Part 5: The Brazen Strumpet

[ybn1197]

While Dren is procuring holy water and potions of healing, Erinar, Pyrrhic, and Mortiganto proceed to the Brazen Strumpet. This is one of the larger buildings of the village for just cause, being the place where the locals come to drown their sorrows or express their joys of life. Sitting outside the building is a human male; he is dressed in dirty rags and a chipped clay bowl sits on the ground next to one of his knees. He mutters to himself in half-intelligent sentences as he rocks himself back and forth, clutching his hands to his chest.

Do you proceed in to The Brazen Strumpet?

[RiotInferno]

Pyrrhic drops a gold into the man's bowl as he walks into the Brazen Strumpet.
Looking to his companions he starts:
"I don't know how long we'll stay in town, and after the outcome of our last outing I don't know if we'll ever return. The first round's on me. The Gods know we've earned it."

[ybn1197]

As the gold coin drops into the bowl, the man turns his hooded face towards Pyrrhic. The scruff on his chin and cheeks is days old, his shoulder length hair matted to his skull. But you think there is more intelligence in his eyes than his actions portray.

Inside the tavern is practically empty. A man stands behind the bar lost in thought. Sitting opposite him at the bar is a young woman trying very hard not to look bored. Two others occupy the main room, both patrons by their appearances. One is a tall elf with a slight build common to his race. He has fair skin, deep blue-gray eyes and short but wild brown hair with curls about his ears in particular. He wears a chain shirt reinforcing heavily studded leather armor. He has a bow made of dark stained Yew and the string is notably black. The other is male dwarf. They are not seated together, each at his own table.

As you enter, the woman stifles a yawn, attempting to cover it with her hand and a smile. The man snaps out of his revere and leans on the bar expectantly. The woman stands up and seems to wait for you to take a seat.

[triplehappiness]

Nightsong stares patiently into his drink, a bland tea that was difficult to get from a bartender not used to more subtle fair. He adjusts his bow on his back and hears coins clanking in the beggars bowl outside. He looks up to see an armored figured bedecked in crimson enter the room. Not who he was expecting but interesting all the same.

Nightsong squints at the warrior and makes an estimation of his abilities saying "That's an impressive bit of cover you have there. I like what you've done with it." He nods at the splashes of color. "I can tell from your face you've seen some things. I'm looking for such things. Might you be a person to help me find them?"

Nightsong then turns, bringing his delicate (for longswords) sword to bear, in an effort to be more impressive to someone so armored up. He immediately realizes that such a move is probably unimpressive to a frontline warrior and regrets it. His demeanor immediately changes from one of attempted strength to congeniality. A smile creases his mouth and slowly encompasses his eyes.

[Zhym]

The dwarf offers a silent nod to the newcomers.

[RiotInferno]

To Nightsong
Pyrrhic sets his pack down against the table and sits down.
"The name's Pyrrhic. Turns out it's more a promise than anything. I came here seeking riches, all I've found so far is disappointment. We've lost some friends, other just disappeared. The barrows are not to be taken lightly."
"You remind me of many men I fought with back home. Good, brave men. Men who saved my life countless times. If you seek adventure in the barrows, you're welcome on our next outing. Be forewarned, the only thing that I can guarantee is a proper burial at the hands of the local priests."

Pyrrhic points at the barmaid. "Ale, and keep it coming."

[triplehappiness]

Nightsong listens intently to what could only be described as Pyrrhic's vow. It comes across as painful truth. But Nightsong doesn't seek riches and makes it known to Pyrrhic when he says "This promise is that which I seek. Not the riches of the maze, but the brotherhood and blood bonds that only such trials can forge." He steps close to Pyrrhic and extends a hand calloused from his bowstring, looking down into his heavy countenance, confident that live or die, this man would not abandon him in such a trial.

[SocraticLawyer]

Peaches McGee opens the door to the Brazen Stumpet, clapping her new friend Dren on the back, as she delivers the punch line to a crude joke on the way in: "So then I go, I says to him, 'Let me push in your stool!'" Regardless of whether Dren finds it funny, Peaches laughs hysterically. Claude follows her inside.

"Hey, barkeep, you got any mead in this place?" She says to the bartender, not breaking stride. "Mead for me, plus whatever the little guy wants. Water for my manservant. And keep the tab open, I'll need a few refills on that mead before dinner."

She looks around the bar, and approaches Nightsong and Pyrrhic. "Hey there fellas. Name's Peaches. Little guy is called Dren. The other dude is my manservant, Claude. We were gonna take a run at the Barrowmaze in a bit. You guys seem like you could handle things down there. What's say we team up?"

Peaches burps a little before taking a swig of her mead.

[triplehappiness]

Nightsong is jarred somewhat abruptly from his introspection by the entrance of a loud and seemingly jovial human. She introduces herself as....."peaches". What a strange name he thinks. Then, he wonders to himself if this is an example of that human quality knows as "bad-ass" that Nightsong has heard so much about in the songs of the traveling minstrels. He's interested to see how this boisterousness translates into action when things get challenging, but being the positive sort, he is prepared to give this stranger the benefit of the doubt.

Nightsong nods to Pyrrhic that their interaction is complete and turns to Peaches, raises a hand to keep his arrows in his quiver and bows deeply, "Well met and good day to you. Yes, as a matter of fact, we were just discussing the barrows. Seems to be a serious business, that. Is it your first excursion as well? And what, may I ask, is...."a dude"?"

[Zhym]

The dwarf looks up from his drink. "Barrows, ye say? I'd heard tell there be some nasty business down there. I would join ye in bringing peace to that troubled place, if ye could use the help. I am Ubrecht Morgenmorgen, cleric of Moradin."

