~ The Quest for the Ring of Fire Command: [Home] [Previous Turn] [Next Turn] ~

Turn 172.0: Conversations in the Tavern

Posted: 2/10/02

Hannibal rode in silence, his warm winter cloak pulled tightly around his body despite the new found warmer climate. He watched the children play for a bit before spurring on his horse again. "Wait till I get my hands on you again Wade," he muttered quietly to himself. "I won't hit you just once."

Emma takes in the scenery of Daltford and the tavern with the satisfied air of someone eager to find civilization again. When she first started out with Rinder's Six, she had assumed there would be lots of exciting travel. But, somehow the discomfort and drudgery of sleeping in the cold outdoors and eating rations had managed to wear away that excitement.

Entering the tavern, Elloharin regards the group of elves carefully, gathering them to be High Elves, with usual-looking garments and wooden spears leaned up against the side of the table. He wants very much to talk to them, but he holds his ground. His eyes flicker to the elven woman, surrounded by humans. The adventurer. They meet eyes, but El hurriedly flinches from her direct gaze. He leans over to Crayne and whispers. "I think we should get rooms and get settled. We are not so far from peril yet. I'm sure the innkeep will bring food to the rooms. If not we can come down one at a time perhaps. Enough not to arouse suspicion."

Crayne seems not to hear him at all.

Hannibal ignores the other patrons completely, his sights set on the bar. Pulling up a stool he drops his pack to the floor noisily and nods at barrel of ale. "Pour me one and be quick. Some bread would be nice to if it hasn't molded over by now." Hannibal seems to be in a foul mood and when his ale arrives will stay at the bar and drink.

Emma glances at Hannibal and seems somewhat worried at her companion's low spirits. 'What's eating him?' she wonders. She flashes a more joyous smile at the innkeeper and says, "Food and lodgings are exactly what we need. And happy we are to have found our way into this place! It smells wonderful and it's good to be out of the cold. If you can serve us anything hot, we'll take it at that table over there."

As Emma moves away, she looks back over her shoulder at Hannibal, somewhat disappointed that he hasn't joined them. She frowns and decides to check up on her friend later. In the meantime, she heartily enjoys the food placed before her and sips a bit of wine to help her relax. "Ahhhh...this is what we needed," she comments to Canter, propping herself back in her chair and staying warm by the fire.

Crayne nods at a servant girl that passes him by. She smiles warmly at him which helps to lift his spirits. He looks about at the clientele and nods respectively at one of the elves who sit together at the same table.

Averting his eyes rapidly from the dwarven table, as if in disapproval, Crayne's attention is then fixed upon the table of the five travellers. It was a long time since he had seen a halfling. They were a race he had little knowledge about, but regarded them with deep suspicion, ever since that dreadful day when he lost his parents. The killers had been halflings (two of them in fact) and at least one of them was a mage. Ever since learning of his Uncle's dilemma with the Ring of Water Command, he was almost certain now that his parents had been killed by the Red Dragon School. It was clear to him that somehow the Red Dragon School's first lead had led back to his parents. Having not found anything with them, they must have learnt later that the ring lied with his Uncle Karelth. Now the Red Dragon School was after him personally and the rest of the Six. Crayne wouldn't rest until the School was destroyed. He owed that much to his parents.

He was growing strong in magic, he had one of the rings and was close to getting a second. However, he knew as well that he could not do this alone. He needed help and what better assistance than Rinder's Six. They had saved his life on many an occasion and Crayne owed much to the group. Also, he knew that Dire Luthor would have a big part to play in all of this and he still believed that he was one of his most important allies. Turning his attention back to the hobbit, Crayne mutters to himself angrily, "To see one of those hobbits again..."

It is then that Crayne overhears the Barman, "What can I get ye? Good ale? Wine and cheese? Dinner fer yer party? Lodgings for the night?"

Crayne straightens his posture and smiles. He didn't care much for anything at the moment except for the fact that he needed a decent meal and a bath.

"Aye!" Crayne says trying his best to adopt the Caerloon accent and hide his northern accent, "I'll have a taste of your finest red wine. If I like it then I will buy a bottle. Also, I would like a meal. Being that we are not to far from the southern coast I think fish would be appropriate. Bring me a side platter as well with bread and cheese."

Oblivious to the actions of his companions, Skandor's brow is furrowed deeply as his mind scrambles for the identity of the familiar-looking man sitting at the table of adventurers. If he had had a bad experience with this person, surely he would instantly recognize him? The curiosity was overwhelming. Perhaps guided by mere curiosity, or perhaps guided by more divine inspiration, Skandor continues to scrutinize the man. One thing was for sure, and that was that Skandor didn't sense any over evil from him.

