View source for A Silver for your Thoughts

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== Log Info ==
*Title: A Silver for your Thoughts
*Emitter: Elyanna
*Characters: Elyanna, Dirk, Zofija, Ashes, Taran
*Place: A07: Fernwood Pub
*Time: Wednesday, April 20, 2022, 9:39 PM
*Summary: Elyanna is visiting Poppy at the Fernwood and finds Ashes downstairs, taking a card reading for herself. Dirk, a dwarf and Zofija, another hobgoblin, enter. Elyanna and Zofija join Ashes at her table and get awkward introductions as Ashes outs Elyanna as one of the Champions of Stone Talon and far more knowledgeable about the bioweapons used their than she is. Zofija has her own opinions and understanding of the place where her sister died. Ash's reading is somewhat obscure, a Lame Fox, and she leaves it unfinished. Duties call the Keeper, the Mourner and the Dwarf away, leaving Zofija to catch up with Taran, a fellow adventurer who recently suffered Lycanthropy. Various silvery options are discussed and the Jotun offers to escort the Arvek Nar home; she declines.</div>
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-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* A07: Fernwood Pub *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The common room of the Fernwood Pub dominates the inn, spacious and airy because of the high, vaulted ceiling. Ornately carved beams of dark, polished wood form a lattice overhead, supporting the arched roof two storeys above the floor. To the right of the double-door entry is a spiral staircase, winding upwards to a balcony that rings and overlooks the main area. Large windows at this level grant an excellent view of the river to the west and colorful market stalls to the north and east. An air of coziness is salvaged by keeping the pub dimly lit; parchment-shrouded mana lanterns hang at intervals from the base of the balcony, nestled amongst lush, magically propagated ivy and ferns that grow over this false demi-ceiling and the struts that support it.

The bar is sleek and simple, comprised of meticulously polished black lacquer. Tables are set under the darker niches formed by the balcony floor as well as on the balcony itself. A few are deliberately sized to accommodate halflings and gnomes, but the majority are meant for human-sized individuals. A large common table is on the main floor, set before a semi-circular stage situated against the western wall. Beside it, with pipes mounted upon the wall and running up past the balcony and almost to the ceiling, is a refurbished pipe organ made to look like the one lost when the Fernwood was destroyed during the Merkabah Siege.

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<pre>-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  Appearing  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Elyanna      5'11"    153 Lb     Half-Orc          Female    A grim, Arvek-blooded woman in raven feathers.
Ashes        5'11"    177 Lb     Hobgoblin         Female    A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face.
Zofija       5'8"     225 Lb     Hobgoblin         Female    A well-dressed Arvek-Nar with a big hammer.
Dirk         4'11"    295 Lb     Mountain Dwarf    Male      A rugged old dwarf, dressed for the outdoors.
Taran        7'6"     308 Lb     Giantborn         Male      Luxurious flame colored hair and dark red of skin.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=</pre>

The evening crowd is in a decent mood tonight, and the serving girls and bartender are working at a steady pace to meet the needs thereof.

Shrouded in feathers of raven black, a reddish woman descends the stair with steely eyes scanning about to get a feel for the room.

Dirk pushes open the door and lumbers his way into the Fernwood. He doffs his tricorne, tossing it onto the bar and leaning his thunderbelcher up nearby before hopping up into one of the dwarf-sized stools. "A pint o' beer fer me, if ye would please!" he booms cheerfully to the bartender.

An ashen Arvec Nar sits at a table in the shadow of the stairs. She has an arc of cards spread in front of her; they form a metaphysical barrier. She glances at the doorway long enough to see the dwarf enter, then turns to see who owns the footsteps she was hearing above her head.

Spotting the red-skinned woman, she raises her hand in a wave, then sets it down.

"WhooOooOooOooo?" A small screech owl on her shoulder calls out, it's eerie call nearly lost in the conversations.

It was one of the best days in the week, the day when payments from the adventurer's guild paid out. There was enough left over that going out for a meal and drinks was in the cards, which was always a good time. The arvek-nar cavalier moves the door open and strides inside, doffing her hat and tucking it under one arm. 

She continues moving by, stopping to spy one familiar face by the stairs, and another by the bars, both of whom get a wave. "Evening Ash, good to see you out here as usual." The cavalier greets, turning her head to see the other descending the stairs. "Don't think I've seen you before, I can usually remember a 'nar's face, part or otherwise. Good evening, nice to meet you."

The red woman's eyes flick toward the creak of the opening doors as they yield entrance to the Khazad, surveying his bearing and accoutrements in passing as her feathered cloak flutters about her stride.

