his share of the reward - 13 gold - before giving a brief wave to Dannika as she departed. "Take care now," he called out. "Both of you!" Of course, by the time he'd gotten this out it was more than likely that they were out of earshot. Oh well, he thought to himself. It's the thought that counts...

Of course, now that their group had thinned out some, this made Kythor's next decision much more difficult. He'd become somewhat interested in trying to catch up to Avarice, and without any immediate direction the prospect of looking into the matter of trying to save the fishermen from Easthaven was a tempting offer... Obviously the matter of fighting the giant was out of the question; he didn't think they could do it with the four of them, so there was no reason to believe that such was possible with only two of them. His frown deepened and his brow furrowed. Before he could become lost in his own contemplations again, Kythor's attention was suddenly caught by a moon elf approaching him, offering to provide him with a tune or a tale.

The tiefling paused for a moment, drumming his fingers on the table a couple of times in thought before nodding up to the moon elf. "Evenin'" Kythor said. "Are you new to these parts? Can't say I spend much time inside of the little towns 'n cities of the area - none really too keen on being here, actually," Kythor lowered his voice to grumble beneath his breath, just loud enough for present company to hear, "but it seems to me there's been a good bit of new faces popping up around. You're asking if I'd care for a tune or a tale?" Kythor asked, shifting into a somewhat more relaxed position. Once he'd gotten comfortable, he reached into his coinpurse and pinched a silver coin between his fingers, holding it up. "If you don't mind, would you be willing to indulge my curiosity and tell the tale of what brings you here? Most people here have some sort of story to explain what drives 'em to come up here."

Inwardly, Rinx sighed at the response he'd received. A talker, and a curious one at that. But, a tiefling, not a human. Now that Rinx had his moon elf eyes on the fellow properly, he could see the horns in the mess of dark hair. Curious. Not many tieflings collected in this small town, he'd assumed, and here he was walking right up to one. Given his work, it wouldn't be hard for Rinx to figure out where this one lie in the realm of morality, but he might very well tell him as chatty as he seemed.

Elf lips were already set into a pleasant smile from when Rinx had asked the question, not quite slipping away as he received the surpisingly lengthy answer. Instead, it spread to show amused teeth as delicate fingers reached for the coin and he spoke with the female voice curated for performance. "You must not have much experience with moon elves or bards, good sir, for we are a wandering folk. I myself, named one Valna Moonsong, have traveled here from Waterdeep only this morning. However, for this coin, I shall tell you the story of the formation of Orishaar since it is far more interesting than my journey. Or perhaps its destruction during the Crown Wars?"

Moon elf history. It could have been an insult to the tiefling's curiosity, should Rinx not spin it properly with guile. As it was, it was delivered as if a platter offered of a tale.

The tiefling's fingers drummed against the table steadily, but as Valna offered to tell him the tale of her people, the gentle raps against the table slowed down until they ceased. He was admittedly a bit disappointed that he likely wouldn't be learning the moon elf's reason for being here, but he couldn't say it was unexpected. "All the way from Waterdeep, hm...? Quite the journey to be makin', friend," Kythor said nodding. The disdain for Waterdeep was evident in the tone in which he said it, spitting it out with a quiet grimace. The grimace didn't last long, though, and a second later a cheeky smirk crossed his face briefly. With a shrug, he spoke again.

"Tell you what, though, you're not wrong. Don't really have much experience or knowledge in the way 'a moon elves, or bards, or Orishaar. You said it got destroyed in the, ah... Crown Wars? What happened to it?" Kythor leaned back and crossed his arms. He didn't know if Orishaar was her hometown, but if she was offering, he figured it couldn't hurt to ask her to regale him with the tale of its demise. The fact that it was destroyed in something called the Crown Wars also piqued his interest. To him, crowns were symbols of power for kings, meant to be a sign of status, wealth, and power. With the exception of power, he saw those three traits as completely useless in the natural world; besides, the only power a crown grants can only be effectively used within the city, so he may as well write that off as well. Ultimately, with the destruction of Orishaar apparently happening during the Crown Wars, Kythor predicted that the city fell not due to natural disaster or a freak accident or other such tragedy, but that it would fall due to the unfortunate tragedy of a bumbling ruler and their delusions of grandeur.

