Cider and Charms

Log Info

• Title: Cider and Charms

• Emitter: Ravenstongue

• Characters: Randolf, Ravenstongue, Telamon, Xasany

• Place: A07- Fernwood Pub

• Summary: Ravenstongue escapes the awful wet and cold night by going into the Fernwood Pub, where Randolf is enjoying some brew. Telamon comes into the Pub and sits with Ravenstongue, happy to run into his beau again as they both drink cider to warm up from the cold. The young couple and Randolf discuss Ravenstongue's way-too-effective charming magic, Telamon's past with the daughter of an oruch chieftain, Pothy's uncanny ability to sound like Randolf, and even briefly discussing Raven and Telamon's hypothetical children, which causes Ravenstongue to turn a very bright shade of red. Xasany turns up for a bit of tea and gets some crackers from Pothy, in a rare display of corvid generosity. A delightful evening for all (but especially for Pothy).

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* 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.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Dramatis Personae =--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-    
Randolf              4'10"    280 Lb     Mountain Dwarf    Male      
A burly, well-dressed Khazad in wizardly robes.                            
Ravenstongue         5'0"     99 Lb      Half-Elf          Female    
Short half-elf girl with violet eyes and black hair.                       
Telamon              5'6"     140 Lb     Half-Elf          Male      
A platinum-blond half-sil man with dancing dark eyes                       
Xasany               3'6"     38 Lb      Gnome             Female    
A gnome with green hair and black clothing.      
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Another chilly and dark evening in Alexandria--one of the worst kinds of evenings, in fact, as the ground outside is icy and the air is not only cold, it's wet. This disgusting weather combination has led to the Fernwood being rather packed this evening.

And Ravenstongue is seated far from the doorway, apparently trying to get all the warmth she can without having to dive back beneath her wool cloak. She has a cup of what smells like spiced cider, albeit the alcoholic variety... While Pothy, of course, has his platter of snacks set out before him on the table. "It's too cold, Pothy," Ravenstongue complains, before she takes a sip of her cider. She sighs in relief as she sets the cup back down.

Randolf is seated at the bar. He's a dwarf, after all, so booze proximity is more important than heat proximity. Besides, the cold never bothered him anyway. He sits quietly smoking his pipe, pausing now and again to tip back a swallow from his mug of beer. He appears to be in fairly decent spirits. "Aye, it's a wretched night out," he says towards Ravenstongue. "Wouldnae be so bad if it were snowin', instead o' this nasty slushy shit. Why can't tallfolk get proper weather down here?"

The door bangs open to let Telamon in, heavily wrapped in his long cloak with the hood up and still feeling a chill. He doesn't stand on ceremony but shoulders the door shut with a mumbled curse, before dragging his hood back. "Gods, that's miserable out there," he mumbles, as he carefully removes his cloak, giving it a careful shake before draping it over his arm. That done, he approaches Raven's table almost unerringly. "Sorry I'm late, 'Lana. Ran into an old friend." He catches sight of Randolf, and gives him a polite bow, before slipping into the chair opposite Raven. "Have I missed anything, besides an excellent argument in favor of improved heating in houses and businesses?"

Ravenstongue brightens immediately as soon as Telamon approaches her table, as though she's suddenly forgotten all about the cold. "Not yet, no. I just got here--Mister Randolf has the right opinion, I think. I had to order a cup of spiced cider, I'm so cold. Why can't it be nice and fluffy snow?" she complains.

"Colder than a witch's tit," Pothy says as he looks up from the obligatory snack platter, a near-perfect mimic of Randolf's sort of voice to the point where someone might swear that Randolf's long-lost relation walked in.

"You said it, Pothy," Ravenstongue adds, taking her cup of cider again in her hands.

Randolf can't help but rumble with laughter at Pothy. No matter how many times he hears it, the raven's impression of him never fails to amuse. "Ye have it exact, laddie," he says. "An' believe me, from what I've heard, witches have pretty chilly tits!" He startles as the door bangs open, and Telamon arrives. But he calms quickly, seeing it's not some kind of eldritch horror come to devour them all. He offers a nod, lifting his pipe in salute towards the man. "We're just havin' a wee natter here," he says.

