Journal Posts

Tag: booze

Have a drink on me...
Hokur, if ye would be so kind, please put me down,” Maeve’s voice dripped with velvety sweetness.

“Nae. I cannae do that darlin’,” the big mercenary shook his head and tried to keep the riot of the bard’s hair out of his mouth as he spoke. He had one arm wrapped around her waist tightly, pinning her right arm to her side below the elbow as he held her left wrist in his other hand.

Hokur, I realize just because that feller deserves t’eat a bag of dicks beginnin’ with his own nae means I’m the one t’feed it to him. Set me down.” The sweetness was draining from her tone.

The Aral shook his head again, “Nae gonna do that dove, an’ ye knows why. Put it back.” Under nearly any other circumstances having his arms full of Maeve would have been a downright enjoyable experience, but as the situation stood at the moment it was deadly.

“Whate’er d’ye mean? Put what back?” blinking innocence and butterflies replaced the mock sweetness in her tone and were exponentially more menacing.

“Th’ Dodger. Drop it. Just ‘cause I’ve an armful of spittin’ mad wildcat nae means I di’nae notice ye pinched th’ Dodger. Drop it or hand it t’Raylen, them’s yer choices an’ one or th’ other needs t’happen before I’ll leave loose o’ ye.” Hokur felt her tense all the way through her frame and steeled himself for another barrage of kicks against his shins. Spellcaster she may be, but she was stronger than she looked and had enough alcohol in her system to stagger a good-sized city. Raylen had tried to warn him that she was a mean drunk as the fighter stepped into the altercation between her and some jack-a-nape that would likely be dead if he had not. He agreed that the bloke needed a lesson, but somehow he thought his new employer might not appreciate the Captain of his retrieval team being held by some northern clan chief for murder.

Hokur, ye overgrow’d armor rack, Set, Me, Down! Last warnin’,” Maeve gritted through her teeth as the fighter flexed his grip and forced the air out of her lungs.

“Nae lass, I cannae do th-” the bard lashed back with her head in an attempt to smash his nose but he felt it coming and turned his head so he caught blow on his brow and left eye which was enough to make his vision swim for a few heartbeats but he held her fast. A quick shift of his hips kept him from being gelded with his own blade as Maeve reversed her grip on the Dodger. “Settle down lass! We’ll be havin’ none o’ that foolishment now!” he growled through clenched teeth. He hissed at the other two of his new comrades-in-arms, “Bit o’ help here if’n ye nae mind!”

Arcelli shook his head and took a leisurely drink of his ale as Raylen blinked, momentarily unsure of how to assist. Inspiration struck so he muttered a quick prayer and darted a hand in, touching Maeve’s pinioned arm. The wild light of ale-fueled rage cleared from the troubadour’s eyes instantly and she ceased her struggles to hang tense and panting in the fighter’s grip. “That should at least sober her up.”

Hokur put his mouth close to the bard’s ear and whispered so only she could hear, “Aye darlin’, that jake’s earned anythin’ ye cared t’dish him and more, I’ll nae dispute it. But look ‘round ye; ye’re nae in Salpia now – we’re deep in Turnbull lands and this is nae a blood feud ye want t’be startin’, ye’re a Lachlan, an allied clan, so’s it’d go twice-hard fer yer folk. We just come from yer brother’s handfastin’, d’ye really want t’cost him everythin’ he’s nae even had time t’enjoy yet?” Hokur felt some of the tension in the contora’s limbs relax; at least she was listening.

“Now, I’ve nae any love of these ignor’nt, braggart Turnbull bastards me own self but shankin’ one o’ their men at arms in one o’ their own taverns is suicide fer ye, and us, and a parcel o’ headache ye’d ne’er wish t’saddle yer clan with,” he could feel the muscle in her jaw jump against his moustache as she clenched and unclenched her teeth. “Bloody mayhem is th’ onliest thin’ a Turnbull’s any good fer since th’ gods only gifted ‘em with size and nae brains; I’ve served with enough of ‘em t’know. And I’ve broke bread with yer clan so’s I’m nae gonna let ye do somethin’ they’ll regret just because ye got too deep in yer cups.”

