Port Torvin

[gurusql]

Zan

"I find that there are three primary factors in ink drying time. You have already identified the first which is the ink, but the other two are the two of paper that you are using and the shape of the tip of the quill. A less sharp point will lead to an extended drying time. My name is Zen by the way . . ." says the young half-elf that is wearing robes of grey and white has light brown hair that he wears flowing back.

[Rex]

Fahima

Fahima follows along.

[Karaunios]

Vilana

"It looks like you know more about ink than I do, Zan. I never had the problem of writing at sea, so I can't really say. Maybe you can try my ink later on and see if it holds.

A pleasure, by the way. My name's Vilana."

[Rex]

Fahima

"Hello Vilana, I am Fahima. I am a cartographer and have never had issues with my ink, even at sea."

[GreyWolfVT]

Roan follows along as well ingoring all the chatter about ink, but at least it is something happier to listen to than people being hung.

[hedgeknight]

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The crowd bites, tears, pulls, and scratches at each other in what shall become to be know the "rain of copper death" as two strangers flip the coins into the air. The muddy ground gets even worse (if that is possible) as bodies churn, teeth fly, and blood spurts in the struggle for a few coppers. Of course, the chaos swallows up Gordansk and any others who wish to keep a low profile.
The press of the crowd somehow (it's gotta be magic! ) prods several strangers to see shelter in a tavern, of all places! The place is a tad crowded, no doubt with locals and travelers hoping for some hot soup and cold drink on this blustery day. The strangers have the wherewithal to take note of the sign hanging over the slightly sea-worn establishment: it's a painting of a laughing...deer? buffalo? elk? deformity? It's a strange creature indeed with wide antlers. The word "MERRY" is scrawled over top of the portrait. And on the inside is the stuffed facsimile of the portrait on the sign hanging over the bar! What the hell is that?

There are folk everywhere. Most are laughing or drinking or both, while others are sipping quietly, tossing bones, or sitting in a corner reading. A fire blazes in a blackened fireplace, over which hangs a very large pot, bubbling with some goodness; the aroma of roasted meat permeates the air, along with wood smoke, pipe smoke, and the stench of unwashed bodies.
"Welcome strangers, to the Merry Moose!" calls a buxom lady wearing clothing that is strained to hold her considerable...assets. "I can tell yer strangers because ya got that 'what the hell have I walked into' look about ya! Har! Call me Wilma! What can I get ya while ya wait for a table?"

[GreyWolfVT]

Roan having trouble focusing his eyes on Wilma's face says "A mug o' yer strongest drink."

[Spearmint]

Gordansk

Slipping through the cloud, Caw flies off his shoulder to perch upon a rooftop gable. The acolyte wipes his shoulder with a rag, cleaning bird guano off his feathered cloak. He blows his nose on the same rag, wiping snot from cold and coughing up phlegm from the latest influenza contagion.

A warm hearth and hot soup are like an answer to prayer. He does not have many. The Gods are notoriously silent and impassive these days.

"Stew of the Day or yesterday. And bread please. An ale too, bitter hops. I will sit over there. Or stand." he points towards the blazing hearth and a nearby table, occupied but not fully. He pays the order in silvers and goes to stand by the fire, warming himself for a moment and propping his scythe against the wall.

He looks to take the vacant seat. "May I?" he asks the patrons. He sits anyway, too cold to argue being snubbed.

While waiting to be served he gets out a small pestle and mortar grinding set and crushes a few sprigs of flaky grains and leaf into the bowl. He seems lost in his thoughts, certainly lost in the crowd of people, a world away from the recent executions and proclaimations of the Count.

[hedgeknight]

Gordansk clears the table as soon as he walks over and intends to sit there. The fire is warm and it partially soothes his aching bones. As he grinds with his mortar and pestle, a buxom woman...a very big buxom woman, comes out carrying three mugs of foaming beer and sidles up next too a Dwarf...one new to the establishment.

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"A mug o' yer strongest drink," Roan manages, trying not to stare at Wilma's cleavage. She grins and grabs a glass bottle tied to her apron. She uncorks the bottle, produces a fist-sized glass and gives a generous pour. "That should clear out yer guzzle. I'll be back in a few. Table open over here!" she hollers as she saunters off.