As the others ordered drinks, food, rooms, or perhaps pursued small talk for information, Skandor slowly and cautiously approaches the table of adventurers. His hands are visible, and he makes no sudden moves. "Excuse me sir... ave we met? Your appearance is quite familiar, yet my memory fails me after a long, hard journey on the road."

The man looks up from the table, his eyes once again meeting Skandor's. "I regret I fail to remember your name as well, though I do believe we have met before. And I suspect I know where: Adorn's sword-handling class."

A wide smile soon finds itself on Skandor's face as he is suddenly transported out of the tavern and back in his mind to a time when all was clear. In the priest Adorn's class he had learned the finer points of swordplay, offense and defensive maneuvers with blade and steel.

"Since neither remembers the other, allow me to introduce myself," the man says, smiling to Skandor as he sees the paladin smiling back. Then, rising and pulling up an empty chair to the table, the man reaches out an open hand to Skandor. "Grychac," he says as Skandor takes the hand, "and you are?"

"Skandor," the paladin replies, nodding to the others in Grychac's adventuring party as he joins them. In no time, a drink appears before him. "You were in Adorn's class?"

"I was," Grychac responds, sipping his drink. "And I remember you well, Skandor. The tall one in the back. Sharpest blade of the bunch, save Adorn, of course."

Skandor smiles at the compliment. Then his face grows inquisitive. "Then, if you don't mind my asking, Grychac...what are you and your friends doing here, in the middle of Caerloon? With a war going on?"

Grychac leans back in his chair. Skandor can tell the others are watching him, waiting to see his answer. Could Grychac be this group's leader? "We're traveling," he begins, his voice suddenly very quiet and barely audible above the din of the tavern, "on assignment. With the elves." He looks to the table of elves for a brief moment, Skandor following his gaze.

"Assignment? With the elves?" Skandor asks, not really understanding.

"Skandor, I know you to be trustworthy, as any Sword Bearer should be, and as I, with Anhur's blessing, aspire to be. So I have no qualms telling you, but I must stress, our position here in Daltford is most precarious, so this news is best not shared with any others, understand?"

Skandor nods.

"The Knights of Rinder have contracted with my friends here, and the High Priests bade me join them for our meeting with the elves. We found them in their elven home, whereupon they began to lead us on this journey. They have agreed to lead us south to the coast to meet up with their aquatic cousins, so that we may cross the sea. Skandor, there are rumors of another people, another land, threatened by Caerloon and her aggression. If we can make contact with these people...if we can find them...that is our mission. I will see to it the Knights are not disappointed."

Skandor nods, taking in all that Grychac says. "Very interesting..." he murmurs.

"And Skandor, what brings you and your party to these parts?" Grychac asks.

Storm is quiet as they first get to the tavern, for he is certainly aware of being in a populated place deep in the enemy land. Further, with soldiers in this tavern enjoying themselves with the rest of the population, Storm was even more aware of the wartime atmosphere. He is suddenly struck with the grim thought that Rinder's Six would most likely find soldiers--and many of them--in any town they try to meld into while in Caerloon.

This reminds him of his last trip into Caerloon, where they happened to see Caerloon troops marching with the most unlikely--and frightening--allies a Rinder citizen could see: Orcs. The Caerloon bastards were using orcs in their war! Would Storm see any orcs in a tavern in Caerloon? And worse, if he did, what would he do? Could he restrain himself? Or even worse, could the orcs restrain themselves at seeing a dwarf?

Storm's contemplation on orcs is thankfully dissipated when he sees a table full of dwarves. Flashing memories of his time on a dwarven patrol during the time of the dwarven blockade bring a half-toothless smile to Storm's face, and he quickly goes to the bar and gets a pint of ale. On the way toward the dwarven table, he goes by Emma. "I's be talking to me fellers over there. I's won't let 'em know where I's from, an' maybe we's can get some infra...infermation on dwarven in Caerloon. What ye think?" He keeps looking at the rowdy table of dwarves as he talks, and before he knows it he's already walking over before getting an answer from Emma.

As he gets near the table, he raises his mug and shouts over the dwarves' loud conversation. "By Lord Dulwar's strength an' hammer, me's glad to see me kind out in good spirits! A round of ale for all o' ye!" He shouts, half to the table of dwarves and half to the barkeep for his order. He expects the Caerloon dwarves will welcome him, and he continues walking right up to the table and grabs a seat.

