Chapter I "Do you remember when we met......"
The quiet village of Oakhurst, on the southern border of Ahlissa....
It's a small village, with one inn, a single dusty road running through it, and few amenities. The folk make their living by farming, trade having passed them by long ago in search of more fertile pastures. Oakhurst is south of the Thelly River, at the edge of the Gloriole Mountains and only a half day's ride or so from the foothills. It's south and west of Nulbish, though that city has little to do with a village of only less than a hundred. Indeed, few in Oakhurst give much thought even to their being part of Ahlissa.
Oakhurst boasts a single general store, which sells the few things the folk require that they can't make or grow themselves, and a dwarven blacksmith who keeps plow blades in good order and makes the occasional weapon. There is a small stretch of forest nearby, but it quickly gives way to the foothills and then mountains to the south.
Finally off the ship that he and Sal had caught from the far west, Burble stretches his legs, glad to be once more on the ground and not a rolling ship. He looks at Sal taking in the warrior and waits for him to gather his gear and then the two walk down the path. The story that Burble had heard led them to the hinterlands of the new Kingdom and the old haunts of Ahlissa. After many days of weather and dirt roads that have lead them to the small hamlet of Oakhurst, Burble looks to Sal and groans.
"Another damn pissant speck of dirt and we have yet to reach our goal. Well seeing we are here anyway, how about we stop at the inn and get a drink. I could use a good ale to wash out the dust off."
Rowland comes into town from the east a little weary from traveling, but full of confidence and optimism about the future. When he reaches the town center, Rowland briefly considers his options, then heads into the inn. He bustles through the door with a burst of energy that belies his fatigue.
Those who notice Rowland enter the inn see a young man who looks exhausted, but still conveys cautious excitement with his glance. His blue eyes seem eager for adventure. Rowland is a slim teenager who still appears to be a few inches shy of his adult height. However, he moves with a commanding grace one might not expect in a "gawky" adolescent. The boy is comely, with shoulder length blonde hair, and looks no older than 15 (he's actually 16).
He wears a traveler's outfit--homespun shirt, deerskin trousers and backpack, and boots--that marks him as a forest dweller, and weapons--a short bow and dagger--that suggest he often hunts for his dinner. He wears a leather wrist guard on his arm, of the sort that a hawk trainer would wear.
After Rowland enters the inn, he briefly surveys the residents. Then he sits down at a vacant table or stool, catches the glance of a barmaid, and gives her a charming smile. When the barmaid hustles over to him (perhaps ignoring a few customers who've been waiting longer), Rowland orders a light ale. Natch, he gets his ale quickly. As he drinks, he resumes watching the other patrons of the inn.
Upon entering the inn, Burble looks around to see the keeper. Any who might be in the room will see him. Burble stands an average halfling who wears a cloak of blackish grey with the hood kept up. He is unusual for a halfling in that there is no hair on his feet and the top of the feet bear scars some might be able to tell are caused from fire. He grips a shortbow made from Hornwood, with two quivers strapped to his back. Some daggers stick from his belt, and everything is well places and settled to not move about. His bright brown eyes shine through when seen in the light and when you are able to see his face, you are a little repulsed. He has only a few short strips of hair on his head and the rest are again covered with scars from fire or battle wounds. His voice is raspy and strangely for a halfling, deep.
Next to Burble is a large muscular Dwarf, he stands taller than most dwarves, and his nose has been broken so many times that it was jested that his nose was drawn on his face by a drunken artist. He has numerous scars on his face and body, the only one that is very apparent is the one that is above his right eye that actually makes his eyelash look like a dashed line. He looks around and then back at Burble. " Yeah, this is a small one. hey I want a ALE! " He shouts the last word and then stares at any who would look around questioningly? Burble just shakes his head and draws his cloak , wondering what these paranoid peasants may have to say.
The dwarf's cry startles near all the patrons of the inn, and they leap up from chairs, gasp, call out, and more than a few fall over on the floor. The innkeeper seems to be one of the few who takes it in stride. He looks up from the ale he'd been drawing for a farmer sitting at the bar and immediately passes the ale to a nearby barmaid, who rushes it over to the dwarf.
It isn't long, though before the barmaid, a young lass of no more than twenty winters, notes the new arrival and sees to it that he has his ale well before a table of five or six older farmers, their faces creased with the weight of years and their backs hunched by heavy labor, gain theirs.
