Briarbeard Tavern (Vaul) - III

[Zhym]

Now that it looks like Orrin's "talk" with Bertram is about settled:

May 3

Ulf is slightly taken aback at the other dwarf's response, then realizes he shouldn't be. Orrin's confrontation with Bertram yesterday was audible even from—and over the sound of—the forge.

"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say that Betram and I are 'buddy buddy,'" says Ulf. "I joined his expedition to the dwarven tomb, yes. We fought together. I believe we respect each other. And I have to say: though he's too much a human, I haven't seen anything in him that would merit the disgust you seem to have for him. Let me tell you the parts of the story I know, and maybe you'll agree."

Ulf waves to Ghrym and orders a round of beers for himself and Orrin (-3 cp). "The mission to the dwarf tomb was kind of a bedrock* thing. I was raised in the city, if you can't tell from my accent. I'd never seen a real underground mountain dwarf settlement, and I wanted to see one. Also, when the previous expedition had escaped the dwarf tomb, it was full of angry ghouls who really seemed to have it in for Quirin, from what I heard. Maybe it was one of those old racial feud things. I figured it might help to have another dwarf along.

"Well, when we got to the tomb, it was sealed up and there was a chest sitting outside the entrance. Inside it was a pile of gold, the bones of Crivit and Quirin, and the most screwed-up curse I've ever seen. Quirin's skull had a chipped emerald in its eye socket." Ulf reaches into a pocket and holds a green gem in front of him, turning it slowly. It has a small chip in one corner. "This one right here. I saved it as a reminder of what happens when people get greedy and stupid."

He picks up the emerald and returns it to his pocket. "The curse was a Blood Curse that turned in and in on itself in an infinite loop. Whoever wrote it was clearly both seriously pissed-off and completely off-his-marble insane.

"Now, look. I'm sure there's something Bertram hasn't told us about what happened the last time they were in the tomb. He, Fangir, Crivit, and Quirin went to bury Fangir's son. It was while they were in there that the ghouls arose. My guess? Someone did something in there that really offended the spirits inside. I don't know what or who, but I think the chipped emerald in Quirin's skull is a clue. My guess? Quirin decided to get himself some treasure. That would explain the emerald and why the ghouls seemed to hate him in particular. An incredibly stupid move, if true, but not Bertram's fault.

"When we got there, Fangir was already gone. We dug through the rubble into the tomb, expecting to find ghouls still about. But it was as quiet as...well, you know. All we found, other than a couple of unfortunate recently-undead dwarves who got stuck in a kitchen, were a bunch of open sarcophagi, their lids smashed on the ground, their occupants nowhere to be seen.

"Yeah, we took the items we found in those sarcophagi. Their previous owners were long dead, at least until recently, and obviously didn't want them. And, look, we need all the help we can get around here, even when we aren't worried about meeting a Big Bad Wolf or the undead army that wants to kill it.

"We didn't take anything that wasn't in a sarcophagus that was already open. It's a big tomb. Probably thousands of dwarves in there. We could have looted all of it, but we didn't.

We did try to check the old tombs, though, to see if Fangir had made it out safely. But as we started to enter, we heard a booming voice calling itself Agathon Firedeep, 'defender of the clan.' It told us to turn back, and we did. But when we asked about Fangir, it told us that the 'King of Ash' had departed to 'bring vengeance to the enemies of the clan.' Then it said something that brought a chill to my spine colder than anything in the tomb: 'The clan Firedeep has had many centuries to gather its foes around it. With one cleave, they will all be laid low.' That sounded ominous, and now it seems that the explosion of the Finger was probably Fangir's doing.

"We left and tried to find Fangir. We wanted that wolf dead too—at least I did. We thought we might help. But his trail was cold, so we gave up and went back to Vaul. Probably just as well that we did.

"Whatever made Fangir mad—in both senses of the word—it happened before our trip to the tomb. Maybe Bertram was a part of it, but I think Fangir is so twisted with grief and rage that he just hates anyone who was in the tomb that day. Me? I don't think Bertram did whatever set off the wrath of the dead, but that's just my guess."

