Journal Posts

Tag: dust_up

I'm a man of means by no means...
Ah, spring in Salpia - that magical time of year where yer either freezin' yer arse off, drenched to the skin, or clingin' t'whate'er is nailed down tightest so's the wind nae carries ye off - in other words, perfect travellin' weather! And travel we did, up the King's Road t'the western turning and from thence straight toward the Varco Pass and into the Laerwellan Wood as was the plan. We was nearly t'the pass when Arcelli points at the ground and grunts in that charmin' way of his, "Fuckin' hobs." Now, t'those nae conversant in Cacciatore this might seem rather terse, but t'those of us who have traveled with our dear ranger for over a year t'was an obvious invitation t'go huntin' fer gods and country and cleanse the land of somethin' what obvious nae belongs there.

As Arcelli holds a special disdain for gobbos in general and has made an extensive study of their habits and abilities, such as they are, he was more than able t'track the blighters from horseback as we rode along. 'Twas rather nostalgic, really, as one of the first outin's we had was in the pursuit of gobbo earwax and I was in a bit of a reverie and nae payin' much attention but the next thing I realize was that slight below us in a depression b'twixt three hills was a hob band of nae more than a dozen already well and truly tied up by the spring grasses which showed that Arcelli'd seen them before they seen him so's t'was rather like spearin' fish in a barrel - right stupid fish at that though one of 'em was fair bigger than the rest and managed t'tear hisself free of the entanglin' vines and bust out arsehole and elbow over the far rise. As things appeared t'be well in hand with Raylen, Arcelli, and I pokin' various shapes o'holes in the hobs at our leisure, Hokur, bein' the strongest rider of us four, pounds off after said escaped bluenose at a hard run.

In fair short order the only thin' holdin' the hobs up is the grass so's Raylen just blinks out of existence, Clod and all, t'reappear at the crest of the ridge that Hokur had just disappeared over. Arcelli dropped his spell and rode off t'join the fun. I picked my way through the corpses makin' sure they was corpses and nae playin' opossum and assistin' those what needed it t'Sirkti's side or where e'er it is that hobs go when they're nae more breathin' and whilst doin' so I note that there's a damn sight more armor and weapons than is warranted by their current number - nigh ont' double as much which is passin' odd. There was one what had some life left in him so's I tied him up proper and commenced asked him 'bout it as Arcelli'd said they was comin' from where we were goin' and bein' forewarned is forearmed.

I'm fair certain I understand why our strider hates these cussed things; they're right contrary but fortunately they've an over-abundance of ignorance and superstition where the use of the arcane arts is concerned so's it was nae any stretch of my imagination t'get it t'talkin' in short order. It bragged 'bout eludin' the Regulars for the better part of three years and raidin' travelers and caravans headin' int' the Elven lands t'which I says they'd appeared t've met their match and it was 'bout t'say what had laid the Gashronk tribe low... at least until Arcelli showed up and scared the piss out of it which fair ended the interview and the beastie's usefulness and therefore days on the bright side of the veil.

The fellers got t'lookin' at the armor and noted that much of it was right ragged torn in more places than nae. Raylen made with some ambulatin' and cogitatin' and comes back with the wise words of Neguma, "Magic stings petrified wings." 'Twould seem Neguma's fond of riddles - or at least circumlocution. We packed up and headed on whilst mullin' over Raylen's riddle and between the all of us came up with the likelihood that there was gargoyles or a golem in the pass so's we'd have t'be on our guard or end up like Ginkgob and his mates.
Session: Once again into the breach... - Saturday, Jun 08 2013 from 7:00 PM to 5:00 AM
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Tags: Dust Up , travel
Epic!
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
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Tags: Booze , Brawl , Dust Up