"That's about all this weather's good for. That damned damp will drag the heat out of you." Telamon looks inquiringly at Raven's mug, and opts to order one for himself. "Can't imagine having to stay out in this. Reminds me of when father and I went on a trade mission north, into the Tablelands. And that's not anywhere close to the worst weather you'll see going northward."

"At least I'm not stuck in a sewer like I was last night," Ravenstongue says with a sigh of relief. "Having to deal with a lost pig familiar, going down into the sewers to find a drider has it, then negotiating with the drider only for some random adventuring party to come barreling in demanding a kill on the drider and messing everything up would have been way worse if it was as miserable as it is today."

Pothy looks up from his snack tray again and opens his mouth to talk when Ravenstongue gives him a pointed look. "And this little feathered lump ran off to go eat snacks the whole time!"

The raven reconsiders what he was going to say... And simply continues eating. That's the safest bet.

Randolf tips back his mug, gulping the last couple of swallows, before setting it on the bar and pushing it over to the tender for a refill. "Nights like this make me homesick," he says. "Back up in Caer Glenlannach, we'd get the most lovely snow. Purest white, makin' the whole world quiet an' peaceful." He lifts his pipe with a wistful smile, but pauses with it halfway to his mouth. "'course, that's until the bairns get out in it. Then ye never heard such a clamor! Hah! All of 'em hootin' an' hollerin' an' peltin' each other wi' snowballs. Ahh... good times, that." He draws a steady pull off his pipe, the bowl glowing warmly in his hand. He looks back over at Ravenstongue through a billow of sweet vanilla-honey smoke. "Were ye able tae get the familiar out safely?" he asks.

Telamon wrinkles his nose. "Sewers, driders, and missing pigs. Hell of a way to spend an evening, 'Lana. Wish I'd been along to help." His cider arrives, and he takes a slow sip. "Ahhh. Much better." He nods to Randolf with a grin. "Dwarf children must be absolute terrors with snowballs."

He ponders a moment, before ordering a platter of appetizers when the waitress returns, and then turns his gaze back to Raven with interest. "I can only imagine the chaos that ensues when you have two different adventuring troupes running into each other..."

"We had snow occasionally in Rune," Ravenstongue says, looking at the rim of her cider mug rather than anyone else in the conversation. "I would hear the children playing outside when I was little. It sounded like they were having fun."

She took a sip of her cider and looked back up to Tel, her cheeks flushing for a moment. "Well... I, umm. They were going to try and kill all of us because they were idiots who thought we were on the drider's side. So... I, umm, I kind of... I kind of charmed their leader with magic."

Ravenstongue looks positively sheepish as she admits, "I think I was too effective. He fell in love with me. His girlfriend was pretty upset because he tried to ask me out to dinner--she dragged him away and was yelling at him. But yes, Mister Randolf, we got the piggie back. All that trouble for a familiar... But I can get why. I'd probably dive into the sewers all over again if someone had Pothy in their clutches."

Randolf takes up his fresh mug of beer, tipping back a hefty swallow. But he damn near spews as Ravenstongue relays the end of that particular escapade. He hurriedly sits his mug down on the bar, thumpins his chest as he coughs and splutters, before erupting into booming laughter. "HAH! Och! That's brilliant! Hee hee! Oh, that poor lad!" He slaps his knee, grinning huge through his beard. "Cannae say I've ever had anyone fall in love wi' me from a charm spell. Seems tae defy all rational reason, dunnit? I mean, look at me!" He puffs up his burly chest, running a hand over his majestic beard. "Highborn family. Uncle tae the than. An' a gorgeous beard tae boot. Who could possibly resist me, eh? Eh?"

Telamon blinks at Raven, then snickers into his cider. "Understandable. Don't worry yourself about it though. I... had something similar happen during that trip I mentioned. See, we were meeting with an oruch clan-chief about establishing safe passage through his territory. He was pretty amenable to the notion, and he didn't have too many hangups about sil, so things kinda went... perhaps a little too smoothly."

Tel's expression becomes rueful. "Because, you see, the clan-chief had a daughter. And I was already getting good at being a wordsmith, but she became a bit too taken with me. I mean, she was nice enough, but I was fifteen summers and father really did NOT want to have to explain to mother how I had become betrothed to an oruch during what was supposed to be a routine trip."