She pivots on her heel at the base of the stair in time to catch the wave of her friend, and a carmine hand parts the raven shroud to return it.

And then, the door draws her attention once more.

A blink. The faintest list of her head as Elyanna considers the cavalier, appraising by countenance and equipment to determine is her other hand should steer toward a greeting...

... or Maidenhead...

but the lack of heraldry, or unit insignia leaves it too ambiguous for her to leap to a conclusion just yet, and so her response to the hail is a cordial, "Good evening."

Dirk digs into his hip satchel for his pipe and tobacco pouch, taking his time filling the bowl with rich cherry tobacco. The gathered Arvek Nar has the burly old snowbeard's brows arching in curiosity, but he doesn't butt into their conversation. He doesn't spend so much time in the wilds that he knows nothing of politeness. As his beer is brought to him, he passes over a couple coins to the bartender with a friendly smile. "Keep the rest fer yeself!"

Ashlee nods once at the entering cavalier, watching with some interest as Elyanna goes through her threat assessment. She folds her hands in front of her, content to see how this plays out.

She turns over a card. The lame fox.

She stares at this, then reaches down to scratch at her hip. Finally she looks over at Elyanna again, raising her head expectantly.

There is something in the returned greeting that makes Zofija hesitate, with one brow raised for just a moment, but it passed just as quickly and she returns to smiling. "Well, what's up then, Ash? Don't know what that divination means, or why you were doing them in the first place. Hope it's a good one, at least. Mind if I take a seat? Was going to get a drink, something to eat, maybe a drink for you too, if you wanted. And maybe even one for the half 'nar there? If she wants, looks like you're either curious about her, or know her already."

Elyanna has a bit of a complicated(adulterous?) relationship with the lands of the Arvek Nar.

Sometimes it makes her paranoid.

She bows her head to the newcomer and turns toward Ashes as she is hailed by this new Arvek with some familiarity, which abates some degree of the subtle tension within her frame.

She catches the look from the Khazad and returns a polite, "Good evening." before she begins to approach Ashes.

"She's asleep, finally." the red woman begins, hands lifting to draw back her hood as she turns a faint, reserved smile the Mourner's way, "Is this a friend, Ashlee" <goblin-talk>

Dirk tips back his beer, his throat working like a mighty pump as he guzzles the brew down. With a contented sigh, he bangs his empty mug down on the bar. "BRAAAAAAALPH!" He wipes his mouth off on the back of his fist, rumbling with laughter. "Good brew, this. Give us another!" 

He tamps the bowl of his pipe with a fingertip and tucks the bit in the side of his mouth. He looks over to Elyanna as she greets him, offering her a friendly smile in return. "Hello!" he booms. He fishes a match out of his pockets and strikes it, lifting the flame to the bowl of his pipe. Whiskers twitch and flame dances as he puffs steadily, kindling a warm glow. Once that's done, he snaps the match out, puffing a billow of sweet pipe smoke into the air, settling back in his seat with a contented sigh.

"She's a friend." Ashlee confirms Elyanna's question. <goblin-talk>

"This is Elyanna," Ashlee introduces the red-skinned hobgoblin, gesturing at her with an open palm. She falls silent as she considers the question. She is of course, still curious about many things with Elyanna, but there is a vastness of experience that can't be easily summarized. The Mourner ponders the best way to put it all into words.

"We've been through a lot." Best leave it at that.

She pushes at the card, shrugs a little, "Just doing a reading."

Another pause. Every short sentence is in monotone, her words lacking inflection, at best narrated. "The Lame Fox raises a few things. How was it injured? It's still clever, but is it clever enough? It suggests a difficult and tricky path."

Her eyes meet Elyanna's, "And we've had a lot of those."

Finally she drops the bomb that the cards might have been hinting at. "Zofija's sister died at Stone Talon. From the diseases."

Zofija pulls out a seat to sit down at the table, her attention turned to the other arvek-nar, and for a moment to the rather loud and impressive belch. The cavalier chuckles, and waves over a bartender to place an order. "Well, glad I'm past the acquaintance stage at this point, suppose. Happy to be called a friend." She replies, with a genuine grin on her face. One which dies quickly, as she realizes what was being talked about. "Good thing I got extra gold for more drinks tonight." She sighs. "You're the one in Stone talon she told me about then. Where they were testing all that shit out?" <goblin-talk>

The red woman considers the jolly fellow for another moment on his booming return, offering, "The cooks are quite capable here, I am told." by way of suggestion.