A Tiefling historian... Rinx had not expected that, and honestly thought the coin would be demanded returned at that. The bard did actually like telling stories, so he was not bothered by being taken up on his offer. The moon elf guise showed as much in her pleasantly surprised expression. The changeling could tell this patron was interested, but seemed to already be forming opinions from his posture. To any elf, the tale of the Crown Wars was a staple of their history rooted in Faerûn "Oh, sir, it is not such a tale as to simply say it was destroyed. It's foundation and destruction is on the very cusp of dawning elven history in Faerûn. Orishaar is one of many ancient elven kingdoms destroyed during the Crown Wars, you see. Those that fell during the Second War, which sparked while the charred embers of the first still burned red, had been targeted for dark purpose."

The moon elf held up one finger, indicating that she was not done. There was much to this tale, but the importance of its roots had to be made clear. "I am sure that your ancestors of Bael Turath could draw a comparison. You see, the instigators of the conflict that destroyed the Moon Elf kingdom of Orishaar were none other than the Ilythiir, the ancestors of the Lolth-sworn drow today. Lolth used her power to seduce the dark elves toward evil, her corruption starting that far back in history."

The moon elf sighed at that, not in that of pity but rather being caught up in the story and realizing it. She smiled at the tiefling again. "But, you asked of the Moon Elves, not our drow cousins. The conflict of the Second Crown Wars began in -11700DR and on further destruction of moon elf kingdoms continued. Our people became more nomadic, adventurous, as time went on due to time and again nations and cities falling, though a few have survived to today. Orishaar's ruins were lost to time in the Duskwood, which was lost to the deserts of Shaar."

A conclusion spun from the start of the story was always the best way to end. "Valna" had clasped her hands before her, smile returned. "Do you find that rendition worthy of the silver you parted with, sir?

The tiefling listened to the bard's tale with interest, nodding on occasion as she spoke. This story was quite interesting to him: for most of his life, the stories he'd been told were effectively restricted to those around the elders, their accomplishments, and the suffering they underwent in the great cities of the southern lands. Yet, the only time he was able to learn something of other creatures and races was through secondhand whispers, from those who did trade and bartered for goods with the local cities. Of course, outsiders were rarely allowed much interaction with the tribe beyond the elders, and for them it was entirely business with no room for leisurely chats or stories...

When Valna finished her story, Kythor gave a nod of approval. "Certainly," he said, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands together. "I'd say that was worth the silver. I must say, it's kind of a shame that the city itself's been reduced to, well... not even ruins, from the sound've it," Kythor added. "Sounds like Orishaar mostly lives on through stories, hm?"

Again, the pleased expression crossed the moon elf's delicate features as she gave a slight nod and grin. Though Rinx wasn't a historian, Valna was a face he wore fondly, and valued what her ancestry could have been should she exist. Technically, she did, but the complexities of identity were not something his people thought too much on. They simply were. Some discarded faces with extravagance, and others were much more frugal. Rinx, if asked, would say he were somewhere between. If anyone were to ask, and he'd been feeling up to telling the truth, he quite liked his own visage when outside of the confines of society.

But, as he wasn't given that freedom at present, he wore the much more socially appealing elven skin. And as luck had it, found patrons in the hall to which found Valna favorable. This tiefling had been a nice end to his evening, he mused. "Yes, it is so. But, sir, what better way to measure greatness - or notoriety, in some cases - if not reflected in the age of a story that continues to carry on?"

It was a rhetorical question, and she was not interested in keeping the tiefling, perhaps indicated in the departing bow of her head. "If you are by chance here on morrow evening, I'd delight in parting you from more of your silver for another tale or two, but now I must rest. Good evening, sir."

After the moon elf departs, Theodorick grabs his gear and bids Kythor a good evening and safe travels. He mentions that one of the folk of Good Mead mentioned that they may have work for him here within the milita.

The busting of then hall dies down as the evening grows later. Still there is murmuring of the new moon tomorrow night and the impending sacrifice of warmth to try to placate the Goddess of winter. Some do talk of some of the other towns having lotteries for people to be sent out to the cold, or other places leaving food as their offering.

Morning comes in the usual bleak darkness that holds till near mid-day. Already the town is busy trying to prepare for tonight. Most are trying to keep windows shuttered and even less opening of their doors. The attendant of the mead hall is busy in the apiary between harvest of honey and ensuring the survival of their lively hood. Breakfast is available for two silver, seared knucklehead trout with fresh bread seems to be the most available meal.