"Greetings me friends! I be Storm, an orphaned clanless from the east travellin' through!" By saying this, he hopes he will alleviate thoughts that he might be from Rinder, and also that he has picked a location that these dwarves would be unfamiliar with, so there will be little to suspect if they begin questioning him. He spends the next half an hour joking, talking with, and questioning the dwarves on things in Caerloon. "How be ye? Where ye be from? What be the dwarves like here, I ain't be meetin' none 'till now. What be goin' on with this war thing? Who be these Rinder fellers? An' aint there some other fellers this place be fightin' too? What be things like here?"

When the dwarves do ask about him, Storm gives the following story: "I's be from a place called...eh, Mortar, in the east, past that place with all them stinkin' orcs. Me folks be killed by goblins when I's be a way youngin', an I's raised by some Gnomes. I's left an' taught ta fight by some human fellers, and then I's left fer here. Just seein' the world I guess." He leaves things at that, though he doesn't realize they might question why he wears swords. When they do, Storm stumbles for a moment, caught off guard, and then gives some answer about the humans who taught him to fight, but his answer is a little garbled. He changes the subject and orders another round of drinks. Heck he's got plenty of money now!

Storm thoroughly enjoys the time he spends among his kind again. Their company raises his spirits. He learns that this group is from one of the two clans living in and around Mount Turt in eastern Caerloon. These dwarves are not involved in the war against Rinder, though they are aware of its going on. The seem pleased to meet Storm, though Storm suspects that not all of them completely buy his story about origins in Mortar and being raised by Gnomes...

After a half hour, Storm gets his room, goes upstairs and goes right to bed, though he is sure to sleep still in his leather armor (though slightly uncomfortable), and with a dagger under his pillow and his swords nearby. He also makes sure the window is locked tight.

El stamps his foot in frustration as the Six disperse. They all completely ignored him. If a one horse town like the one they were last in new about them, would not a larger town like Daltford be more informed? 'There might well be bounties on all of our heads!' He thinks furiously.

Elloharin goes to the barkeep and requests a cot. He has a light meal at the bar, keeping quiet and to himself, then he goes to his room for the night. Looking to avoid trouble. Elloharin is desperately curious about the elves downstairs, but he is also wary of arousing suspicion. These days were dark, and even elves might not be trustworthy.

As the evening progresses Crayne finishes his meal and excuses himself from the table. He makes his way up to the bar and addresses the barman, "Well, Sir! The meal was a fine one and the wine tasted splendid! It has been a long time since my insides were comforted so much! I now ask you a further request. Can you please organise me a room for the night, preferably one near the back of the inn, so I am not interrupted at closing time or by the early morning bustle. Also, I would like if I could have a bath in the morning." Crayne pauses and then continues, "And I would like it if you could organise for a local scribe or city guide to visit my room later on. Much obliged!" Crayne says as he finishes with his request.

Following his meal Crayne retires to his room. Upon arrival of the scribe Crayne lets him in and carefully scans outside in the corridor to make sure that nobody is about. Then he makes his way back into the room, closing the door behind him. Quickly Crayne casts Charm Person upon the scribe. Crayne then proceeds in asking the Scribe some questions.

Crayne begins, "What's your name and who do you work for? Where abouts in the city do you work?"

The scribe, who by now is fully under the influence of Crayne's spell, answers easily. "My name is Travis, good sir, I work for my master, Jackson. I am his apprentice. Our little shop is but five streets to the south!"

"What can you tell me of the city Daltford? Are there any temples in the city? Which religions are they?" Crayne continues.

"Temples in Daltford, why yes!" Travis answers gleefully. "There are three temples in this glorious city! Temples to worship the gods Lentyr, Faro, and of course the all-powerful Cahrendhur!"

"Has there been any build up of Caerloon troops recently in Daltford? Do you know how the war is going with Rinder? Do you know of any large camps of Caerloon troops nearby?"

"Actually, sir, I have noticed a good many soldiers in the city recently, and I think it's on account of that war against the vermin up north. Pure barbarians! But I don't get to go out of the city much...Jackson hardly allows it anymore...so I don't know much about any camps!"

"What can you tell me of Cahren? Have you heard of the outpost of Cahra? Do you know where it is?"

"Cahren! What a beautiful place! Full of greatness, libraries, the academy, and the beautiful seashore! I've only been there once, sir, when I was very young. But one must be careful in Cahren, it is, after all, a the capitol city and a large one at that! I don't know anything about this Cahra, I'm sorry I can't tell you anything about that!"

Finally he looks at the scribe and smiles. "Well done son! For your efforts here are a couple of gold pieces. Remember though what you have said to me tonight must be kept in confidence. You must never mutter a word to anyone of what I have asked you. Remember! You are my best friend and I would never let you down!" Once the scribe leaves Crayne sets his mind to his study, spending hours reading through his spellbook, preparing a fully repertoire.