Almost as soon as the words stop vibrating eardrums, the half-sil server bounces along to deliver several plates of food to another table, while the younger, human other emerges to a different vector.

Elyanna's eyes return to Ashes's card game, which she still finds vaguely unnerving, but she nods to her friend's descriptions, "We have."

The addendum about 'Zofija's sister ratchets her posture up some and she fixes the woman with another, more considered gaze, "It was a calamitous time."

A pause, then a slow, neat bow, "You have my condolences." <goblin-talk>

A glance, laced with disquiet turns toward the grey fullblood a moment as sr straightens, then nods anew, "I was part of the final effort to liberate the city, yes."

Her hand curls over the back of a chair, drawing it out, "I had only a small hand in the actual triage."

Dirk glances over at the Arvek trio, puffing quietly at his pipe. He can't understand what's being said, but the grim countenance of the three has his shaggy white brows furrowing. He takes his pipe from his mouth as his beer is brought to him, tipping back a swallow. Not quite as boisterously as last time, he's taking his time with this brew.

"It might be his reading." Ashlee says, indicating the cards and the dwarf, and not turning any more over yet. She glances up, and her head bobs as she follows Kaeryn bouncing by with an order, "Or hers."

Her distraction past, she stares for a long moment at Elyanna, "You don't have to talk about it."

"It was a shitshow with some stupid scientist thinking they know how to fight a war, like all the people there were just resources."  Zofija grunts, shaking her head and looking for her drink which was still likely a ways off. The Arvek-nar sighs. "You didn't have anything to do with it though, so, anger's not towards you, and I appreciate the condolences. And then I hear that same scientist gets carted off back home, and likely not to some chopping block." 

"Hope it's not my fortune, I've got enough injuries of late as it is." She shrugs. "Rather not have too many more for the time being." <goblin-talk>

Elyanna follows Ashes's transom as the sil makes her way along on business.

They're going to have to talk, soon, in all likelihood.

Meanwhile, Miriam, the human server, draws u by the Khazadi's table with a warm, easy smile as she wonders, "Hello, sir, I hop you're enjoying yourself so far. May I get you anything else?"

Elyanna sighs a soft rumble in her throat at the turn in conversation and she nods, "It was more than that. Ambition, and war-lust too long unchecked." she counters.

"She was taken back, as I understand, but I have had too much..." a glance toward Ashes, "Local politics to keep track of things there, since, I am afraid."

Dirk looks up at Miriam, offering a broad smile and a nod. "Aye, a lovely evenin'," he says. "Thanks kindly fer askin'. Fine beer, this!" He lifts his mug with an approving nod. "But tell me, lassie. D'ye know aught 'bout yon Arvek? Sounds like there's summat serious goin' on."

"Oh," Miriam turns to consider the table, "I don't usually see three hobgoblins here at once. Oops, I mean, Arvek Nar."

"Well, the one with the cards, she's a Mourner of the Temple of Vardama, the one up on the Mountain. She was a wanted fugitive for several months and I didn't see her. Umm.. Ciaradh."

"The..." her voice lowers and she leans close to Dirk, "red-skinned one, She starting coming around, recently, mostly to visit the Mourner, or, this sweet young woman they brought in a while ago. Rumor is, she's nobility, but I'm not sure if it's from Blar or Bludgun. Her name is Lady Von Diesel. She's also was a wanted fugitive, they helped a Murderess escape."

"I don't know who the other loud one is. She might be a fugitive... ex-fugitive too."

Ashlee's ears flick, and she looks at the server. "Delilah was framed." Her hands clench up, and then open. She rests them palms down. This is followed by her squirming in her seat as her clothing flutters. She adjusts her shirt. She nods, looking at Zofija and repeating Elyanna, "Local politics. Nobles."

"Yeah, I don't want to get into that too much. Just made it clear that there's terrible people on both sides of things." Zofija sighs. "Real eye opener, and part of the reason I'm here and not there." 

The rest of the commotion, and what gossip she could here made her shrug, and turn her attention back to Ashes. "Easy there, I'm not sure what they're saying, but I believe you. So, business going on around here? I don't know Alexandrian nobles, but they can't be that much worse than some of the ones in Blar."

As are her countryman's, the red woman's ears are rather sharp, though less her diluted natural gifts, than for diligent training, and her attention flicks toward the other tabl.

Elyanna glances sidelong to Ashes as she offers her rebuttal, then amends, "Alleged murderess. The charge was spurious." in a steady, if somewhat firm tone.