DOMIC ROCKERSTAR HATCHETMAN

It's been some time since Domic finally found a place to rest up. For the past month, he's mostly been on the run. Every city he goes, he hears whispers of bounty hunters looking for him, and even in remote farming villages the law is on the look out for criminals matching his description. He has traveled far to escape his past, and unlike his compatriots he's not as adapt at laying low. Honestly, if these hunters have been following his trail it's mostly his fault. For every bar he goes or every tavern her visits, there's always some loudmouth bully in need of a righteous thrashing. And Domic has always been willing to show that size isn't everything when it comes to courage. So rumors of a belligerent gnome with an axe, bashing or butchering ruffians and thugs, were somewhat common in places that Domic left. He just hopes those rumors haven't reached Good Mead yet.

"Damn tired sleeping in a hay bale and drinking grog. Hope this Good Mead has good mead, been a while since I had the honey stuff." Though shelter was one of the reasons Domic was here in Good Mead, he has another reason as well. He's heard rumors of the Frostmaiden, a wicked goddess of the winter, coming to bring a worse cold than normal for... Some reason that Domic didn't actually bother researching. Now initially he dismissed these talks as just exaggeration of a normal winter, which he knew can often be deathly cold. But the more he heard, the more he believed that this goddess was truly about to bring about a wrath unlike any has seen. Now Domic was just one man. A small man. But in his life, he knows what happens when you let big people think that just because they were big and strong, they could do anything they want. It was a cycle: the strong terrorize the weak, and the weak simply accept this as normal and try to escape, even at the cost of others. It'll keep continuing until eventually all of the weak die, and the strong is forced to go after equally tyrannical monsters, which will only result in more catastrophe.

No. Domic would not stand idly by, no matter how big the opponent. If there was someone who was going to use their power to terrorize others because they believe it to be their duty, than Domic believed it was his duty, the reason why the gods put him on in this world, to find that person and bury his axe into their skull. Be they some thug or a Goddess. Of course, these were lofty goals. One day he'll earn his name in the stars for his deeds. For now, he just needs to earn enough for his keep. Arriving to the Mead Hall, Domic let out a hearty message. "What ho, fine folk! Name's Domic Rockerstar Hatchetman. I've come far to seek food and company, in either order." Everyone seemed pretty dour, couldn't help with that, but Domic wasn't going to let that mood get to him. He would find a chair low enough for him to sit or stand on, and order a breakfast with a gold coin. "I'll take whatever you have on the tap and a hot meal with it. By the way, everyone seems rather dour. Something troubling going on?"

Once Kythor had awakened, he secured everything of value to his person and went for a quiet walk throughout the city. Although the relatively quiet and bitter chill was a harsh contrast to the loud yet warm mead hall, Kythor had found this small exercise to be somewhat refreshing to him. It was a reminder of what he was working towards, a brief glimpse of the world beyond civilization. Before, it had seemed much closer, but now that his traveling group had gone their separate ways, it felt as distant as ever. Eventually, he'd be back in the wilderness where he belonged, away from all of the noise and the hustle and bustle of the city. Of course, most of the people had fair reason to busy themselves this morning: the sacrifice of warmth to the Frostmaiden was coming. Even his own kin, the people of the tribe he was a part of, held such an event with great reverence and care. As a result, he didn't imagine now would be a good time to start knocking on doors and asking for jobs. He was still a stranger to this town, and he imagined most people wouldn't be willing to spare him the time to chat. Not this night, anyways.

Thus, once he returned from his morning walk, Kythor entered the mead hall once more. Rubbing his hands together, he approached the bar and procured two silver, dropping them on top of the bar. "Some knucklehead trout, if y'wouldn't mind," Kythor sighed, pushing the coins forward with his finger. As he waited for his breakfast, another figure entered the hall, their arrival announced quite bombastically. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of the new arrival: a gnome. The fact that he was still wearing his scarf and still had his hood up were all that hid the surprise on his face. For somebody of such short stature, his entrance had certainly magnified his presence by at least threefold. When the gnome approached, Kythor quickly wiped the surprise from his face and began to untie his scarf, removing it just as the gnome had asked why everyone was so dour.

"I take it you're new to these parts?" Kythor asked out of genuine curiosity. "There's a lot on the minds of the people of Good Mead. Tonight's the night 'a the full moon," he explained, leaning forward on the bar. "That means the Frostmaiden's coming to collect her dues - good for her, but not so good fer the rest of us, yeah?" he added with a chuckle. "Then there's also the fact that the Speaker of the town got killed by a verbeeg who'd come and helped himself to a cask of some of Good Mead's, well, mead, so that's also been keeping people's heads busy. Town's lookin' for someone to recover the mead, probably looking for someone to bring 'em the head of the giant too, I bet, but that sort of stuff's way above my head, so I'm trying to not give it a whole lot of thought. In any case, I guess it'd be pretty accurate to say that these people are in a bit've a bind, hence their gloominess."