Ravenstongue put her cup up to her lips as she listened to Randolf--and then almost choked on her cider as Telamon reveals he was almost a teenage groom. She recovers quickly, fanning herself for a moment. "Sorry--that was for the betrothal story, not your very impressive dwarven beard, Mister Randolf," she says. "I wish I knew any nice people to introduce you to!"

She returned her focus to Telamon's story, her brows furrowing a little. "So... There's not some poor oruch girl waiting for her dashing half-elf man to come home to her, right? I don't want to be a homewrecker twice over. I'm not that kind of girl!" she bemoans.

Pothy looks up from the snack plate after swallowing a mini-sausage. "Ye know wa' they say 'boot having an axe in two mines," he says, still imitating Randolf's voice. Damn, he was getting good at that!

Randolf listens to Telamon's tale, grinning around his pipe. "Oh ho ho, that poor lass," he says with a snicker. "Aye, that sounds like a right pickle, that does. Don't think I've ever had anything like that happen to me. Suppose I'm doomed tae the bachelor's life." Pothy gets a glance and a low chuckle. "Aye, it's never a good notion tae be delvin' two mineshafts at once," he says. "That just gets ye intae a world o' shit. I speak from painful, bitter experience."

Telamon shakes his head. "No... we worked it out. Well, father and the clan-chief did. I'm not the type to break hearts, either. We did send them a nice gift when she got married a few years later. Matched set of battleaxes." He smiles wryly. "She was pretty, in a very muscular kind of way. But probably not a good match for me." He reaches over to take Raven's hand for a squeeze. "It would've been distinctly weird at family get-togethers, if nothing else."

Not the type to break hearts? Raven even seems to look at him in disbelief, though it's paired with a coy smile. "Really? You sure talk like a charmer."

She snickers a little as he takes her hand, squeezing it back. "I should know. It worked on me."

Ravenstongue looks over at Randolf and says, "Hey, there's still time. There's someone for everyone who wants someone--but being alone is just fine, too. You seem to love being an uncle, and that's still important!"

Randolf looks between the two, a warm smile tugging up the corners of his whiskers as he puffs at his pipe. "Aww... sure an' the pair o' ye make a lovely couple, too," he says. "But not tae fret. I'm used tae bein' a single man. An' it does make things a good bit easier, dunnit? But maybe someday, I'll settle down. There's nae rush. My brother's line has its heirs, so it's not like there's any need fer mine." He nods to Ravenstongue with a chuckle. "An' I do love bein' silly ol' Uncle Randy fer the wee ones. That's enough fer me--though it will drive me poor sister tae distraction when I show up wi' entirely too much candy fer them."

"Charmer, yes. Heartbreaker, no." Telamon seems very firm on that. "I'll happily make a lady feel like a princess, but I won't lie about matters of the heart. That's just cruel." He takes another sip of his cider, and grins at Randolf. "Probably a good attitude to have. I know my uncle on father's side would happily carry me on his back for walks through the forest. I think he approves of anything that results in 'more kids'."

Ravenstongue flushes even more than she did earlier retelling the story of the charmed adventurer at the mention of kids. "What would they look like?" she murmurs to herself.

"Ugly," Pothy answers, switching to the voice of some haughty noblewoman.

Ravenstongue gives him a look. "Hey! Don't say that about...!" She realizes she looks even sillier objecting to Pothy describing her possible children with Telamon--a concept she likely hasn't even considered up until this very moment--as ugly and flushes even deeper. The poor girl is quite crimson as she simply returns to drinking her cider--a perfectly reasonable coverup for the color on her cheeks.

Randolf's grin broadens, making his eyes twinkle mischeviously beneath the hang of his shaggy red brows. "Aww, lookit that, lad. Ye got 'er red as a beet. Heh." He takes ahold of his pipe so he can lift his mug. "Here's fer love! The sweet an' the sour kind, for where else would we be? CHEERS, OCH!" He thunks his mug down and throws it back, his Adam's apple bobbing as he drains his beer in three mighty gulps. BOOM goes the mug as he slams it down, followed by a thunderous "BRAAAAAALPH!" He pushes the mug over to the tender with a grin. "Let's have another!"