She glances to Zofija as she cites her thoughts on the matter of distant Stone Talon and something briefly troubles her eyes before she stabilizes anew and she offers something else.

"In that most extreme crucible, there rose greater character to right a terrible situation..."

A look to Ashes, "Becoming..."

A somewhat flatter one turned toward Zofija at that last remark before there comes the slightest shake of her head and she decides, "I have business to attend. Be well."

With that, and a swirl of her raven cloak, she begins to stride doorward for the night beyond with the mysterious 'becoming' left unrealized.

Dirk hrrms, nodding his head as he takes in the gossip. "I see. Hrm. Well. I'm the last bloke who'll go fer politics. But... hopefully it all gets sorted in its proper way." He picks up his mug and gulps the remainder, before tucking his pipe back in the side of his mouth. He picks up his tricorne and sets it atop his head, then hops to his feet. He picks up his thunderbelcher, slinging it over his shoulder. He gives Miriam a tip of his hat. "Hammers high, lassie. I best be gettin' back. Got some chores tae be seein' to afore I turn in." The Arvek table is given a nod as well, before he turns and lumbers for the door.

It's not required, but Taran still ducks his head out of habit when entering into the establishment. There are enough Giantborn in the city that doorways are generally tall enough but it's those times when he's not careful that he always ends up knocking his head on a door frame. This time though he had to make way for a dwarf that was making it's way out before he came in which gave him aple time to look at the doorframe but... habits are hard to break.

Moving further into the pub Taran looks around and lifts a large hand in a wave to Zofija, "Greetings and salutations," He offers to her jovial tone tinging his deep smooth baritone, "Hope Screech has made a full recovery since last we met." That much is offered in friendly fashion but he doesn't intrude on the any possible conversation going on at that table before making his way to the bar.

That's not to say Ashes doesn't get a look, she does, that skull tattoo drawing Taran's attention rather noticeably for a good long bit until he is settling on a reinforced stool at the bar and perusing what's on offer tonight.

Ashlee raises her hand to gently wave at Elyanna departs, then drops her hand back down to the table. She stares across at Miriam and Dirk for a while longer before summarizing, "It's complicated."

She might explain later, or not.

Miriam looks away, focusing on Dirk's departure, "Thank you for your patronage." She slips off into the kitchen.

Ashlee answers Zofija, "The nobles in Blar are more honest in their abuse of power. Here, it's disguised in human goodness." Her words are still monotone, though a little closer together.

She doesn't react to the Jotun's arrival, or his stare. She's used to being stared at. She starts gathering up her cards.

"Oh ah, right, Elyanna." Zofija offers somewhat lamely when the half 'nar was leaving, and an equally awkward wave. "Right! Name's Zofija Vogt, nice to meet you." 

And she was already gone before she could say her name. The Arvek-nar sighs. Though she does stop to wave to Taran when he comes by. "Yeah, good to see you, and yeah, they're doing well, most of it was patched up by that paladin at the grounds, just left rest and eating proper. They're back up to one hundred percent now, I'd say." 

"Yeah well, when they're the people with money, and there's a city state of Blar that needs rebuilding, better the questionable folk you know than the outside sources, not that either situation is particularly good. Your friend seems nice Ash, but I was taken a bit off guard." 

Thankfully, her drink arrives, and half of it disappears quickly. "I wasn't ready to breach that topic. So much so I forgot to even tell her my name, or ask much about it. Still, thank you for the thought."

Taran tries not to intrude into the conversation further, offering to Zofija, "Glad to hear it. That caught me by surprise too. I wasn't expecting it to be full contact like that." He admits, "At least no permanent harm was done, thankfully." When the conversation shifts to topics that existed and were ongoing before his arrival Taran returns his attention back to the important business of sustenance of whatever variety can be had at this time.

Liquid and otherwise.

Before long Taran is ordering whatever is ready, hot, and filling along with a tankard of ale from the barkeep and settling in to comfortably relax and fill an empty stomach. The ale arrives first of course.

"She's a monster," Ashlee says, looking at the door Elyanna vanished through, "We all are." Her cards are stacked, and she slips them into the pocket of her jacket. "It's a difficult topic."

"Some of the survivors have wooden fingers." The Mourner adds randomly, "I'll tell her your name. So he was there too?" She watches Taran move around.

"Yeah, when I hear live training, I think of you know, training with swords, not with the intent to kill. Or testing out bows and the like on non living targets." Zofija grunts. "It's in the past now though, And I'm glad that no one died." 

Then she turns back to Ashes, and she shakes her head. "I don't think you or Elyanna are, but I understand, difficult topic. He was, one of the people in the practice. Robert was there too, among others. Older man, you might have met him."