He downs the rest of his beer and sighs. "That's about it, I think. I don't know if it helps or not, but maybe you now know more than you did before. Buy the armor, don't buy it, I don't really care—three pieces of platinum isn't that much in the scheme of things. But I hate to see another dwarf in so much pain, and I'd help if I could."

* The dwarven version of "roots."

[Zorroroaster]

Orrin accepts the drink from Ulf and watches Bertram leave.

"I guess I handled that badly. I haven't had a home of my own in a long time. When I found the rings, I thought maybe I'd found a new clan I could belong to, somehow. Being saved by Fangir himself was probably too much for my mind at that point. I don't know. When he described what happened to him and what folks had done to his people's resting place, well...it just made me far angrier than I've been in a long while."

"That being said, I was raised to hear both sides, and I appreciate you explaining the truth of it, as you know it. Seems to me that the curse laid out in front of the tomb was pretty much fair warning to any who tried to enter. I'm not sure how much more obvious that could have been. If Bertram wanted to lay his friends to rest, it seems their remains were removed from the tomb and left out front for him to take. The curse was a warning not to go in, and it was ignored."

"I won't be taking out vengeance on anyone. Not on Fangir's behalf. If I thought Bertam evil, perhaps. But he's not. He's just another lost soul trying to scrabble together something to survive on. We aren't that different."

"You seem a good fellow. I'll buy your armor."

[Zhym]

Ulf nods his head sympathetically and hands over the armor. "Thanks. I can't say we always made great decisions on that trip—we've got a dwarf with a demon living in his head because of a sword he claimed—but I believe we always had good intentions."

"Alas, good intentions aren't enough, are they? Look at Quirin's group's decision that it wasn't strong enough to fight the wolf. So much death and pain followed from an innocent and justifiable choice. It's depressing to think that we've met only one dwarf clan up here and they're all dead."

Ulf starts to fall into a funk himself, but then his face brightens. "But we can make sure they aren't forgotten, can't we? Maybe we could make this emerald part of a memorial to the Firedeep clan. What do you think?"

Banded armor deducted, 72 gp added.

[Zorroroaster]

Orrin nods, and looks the gem over.

"Aye, perhaps it would at that. You would do honour to the Firedeep clan with such a gesture. Hang onto it for now until you know best what to do with it. Thanks also for the suit of armor. Let's hope it protects me better than my last."

72 gp deducted, banded mail added.

[Spartakos]

We really do need a 'just outside of Ghrym's' thread.

Galen heads down to Ghrym's, hoping to see some of his comrades...particularly Krysta, particularly if she decided to wear something other than armor. He arrives just in time to observe Bertram having a rather heated argument with a dwarf he doesn't recognize, outside the tavern.

He sees Bromric--or rather, whatever's currently wearing Bromric's body--make some kind of remark with a smug expression, and sees Bertram make an angry retort, though he cannot hear what either said. His mouth tightens, and he makes a sudden decision. Abandoning the comforts of the tavern, he falls into step with Bertram as the other man strides away.

"Bertram...any word on your ladyfriend?" In terse words, Bertram explains about Adrienne. Galen winces in sympathy; after a brief silence, he begins talking in a quiet voice.

"I've been thinking, especially since we had that meeting with the duke. I don't trust the sword-demon either; but we want to get it out of Bromric, and prevent it doing anything harmful, just in case. You want to head for the Finger anyway, to see if there's anything that can be done for Adrienne. And finally...if we can get into this ancient room, perhaps there will be something there that can help defend the town. Maybe we should go along? We don't need to swear anything, but we can still help Bromric and the others."
"What do you think?"

[KingOfCowards]

Bertram hears his name and looks up, his eyes glassy with frustration, to see Galen addressing him.
"I'd hoped Orrin would be able to help me, but he's as useless as they come. Adrienne is being held by some powerful being, and he's here licking his wounds."
He lets out a discouraged sigh, "I have to get there somehow. Demon or not, that may be my only option."

He shakes Galen's hand, "I'm on my way to the temple. I'm hoping Father Gronn can offer some insight into our problem with the unwanted Visitor."