Telamon opens his mouth, presumably to lob a bon mot at Randolf, but then realizes how hard Raven is blushing. Whoops. He gives Pothy a sharp look, before turning his eyes back to Raven again, and stroking her hand. "Later," he tells her with a wink. Then he continues, "In any case, Randolf, what are you drinking anyways? I think I could smell that last belch."

Later? With a wink? What could that possibly mean? Poor Ravenstongue's beet-red coloring isn't going away with the implications. She downs the last of her cider cup and makes a bit of a frown as her last line of social defense has suddenly drawn the line. "It's just from the cider," she tries to say, excusing her blush with the lamest excuse she can conjure--and she's a sorceress capable of stopping men intent on maiming her in their tracks to fall deep in love with her, allegedly!

"Lana and Telamon, sitting in a tree~" Pothy sings, borrowing Ravenstongue's voice to do the deed.

The sorceress just groans some more. "Noooo, pleaaaase, I told you not to sing that in front of him!" she pleads with her corvid familiar. Apparently, he's sung it before in front of other people.

Randolf grins at Telamon as his mug gets slid back down the bar to him. "Ehh, I've had better," he says. "Me brother Fergus, now... he was a champion belcher! Could shake the rafters when he put 'is mind to it!" He looks at the mug in his hand. "As fer this... some farmer's brew, I'll warrant. It's nae too bad. Not as good as dwarf brewed, obviously, but then, what is?" He tips back a long swallow--but once again, Pothy has him leaning forward with a muffled "GWLLLF!" He thumps his chest, laughing deeply. "I swear tae Reos, boyo, if you get me spewin' me beer, we're goin' tae have us some words!"

Telamon reaches up to rub the bridge of his nose, fixing Pothy with a disapproving look. "You, my feathered friend, aren't helping here." He takes a long pull of his cider, before continuing, "Besides, trees just aren't all that comfortable for people. Give me a proper couch for this sort of thing." Okay, he's teasing a little. But only a little, as he inquires of Raven, "Another mug, 'Lana?"

He snorts at Randolf. "Randolf, I've tried dwarven brews. I needed a knife and fork for the stout, and the ale nearly knocked me cold. Not everyone has the same tastes in drinks."

Pothy looks immensely satisfied with himself as he returns to his snacking. He even laughs a little. "Haw-haw-haw-haw."

Ravenstongue politely nods yes to Telamon's inquiry, so red in the face that she can hardly speak. She does squeeze his hand again, a sign that she's still okay with the situation--just a little overwhelmed, it would seem.

Pothy takes a cracker out from his snack tray and offers it to Ravenstongue, seemingly as an apology. She takes it gingerly with a little smile and eats it.

Randolf laughs deeply at Telamon. "Well, if brew's nae yer speed, there's all manner o' dwarven liquors. A good single-malt whiskey, double-oaked an' aged fer fifty years... that's fine drink right there. Just the thing tae warm yer belly on a cold winter's night. Pairs fantastic wi' a bowl o' Greatforge Gold tobacco." He pulls another draw from his pipe, puffing a couple artful smoke rings to illustrate his point. "Or there's always honey mead. I've yet tae meet anyone who dinnae like honey mead!" He looks back over to Ravenstongue and Pothy. "Aww... he's makin' nice wi' ye!" he says. "Sometimes I wish I'd called a familiar rather than buildin' a wand. But I think I'd be shit at takin' care o' one."

Telamon lets Raven regain her composure, as he continues to engage with Randolf. "Mead has its places, although you have to be careful. I saw one fellow overindulge and he thought the hangover was killing him." He settles back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together thoughtfully. "I sometimes wonder how it would've changed me to have a familiar. It's an intriguing thought, though I think I'm happy not being beholden to creature or implement. Less things to worry about or lose."

"Don't you have Raspberry?" Ravenstongue asks of Telamon, finally getting the composure to talk again. Her cheeks are still rosy-red, but she's at least not looking like she's about to fly into the air like... well, like a raven. "I know she's not a familiar, but you talk about her so fondly."

Randolf snickers, tipping back another swallow of beer. "Well, best cure fer a hangover is hair o' the dog that bit ye!" he says. "But then, booze is one o' the main dwarven food groups. We're a wee bit more accustomed to it, I'll warrant. Heh." He looks back to Raven, headtilting curiously. "Is 'e not? Och, could've fooled me. He's certainly a clever lad."