Taran takes a drink from his ale and waits for his meal to arrive, paying with a few silver coins for the first bit. He frowns at something being said that he can't help but overhear now and again but stays out of it though occasionally looks over towards Zofija and Ashes table.

It helps when his meal arrives so he can focus on that and not have wandering attention syndrome. "It's good. Thank you." He compliments the cook in the back via the barkeep and finishes his first tankard of ale afterwards, gesturing for another. Coin is placed on the counter and Taran smiles, "Let me know when that runs out." As he takes another drink and returns to his meal.

"No. She's working on it but she is a monster." Ashlee says, slowly and deliberately, "it's not my story to tell."

She's silent and thoughtful for a few minutes, "I don't think I've met him. I haven't been by the colosseum in a while."

The Mourner stands, "I should go by the Soldier's Defense. Later. I need to go to the temple now." She waves, a farewell that includes Taran.

"But you didn't refute that you weren't. I'll take that as a win, at the very least." Zofija chuckles, though it was followed by a small frown. "Going to the temple? And here I was hoping to get to share a couple drinks with you. Oh well, another time. Was hoping to take you out to celebrate the new life festival, but ended up on a job at a bad time, sorry." 

The cavalier waves off the mourner, and returns to her drink for the moment, until the mourner was off.

At the wave, Taran lifts his mug in a wave of farewell that is almost a toast or a salute to the leaving Arvek, "Farewell, may your evening be kind and peaceful." He offers to the departing woman in a friendly smoky rumble.

He looks over at Zofija, "No reason to sit alone if you don't wish to. Feel free to join me, or I can move there if you prefer." Taran smiles at Zofija, "Unless you prefer it of course."

The Mourner adjusts her clothes and drifts off towards the door. She doesn't look back or acknowledge the other patrons. There's a change in the atmosphere when she departs, it's somehow not as creepy, even if all she did was sit under the stares, a staring skull makes for awkward dinner company.

"Oh, right." Zofija sighs when the mourner is off on her way without a look back. She turns to look over up at Taran and chuckles before she pulls herself out of the seat at the table. "Yeah, sure, better than drinking alone." The arvek-nar grunts. "Weird night, and I do still want to have at least a few drinks tonight."

"Sounded like it." Taran admits with a soft chuckle but a smile follows as Zofija makes her way to the bar as well. "Then again, I don't mean to speak ill of someone I don't know, but things seemed... unusual with your previous companion to begin with." Not that the highly social giantborn wasn't unusual in his own right. "How have you been over these past few weeks?" He asks conversationally curious, making sure his meal isn't in the way when Zofija picks a seat.

Just in case.

"Unless that's a bad topic, in which case, ladies choice." Taran says with a wry smile before taking another drink of ale then returning part of his attention to his meal. He is hungry enough to eat it all and maybe order more from how little is left on his plate already.

"Well, it's just a weird situation." The arvek-nar shrugs as she takes a chair at the bar. "And yeah, Ash is a bit different, but I think she's interesting, and a good person from what I've seen. Been trying to get to know her better, make friends with her, that sort of thing. She's a good soul, honest, just takes a bit to get to know." 

"I've, certainly been better than these past few weeks, to be perfectly honest." She shrugs, taking the moment to finish off her mug of ale. "Aside from tending to an injured griffon, I was nearly stabbed to death by bandits, which certainly isn't fun, and neither is the recovery time after, when you can't really work on account of everything making you light headed. But I'm back on my feet, so at least there's that in the end, yeah?"

"There is that." Taran agrees, "All things considered, I think I would have preferred bandits to my last few weeks." He chuckles, "I was actually cursed and turned into a werewolf briefly. That was no fun at all." He shakes his head and takes another drink from his ale, emptying yet another tankard and gesturing for a refill. "But at least the curse was removed before I hurt anyone. Thankfully."

Taran falls silent for a few moments then adds, "Was an eye opening experience. How... weak I am. Compared to the things that are threatening the city these days I am not even a doorstop."

"When I say nearly stabbed to death, I mean it, thy forced me to stay at the soldier's defence on account of how much blood I lost." Zofija snorts. "Not pleasant. But, maybe better than contracting lycanthropy from anything. Ran into some rats like that recently, seems things are out of sorts. Probably best not to be wandering around at night of late.

"But Don't be too hard on yourself Taran, we're just people trying to train and make our way, not fiends or monsters or magical beasts born to kill and lord over things. That doesn't mean we can't make a difference, or stand up to them, just means it takes a hell of a lot more effort, you know? If you want to not be a doorstop, you gotta work at it."