A woman sits at a table in the corner of the room, her chair leaned back far, her dirt encrusted boots on the table to prop her back. She is tall, her skin a pale cream behind her shoulder length black waves of hair. Her clothing and armor is a bit dusty from travel, and a laden backpack lies at the foot of her chair.
Rhea peeks over the lip of her mug at the rather loud 'gentlemen' who just came in, the corner of her mouth turning up in a bit of a grin, she chuckles, and finishes her drink.
Burble. looking back at the woman, just sneers. Some stupid human who wants company. Like she would really like company of the sorts of Burble. He does point her out to Sal, in case the dwarf wants her common. Burble himself goes and orders a common dinner and a tankard of ale and asks the price of a room. Just what may await them on this journey and who all they may have to meet and work with, that will be a question.
"Such racket would wake the dead themselves. Of course, dwarves are not said to be much quieter than the rocks in their heads." A gentle voice giggles from the corner by the fire place. A lock of blond hair strays down her right cheek. Her once pristine white dress, now marred by the dust from the road, is of elven make.
She giggles again, and returns to her book. A large, thick tome, which she studies with abandon and makes occasional notes.
Looking over from the joint table, Burble looks at the elf and wonders how well Sal might take her words, but for himself, Burble smiles at the application, no matter how much it might be true. Through the cloaked face, hoping not to cause her too much grief, he lifts his own cup. " I thank you for the compliment of my friend and will hope that he will be happy with the attentions of the other and his ale. Good evening to ye and enjoy your reading. Perhaps later we might talk?"
Sal, happy to have gotten his ale and sitting down contentedly with his short companion, allows the weariness of the long walk to ease from his bones. His weapon sitting near his side and his pack sitting in the back of the chair, he looks around. Seeing the female raising his cup after Burble points her out, he smiles back , and motions for her to join them. He even smiles as he sees the discomfort of Burble and hopes that he can keep from instigating the harsh tongue of his friend from learning more of the area.
Rhea looks to the giggling girl by the fire with a smirk, thinking to herself that the young are sometimes too quick to speak without thinking, and usually regret it.
It had been a long journey, but he was there at last. The figure made his way into the small burg of Oakhurst not by the road passing through as most might. Instead he emerged from the wilds surrounding the town like a ghost, treading steadily and silently in from the northeast.
He is garbed in a hooded cloak in forest colors of brown and green, serving to obscure him in nature. Underneath can be seen leather bracers, leggings and a tunic style piece over his chest and stomach, all stained a light sort of green. Roughhewn trousers and shirtsleeves are glimpsed poking out from under the leather. A pack is slung across his back and he carries a wooden spear shaft close to 5 feet in length in hand, using it as a walking stick. Padding along at his side is a large brown and tan wolf. As he keeps pace with his master, his keen eyes dart back and forth as they make their way into the center of town.
The two stop and regard the small collection of buildings for a moment.
:.....a drink....yes that would be good....:
The pair turn towards the inn and head off, heedless of the stares of townsfolk. They make their way inside and head straight for the bar. Once there, the wolf promptly sits on it's haunches and the man leans against the bar, not taking a seat.
The innkeeper gives the wolf a long stare, and the barmaid avoids it completely. Several of the assembled farmers look unkindly at it, and one mutters from a distant table.
"Damn wolves cost me ten chickens..." He trails off, and another voice picks up, loud and squeaky, like an old gate.
"Now you lissen here, you lissen t' old Loric here! You dun gone made yer fences up right proper-like, like I told you all those years an' then some, you'd never have those wolfs in yer coop! But you don' lissen t' old Loric..." the man trails off, his indignation spent.
"You got your chickens stolen before too, Loric, so shut yer mouth about my fence! Yours didn't help you none either!" the first man angrily shoots back.
"Don't you know better than lissen to Loric and his ranting at you Durnik?" a third man's voice calls out from a ways away from both Durnik and Loric. "Next you know he'll be sounding off about his tree-demons up and stealing those trees we planted."