Telamon looks slightly pained and amused. "Raspberry is a donkey I bought for the trip. She's not exactly a mighty steed or cunning familiar. More like an animal that knows how to instill a proper bit of humility in a person." He chuckles. "I won't mistreat her, but I don't expect her to be... well, useful beyond carrying things for me as needed."

Pothy peers at Randolf. "I am Apotheosis," he says, in a voice that sounds like it comes from a woman older than Ravenstongue--similar in the way she speaks overall, but deeper in tone, simultaneously warmer yet bristling with strength underneath.

Ravenstongue looks at her familiar with a raised brow. "That voice sounds..." She shakes her head. "Pothy is my familiar. And according to my grandfather, he was also my mother's familiar--which is why he just sounded like her."

Pothy looks back at Pothy for a moment before he says, in his usual goofy raven tone, "Merp." Then he picks at his snack tray again.

Randolf boggles a little bit at Pothy. Blink blink. "Hunh. So that just happened," he says. He draws a last pull from his pipe, upending the bowl over a nearby ashtray to knock the ashes from it. "That's remarkable. Havin' a familiar passed down from dam tae daughter." He shakes his head with a soft sigh. "My da never liked the notion o' me studyin' wizardry. Dwarves aren't meant tae study magic. But... I was the second son, anyroad, so I dinnae really have much tae inherit in the first place. I'm content wi' what I've got."

The door opens to admit a small hood and cloak, and once the door is shut, it makes its way to a table closest to the fire. The hood and cloak are removed, revealing a small Gnome with long green hair, wearing a black dress.

A chair is noisily dragged towards the fire, and after pulling her boots off, she settles in the chair with her stocking'd feet propped up on the hearth. She lets out sigh of relief.

Telamon lifts an eyebrow. "I always meant to ask how you got into the art, Randolf. Usually from what I've seen, dwarven magic tends towards the tangible -- runes, construction -- and more clerical pursuits. Not criticizing you, but I just found it curious." He smiles at Raven. "And Pothy's no end of adventure for you, is he? You could even say it's his doing we wound up together, as much as it is Grandfather's."

Pothy croaks happily as he eats his crackers, now seeming to be merrily unaware of the conversation about him... Until the gnomish newcomer arrives. He flaps over to her and lands right in front of her. "Snacks," he says.

"He's the one who flew to you and made us meet each other to begin with," Ravenstongue says with a smile to Telamon. "So I'd say he did--"

Oh no. He's doing it again. Ravenstongue sighs as she looks over and spots her pale-feathered friend trying to beg snacks from a stranger. "Pothy! Leave her alone, you have a full tray of snacks over here!"

Randolf fumbles in his breast pocket for his tobacco pouch, going to start filling a fresh bowl. He pauses in mid-scoop when he spies the newcoming. A shaggy red brow lofts curiously, but he doesn't stare overlong. He's not a creeper. He gives the bowl of his pipe a tamp with his fingertip, before tucking the bit in the side of his mouth. "Oh, I suppose ye could say I was the precocious one," he says to Telamon with a chuckle, pocketing his tobacco pouch. "I never cared fer 'proper' dwarven things when I was a lad comin' up. I was always in the library wi' me nose in a book." He snaps his fingers to conjure a spark of flame, taking a moment to get his pipe fired up. "It's nae that I didn't love or respect me clanmates," he says around a billow of pipe smoke. "It's just... everything around me seemed so... ordinary, ye know? I was always wantin' tae go out an' see things. I wanted tae know." He shrugs his broad shoulders. "Then, we received a visitor from Alexandria. A wizard needin' custom-ground lenses fer an artifact he was designin'. An' they pointed 'im my way." He puffs up his chest proudly. "Nobody could match my glasswork, fer accuracy an' precision! So they brung Master Nathaniel tae me, an' he spotted the Gift in me straight away."

The Gnome is idly rubbing her hands together, enjoying the fire's heat when the raven lands before her and asks for snacks. She laughs brightly at his forwardness, and holds out a hand, "Coin first, birdy bird. Or do ye wish to pay the witch's price?"