"I hate the feeling of helplessness about it all. I still have nightmares about the moon now." Taran admits with a slight shrug, his right shoulder lifting and rolling with the motion. "Doesn't help that I don't even know what I need really. I hear tell of silver for lycanthropes, but, how do I silver a giant warhammer?" He asks with a chuckle, "I suppose I could get a shortsword or something. Maybe a glaive." He considers that for a moment, "But do you know of anything else I should be getting? Obviously magic, but that's a bit out of my price range at the moment. I do want to eventually get some better armor. After that run in with the werewolves I've heard of mithril being light enough for rogues so that is tempting, even if I can't hide it."

"Well, you're not helpless, and you're alive. Just a matter of training till you're not. Hell, you're one of those jotunn blokes, so it's even easier for you. Just gotta put the muscles somewhere productive really, figure out what you need to do." 

"As for the silver thing, you don't need a hammer made of silver if that's what you're thinking. Just gotta be the main cutting or bludgeoning surface is all. doesn't matter if the force is coming from the metal behind the silver, if you get what I mean." 

"As for dealing with nightmares and that shit, well, that's what the pubs are for. Though healthier outlets for your worries are obviously better."

The arvek-nar leans back in her seat, and accepts the new mug delivered. "Personally I just find new jobs to work on to keep my mind off things."

"I was when I was cursed." Taran mutters with a slight shake of his head, "No matter how much I wanted to fight it, I just wasn't strong enough." He considers, "But... you're right. Wine, favorable companionship, and song right?" He chuckles and finishes his meal before he settles in to enjoy his ale. Not ordering more food for the moment as he pushes the empty plate aside.

"I guess I'll speak with an alchemist or a blacksmith about how to fix my weapons for that at least." Taran says with a little shrug, "Sorry for being such a bother about it. You strike me as far more experienced than I am. Hell, you ride a /griffon/. I just pick a lock now and again." He grins wryly, "Sneak around a bit." He snaps his fingers, "That reminds me. Was on an expedition a little while back and we found a statue that came to life and when we killed it there was a little twisted statue. Couldn't really make it out or anything. Heard about anything like that before?"

"There's treatments for that sort of thing, alchemical silver and the like. It's worth looking into if you need it, I should get something done for myself if they're a concern around here." Zofija grunts. "Armor for Screech comes first though, something more to keep their neck and body safe better. And not really, well, sort of? I've been training for a while, but who hasn't back in Blar really. I'm just lucky they thought I had some sort of talent at riding beasts to ship me off to the myrrish kingdoms for training. And locksmiths don't swing hammers around, I know that. You're fairly tall, don't sell yourself short." 

Ther Arvek-nar pauses and hums, rubbing her chin for a moment at the comment. "Can't say for certain, but there's a possibility the animation was tied to the statue. Could be mortal magic, could be cultists or evil clerics. But it doesn't mean anything specific to me personally, sorry."

"Just curious." Taran says honestly after listening, "It was in some sort of dark burial ground that extinguished every light source, even magical, before we got trapped in a room with no exits at all... at least until we killed the minotaur." He takes another drink, "Sort of like... a stone capstone at the top of a hill. If you run into one, just so you know what to expect. Might be similar maybe."

Taran chuckles, "I'm pretty average sized for one of my people you know. Not to tall, not to short, and the hammer." He considers, "I'm probably being a bit silly using it. I've seen others of my skill set using paired short swords or daggers but... I don't know." He grins openly, "I just like the hammer." Another slight shrug, "But I will check with an alchemist then if I can find one of good repute. At the very least I want to be able to put the beat down on werewolves." He considers, "But I think they're a bigger problem than is being let on. There were three of them in Stormgarde colors, and some sort of massive summoned wolf beast that actually spoke some language I didn't understand. It felt... organized."

"Average height for a jotun, that's like saying 'I'm tall for a halfling', or something like that. It's not so much about how tall you are for what you are, as much as what you are relative to others. And I have yet to meet a short jotun." Zofija chuckles. "So it's not a bad thing. You've already got an advantage on things, and you won't be as caught off guard if you run into any more werewolves. That, and knowing it can be cured like that, that's a morale boost, yeah? As long as you're careful, it'll go fine. Probably." 

"Stormgarde colors though?" She asks, one brow raised. "Sounds like someone has something to answer for. If you remember what they said, maybe you could find a lore-keeper and see if they can translate it roughly. Failing that, see if you can get a potion made for comprehending languages next time you run into them. Seems weird to drink something to understand languages, but if alcohol can do that, then a wizard can manage something comparable."