Maeve took as deep a breath as Hokur's grip would allow and nodded, “Aye, I did and it was stupid. My ire’s still fresh on one Turnbull in particular but since I cannae take it out on him I was goin’ for next best. Lemme down and we’ll make sure I nae sliced either of us.”
Session: Sail away, sail away, sail away... - Saturday, Jan 19 2013 from 6:00 PM to 2:00 AM
Viewable by: Public
Tags: Booze , Brawl , Doh!
Epic × 2!
I've learned t'make bad situations my friend...
Why is it that I ne’er remember that competin’ and holdin’ my own in drinkin’ contests at Grizzard’s leaves me with a hand-knotted rug where my tongue used t’ride? And who-so-ever said ye cannae brew bread has ne’re had the pleasure of samplin’ the holdin’s of Master Thumphammer’s extensive cellars – fer if there’s a body of any ilk, race, creed or color that can brew a stout that’ll put chest on yer chest it’d be that dwarf and fer anyone a little slow on the uptakin’ – that is a compliment. I’m fair certain that I managed to sprain somethin’ in my voice box with the amount of singin’ I did, but as that’s the primary reason I was brought along I consider the evenin’ a right smashin’ success. But I may be gettin’ a bit ahead of myself so’s I’ll back it up a bit…

Namen, knowin’ that the four of us are likely t’be managin’ fetch and carry fer him in town as well as out, thought it were high time we met the majority of the masters merchant of Laescaerta so’s he arranges fer us t’accompany him t’a gatherin’ bein’ hosted at Gamla Wols which fer those of ye nae in the knowin’ is Master Grizzard Thumphammer’s mead hall and meetin’ house. Grizzard is a capital respected dwarf whose opinion and good graces form the only accepted gateway betwixt dwarfish tradesmen’s goods and Salpian gold which is t’say that if a dwarf wants t’do business in Laescaerta he’s got t’keep Master Thumphammer happy and if a Salp wants t’pay a reasonable price fer stunty-made wares he’s in the same boat so’s t’speak. The understandin’, though, is that anyone at Thumphammer’s is an alright sort of feller or lass there’s nae much t’worry on – though the measure of a person can usually be summed up right quick if conversation has been liberally lubricated.

I’ve mentioned singin’ and feats of imbibin’ in a cordially confrontational manner already which goes by way of settin’ up the general mood I was in which is t’say I was in right high spirits both literally and figuratively so’s when Namen comes back from where’re it were that he’d wandered off t’ towin’ a pup of a dwarf (judged by shortness of beard and lack of gray in said pitiable face rug) and a grimace behind his smile fit t’curdle fresh goat milk my guard came up double quick. Says he that this stunty is t’join us on our next outin’ and that if we’ll be so kind as to excuse him he’ll be right back then slips out the opposite door leavin’ said dwarf feller and a slew of questions in our exclusive company.

Raylen, bein’ the learned and amiable feller that he is, hails the dwarf in his own tongue – a garble of garglin’ that I’ve nae learned fer fear it would ruin my singin’ voice fer any proper language – t’which the feller growls back in a tone that a body nae needs words t’understand of sheer cussedness. I may have mentioned before that I’m far from fond of folks what treats others ill fer no other reason than t’vent their own spleen and if I’ve nae mentioned it before y’know now. Havin’ some git throw grumbles on my otherwise lovely evenin’ got my blood up in a hurry so’s I commenced t’skaldin’ this chucklehead in every language my tongue could feather givin’ him a right good taste of his own bitter medicine. I finished up in Salp – which he failed t’see the ass-backwardness of him speakin’ when he wanted no Salp t’speak dwarf – that as it was already decreed that he’d be travelin’ with us he’d be wisest nae t’chaff the only healer likely t’be holdin’ him on the right side of the darkest veil.

I stuck out my arm and offered him a start over t’which he insults me by grabbin’ my hand like I’m some filly-fingered Salp trollop! I yanked my mitt back and grabbed his wrist in a proper grip and gave him a squeeze that made his bones creak tellin’ him t’shake hands like a proper Aral knowin’ full well it’s the same bloody way dwarfs greet each other as we’d been watchin’ it all night and if he’d had half as much smarts as he thought he did he’d have seen Brodie and Fearghus do the same. He hung his handle out there as Bardemer which is about the point I quit payin’ attention t’him as I nae felt like givin’ any more lessons in etiquette but Raylen and Arcelli – who the lil’ bugger insulted as well – chatted on with him a bit but he’d fair well killed the conversation until Namen came back.