[Marullus]

Bromric settles in at a corner table in the tavern after the group's business concludes on the 27th. Word spreads quickly once the group returns that his body is in use by a visitor from another plane, and that he will depart with his companions at first light on April 30th to help them obtain a great treasure from the ancient dwarven halls. He eats heartily, seeming to relish every dish that they have to serve, and talks quietly with the smallfolk of the town as they find their way to him, then depart. He never seems to draw a crowd, but just talks amiably with whomever approaches him, sharing his good fortune by buying them mugs of ale.

[Zhym]

"If this turns into a demon bar," grouses Ulf, "I'm outta here."

[hedgeknight]

Galen heads down to Ghrym's, hoping to see some of his comrades...particularly Krysta, particularly if she decided to wear something other than armor.

Galen does see Krysta and she is dressed in a short white tunic and dark leather pants. Her holy symbol, dangling between her breasts is the only thing that reminds him of their adventures together. She has her arms full with two tote sacks full of supplies > looks to be parchment, ink, and other necessary clerical items.
She blushes slightly and smiles and says, "Heading to dinner? If you want some company tonight...er...for dinner, I'd be glad to join you."

Their conversation is interrupted by the argument between Bertram and Orrin and Krysta sighs and says, "I'm staying at the inn. Room 15. Send a message if you are interested in buying me dinner." She smiles and move on briskly, not wanting to be caught up in any type of brawl in the street.

[Zhym]

April 28, VC 1

Harold Willoughby wanders into the tavern, orders a tankard of disappointing wine (-12sp), and sits at a table near the one at which Bromric and his "Visitor" are seated. The cleric of Branwyn says nothing. He just sits there with a thoughtful look on his face and sips his wine, watching Bromric.

[Starbeard]

April 29, VC 1, evening

A ramshackle man of apparent age strides into the tavern. In the smoke of the room he looks old and dilapidated, but upon closer inspection appears only to be middle-aged; apparently he does not wear his years well. The man's lively eyes search the room for something, and he smirks to himself when he finds it.

Using a twisted cane of gnarled walnut for support, the sour man walks with gusto across the room to the far corner and throws himself down directly before Bromric, resting his knobby hands on top of his equally knobby walking stick.

For a long while he stares at Bromric in knowing silence, watching him eat and go about his business with a mixture of curiosity and pleasure. Finally, he leans forward slowly, staring Bromric directly in the eye, and says, 'Boo!'

Cackling tremendously at his own joke, and apparently satisfied in his curiosity, the despicable man hobbles over to the kegs to fetch a drink for himself and the dwarf, and returns. 'I am Odium, though some also call me Contemptus—you may call me either, they mean the same. Tell me, to which one of you am I speaking?' He chuckles again.

OOC: -2cp for drinks

[Zhym]

April 29, VC 1, Evening

Melvin Bradenhurst, spell trader, occasional reader of magic and languages for hire, and general layabout around town, buys a bottle of wine (-1g) and takes a chair at the table with Bromric and Odium as casually as if he'd been invited.

Melvin.png (173.08 KiB) Viewed 939 times

"Sorry to interrupt," he says in a mildly amused tone of voice. "I thought I might save our extra-planar friend here the trouble of explaining himself twice. Do go on."

[Keehnelf]

Oh snap. Melvin Baelishhurst arrives at last.

[Keehnelf]

Actually, the funny thing is: in my mind the Duke is a cross between Tywin Lannister and the spider-man villain The Vulture (appearance wise). I don't really think of him as a villain, either, so it's odd that two pretty bad dudes come to mind.

[Zhym]

I'd always pictured him a little bit like Ankh-Morpork's Patrician from the Discworld novels.

Of course, the Patrician and Tywin Lannister have both been portrayed by the same actor, so maybe I'm just thinking of him as Charles Dance.

[Marullus]

Bromric sits at the table, looking up as Odium approaches and sits. He meets his gaze levelly as the old wizard stares at him, but neither flinches nor looks amused at his joke. He accepts the mug with a nod of thanks, several tankards already stacked to the side as he enjoys his dwarven constitution. He takes a long quaff, droplets of ale converting to steam in the heat of his beard. As Melvin extends his own respectful greeting, Bromric nods to him politely and acknowledges him with the same courtesy. "I think you already know the answer to that question," he responds to Odium, "though we both can hear your words. It is a pleasure to meet both of you. I can see the spark of will and magic within both of you; helpful friends for any in trying times such as these." He salutes courteously with the rim of his mug, then calls over to Harold. "The Inn fires die to embers as the night grows old, my friend. You would both see and hear better if you joined us at table." He pats the rim of his circular table and smiles to the cleric.