"Priorities." Taran says with a short soft bark of a laugh, "Potions are expensive. I haven't had many opportunities to make more than a handful of money in recent days so that one will likely have to wait. I'll have to hope that there is someone around who can comprehend them for the time being." He considers, "Where were these bandits who pin-cushioned you?" He asks curiously, "I'm guessing outside the city walls but I am curious as to the distance. The guards at the gate seemed... off as well. I am becoming concerned for the city."

"Depends, expense vs learning something that might do a lot of good in the city? There's a reason why the adventuring sorts run around with all sorts of esoteric magical artifacts, on the off chance they might be handy. But I get you. Might be better to just drag someone along with the necessary magic for the day instead." Zofija shrugs. "Nah, these were in the city walls, the usual thing. More of a gang of slavers really, trying to, well, you get the idea. They had a family heirloom still from one of their captives who escaped, that we went to recover. They were holed up in a derelict warehouse in the city, one of the usual haunts for folks like that." 

"If the guards start acting weird too, report them to their superior. Least that's what I'd say in Blar, never are certain if their superior is the weird one sometimes. Just gotta use your judgement for it. Find some folks you can trust."

Taran nods, "We ran into some smugglers down on the docks the other day too, well, me and a few people. Don't really know them all that well to be honest. I just started my," He lifts his hands to make air quotes, "Adventuring," Then reaches for his ale again, "Career so to speak." He drains his third tankard but, they're just tankards, and he is a big boy regardless of how he sees himself gesturing for another.

"I understand what you're saying, but my means are very limited at the moment." Taran reaches for his refilled tankard once it has more ale in it, then sets down another silver for a few more refills to come. "My last expenditure was actually some healing potions after what happened to Screech I have resolved myself to always have at least a handful on me." Another drink, he wipes his mouth with a cloth taken from inside his cloak. So civilized. "As long as I keep getting lucky enough to survive I can put your advice into practice. It's just hard to figure out the proper priorities. More widely useful stuff first compared to a potion to know languages maybe... maybe not. It's a good idea to be sure."

"I get it, got to live within your means and all that for certain. The expenses of an adventurer seem to go well above what one needs for a roof on your head, so it's just a matter of saving. It's what you get when people pay you for jobs no one wants to do." Zofija chuckles. "Just a matter of time really, but I'm not one to talk. I tend to err on the side of saving over spending myself. Most of my stuff is what I had when I left Myrrdion really." 

Another drink is emptied, and the Arvek-nar peers into the mug for a moment, before setting it back down. "Having medical supplies never hurts, yeah. Don't need to know how to suture a wound to tip a potion in someone's mouth is the nice thing. Though, I should probably make that drink my last. Need to head back to my inn and rest, I don't want to be caught off guard in the night, either, if what you say is true."

"I don't think it's a full moon again already so you should be safe, except for all the cutthroats and bandits out and about." Taran frowns, takes another long drink from his ale. "I can walk with you back if you like. Two individuals in the night are a less tempting target than one." He offers but then asks, "Do you have any healing potions? I can give you one for the time being. In case of emergencies."

"There's a thing about lycanthropes, it's not just turning into a wolf thing when the moon's out. Warps your whole way of thinking, all sorts of evil stuff like that. So they're still a threat even if it's not a moon out. Not to scare you, or anything." Zofija sighs. "To be honest, I should be able to walk home on my own, unless you need an escort. I just need some time to think about stuff too. I picked up some potions for healing too, so I appreciate the offer, but I'll manage. And you need to save your gold still, so better to not need to replace it."

"Fair enough." Taran says with a smile, "Couldn't miss the opportunity to try and walk a lady home." He winks playfully then lifts his tankard in salute, "Have a good night Zofija. Until next we meet." He pauses, "If I hear of any work, I'll try and get in touch with you before hand."

"Well, appreciate it, Taran." Zofija chuckles, hopping off her seat and setting down the coin for her drinks. "Always good to get to walk a lady home, I can get that. Long as you'll be okay, I'll be on my way. Feel free to give me a shout, I'm always looking for new jobs, so it doesn't hurt to keep an eye and ear open." 

With that she turns to the door following a wave to the giantborn, before she exits the pub, putting her hat back on as she went.

{{LineSkulls|300px}}

==Dramatis Personae==

'''Ashes''', ''A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face''
<br>She has a skull for a face.