I could tell by the jumpin’ of the muscle in our employer’s jaw that he was nae entirely pleased with whate’re it was he was about t’spark on us which nae sat very well with me but he also had that 'cat what drank the cream' look on his face so's I was nae sure what precisely was afoot. Says he that Bardemer’s uncle has agreed that if the whelp joins us he can “ease some of his obligations” which is Salpian for “get his stunty arse out of whate’re sling it’s in” utilizin’ the four of us in Namen's employ. I begin t'see why he's lookin' smug for if'n the paragon of the dwarfish community asks ye a favor, it's fair certain ye be 'arrived' as the Salps call it. Of course, given my state of mind I was slight chaffed because I thought I’d left my days of bairn tendin’ behind me in Aral. Ah well, in fer a copper in for a crown!
Session: Woo! Road Trip!! - Friday, Aug 05 2011 from 7:45 PM to 5:45 AM
Viewable by: Public
Tags: Booze
Letter from Bernardo
Esteemed Father,

I do hope this missive finds you and Mother well and the burden of your respective duties not over-taxing. I last heard of Grandfather a fortnight ago and from the account he is as hearty, hale and sharp as ever which did my heart good. Illia was seen by one of the maids of Sottovelo at market this week and she appears to be in good spirits and happily anticipating the birth of her and Rigolito’s first child with no small measure of joy. I hope to be granted a leave to visit the happy couple after the birth of the child and as Master Roodle is a fair and benevolent employer, if somewhat unorthodox, I feel reasonably certain that my request will be granted as the distance is easily traversable on foot within a day so I would not be away from my duties overlong. I am certain to have more firm plans as the joyous event draws nearer.

In missives past I have mentioned the peculiar complexities of managing a staff which includes an Aral matron of strong will, as if there were any other type, and her daughter. These aforementioned complexities have not become any less convoluted with the addition of the Mrs. Brus’ niece to the household. The young lady is well-behaved enough, for one of her profession, education and background so I was understandably vexed when Mrs. Brus began acting in such an unprofessional manner. I beg your indulgence to allow me to explain the situation.

Miss Lachlan recently graduated from the Royal Salp Academé of Music and the Arts and returned to Sottovelo as a sort of break before she sought out her own situation. The Master of the House enjoys a lively and educated conversationalist and in this capacity Miss Lachlan is quite simply unsurpassed as a partner when she so chooses. Unfortunately she chooses this course of action regardless of the situation at hand and as such can be somewhat underfoot for Master Roodle when he is in a mode of business. It was one of these exchanges that led to Miss Lachlan being hired by Master Roodle to accomplish a task which he could not immediately undertake himself, and for which Mister Nurn was absent, in addition to three other freemen, two countrymen and one Aral. The details of their business is unimportant except for the fact that it kept them away from Sottovelo for three and twenty days which lies at the heart of the complexity.

Mrs. Brus, after the fifteenth day of their absence, began to fret over the safety of Miss Lachlan although the latter is of the age of majority and in a situation which can, to my eyes, only benefit her. After the seventeenth day I noted that Miss Brus, who is perhaps the least prone to gossip maid I have ever known, began speaking with the messengers who brought the mail. By the nineteenth day I noted that any items that came in the post were being delivered to the kitchen through the alley entrance. Mrs. Brus was bribing the entirety of the messenger corps with her, admittedly expert, baking. Master Roodle was deeply involved with research and I thought it best not to disturb him for something I should well be able to handle myself and though I did speak to the local dispatch this usurpation continued until Miss Lachlan arrived, quite unharmed, at Sottovelo with her companions likewise intact. I quite rightly left her to her fate when Mrs. Brus learned of her return although I did rescue her companions after less than an hour of Cook’s diatribe.

I intended to speak with Miss Lachlan and Mrs. Brus the next morning regarding the issue but I did not have an opportunity. It was well past the midnight watch when I heard a knock at my chamber door which turned out to be the upstairs maid. Miss Lachlan had sent her up to request my presence in the library. I was… intrigued to say the very least. I disengaged the night bell, in case Master Roodle needed anything while I was out of my chamber, so the downstairs bell would ring and entered the library with some small amount of trepidation.

What I found was Miss Lachlan and Mrs. Brus, who looked rather more abashed that I thought her able, standing at one of the side tables with what I recognized as a very fine bottle of cognac. Mrs. Brus – and on this point you may think I am exaggerating – curtseyed; and with her head held high and genuine warmth in her voice, begged pardon for her actions with the messengers! On the heels of this shocking behavior from a woman I have never heard utter a syllable of apology to anyone Miss Lachlan, in a very respectable and formal tone, apologized for her inconsiderate behavior in not letting her employer or family know of her safety and asked that I accept the aforementioned bottle of very fine cognac as a token of their shared sentiments of regret.