He also checks the other scrolls and spellbooks he carries. He opens up the spellbook he salvaged from Mazen's mage. To his delight, Cranye finds that two spells that were before unreadable to him are now fully legible. He copies both into his own spellbook. He does note, however, that one spell remains in the book that he just can't understand...yet.

(OOC: Crayne may copy Stoneskin (4) and Remove Curse (4) into his spellbook.)

Crayne then looks into the scrolls recovered from the Raimead Mine, inscribed by Dire Luthor. Crayne had previously been able to copy Clairaudience from one of the scrolls, and he soon sees that the other spell on that same scroll is now understandable, so he copies that one, now. The other scroll, containing only one spell, is still just too difficult for Crayne.

(OOC: Crayne may copy Enchanted Weapon (4) into his spellbook.)

Crayne wishes to continue looking into Covarc's spellbook, but it is by now way past midnight and he knows he must get some rest. Before turning in Crayne makes sure that his room is locked. He gets one of his darts and smothers the tip in poison and puts it on the bedside table. He also moves a bookcase which is in his room up against the door.

Late in the night, Emma finds her way back to the bar and sidles up next to Hannibal. "What's on your mind?" she asks as politely as she can, "You seem deep in thought..."

Hannibal looks up from his ale, his eyes already slightly glazed over from a few too many drinks. The thief pauses for a moment, fighting for the right words. Finally he gives up and simply says what is on his mind. "I worry too much now." Hannibal realizes how stupid that sounds and tries to elaborate, doing his best not to sound too drunk.

"What I mean is...before, you know, with the clans and all. It was like...I didn't care. Even with her I never really cared as much as I think I do now, you know?" Hannibal becomes flushed and embarrassed realizing that he really wasn't saying things the way he wanted to. Finally he turns on his stool and motions to the others. Canter and Skandor at one table conversing to one another. Crayne and El discussing the arcane at another table. And finally Storm with the dwarves having the time of his life. "You guys are the closest thing I have to a family now. We almost lost El back a ways and I almost lost you in the caves." Hannibal lets his words hang there, eyeing Emma to see if he could determine whether her feelings remained the same for him.

"Hey," Emma interrupts, laying her hand on his, "I almost lost you too..."

Hannibal continues, "I guess what I am saying is we need to be more careful. No more announcing ourselves as Rinders Six. No more names, just aliases. I couldn't handle another ten years of misery and suffering cause I lost more people in my life that I love." Hannibal ends his words there abruptly, not really sure what else to say. Instead he simply looks into Emma's eyes and prays that she understands.

The priestess searches his face for a moment or two. He had his belly full of ale, but it seemed to loosen him up enough to more freely speak his thoughts. For that she was glad. But the wine she had drunk with Canter had an entirely different effect on her. Never able to hold her alcohol all that well, the Caerloon spirits were certainly more potent than most. How could she have forgotten that? Robert Wade the Fourth had practically brought down her defenses with a few sips from one bottle.

'But no...' Emma convinces herself, 'I'm fine. I know what I'm doing...I think...'

Finally, she speaks. "I'll lean on your advice, Hannibal," she says, "You have wisdom in this area when I do not. If it makes more sense to use aliases, and hide our true name...as well as the symbol of my faith, then I'll do it to protect all of you. Edryd called me a battle-axe once. Not a weapon of finesse by any means. And so I'm more inclined to trust and feel and get hurt when I blunder into things. What a philosophy for a Shield Maiden, huh?" She smiles and giggles just a little at her own private jab at herself.

For a moment Hannibal suddenly felt ashamed for suggesting that the priestess conceal her faith. It was something she took pride in, or so he thought, and to tell her to hide that seemed overly cautious...or did it? Fortunately moments later Emma laughed the whole thing off, thankfully relieving Hannibal of having to further discuss the idea.

Suddenly, she leans in closer to Hannibal and whispers in his ear. "I won't leave you, you know?" she says. She leans back and searches his eyes, "You have, and still do, lead a more dangerous life than me. But I feel as close to you as anyone I've ever known. And whatever power Anhur grants me to work in this world, I'll use it to stay by your side and keep us together. All of us. But you and I, too..."

She looks down at her feet and blushes, definitely feeling the wine's effects now. "Would you like to...umm...go someplace quieter and talk?"

Hannibal was dumbfounded. It seemed that every time the two got close he was living in a dream. Then they would be off and fighting all manner of evils and during that time he felt so distant from Emma. Now that the two were together and alone again he was once again reminded of the love he truly has for her. It was enough to make him forget about all of the other things. The dangers, the pasts, and everything they could potentially face in the future. Like he had once heard a local Bard say, today he was 'King for a day!'