"I'm tellin' ya," Loric jumps back in again, his short, white beard sticking near straight out as he thrusts his chin out at his latest detractor. "Those cattle gone grazin' don't come back from out away too far on cause of those tree-demons! Luth dun lost five heads! Those was tree-demons, same what stole the trees we planted. Those goblins're in with 'em too! They knew well Feldgar's woman took sick with that what that priest from ways north can't cure! You knew it too! An' we all took up an' gave 'em all that gold! Then came through like decent goblins too!"
A chorus of shouts drowns Loric out, and finally he ends with a simple declaration, "You don't lissen t' old Loric...don't do things proper-like...you'll regret it in time...no one lissen's t' old Loric..."
He shakes his head and takes a swig of ale.
The cloaked figure watches this exchange silently before looking down into the eyes of the wolf. He then reaches into a pouch on his belt and withdraws a slightly tarnished looking silver coin. He places the coin on the bar with a barely audible *klick* and places a slender index finger atop it, pinning it to the wooden surface.
His concealed face turns and takes in the room slowly. Bright green eyes taking in each person before moving onto the next, finally coming to rest of one of the barmaids.
The innkeeper readily enough pours an ale for the cloaked man, and looks him straight in the eye for a moment before addressing him.
"It's no matter to me that you bring that animal in here...but I've lost no chickens to one of 'em. You'd best take care with it."
The piercing eyes hold the innkeeper's for a moment before pushing the coin across the bar towards him.
"Fine...." he says in a quiet voice, his tone short. ".....And a water as well."
The innkeeper silently delivers a glass of water in a few moments.
Rowland watches the farmers debate with a great deal of fascination,thinking, "Boy, I'm glad I didn't bring Dafydd into the inn. Imagine what'd happened if this farmer had a problem with HAWKS!"
The cloaked man places the water on the floor by the wolf, who laps from it readily. He scans the room slowly again with his eyes, back to the bar, sipping quietly from his ale.
Rhea ruffles her fingers through her hair as the man and his wolf enter, and listens to the commotion it causes. Watching the sleek beast in his lithe movements (the wolf, not the man), she pipes into their conversation "...and think how much that pelt will get!" She grins.
With a heavy sigh, she lets the chair's front legs fall to the floor with a heavy **THUD**, and pushes her drink forward, motioning for a refill, and placing a coin on the table.
"Don't you dare!!!"
The elven girl near the fireplace looks pained as she floats across the floor and kneel beside the wolf.
"How could anyone be so cruel as to destroy another creature for clothing or profit?"
She very slowly cups her hands and cocks her head to one side, looking very animal-like at the moment.
Seeing the antics of the women, Burble again looks nastily at Sal " Seems we might get some entertainment after all. Heck, always nice to see a nice cat fight though most of the time is them after the same man, not some overgrown dog." To the women he calls out. " A silver for the one that takes the other."
Rhea looks at the girl, looks amongst the room at the farmers and merchants who's livelyhood come from animals (as they have spoken themselves), at everyone wearing leather armor, and leather on their shoes, meat on their plates, etc. She looks again at the girl, and shakes her head sadly.
The man throws back the hood of his cloak to reveal his face for the first time. Long dirty blonde hair falls to his collar, framing a slim featured face that, along with the mild points to his ears, hints at one of his parents having been elven. Intense green eyes bore down at the girl that approached the wolf.
"I would advise you to step away *now*, girl. You obviously have little clue as to how the wild world works. Nature can be harsh. Adapt."
His already grim expression grows more so as he looks across the room to the woman at the table. He raises the spear to point at her with it, emphasizing his words.
"....And if you even entertain the idea of trying to take Riki's (pronounced Ree-Kee) pelt..." his fierce eyes ablaze, ".....I'll take yours in kind."
He slowly lowers the point of the spear, eyes still locked on her.
She chuckles a bit. "I see they don't have sarcasm in the deep dark woods. Don't worry about it - *I* don't have any need for animal skins..." She taps her fingers on the tabletop, the smile still on her face, watching the bar.
"Sir, I grew up in the forests.. I've probably met Riki's great-great-great-great-great grandfather." The elf pipes in, as she backs away a bit, and turn to the half-elf.
"Well-met, I am Sylphionel."
The half-elf looks Sylphionel up and down with raised eyebrows and lets out a small derisive snort before turning back to the bar and his ale.
Sylphionel looks at the half-elf in shock for a moment, and then sits on a stool at the bar.