For other "newcomers" there appears to be a table open...or partially open, near the fireplace.

[Rex]

Fahima

Fahima takes a seat next to Roan, sitting on her pack to reach the table. "I will take a warm meal and your strongest liquor please."

[gurusql]

Zan

Zan will sit with his new friends and says to Wilma, "A stew and ale, please."

[Karaunios]

Vilana sits with the others and orders a glass of wine.

[GreyWolfVT]

Roan eyes on the drink this time takes a pull and motions to the one with the bird to sit and join them "You sure do put on a good show, have sit names Roan whats yers?" he asks Gordansk.

[Karaunios]

Vilana

"Yeah. It was as if you could see their past lives. My first thought was that they would try to stop you or put a dozen arrows through your body."

[Monsieur Rose]

Cassius

His fine elven senses would be assaulted at the scene in the Merry Moose, if not for his years at a tavern back north. That and weeks at sea tend to dull things. As he scans the room, spotting the exits and possible trouble spots, he watches with amusement as his guests make themselves at home, and with the rabble-rouser, no less.

"Oh, these ones are going to be fun Sai. They've already gone and attached themselves to an agitator. Nothing to do, then. I do owe them a drink. Come on."

Cassius joins the group at the fire and positions himself with a wall to his back. "Good to see that everyone made it through that scrum. I guess it's time to make good on my offer, so, drinks are on me."

He nods at the dark feathered one. "You too. On me."

[GreyWolfVT]

Roan smiles at Cassius "Good man, but take care with yer words someone is liable ta dump their drink on yah if you keep sayin drinks are on you." he chuckles and winks then claps Cassius on the shoulder.

[Rex]

Fahima

"Why thank you good sir." She looks around and studies the tavern with wide eyes thinking this could turn messy at any point and what would be her fastest way out.

[Spearmint]

Gordansk

Looks up from his pestle and mortar to the adventurers speaking to him. He stutters a greeting, not usually engaged in small talk.

"I am Gordansk. I am a farmer. Or was. Until the fell swarms came as locusts and pillaged the land, scorching the earth of crops and those who tilled them. I joined the river of refugees that wormed across the land. We were just maggots of life, hoping for a haven to cocoon ourselves until we can become reborn into newness of life."

He refers to the Greyhawk wars and his forced itinerancy, transitioning from farmer to priest as an epiphany of faith and God's judgement came to him. (He views the Greyhawk wars and rise of giantish, humanoid and renegade human forces such as the Scarlet Brotherhood as instruments of the Gods judgement upon an unrepentant society).

"Our lives are written in all of our faces, testimony to who we are and what we have done." he says and looks at the dwarf Roan who bears an obvious scar. "I saw their past clearly as day, but no future. That ended at the bottom of a short rope. I offered absolution for their sins and gave one a chance to live anew. Are we not all 'burning sticks snatched from the fire'?" he says concerning those on the gallows, quoting a common proverb regarding deliverance and salvation from doom. He infers that he too, like the woman faced death and by God's election and choice alone, he was divinely saved.

He goes back to grinding the herbs, squishing them into finer grains, describing each.

"Hemlock, poisonous in large doses but a leaf helps de-stress the mind, several wild mint and a little sugar, sweetens the taste though the reading may be bitter. Wolfsbane, thins the blood and a bane to lycanthropes who can't stand the smell. Sniff?" he holds a sprig out under someone's nose.
"Mistletoe berry. Just one. I was going to heat my tin cup with water over the fire and augur for my future from the remnant tea leaves. Perhaps I can speak into one of yours if you share my cup?"

He invites someone to partake as he fills a cup with water from his canteen, placing it to boil near the raging hearth.

He moves the herbs to one side and breaks bread into portions as his stew arrives and folk take places around the table.

[GreyWolfVT]

Roan without realizing he did it runs a finger over his scar on his eye and then rubs the reddened part of his head hearing the word burning. "You read me well it would appear. Then again, we ain't all carryin' scars that can be seen. Well met Gordansk." he says returning to his drink.

[gurusql]

Zan

Zan seems to quiet down when the talk of the war comes up. He appears to be thinking about a pain from that time, but does not speak of it. Although there is no physical scar the mark is just a obvious on his face. He focuses on eating his stew and drinking his ale.