[RiotInferno]

Pyrrhic chuckles slightly.
"Dren, old friend! I was wondering where you'd gotten off to! Who are your new friends?
Peaches! Ubrecht! Come join us! This is Nightsong, he'll be coming with us. Now let us remember Marcus the best way I know how: I hear Peaches has an open tab."

[SocraticLawyer]

Peaches McGee, wizard
"A man after my own heart! I like this guy," says Peaches, pointing her thumb at Pyrrhic. She slams her empty mug on the table and burps.

To Ubrecht, she says, "Morgenmorgen, huh? I used to date a dwarf named Morgan, a few years ago, back in my mid-20s. He was from some clan, I don't remember exactly, something to do with hammers or stone or something. Had a great big beard. Any relation?"

Regardless of the answer, Peaches gets up from her seat. "I'm with Pyrrhic here, it's time to remember the life and times of our buddy Marcus. More mead!"

She gets some more mead, two for herself and one for Nightsong. "Here ya go, friend. Enjoy! And you'll learn about what a dude is soon enough," she says with a smile.

[Zhym]

Ubrecht Morgenmorgen
"His name wasn't Morgan Morgenmorgen, was it? That's me cousin. Of course, most o' me clan are me cousins, and so are several dwarves of other clans. Odds are good that whoever you dated be m' kin, but I'd need the family tree to know just how."

[DMStue]

Dren smiles at the banter between his newfound companions and old friends.

"Dren was at the temple leaving a donation in thanks for the funeral of Marcus, when he met Peaches and her manservant and brought them here to join us. Dren will raise a flagon to Marcus and smoke a pipe of Larmish Gold in memory of his bravery. Master Ubrecht ... In my experience many Dwarven folk share my fondness for pipeweed, would you care to join me?"

[Zorroroaster]

The relative peace of the Brazen Strumpet is suddenly torn asunder as the door to the tavern is literally ripped from it's iron hinges and thrown to the ground. Landing on top of it in an angry, bellowing heap is a huge beast of a man, heavily armoured and laden with equipment. An enormous sword clatters to the ground next to him as he falls. As the dust clears, the pallor of his skin and the small points of tusk poking out from around his lips reveal him to be of Orcish descent. He is quite ugly, even by Orcish standards.

He lurches to his feet and begins howling out the doorway. "You vicious bastards! If I see you lurking around here again, it'll be a dark day for the lot of you. A damnably dark day, indeed!"

He picks up his sword and slings it behind him in one smooth motion and moves towards the bar, brushing himself off as he approaches. He eyes the barkeep, and puts a few gold coins on the worn countertop. "The indignity! Accosted upon entry into a public house! One moment I'm musing aloud to myself about the current local political climate and it's deleterious effect on the market economy when I am suddenly waylaid by street urchins intent on doing grievous injury to my person! I tumbled, good sir, arms akimbo down the entire flight of stairs and quite accidentally forced entry to your establishment. The disgrace of it all!". He motions towards the coins on the bar. "I trust this remuneration will be sufficient to recompense you for the construction of a new door? You have my most sincere apologies."

He pauses a moment, watching the incredulous look on the barkeep's face with keen interest. Suddenly his own expression changes as his eyes droop, his mouth hangs open, his shoulders slump and he thumps the bar with a heavy fist. "Sum brats trip me down stairs, door smash, go boom. Heh, heh, heh. Sorriee!"

He moves off and stands near one corner of the bar. His eyes dart back and forth expectantly, scanning the room. A hint of a smile curls one corner of his broad mouth, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

[RiotInferno]

Pyrrhic looks at Dren then motions with his head over at the orc-man. Lowering his head down to Dren's level he says in hushed tones: "There's a big one. He's definitely not Marcus, but he might serve to keep us alive longer than not. If nothing else, it would serve to keep me second rank. What do you think?"

[Ludanto]

Mortiganto, previously lost in thought, snaps to attention as the new arrive crashes into the room. Remembering why they came, he stands and shouts to the barbaric figure.

"Hey! Big-boy! Might you be looking to smash a few skulls and make some fine coin on a perilous adventure into parts unknown? Because if you are, that's what we'll soon be doing, is what I'm saying. You might like to join us."

[Zorroroaster]

Bronn stalks over towards the table where the man who addressed him is sitting, his dark eyes glowering. He leans in a little and roars at him. "Big boy? BIG BOY?!? Sir, do you presume to suggest that because of my exceptional size and dubious lineage that I ENJOY the brutality of indiscriminately cleaving hapless creatures in twain, like some wild barbarian from the wasteland?"

He pauses and then leans back, winking at Mortiganto and the others. "Truth be told, I do appreciate a good bit of cleaving, now and then. Discriminate bloodshed, mind you. None of this mindless laying about with a battle axe." He reaches down with one hand and pokes at his side, though his mail gets in the way. "Were you calling me fat? I suppose I could stand to lose a few stone."

He smiles, and offers his hand. "Bronn. Bronn Arnulfsen, of the Alleborg Arnulfsens. A pleasure. What sort of peril did you have in mind?"

[Zhym]

Ubrecht staggers backwards at the entrance of the large but strangely erudite half-orc. "Oy! Ye a great bug lug o' a man—er, orc. Man-orc! Orc-man?" It's clearly far too much for the simple cleric to take in all at once.

[triplehappiness]

Nightsong releases the tension on his bowstring, fluidly drawn upon the initial commotion, with a sigh of relief. He then stows the bow on his back once again and sheepishly returns the table he kicked over and took cover behind to its normal position. He sits down in the chair he had hastily vacated and resumes sipping on his tea that somehow went unspilt. He smiles at the thought of this beast of a man in the close confines of a dungeon. He makes a mental note to be friendly, and always just out of reach.