"I.. I would like an ale, also, please. Thank you." she asks. The innkeeper gives Sylphionel a long look, but finally produces a tankard for her, setting it down on the bar and awaiting payment. She takes out the necessary coin, and then takes up the tankard. Taking a sip, she grimaces, and then takes another. "Thank you, it's lovely." She continue sipping. "Could I also have a plate of fruit or bread?" The innkeeper silently provides a few slices of bread, on a worn wooden plate.
Burble, hearing the words of the Half elf, laughs out loud. " My my, for such a small village, we certainly all seem to be adding to the excitement,. Are we all to brawl and fight over some worthless cur? Come now, how about we all sit down and drink to the health of all, including your overgrowing beast."
There is a long pause from the Half-Elf, but he finally speaks "Worthless.....cur??? I would lay down my life for this 'cur', as would he for me. Can you say the same of your pet dwarf?"
Burble gives back a full smile, allowing his cloak to fold down and show his full facial effect. The scars and burns show much, and what hair he does have left is cut shirt, if not frizzled from the heat from the wound. He looks the woodrunner fully in the eye and the sneer and ill humor glow from his lips. " Well good for you that you are so close to your doggie. I hope that the two of you enjoy your lonely nights, As for Sal here, hell, even if I was inclined to love the bastard, I am not the pretty one, am I? I travel with him and we watch the others back when it suits us, but other than that we are both independent agents, able to do whatever we see fit. I leave you to your lupine and I will stick with my bow. I just know that you must always watch out for number one, and that is yourself buddy boy. "
Burble has allowed his voice to rise some, but then he looks around, shrugs his shoulders and sits back down, taking a draught of his ale and getting a little distance away from the wolf lover. He does grip one of his daggers should the man take too much of an insult.
After a wait, he looks around and in a softer tone, " Shall we try this again. I am Burble, lately from the west, I now travel and am at leisure. Shall we all enjoy our drinks and those interested in talking to the lording go do so and see what he has to offer."
The elf girl speaks. "I agree with Sir Honest, wolves are extremely loyal friends. What's more, they're caring, and generous. Look at a wolf pack, they care for everyone within it. Once you're adopted, in your family for life. Elves and humans, I think, can learn much from this. Especially elves." Sylphionel sighs for a moment, absently push back a lock of hair that fell over her eyes.
The stranger pauses for a moment and chews his lip before replying. "The name is Embrill."
The door opens and steps in a human male who looks to be in his early twenties. He stands six feet tall, light tan complexion, green eyes, and black hair that he usually keeps tied back in a tail and chopped off at about shoulder length. Though he's young his eyes appear old, tired and haunted by memories he'd rather forget. The battered leather armor hints greatly at his profession though his mannerisms may often contradict that, but the worn grip of his long sword and the way he wears it on his belt shows that he knows well how to use it. The rest of him is pretty unremarkable, practicality with little if any ornamentation from the well worn pack and shield kept tied to his back, the plain brown cloak, worn traveling boots and gear.
After entering Bryant stays at the door for a moment, looking the crowd over, his gaze pausing briefly on anyone who he feels is taking more interest in him then what he's comfortable with. Finally he makes his way to the bar, the farmers' conversation catches his interest for a moment, then he moves on. Spotting the wolf at the bar seams to help him make up his mind where to sit, down at the far end. There he rummages through a pouch, sighs heavily to himself, to sets a coin down on the counter in front of the bartender, "An ale please. And you wouldn't know where one could find employment, would ya?"
Burble, seeing the pretty boy human getting all the attention makes him sneer and he looks to Sal and comments about the looker and his getting all the action. Burble allows himself to laugh at his ill humored joke and then looks more carefully at the woodsman. " Hmm might be we might need someone of his talents if we are to keep journeying in this manner. His skill with tracking is more then I can offer, as well as I admit I am a city boy. Well lets drink and see what all happens tonight."
Sylphionel munches on the bread and sips more ale. She speaks to the nearby half-elf.
"So, I've already met Riki, perhaps you might tell me your name as well?"
Continuing to drink his ale in silence, he says nothing to her. Not even going so far as to acknowledge that she spoke to him.