"Bloody hells, I'm used to the cold but it's like this place has never seen the sun before." Kyra trudged through the snow. Even though Kyra had made sure to dress for the weather, even getting snow shoes, this place was cold and unforgiving. It was dark for what felt like all the time, and the last time she saw sunlight was a few days ago. If it weren't for her innately magical ability to see in the dark, Kyra would've been lost in this cold, hostile land. But even so she doesn't let that bother her. She's here for a reason.

The Frostmaiden has come to steal warmth from the people in this land. Kyra was honor bound to help the common folk, who often have no choice but to suffer. These lands were often too dangerous for most up-and-coming adventurers, and more experienced ones are busier chasing more lucrative jobs. Thus it relied on people like Kyra, who had an oath to uphold, to do what others would not. Though that being said she hasn't had much luck doing much good so far. Most folk have already made preparations to give up to the Frostmaiden, so Kyra just kept moving until she'd find people who did need her help. Her next stop was Good Mead.

Eventually Kyra would spot some lights in the distance. Firelight from inside huts and buildings. She finally got to Good Mead. Kyra head straight to the mead hall, wanting to get out of this weather. She's been camping out for at least three days now, and she would enjoy an open flame. Once inside Kyra would shake off the snow and look for a table to sit down at. As she did she overheard someone talking about recent issues. In particular a giant who had just murdered someone in town and stole the town's mead. Kyra approached the table. "Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear that a giant stole some mead from here? I don't know about you, but that sounds like a problem. If you're worried about tackling it alone, I'd be more than willing to join you. Perhaps we can defeat the giant together."

"What an excellent tale that would make." Verbally on the heels of the human who had come into the mead hall, the bard spoke up from a nearby table. Rinx still continued to wear the female elf guise and spoke speculatively as 'she' idly plucked at her zither atop the table, musing on the morning gloom and how to best address it profitably when the familiar teifling had returned. It had been a late morning for Rinx, and so he had not yet had breakfast. At least while awaiting its delivery, something entertaining had happened. "Two intrepid traveler, wary from the frost-lidden road serendipitously cross paths and form a pact to slay a giant and save a town from their strife. I'd be curious to see how that plays out."

DOMIC ROCKERSTAR HATCHETMAN

Domic listened to a stranger explain to him the current situation in Good Mead. Apparently some big bully had killed a Speaker, who Domic assumed is an official or something, and stole some mead. He has no idea what a verbeeg but he could guess from the description it's one of those giants who take things that don't belong to them because they're big and was able to take it by force. That displeased Domic. "Yeah, sounds like a right bastard. Someone ought to cut his balls off. Or rather, I ought to cut his balls off, and then get that mead back!" Soon two others joined. A woman who also seemed interested in taking on this giant, and an elven lass who had an instrument, probably a bard or minstrel. "Aye! I'm no fool, if I go out into that snow on my own you'll never hear from me again. But if the town's got a bounty on this giant, I wouldn't mind cutting him down to size. Still as I said, this ain't going to be a picnic. If we're going to do this we'll need to be smart about it, and more importantly, know what we're all capable of." Domic looks to the three with a smile and nod.

"In case you missed my introduction, I'm Domic Rockerstar Hatchetman! I came up here because I heard there was some trouble that needed a chopping, and that's what I'm good for." Domic turned to the tiefling. "You seem to know about this job, and you don't have the look of a common militia. You a hunter or something? If there's a reward for this job, more than willing to split it evenly among us. Hell even you," Domic looks over to the bard. "What a better way to make a tale than to be a part of it? After all even if we all tragically died, you wouldn't know unless you were there. Tag along with us, we could use someone of your talents. Maybe we could convince this giant to return the mead peacefully without cutting off his gronch. Or threaten him to do that so he gives back the mead, either or." Domic chuckles as he looks to the group. He was no charmer but he likes to think that he has a way with words, as long as he keeps talking.