Smiling at Emma Hannibal offered his hand to her while sliding off his chair. "How about a moonlit stroll through the fine streets of..." Hannibal looked up, as if trying to remember the name of the town they were in. "Well, wherever."

Emma laughed and eagerly took his hand, her spirits buoyed by the wine. She noted Canter, Skandor, Storm, and the others spread throughout the room. Hopefully, they wouldn't miss them.

As the two get outside Hannibal takes her arm in his and leads them on a private stroll but not one that might lead them to a dark and seedy alleyway. When they get far enough away from the tavern he looks down at the priestess and takes on a serious look. "Tell me about that guy we ran into back at the fort, Shields I think was his name? He didn't seem all that crazy to see you. Is there something about your caste I don't know about?"

"Not Shields," Emma says, "A Standard. It's a position in the Church. And his name was Torek." She frowns, not really wanting to think about him right now. But Hannibal had a right to know at least that much about her, especially since he had entrusted so much of his own personal information to her.

"I think he was absolutely pleased to see me, though," Emma states, "In fact, his appearance at Fort Ironlast was no doubt planned to coincide with our arrival there. You see, Standards are the symbols of our High Priests, Hannibal. They do the work in representing the will of Anhur's exalted leaders, carrying out their responsibilities and duties to both inspire and check up on the footsoldiers, so to speak. So Torek's appearance was designed to take my measure, especially since High Priest Towers assigned us to find the Ring of Fire Command."

The Shield Maiden looks down at her feet and scuffs away at the dirt...so unlike the iciness they had traveled through to get this far south into Caerloon. "Look...Hannibal," she says, "You don't know that much about me. My time at the Great Library in Seden took me away from my life at home...a life among the nobility. At first, it was just for an education. But then, as I read the histories and savored the stories of heroism, I saw myself inside them. I wanted to become a hero...defend my people...and I saw the Church as a very valid means for living out that dream."

Emma looks back and up and continues, "But I was a child back then, Hannibal. A little girl with big dreams. The Church wasn't the rosy picture of great justice I had always imagined...or that the stories had me believe. Sometimes I feel like I've picked up a lot of wisdom from all those books...and other times, I feel like they betrayed me, you know? But I enjoy what I do as a Shield Maiden. And if there's things about the Church that don't live up to those stories, then I can do my part to change them, right? W ell, at least that's what I've tried to do.

"And for my efforts," she says, "I've stirred up a lot of trouble. Enough to get noticed, that's for sure. But also enough to anger some people. My mentor, Francis, he always tried to help me know when to wage my war of words and when to let it go. And to a degree, I guess that's what Edryd and even Skandor have advised me to do when dealing with the rest of you. But I have such a passion in me, Hannibal. I want to make a difference. Things could be so much better."

She stops herself and then rethinks everything she's shared so far. "I'm sorry. That's probably a lot more than you wanted to know," she explains, "Standard Torek was only doing his job...but if he's acting on Towers behalf, it's quite possible that he holds me...and my independent views...in disdain. So if he was unhappy to see me, it was because of that."

In the morning, Emma rises early and meets Skandor to pray. She renews her spell powers for the day. Then, she goes about casting an Orison on each member of the party (restoring to each 1 hp). Finally, she heads out into the city, noting three temples along the two main roads. By late morning, she has found a local sage, to whom she shows the magical wooden stick, which she was able to get from Crayne (though she did have to wake the sleepy mage up in order to do it!).

The sage, named Ducat, holds the short stick in his hands, inspecting it. Then, after running an aged hand through his long gray beard for a few minutes, he reaches behind him to a shelf full of old, dusty books. He spends a good ten minutes flipping through the brittle, yellowed pages and sneezing from the dust stirred up. Then, finally, he comes to stop on one page. "Red tipped like the center of a candle's flame, my dear," he says to Emma, looking up and smiling wryly, "I've got it. What you have in your hand there is known as a wand, and it certainly does have magical powers as you say your friend was able to discern. It creates light, whether for a short time or without end. It can cause the lights to dance, and, so this tome claims, it can create a spectacular burst of light, painful to all undead creatures and blinding to the normal eye.

"A most useful device, if I may say so," Ducat chuckles. "It is titled here, the 'Wand of Illumination.'

"Now, my dear, we can end this transaction in two ways, you see. You can leave the 20 gold pieces we discussed here with me and take your prize, or I will give you 20 gold pieces and you can leave the wand with me. What do you say?"

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