"Well though you direct it to the other woodrunner, I am called Burble, and this giant of a dwarf swallowing his ale is Sal. Well met" speaks the hafling at the table
The boy, Rowland, watches all of these going-ons with an amused expression. He starts to giggle after the woman makes the joke about pelt. He finishes his ale. Still laughing, he signals the bar maid, flashes his golden smile, raises his mug, and says (in a moderate tone), "More ale, please."
He looks at the wolf and smiles. He says, "Hi, Riki. You're a cute one. You and my Dafydd might just get along."
The half-elf turns his head and cuts a look at the man down the bar for a second before going back to his drink.
The innkeeper looks Bryant over a bit, and then speaks as he draws an
ale.
"Well, there's those lost adventurers...Lord Semmon's brats. They an' some of there friends came in here all lookin' down their noses at us, sayin' they were gonna go explore some old ruin down south in one of the ravines. Been missing a month now, three warriors and some mage. Semmon's got a man in town trying to get some poor fools to go back in those ruins looking for 'em, but it ain't worth the money he's giving to go haul out corpses. Pays good enough gold for his room upstairs, though."
He speaks in a conversational tone, loud enough for the others to hear him as well.
"Adventure??!!" cries the boy, sounding overeager as he interrupts the conversation between the innkeeper and the young man who just entered. "Adventure? A fortune to be earned rescuing young dandies in distress? I'm for it! Where can I find this fine gentleman?"
He looks at the innkeeper, with an expectant, eager look in his eyes.
Rhea looks at the boy with a bit of a smile..."...and on your left, we have another headstrong would-be adventurer corpse..."
The boy replies to the woman's jest in good humor. Smiling at the woman in a friendly way, "Ah! But a corpse I will not become! Of that, I assure you. The power flows through this boy, yes it does! I am ready for adventure, and I will help bring back these lost youths!" He pauses, then adds, "If I can find myself traveling companions, of course. And if we can expect a suitable reward..."
" Gods Kid, you need to relax more. Sure we might help some rich scummy dandies, but how about we learn more, how much it pays, and what other dangers are about." says Burble from his table.
The sullen stranger snorts to himself with a bit of a smirk, and mutters to himself at the mention of the missing people: "Serves them right. If they were stupid enough to go off without being prepared for it, then they did us all a service by getting themselves killed."
"Amazing - with that, I have to agree... nice to know we have *something* in common..." Rhea says with a hint of a smile and a deep sigh.
"Thank the Gods for small favors, eh?" pipes in the quiet man with the wolf.
Burble, again his own mouth getting the better of him , replies, " Well, it looks like you two will be ending up in bed sooner then later if you keep agreeing. "
"Not likely. There isn't enough gold on the continent for that honor." Rhea grins wide and mischievously, as she rises to join the others seeking 'employment'.
Liking the humor of the woman and one that can take and receive without a blink of an eye, Burble follows her and wonders, might the two of them share some skills and traits? Well no matter, another body to meet danger with and keep the nasties off himself is all the better.
" Well I am glad you have some honor, even if it is to get all the gold someone could pay to bed you. I myself prefer the more complacent type, but we can at least try to watch the other;s back should we run into whatever took or captured the luckless youths." Burble responds.
" Well I guess we can all agree that you have to be prepared to face death if you adventure. I know that I have and do. How abut you all. Looking for a chance to earn some honest coin? Or will you just sleep and move on? I care not, just checking " says the scarred halfling.
Sylphionel looks over at the sullen man in the cloak. "My!! That wasn't very polite. Are all humans as mean as you?"
Rhea bites her lip to restrain her laughter.
The man turns to look at her, eyes set and cold.
"Politeness and honesty rarely go together I find," states the stranger, "and I'm not one to lie about the way things are. If you can't accept that,little girl, then you'd best move on. And perhaps you'd best think twice before you slight my father's memory by calling me 'human'."
He drops a hand down to the wolf's head and scratches him behind the ears for a second before dropping his empty tankard back to the bar.
" My My, are you all touchy about your parentage and who may have slept with whom so many years ago? Hell even I know that somewhere I have a Dwarf who fooled around with some grandmother and does that stop me from traveling and being friends with Good ol Sal here. " Burble gives his friend a smile to show he meant no insults.
"I'm proud of my parents and what they made me." Says the mysterious man at the bar "And perhaps you *should* be more touchy about your parentage. Someone should have told them that close cousins shouldn't breed. But that's your burden to bear, not mine." The half-elf tosses another coin on the bar, calling for more ale.