I am not too proud to say that this revelation of manners quite took me off guard and every scolding thing I had to say immediately vanished from my mind. I could do nothing but accept the apologies and request that if, in the future, there were a similar situation that Mrs. Brus notify me of her concern and I would gladly notify her of any correspondence that bore Miss Lachlan’s hand directly after I delivered said missive to Master Roodle. Mrs. Brus said she would immediately and irrevocably rescind her bribery to the messengers and that any who came to the kitchen door would be turned away to go to the front of the house as is proper. I do not think that my offer over-steps my duties or borders on gossip as Miss Lachlan was Mrs. Brus’ charge until her graduation just a few short months ago.

I will watch very closely, but there seems to have been a slight change in Mrs. Brus’ attitude which may make my duties at Sottovelo somewhat less vexing.

I remain your devoted and respectful son,

Viewable by: Public
Tags: Booze , NPC PoV
If it weren't for bad luck...
The ability fer Aral luck to overcome that misery that is the general lot of Salps was still underpowered despite the dwindlin’ numbers of our temporary Regular comrades-in-arms as we’d barely thought about stoppin’ t’grab a bit of somethin’ t’eat when someone spots a rustlin’ in some scrub ahead just before a blighted owlbear – yes, I said owlbear and it looks just like what its name implies that bein’ the unholy union of an owl and a bear – pops up out of said scrub. Fur and feathers fluffed out in a display of pure orneriness, as the only attitudinal settin’ these critters have is half-past thrice chaffed, it let out a roarin’ hoot what’s even more frightsome than its appearance and that words nae have the power t’describe adequately.

As we were a’horse and had been ridin’ along I’d my bow, or rather the bow we’d found on the ogres what was of considerable better make than mine so’s I was usin’ it until I got my own, but as I was sayin’ a bow in my hands instead of my harp and havin’ heard from Da exactly how vicious, ferocious, cantankerous and just plain maliciously aggressive these critters were I wasted no time in lettin’ fly an arrow toward the brute. Fortunate fer me they’re nigh on as big as a barn so’s I was actually able t’hit the cussed thin’ as did Raylen, quite a bit more vitally placed I might add, as Fearghus kinda quirked a brow at what was goin’ on and Arcelli slided off of his horse t’get some room t’limber up that big-arse bow of his. What with the Regulars bein’ behind us a bit they’d no notion of what exactly they was walkin’ int’the teeth of… or beak of rather as owlbears nae have teeth but I’m digressin’ me with details.

Raylen an’ I hit again, thank the gods fer small favors when asked politely, and Fearghus must’ve followed the projectiles t’their logical conclusion in the varmint’s carcass which prompted him t’hop off ol’ Favo and sidle critterward as Arcelli gave him cover fire what dinnae hit but kept the critter lookin’ at the ranger instead of the merc. I was a might busy t’turn around and see what the Regulars was contemplatin’ as I was concentratin’ too hard on nae hittin’ Fearghus on my next shot as that big monstrosity charged itself up t’Arcelli and the Aral and took as swipe but I managed nae only t’miss my fellers but also t’hit about the same time Raylen did. Fearghus put up a nice display of defense so’s Arcelli could get some distance t’bring his shots t’bear which left him the only one toe t’toe with the beastie which could’ve been right bad right quick but out of the corner of my eye I caught the movement of the Regulars as the hauled it up t’the fight double quick.

The thin’ musta been lookin’ over Fearghus’ shoulder at the Regulars ‘cause it dinnae even try t’dodge the great swipe our Araldite friend landed direct in its ribs knockin’ a wheezy roar-squawk and a surprised look out of it which was followed in rapid succession by my arrow, another from Arcelli and two bolts from the Regulars as Raylen slung his bow over his saddle horn and prepared t’make those what got cuffed around stay on the right side of the burial mound as the Regulars’ swordsmen had arrived and give a good poke t’the varmint too. With all the bodies surroundin’ the critter I was nae surprised when I missed… I was surprised that every other archer on the field did but it turned out t’be no matter as one of the Regulars landed a good slice and Ermanno did that run up and swipe from crotch t’craw that he’d pulled on the ogre which elicited the self-same result; dead critter.