Telamon nods. "There's always been talk about trying to... organize things in terms of testing for the Gift, or the art, or the 'knack' as one gnome put it. I think a lot of people worry about that sort of thing getting a little out of hand though." He grins as Pothy goes over to harass someone new for snacks. "He never tires of hitting up new people for handouts, does he?" he says to Raven. "He really is a bottomless pit when it comes to food."

Pothy, the pale raven, tilts her head at the self-declared witch. Tilt to one side. Tilt to the other side. He flies off back to Ravenstongue and Telamon's table, takes a cracker, and returns to the gnome, holding it out to her. "Snack!" he says. It's an offering now, rather than a request.

"He is, but he can be surprisingly sweet at times, like that," Ravenstongue says with a giggle.

Randolf nods at Telamon, taking ahold of his pipe so he can guzzle the last of his beer. "True talk, laddie, true talk," he says. "Got tae make sure we're nae trainin' up the next Tyrannical Wizard Overlord, right? There needs tae be some rules in place so we can use an' express our Arts safely. Fer ourselves as well as the world around us." He watches Pothy go winging over to the gnome's table, then back, then forth again. He chuckles deeply. "Och, the way he packs in the snacks, makes me wonder if he wasnae a dwarf in 'is past life! Gods know we can eat!" He slaps his tubby middle with a grin.

"At least he's kind of the sharing type," Telamon offers to Raven with a grin. "Is that something of himself, or you, or your mother -- or all three?" He scoots his chair around, so he can sit next to Raven. So he can hear her better, of course. That has to be it.

He does nod to Randolf though. "Who writes the rules though? And who enforces them? There's the pointy end of that spear. I'm not sure I'd want to be the one handling it, let alone deal with it."

Xasany follows the bird's flight to Raven's table, and snorts as the bird returns with a cracker. "That's more like it, birdy bird." She delicately takes the cracker from the black bird, and munches on it thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you serve drinks, hmm?" The Gnome giggles lightly, and stands, offering a wave to the bird's owner, before she goes to the bar. Where she's heard to order tea.

Ravenstongue smiles a little as Telamon comes closer to her. "That's me teaching him to share," she says. "He used to be rather food aggressive--then he bit me one time when I tried to get a cracker he was eating and I cried. He looked so upset with himself! So I started teaching him how to share food--he doesn't do it too often of his own free will, but sometimes he will."

Pothy's tail feathers shake up and down, vibrating a little, as the gnome accepts his offered snack. Pothy is a generous god, and he enjoys it when his subjects enjoy his bountiful gifts. But then comes the drink order... So he flaps right back to Ravenstongue and eats the crackers instead.

Pothy may be generous at times, but he lacks opposable thumbs to carry drinks. Surely that's his excuse.

Randolf watches as the gnome approaches the bar, puffing thoughtfully at his pipe. As she puts in her order for tea, he leans over to the tender. "Put it on my bill, eh?" he says. He looks back to Xasany, offering a warm smile and nod of his head. "I'm feelin' in a generous mood today," he says. He returns his attention to Telamon, nodding his head. "Ye touch it wi' a needle, laddie," he says. "I've got little head fer such matters. So I suppose it's just a bridge we'll have tae set fire to when we cross it, nay?"

Telamon reaches over to stroke Pothy. "Well, it's good you've managed to reach some common ground with him." He finishes his mug of cider, and inclines his head to Raven. "Walk you home?" His eyes glint merrily, as he nods to Randolf as well. "Indeed. Some things are like the seasons; we take them as they come at us."

The Gnome smiles beatifically, and nods to the Dwarf, raising up her mug in toast. "My thanks, sir!" She wraps her long fingers around the mug, sighing lightly, before heading back to her seat by the fire.

Ravenstongue looks at Telamon and smiles at his offer, taking his hand and squeezing it as she rises from her chair. "Of course," she says. "Thank you for the lively conversation, Mister Randolf. Have a good evening!"

"May yer anvils always be true!" Pothy crows to Randolf as he flies back onto Ravenstongue's shoulder, sensing that the half-elf sorcerous couple is about to walk off into the bitter winter night.

Randolf lifts his pipe in a farewell salute to Telamon and Ravenstongue. "Hammers high, friends! Try not tae get too chilled out there!" He settles back in his seat, nodding to Xasany as well as she accepts her tea. Lapsing into silence, quietly pulling at his pipe as he listens to the rains outside.