Kythor turned around in his chair and sighed quietly, watching as another newcomer and the moon elf musician from earlier - Valna Moonsong, was it? - approached. Of course the talk of giants had piqued their interest, and of course they were ready to challenge it. He couldn't speak much for their readiness, but he didn't imagine that either Domic or the woman who'd just walked in were any more prepared than anybody else he'd come across. Speaking of Domic, he'd noticed that he had picked up on the fact that Kythor wasn't exactly a local to the town "Well met, Domic. Name's Kythor," Kythor nodded, "I'm a hunter. Used to hunt for my tribe, but, well... circumstances have changed. Long since changed." He paused for a moment, lost in thought, before continuing. "Anyways, even though there's a bounty out for that giant, it's a bounty I'm not in any sort 'a hurry to collect. Figure giants are probably above my head, heh." He shook his head and softly chuckled to himself.

"I dunno how much experience any of you have within fighting giants, but the way I see it, I figure it's not only over my head; it's probably above all 'a our heads" Kythor said, addressing all company present. "Maybe if we can outwit him, we'd have a chance, but raw strength alone's not gonna cut it... unless you'd rather have a dirge dedicated to ya instead of an epic tale. That bein' said though, there's certainly a few other odd jobs and tasks people need done. For instance, me and a group 'a travelers went to the town of Easthaven to run an errand for this half-elf researcher - she needed a chwinga, y'see - and it was there that we caught wind that Easthaven was in need of someone, or a group of someones, to help 'em track down some missing fishermen. Think you bunch'd be interested in teaming up with me and lending them a hand?" Kythor relaxed against the bar as he watched the group to gauge their interest.

"Oh, where are my manners? I just barged into your conversation without introducing myself. My name is Kyra Shepard, I'm also something of a hunter myself, though I decided that I'll be more useful helping other villages than just saying back at home." Kyra takes off her hood and mask, revealing a young woman with dark hair and dark purple eyes. The hunter, Kythor, admits this giant might be over their heads and Kyra was inclined to agree, through she still feels that it'll be important for them to deal with eventually. These attacks are rarely just one-off, and if the giant feels that they can get away with this, they might try to attack more often. Better to nip this problem in the bud early before they show up again. "While I don't disagree that this giant problem may be too much for us to handle, we should still keep it in mind. Who knows if this giant is working alone or lives with a clan. If they think they can get away with it, they might come to Good Mead in force."

Kythor offered some other jobs that were less riskier. There was a job to look for missing fishermen, which sounded like the sort of thing Kyra is able to do. "Sounds like an easy enough job. I just hope they're alive, I can't imagine being lost up here. Feels like we're in the underdark with how little sun this place gets." Kyra also takes this moment to look at the others. Domic was loud and boisterous, but he at least seems earnest. Not a complete fool, but certainly has more courage than wits. Kythor had a steady head on his shoulders, though he was still a mystery to her. Then there was elven woman who Kyra honestly wasn't really sure if she's actually going to part take or was just here to chat. "Regardless, I'll certainly help you Kythor. And if you two want to join, I'll be more than happy to have you. As I mentioned I'm also a hunter, in particular I'm a fast shot with a crossbow. I can also do a bit of magic though I'll admit, I'm no wizard. I have studied a bit of arcana though."

Dullin

"This is it?"
A deep feminine voice rang out through chattering teeth. Dullin was currently squinting to get a look at the town as the driving snow stung her eyes. The closer the cart got the more her fragile human eyes could scan over the meager town. She had been warned there wasn't much this far north, but frankly, the human was disappointed. Her opinions about the place were already rather low, even though her insulated cloak and a warm winter blanket the cold bit at her skin. As the cart rolled into town she scanned the humble yurts and houses. These were shoddy even for the old farm town she came from and Dullin began to feel a twinge of remorse for the people going about their lives like normal here. She had only been traveling through the cold for a few days and she was already done with it. How these people kept going was beyond her. After what felt like hours the cart rolled into the local trading post and Dullin stepped out, handing a couple of silver to the driver. After a brief thanks, she practically ran off to the Meadhall.
"The less I have to stay in this damned weather, the better" She snarled allowed.

Entering the Meadhall was like being pulled into a warm hug. The cozy fireplace made her frostbitten hands numb. Silently she slunk to the bar and welcomed a moment to bask in the heat as the bartender took care of others.
"Just something to warm me up and a room, please," She said as she placed gold on the table. It hurt her to slide the coin go, she had come here to find work to keep her from starving yet she had spent a hefty sum just getting here. The town certainly needed help but more and more she was wishing she had just toughed it out in Neverwinter and waited for another juicy case to come her way.