On second glance it is a tattoo, white on her warm grey skin. Her nose is a coal black patch while her hair is a lighter, cooler grey. The hair has wavy, thick strands that clump together. Piercings and other decorations enhance her markings, creating a sugar skull, a festive death. Ashlee Ciaradh is not festive. She is a quiet, somber Arvec Nar. A little creepy. It's the way the hollows around her eyes are emphasized, her stare. The heavy jaw with all the teeth tattoos.

There's a chill around her, one unlike that caused by cold weather. A quietness of the tomb. Her clothes are dark, a short half-jacket over a shirt with dark slacks. She has a very battered bag slung over her shoulder, one that seems older than she is.

'''Elyanna''', ''A grim, Arvek-blooded woman in raven feathers.''
<br>Tall, lean and dark, she stands most of six feet, skin a rich, cinnabar tone with a splash of carmine freckles across her cheeks and bridge of her nose. Her face is broad beneath her thick brows and widows' peak, with well defined cheekbones and a firm jaw. Her demeanor is solemn around harrowed steel eyes, though in the odd case of a smile, her teeth are those of a predator. Her hair is raven black, bangs parted by a burnished steel band to frame her face, and the rest allowed to flow to her beltline behind her. Should she speak, she does so in a contralto voice, her accent unmistakably that of Bludgun.

An ankle length cloak of raven feathers, almost matching her hair but for texture, with a fringed leather mantlet layered over that shrouds a chain shirt. The chain is polished to a almost mirror shine with a black suit of cloth, reinforced at the joints with matte leather, under. At her waist, a rectangular, fluted buckler hangs from a clasp on her crimson belt over her left hip, the coils of a whip braided of various hues of hair, to the silver tresses of it's popper, rides on her right on the scabbard of a Blarite falchion, while a punching dagger that curls like a fang is tucked at her back. Polished black leather and blued steel chased in copper make up the gauntlet that sheaths her right forearm, matched by reinforced boots that fold back at the knee. The closest she gets to accessories is the afformentioned steal headband, crafted to resemble a braided leather band with a central 'strand' of polished bronze interlaced with the rest.

'''Zofija''',''A well-dressed Arvek-Nar with a big hammer.''
<br>Zofija stands at slightly above average for an Arvek-nar, but she is even more muscular than most, which is an impressive feat for the military minded race. Their skin is a light orange-brown, brightening to almost white at the tip of their nose. Their hair is short length and brow, and just a bit wild when not covered by a hat. The arvek-nar usually has a stern look to them, with yellow eyes that almost seem to be judging the person looking at them. 

She is usually dressed much how one would expect arvek-nar cavalry to be. A fur lined black jacket draped over her right arm like a cloak, over top of a dark red coat hiding the chainmail underneath. A pair of cream colored slacks accompany the outfit, but they are covered up partially by a pair of almost knee height riding boots of oiled black leather.

'''Dirk''', ''A rugged old dwarf, dressed for the outdoors.''
<br>Here stands a sturdy, solid example of the Khazad people. He's big and broad for his race, standing just under the five foot mark, yet is half again as broad as the average human. He's clearly gotten on in years, yet he carries himself with all the spry vigor of a youth. A snowy white mane of hair tumbles to his shoulders, while his majestic beard is worn gathered into two tails that reach his barrel chest. His deepset eyes of rich honey brown are framed by deep, craggy lines and shadowed by shaggy brows. A set of three thick scar-lines track down the right side of his face, cutting a notch out of his brow and lending a slight squint to his eye. His voice is a deep, gravelly baritone, and he speaks with the typical dwarven brogue.

His clothing and accouterments mark him as a man of the outdoors. He wears a sturdy, well-forged breastplate over a heavy cable-knit sweater of a deep hunter green. Over his shoulders, he wears a heavy cloak and mantle of deep blue. Sturdy brown trousers are tucked into heavy hobnailed boots. An embroidered blue scarf is worn around his bull neck. Atop his head he wears a well-worn old tricorne hat cocked at a jaunty angle, with a small golden cockade pinning a white plume to the brim. He carries an immaculately maintained thunderbelcher slung over his shoulder. A leather satchel is slung over his chest, resting against his left hip, while a smaller hip satchel is hung from his belt on the right. A keenly sharpened handaxe is tucked into his belt within easy reach. He's rarely seen without his broad-bowled pipe tucked in the side of his mouth.

He lumbers about his business with a broad, easy-going smile creasing his features. Despite his rugged appearance, he's quite polite, quick to tip his hat and offer a boisterous greeting. Despite his thickset appearance, he's light on his feet and moves with practiced grace.