Burble actually chuckles at this. " if you think you can make me angry something of my parents, you are much mistaken. I am the by blow of a most asinine asshole of a father and so would be proud to have been the result from a union of cousins, rather then what brought me around.. Yes, drink the ale and be happy of who begat you, as I am sure I could care less."
"I meant no offense, please, don't be." says Sylphionel. "This is my first time in the World Outside, and I'm unused to your ways. And, honesty is good, but, how to speak honestly is just as important as speaking honestly. If you catch my meaning." She nibbles a bit more of her bread. "Sir, this is very good bread, thank you." She says to the innkeeper.
" Back in my City, and yes, I DO mean city, we had all kinds of availability, not just some commoners bread." Then looking at the Elf, Burble softens his voice some. " yes, to talk honestly in a non insulting way is good, but it is better to be clear with what you intend, no? From where do you come from, that you are so new to the outside world? I am myself from far away across the seas and roads"
The innkeeper laughs at the youth's eagerness. "Easy, boy, I doubt he'd hire so one as you for so dangerous a task. Semmon's own brats weren't much older than you, and look how they fared."
The man wipes down the bar for a moment before he continues, "Still, if you're so eager to throw your life away, ye'll find Semmon's agent, Hucerle by name, atop the stairs in the last room down the hall. Good luck to you if he calls your bluster...you'll need it."
"Perhaps Semmon's 'brats' were not prepared by one such as my own master Jahar." I listen to the conversation, and as the interest begins to mount among. Looking at the halfling, he says, "Yes, Master Halfling, you are right. We should find out more about this adventure before we sign on!" Looking now at the dwarf, the boy continues, "If you are both interested...as am I ... should we go make inquiries of Master Semmon's agent?" He pauses, taking in the human giggler, the elvish lass, the half-elven woodsman, and the wolf. "Along with anyone else who is seeking fortune, fame and adventure."
The boy grins with eager anticipation.
Burble looks back over at Sal. " HMM Maybe we might join in some mission, . I for one could use some extra gold and a chance to get some new supplies. How say you my friend, want to get in on this?"
Turning to the others, Burble moves up and moves to join them, " if we are all new to town and looking for some chance to earn some join, the chance of a rescue might pay well indeed."
Burble, looking back at the barkeeper, gives him an extra silver. " My thanks for the information. I know not if I would join with a rash kid as this one seems to be, but if so, better to have someone else to take the blade then myself."
"I think that I too will help rescue those poor boys" Sylphionel says to no one in general. She collects her things and head up the stairs. "Are you coming? If you don't hurry, he might leave without you."
Embrill looks at the elf girl with a confused expression on his face. "Are you asking *me*?"
"Only if you think so." Sylphionel smiles for a moment, a mysterious smile coming to her lips. Then she's gone, up the stairs, a mere wisp of fog that captured the light of sun. And gone just as quick.
Embrill watches the elf girl ascend the stairs. His eyes linger for a moment before looking about the taproom. Looking down into Riki's eyes, he begins to chew his lip a bit, obviously mulling something over in his head.
Catching the words and emotions of the elf, Burble moves up and motioning to Sal, the quiet Dwarf the two companions move to follow the over eager boy and the elvish lass. He does appreciate her beauty, if not her innocent outlook. He knows that soon enough she will learn that the world is a harsh mistress and all you would get out of it was pain and disappointment.
Rowland shrugs his shoulders and follows her. He turns around once. "Coming, Master Halfling? Master Dwarf?" Then the boy continues up the stairs.
Burble nods back and follows the eager youth, and deep in his mind he hopes that he will not get himself killed to quickly. Sal lets out a belch and moves to follow as well, not caring what others may think.
Bryant finishes his drink then collects his things and heads up the stairs also. "I'm in need of the coins," he shrugs
Burble looks back over at Sal. " HMM Maybe we might join in some mission. I for one could use some extra gold and a chance to get some new supplies. How say you my friend, want to get in on this?"
Turning to the others, Burble moves up and moves to join them, " if we are all new to town and looking for some chance to earn some join, the chance of a rescue might pay well indeed."
Rhea says slyly, with a smile and glimmer in her dark eyes...."Sure... if the price is right..." She rises to follow the others.
End Chapter I