I was fair surprised, but had the tact nae t’say anythin’ out loud about it mind ye, that we had just as many Regulars at the end of the fight as we did at the beginnin’ and everyone had all of their limbs intact. Says I that as Namen was needin’ giant owl feathers maybe he’d like some big-arsed owlbear feathers too so’s I plucked some of the choice tail feathers fer that purpose before Arcelli had ‘em all yanked and stuck in his hair – I’ll leave my comments on Salpian versus Araldite levels of social sophistication fer another discussion as I have mentioned the subject before and nae want t’beat it int’the ground – and as these critters eschew clothes there was no pockets t’check so’s I hops back up on Canuto and wait patiently fer Fearghus t’lop off the head of the beastie so’s the Regulars can get credit fer it with their major or admiral or what the blast ever it is they call who they answer t’when they’re nae answerin’ t’a captain.

The best part of travelin’ back to Ebete is that the closer we got the less likely we was t’see any maraudin’ beasties and that’s just what happened fer the rest of the three days we trekked it back which suited me right down t’the ground. On about my fourth ale in Ebete it dawned on me that the most dangerous part of my journey has yet t’take place; I’d forgotten t’send word back t’Sottovelo and Auntie Mo so’s it’d been three weeks she’d nae known if I was quick or dead. I knew I was in fer a right-epic skaldin’ when I got back which might just have been why I simply couldnae slake my thirst no matter how many rounds I drank.
Session: Game Three... or Whaddaya mean we need 300 more goblins? - Friday, Jul 22 2011 from 7:30 PM to 5:30 AM
Viewable by: Public
Tags: Battle , Booze
One in every crowd
Now, whilst we had only the immediate aim of warmin’ up and fillin’ our bellies in mind when we hit the door of the inn the universe at large had a slightly different plan. When we’d stomped and shook off the majority of the out-of-doors we’d brought in with us and set our eyes to the relative brightness of the tavern room after wandrin’ through the windy darkness we came to be aware that the room was near filled to capacity with none other than the illustrious Regulars we were aimin’ at pressin’ into service fer gods, country and our own amusement and profit. Be it said that in a room what only comfortably sits about twelve bodies upright havin’ ten free-loadin’ soldiers sprawled about in various stages of intoxication grousin’ about the cold that came in with us made fer a less than cheery welcome.

Spied I the innkeep and bein’ sociable I waved to him and high-stepped over the layabouts to meet him at the end of the bar. Says he that he’s right glad t’see payin’ customers but he’s afraid every room he’s got is full up of Regulars but that he supposes at least this time they earned it since they did remove the hob threat. Auntie Mo would’ve whacked me twice with the big ladle fer the very un-ladylike snort of outright disgust that I let out hearin’ that. I said it wouldn’t make us no nevermind to bed down in the stable with the horses but then leaned in conspiratorial like as the fellers had grouped around me and the innkeep by then so’s I knew they could hear me but the Regulars couldn’t and I asked the gent – Ilario by given name – if he’d thought it passin’ strange that the heads what the Regulars had been showin’ off were missin’ their fang teeth. Arcelli takes his cue like an old hand and begins twirlin’ the necklace of aforementioned incisors around his finger casual-like though his face is eight shades of murder. Now Ilario is a fair quick feller in the wits department and he puts his two and two together and comes up with bein’ took fer a fool and is fair chaffed about it instantly.

Says I that I’d like to chat with the commandant about some other business before retirin’ to the stable and asks about his whereabouts to which the innkeep replies that the commandant is sick and already upstairs but nae to worry that he’ll go rouse said illustrious leader and get us some proper rooms. Says I that it really isn’t necessary as we’d just like a li’l spot by the fire to warm our bones after trekin’ in the snow fer the better part of the past week. Says he that he’ll nae have it said that he treated payin’ guests in such a shoddy manner and he begins to roust the layabouts from in front of the hearth.

Now it’s a gods-simple truth that there is one wiseacre in every crowd and this bunch of Regulars was well represented in that department by a snide sot what offers me his knee and the warmth of his company, if y’take my meanin’, to which I replied that me and my sword would likely nae fit in such a confined space but that Fearghus might take him up on the offer at which point my Aral companion batted his lashes at the wise-arsed drunkard and piped up his assent with a suggestion that would nae be at all polite to repeat but sufficed in gettin’ the lout to his feet. On the heels of this, so t’speak, Ilario announces that he’s cuttin’ off the lot of ‘em from the taps as the voucher covers only bed and board nae spirits. The Regular, Pino I was later to learn his name was, grabs the innkeep by the shirtfront and commences to try to shake the poor feller to make him change his mind.