[Zhym]

April 29, 1 VC, evening
We'll just fast-forward a day for convenience, but if anything happens on the 28th, Harold is in the tavern then, too.

Harold's eyes narrow at the demon's remark about the fires dying to embers. Surely the reference to Dagon's Flame was not accidental.

"It is true that flames must die to embers unless fed," Harold says, "but the dying embers last only a moment in the dark and empty night before they fade away into cold gray ashes." He gets up and puts another couple of logs on the fire. "The fire, however, will stay strong as long as there is someone to tend it."

Harold returns to his seat, takes another sip of his wine, and grimaces. "Plausible lies, half-truths, deception, manipulation—you wield Dagon's Flame expertly. There was a time in the early days when the Lessons of Light would have required me to destroy the body you inhabit and any manifestation that resulted, even at the cost of Bromric's life. Latter texts are more flexible on the matter, which is why we're chatting across tables about fires and embers instead of fighting. Perhaps Old Lesson actions will yet be necessary. I don't know. In the meantime, I will stay here, drink my wine, and offer what warnings and counsel I can to anyone who might be tempted by Dagon's Flame."

[Starbeard]

Odium looks across at Harold with an expression that isn't quite bemused and isn't quite a scowl. Apparently the pious man struck a chord within Odium.

'Perhaps your expertise in stoking fires and waxing poetic has muddled your ability to see other things clearly. You would have been better off to stick with the Old Lesson, where truth and power have always lay. Mind you, not that it bothers me what you religious might believe. I, for one, am much happier these days, where those who profess to be "good" waste the time away in wishy-washy, ineffectual bickering over moral interpretation. It makes things much easier for those of us who can understand the value of a good half-truth when we see it.'

After taking a moment to drain part of his bitter ale, he wipes his jowls and speaks to Bromric and Melvin, his voiced dropped somewhat in volume.

'Now, O Most Reputable Demon—you will have to excuse my disrespect, but I from what I understand your name is unpronounceable—on to the matter. They say in town that you have made arrangements to be escorted somewhere, where you will be released from this plane.' Odium looks back and forth between the two, mocking an overly bewildered face.

'What I ask is: why? Surely, by escaping from your enchanted prison you could abide here with blissful, decadent power, rather than have to pit yourself in the other planes against other beings as powerful as yourself. There is even a promising magician's guild of ill repute, just recently been erected not far from here—a wonderful resource for a demon lord! I cannot believe you would not even consider this option.'

He looks over to Melvin slyly, as though searching for confirmation.

[Zhym]

Apr. 28

Melvin leans back and holds his wine glass like a prop. His amused smile broadens.

"Well, there is a guild—of sorts," he says. "But it is quite inconsequential at the moment. Perhaps it will be more than that in the future, but I scarcely think a Visitor from another plane would find anything worthwhile there."

[Marullus]

"Indeed," remarks the Visitor-in-Bromric, responding to Harold after Odium has finished. "Murder your friend and end his life to inconvenience me temporarily, it is only fair. Do all you must to silence those that disagree with you, then call it Good and Just." He takes another long drink and sighs, seeming to take great, and simple, joy in the simple act of tasting it on his tongue. "I have often found the definition of 'truth' and 'half-truth' largely depends on if it agrees with what one wishes to hear. Branwyn and I discussed the Old Laws quite extensively... I agree that his newfound moral flexibility can be difficult and uncomfortable. My own adherence to Law is less mutable than his. Especially when it comes to kindness to horses. Me, I seldom if ever lie. Truth and honesty are so much more interesting." He raises his tankard high. "To Branwyn!"

His toast complete, he returns his attention to Odium and Melvin, listening to all their words, then responding to them in his own low tones.

He smiles to Odium. "Work, work, work, for two thousand years. Can I not desire a vacation? A return to ones home is restorative, to say the least. That is not to say that I deaf to the needs of others. It is my nature to help others... in fact my magic has the peculiar effect that it does little to help myself. Tireless, we are, in our way. What is it that you propose? How would you desire to be helped?"