Her eyes wandered the crowd as she picked at the trout and sipped on honeyed mead. A group of oddballs seemed to be gathering. Dullin was quick to note the Rock Gnome, her teacher was a forest gnome and unlike most humans, she was able to spot the difference relatively easily. Same with the moon elf, it was clear as day that she stood out. For now, she opted to merely listen in, maybe they would lead her to her next big case. In any case, some of the things being mentioned were interesting. A couple of hunters, a half-elf researcher. It seemed she was not the only one who had come to lend a hand in town. It didn't take too long before Dullin wouldn't be satiated by merely easedropping.
"If you're looking for some missing people, might I tag along as well? An extra pair of eyes is never bad when you're looking for someone" She asked rather abruptly, and her cheeks flushed a bit as she butted into the conversation.

"A silver for the meal, hot fish stew. We do have have rooms here though, most travelers find a section of floor to bed down on. Or somewhere else in town that can accommodate them." The inn keep explained while she fetched a bowl of stew for the newcomer. The stew was bland with few root vegetables with chucks of fish in the simple broth.

At being addressed by the barbarian full of bravado, Rinx's elven guise downcast her eyes in favor of the zither, her long fingers running just above the spider-silk strings. Quietly, to herself mostly though she'd not hidden her words with any effort, she'd given her light, airy opinion. Likely, the words were tainted with the way she'd been addressed, whether taking offense at the after-thought or the question at her willingness to seek out stories. "It would do no good to know if I were counted amongst the dead either, I think."

Her eyes flashed momentarily over to the teifling who's thoughts seemed to align with her own, his true smirk touching the fair elven lips at the 'dirge' comment. In a fair bit of humor, the delicate elven fingers strummed a few sad chords belonging to a funeral precession by way of tuning. When the human chimed into their conversation, however, she was a little more keen. "It may not be the stuff grand tales are made of, but even giant slayers have to start with a pittance quest or two, like seeking lost souls. One could never know what nefarious villain is at the root unless they seek it out."

Still non-committal, but Rinx knew there was likely more coin in adventuring than solely singing and playing for the miserable folks in this village. And he did actually enjoy his craft, even if it was mostly another face for his true goal. It seemed his contact did not know he had arrived, so he might as well do something to busy himself in the meantime aside from playing daily at the mead hall. Though the gnome was a little more earnest than he cared for, the teifling was reasonable. These others, he wasn't sure, but that part of the fun?

DOMIC ROCKERSTAR HATCHETMAN

"Alright, it's settled then!" Domic says confidently. He nods to the newcomer that decided to join the conversation: Domic was no stranger to rando's showing up and joining in the fun. Half the time he was the rando. He looks over to Kythor. "Looks like we'll be putting giant slaying on hold. Fine by me I'd say, ain't in a rush to my death, s'long as we get around to it before it gets to us, savvy? Anyways, you mentioned something about Easthaven yeah? Missing farmers or whatever. Good place to start as any. Don't know where Easthaven is aside from East, and I imagine we're going to need to pack some supplies for the trip. Tents, food, that sort of thing. I might not a burly orc, but I can carry my own weight in gear, so don't be afraid to load up on supplies. I'm more than willing to distribute the weight." Domic says with a nod and a smile as he looks at the gathered group. While he was used to small folk like himself, Domic knew that one day he would have to get used to running with the big guys. Instead of having to fight them, it's time for him to work with them.

Domic's stomach grumbled. He still hasn't gotten his stew yet. "Well, if we're all going to be traveling together and what not, how about we have some food in our bellies and drinks in our hands while we gab and get to know one another? If we're going to be traveling through this desolate frozen wasteland together, may as well not be strangers to one another, less terrible and vile ideals begin to take root in our minds when we're at our lowest. Negative I know, but I've seen it happen before. And I find it's best to get that shit sorted before tensions grow because of things we don't know, like if you got some trauma about dragons or maybe you're secretly a vampire or something." Domic still had his gold coin out, so he was just waiting for an innkeeper or serving wretch to come around and get him something.

The barkeep makes her way over to Domic with the bowl of stew and a mug of mead. "I apologize about the wait. I didn't see where you went. Anything else for you?"

The mead was thick and sweet, the faint taste of juniper berries can be tasted on the end notes. The stew however was much plainer fair. Chucks of knucklehead trout floated in a thin broth with turnips and small slivers of onion.