Let me make this perfectly clear and leave no hint of a doubt; if y’learn nothin’ else about me you should be painful aware that mistreatin’ a tapmaster, particularly in his own place of business, is one of the surest ways to set me instantly on a bloody warpath that can only end in the offender’s abject humiliation. So’s before Pino can get in two good shakes on poor Ilario I intervene by dazin’ him slack jawed and, coincidentally, it would seem that Fearghus shares my opinion of how to treat an innkeep because no sooner had the glaze had set in Pino’s eyes before my Aral companion’s ham-sized fist rocked the Regular back on his heels to crumple into a pile what came damnable close to landin’ in the fire. Were this a different kind of tale I would say that the rest of the Regulars took this pugilistic lesson in etiquette to heart and apologized to the innkeep whilst pickin’ their comrade up and haulin’ him out of the way but … they wouldn’t be Regulars if they was that smart so a good old-fashioned brawl commenced.
Session: Game Two Bizatch! ...or Get in that Hole! - Friday, Jul 08 2011 from 7:30 PM to 1:30 AM
Viewable by: Public
Tags: Booze , Brawl , Dust Up
That's gonna leave a mark...
We passed the night fair uneventful and hooked it north and west again the next day. I had a bit of a chat with Raylen and found out that he’d just been kicked out of the nest, so-to-speak, by his Order. Seems that one of the requirements fer bein’ allowed to leave the temple and get out of pew polishin’ duty is to have what Raylen called “an awakening” which sounds rather to me like one of those moments when a feller figures out his arse from a hole in the ground. Apparently after that the temple shoos ‘em out the door and tells ‘em to go learn somethin’ whilst makin’ sure to teach whate’er it is they learned. Fair enough. I’ve just about placed Fearghus’ colors – I’m nigh certain that’s it’s on Da’s side via his mother’s Dad. I forgot to ask Auntie Mo while we were at Sottovelo but I’m of a certainty that we’re returnin’ so I’ll check then provided I don’t recall my own self before then. Arcelli said to keep a weather eye out fer tracks as we’re gettin’’ closer to where he thinks the gobbos are but with night fast comin’ we set up camp and I potted up a ham stew fer grins. I’m glad I let Auntie Mo talk me into the flask of brandy ‘cause the nights are gettin’ colder.

The bugger about sleepin’ on the road is that someone’s got to stay awake and alert t’make certain that the entire group doesn’t wake up deader than a door post. The cussed thin’ about bein’ on the road in winter is that seven times of ten there’s clouds so it’s darker than a bat’s bung or so windy ye can’t hear your own thoughts. Raylen was watchin’ when somethin’ sneaked up on him in the dark. He give a holler and as I was at the back of the tent I kinda waited a smidge to see what all the fuss was about. Arcelli was by the flap and musta heard or saw somethin’ because he was out like a flash. Fearghus cussed a black streak when the flap fell back in his face – which truth be known was a bit comical – and was right pissed when he threw it open again, near takin’ it off at the seams. To his credit though, it did stay open and since I travel with a sewin’ kit it’s no matter.

I spied out the flap in what little light there was that somethin’ low, flat and dark had hold of Arcelli, who’d either picked a dreadful time to fall back asleep or was down; it was shakin’ him like a rag. Fearghus was approachin’ and Raylen was sidlin’ around but the critter was havin’ none of it. Thinks I to myself, music bein’ a balm to the soul of man and beast alike I might just be able to lend a hand… or a voice as the case may be. Makin’ stuff up has always been my strong suit and this time were no different. Singin’ stopped the critter long enough fer Fearghus and Raylen to finish it off at which point we could see that it was a zoggin’ big weasel with horns. Says I that Namen might need a new cloak fer his old bones so Fearghus and I skinnt the critter while Raylen looked after Arcelli who said he felt a might peckish even afterward but was good enough to press on as daylight was creepin’ up the sky.
Session: Gettin' it Together - Friday, Jun 24 2011 from 7:15 PM to 5:15 AM
Viewable by: Public
Tags: Booze
Our house, in the middle...
On arrival at Sottovelo – fer those of you nae knowin’, Sottovelo is the proper name of Namen’s house, Bernardo met us at the door with a bit of an arched brow which is sayin’ somethin’ if you know anythin’ at all about butlers or what passes fer normal at Sottovelo since Namen became master of the house. The boys set their thin’s in the front sittin’ room and I skipped back to let Auntie Mo know we were arrived and tell Ismay how many places were to be set. I also passed on that there was an Aral in the group so’s whilst I said we would likely come back with five blokes and we only came back with four bodies Auntie Mo’s portions shouldn’t go to waste since at least one of said blokes would eat like a feller ought. Namen made with a bit of the five copper tour after which I met the gents in the dinin’ room just as Ismay was skuttlin’ out with the extra place settin’. Fearghus wanted ale of which there was none in the room so’s I volunteered to pop down to the cellar to get what was needed. I noticed that Raylen got his water and I must’ve walked in on the middle of Arcelli’s story because I’m pretty sure he wasn’t actually talkin’ about wrestlin’ lizards in togas but that’s certainly what it sounded like. Dinner commenced and chased away what chill the ale didn’t take care of.

As the eatin’ went on business was discussed and Namen got deeper into his cups. Dido made an appearance and said she would draw up all of the necessary letters and contracts. The fact that a freeman has to have papers statin’ he’s where he ought t’be regardless of where he is just to keep from endin’ up sloggin’ along after a bunch of rag-tag hobs is a right disgrace and somethin’ that would never make it past ‘hello’ in Aral. Dido stayed fer a bit to make certain she had the gist of what was needed then disappeared in that damnable invisible way of hers. Havin’ the right tool fer the job is a lesson that Master Roodle learned early and has yet to forget so it was decided that we would go to market the next mornin’ and procure the items we would most likely need to wander into the middle of nowhere and collect goblin ears – preferably cuttin’ just below the neck accordin’ to Arcelli. I get the distinct impression he’s nae terribly fond of the little green blighters. When the last of the bread was sopped and the cask was dry we all retreated to our respective quarters to rest up fer the beginnin’ of our official partnership the next day. I spent the better part of a candle makin’ a list as to what might be needed as I weren’t entirely sure I could rely on fellers to cover all contingencies… besides, Auntie Mo made milk and brandy and it seemed a shame she should have to drink it alone.
Session: Gettin' it Together - Friday, Jun 24 2011 from 7:15 PM to 5:15 AM
Viewable by: Public
Tags: Booze
I need a hero...
What with there bein’ five bodies and two of us Arals besides, we had to skootch two tables together so’s no one had to sit in his neighbor’s lap. That bein’ accomplished and the gods-honest fact that I simply can’t abide drinkin’ with folks I don’t know the name of, introductions was made round the tables. The first one of the Salpians to pipe up was an outdoorsy lookin’ bloke by the name of Arcelli. I was correct in my estimation of his propensity fer stayin’ out-of-doors when he named his profession as that of a ranger. The second to hang out his handle was the Araldite merc who at least had a name that sounded normal to the ear – Fearghus. The third gent – a priest of Neguma of all thin’s – introduced himself as Raylen just havin’ left the monastery because he woke up, so t’speak. I set my name out there as well as Namen’s so’s the drinkin’ could commence.

Raylen was new to the vicinity enough that he was drinkin’ water and couldn’t see why so many folks were lookin’ at him like he was six silvers short of a gold piece. I relayed to him, in as short a tellin’ as possible without swellin’ Namen’s head like a smashed thumb, the story of the plague and that it was carried in the water and that folks was still a bit put off by it even though the plague had ended. A little cough from my would-be employer let me know that I should’ve gone with the long version and that his head was in need of swellin’ so I put it all out there and Raylen decided that ale would work fine fer him if it was a matter of safety. We all assured him it was so the water went on the floor, the axe went over the water and the talk went on as well it should have.

Now there’s a fine reason that I picked the Blushin’ Trull fer the beginnin’ of our search fer some able-bodied types to assist me with Namen’s fetch an’ carry. As I mentioned just a few moments ago there was a dread plague that went through Laescaerta, what I dinnae mention is that it took over two thirds of the inhabitants with it. Fer a good while nae knowin’ what it was causin’ the plague lead to a lot of strange ways of tryin’ to stop it – some of which included burnin’ down a better portion of the city. What with Namen bein’ at one point in his life a man of adventure he made a gentle suggestion that instead of lumpin’ all of the adventuresome types in with the riff-raff down in th’slums they should be stacked around the armor and weapon smiths so’s they could drop all of their gold in one area and keep out of the nicer portions of town as well as keep out of mischief down in the dregs. By luck or design the Trull is the best of the best of the new district which has more to do with truth than just it bein’ my opinion, and by way of provin’ this all three of the gents with which Namen and I were libatin’ were in search of work that would keep them from bein’ conscripted by the Regulars – or rather, more politely put, the Salpian Army. Because I won’t shove no one in a dark hole without tellin’ ‘em what’s waitin’ at the bottom; I asked Namen fer the list.

Ah, the list… I don’t know what my current employer was smokin’ when he came up with it but it must have been some of that good Elven stuff. Three and ten items scattered from one tip of the known world to the other and each one more dangerous to collect than the next. I began to see why it was Master Roodle thought I would need a few companions. Bein’ game or at least curious enough to want to know more, all three of the gents accepted Namen’s invitation to supper which I had very wisely informed Auntie Mo of the possibility of before we left Sottovelo. I’m a’feared of naehin’ in this world except Auntie Mo on a rampage with that damnable spoon. Fearghus expressed some concern that the food would be that prissy Salpian fare that wouldn’t stick to yer ribs with pitch but I assured him that Auntie Mo was a proper Aral matron and that his belly would be glad of it. After waitin’ fer the Salps to rug up like it was an expedition to north Nilfheim instead of a walk across town, we were well on our way.

Session: Gettin' it Together - Friday, Jun 24 2011 from 7:15 PM to 5:15 AM
Viewable by: Public
Tags: Booze
Y'see, it happen't like this
Namen, more properly called by his formal name of Master Roodle by one in his employ but as I’ve been knowin’ him fer the better part of two years without formally bein’ one of the help I feel fair comfortable callin’ him by his given name, bein' that he's now some sort of pillar of the community and entirely too busy to have any fun whatsoever, was bemoanin' the fact that he had no time to gather the essentials fer his trade - his trade bein' the craftin' of oddities of an arcane nature of course - and in general bein' a crotchety ol' cuss. Says I that he should lighten up a smidge and just tell the council to go fluff their own doilies fer a bit so's he can get somethin' interestin' goin'. Says he that I should put down whate'r it was I was fiddlin' with and make myself useful - as if I weren't useful by playin' my fingers numb when he's makin' those cussed music boxes - and go fill this with ear wax whilst pitchin' a stone jar at my head. Of course, catchin' the jar, says I - I'll just go roll me a few beggars and be back in a trice. Then, says he, that it’s got ter be goblin ear wax and that I might just want to find me some help fer the undertakin’ of said task. Says I that if he’s so hells-bent on havin’ a fetch an’ carry team that he should come with me t’pick ‘em out ‘cause sure as Kiara made little green apples he’ll find some fault with whom-so-ever I might pick on my own. That fair well shut him up fer a moment – granted a short moment, but a moment none-the-less. I made some half-disparagin’ remark as to his ability to walk so far as the Blushin’ Trull and that sealed the deal; he was comin’ with me.

Namen, Master Roodle fer those of you who need the formality, is a lively sort of bloke when he isn’t bein’ all uppity so’s the walk through town was fair pleasant. We got to the Trull on ‘bout tea time and stood there in the door fer a moment lettin’ our eyes adjust to the practiced gloom of a good inn. I spied my first choice from the doorway in the form of a big Araldite feller what almost had enough weapons to bear the name and t’wasn’t draped in some gods-awful color that I’d have had to split his skull for. Namen sees him a couple of little fellers – Salpians both – huddled together in some sort of hushy conversation over in the corner. Knowin’ that no business can commence without proper lubrication I headed to the bar fer pitchers and jacks.

The innkeep is a fast acquaintance of mine from my first landin’ in Laescaerta and days at the Academé when I would shunt as much business his way as I could reasonably be expected to without gettin’ more than my grog fer half price so’s he already had two pitchers set out and needed only to know how many jacks to stack on the tray. Cultivatin’ a couple of barkeeps is never a bad idea because a body never knows when that particular tree might bear fruit, but it never fails to produce. Says I that six would appear to be a prosperous number, and so just that many I took to the table. I hailed the big Araldite feller with my elbow as I was crossin’ the room and put a little swish in my step to hurry him along. He managed to make it to the table without crackin’ his skull on one of those cursed low beams that Salpian architects insist on, and plunkered down at the table with Namen, the pair of Salps and me.
Session: Gettin' it Together - Friday, Jun 24 2011 from 7:15 PM to 5:15 AM
Viewable by: Public
Tags: Booze , Intro