May Day

[Himo]

It was an cold spring morning in the village of Gormsey. The dew was still falling off the flowers in miss Dormac's luscious flowerbed, but already almost everyone was awake, for it was the day before the Beltane festival. Carts were riding on and off through the town gates, market stalls were being assembled and children flitted around like birds waiting to be fed. This year's edition was reportedly extra spectacular as they had managed to get some fireworks from the capital and they even manage to hire an actual bard! The newly elected magistrate, Arnold Bakersworth, saved no expense to thank his supporters and to gather new ones. Such extravagant display was guaranteed to win over even those not interested in politics.
The town's mayor, Tomcy Clane, a man with a well-filled belly as he liked to say, stood in the centre of the marketplace. Although he had lost most of his hair before his now 33 years it had not diminished his stature. In fact, it made wearing his favourite top hat all the easier.
"Garlands over there Dory!" he pointed. "And make sure they reach around the entire plaza."
He quickly jumped aside when a cart almost hit him. He wanted to shout something, but forgot about his anger when he saw what it carried. Pastries from the bakery in Bournemouth, his absolute favourite. They would make a good dessert for the feast tonight.
"The warehouse is at the end of the street," he waved.
Everything was coming together quite nicely he mused. Although not all was well. A recent vote was passed in the capital that border security must be halved. After they had lost a large amount of trade ships in a recent storm at sea the capital had been looking for savings. Now that the tribes of Valess had not raided a single farm for the better part of the decade they thought that they could do with less men. Tomcy wasn't so sure of that. The winter had been unexceptionally kind to them, so their warehouse was fully stocked. He could only hope that they had the same luck in Valess and that they had no reason to come looking for anything across the border.
That reminded him, he had to check in with his wife if she needed a hand preparing the boar they caught yesterday...

[Feel free to take some liberties with the layout and look of the town if it fits your story better. In general, Gormsey is a late medieval town with a wooden wall around it. All houses are made out of wood with thatched roofs.]

[Mazzic]

For the first time in weeks things were going Durin-Daine Duskhammer's way. He had arrived in town just in time for a local festival, during which food and booze and coin would flow. He'd stashed his pack and set up his tools in an empty stall and hung a sign offering repairs and modifications to any and all farm implements , arms, and armor (and stating his Clan credentials). He enlisted a young man with the promise of a cut of his earnings to watch the stall and serve as a runner should anyone stop by, before heading off to find a drink. His thirst was mighty powerful right off the road, but he knew how to control himself. The tides of memory, carrying the blood and violence of those dark times, had led him towards alcohol and rage for a few years. But things were better now. Leaving the capital, the place where his father and brother had been cut down, had helped some, though being so close to the Valess stirred the urge to both drink and loosen his weapons. "Better cracking a skull then blacking out drunk," he muttered to himself as he came upon the tavern, not a stone's throw from his stall. He found a table he could see the door from and ordered a drink.

[kabetts]

Bryn had only been in the tiny burg a couple of days when his master hand announced that he was heading across the border with a group of adventurers to the site of some ruins or other that they'd found.  He was sure that there was some magic spell or doohicky in there that would save the world or whatever. Bryn was left behind to watch their things, keep the room and stay out of harms way.  

'Ruins are much too dangerous.' His master's words echoed in his mind as a cart runs in front of him nearly killing a fat man who was pompously yelling at people to  do work that he obviously couldn't have accomplished on his own.  He reached down and picked up one of the pastries that had fallen from the cart when no one was looking, brushed it of and took a bite.

At least the festival would be a little more entertaining than sitting around in this podunk little nowhere town waiting for the master to return.

He watched the people running garlands and wondered where his friend Lath had gotten off to.

[Kirfalas]

Aidan turned and turned, but the noise outside wouldn't stop. Another late night, another early morning. With a weary head he sat up and blinked into the sunlight. "Why can't people just keep quiet until noon and let me sleep?" He shook his head in disapproval and immediately regretted it, a bad headache starting. "Why can't people invent booze that doesn't feel like liquid death the next morning?" So he muttered, until the feminine shape next to him turned around and hit him with a pillow. "Shut up, leave the money on the nightstand, and go. Just because I let you sleep here, doesn't mean you can keep me awake."

The bard quickly rose and shot on his pants. He put a few silvers on the bedside table and grabbed the rest of his belongings in a bundle before opening the door. "See you tonight?" A flying pillow was the only response he got, a fumbled dodge making him fall backwards into the small hallway of the tavern. The door closed in his face before he could get up. Putting his clothes on while other guests walked past him was becoming a habit he would prefer to leave behind him already. Perhaps today he should see about making some real money, maybe find a place to live and settle down...? Nah!

He walked down the stairs and headed towards his regular table, only to find a surly-looking dwarf sitting at it. Guests! What fun! Aidan took a bow and sat at the table in front of the dwarf. "Top of the morning to you, my fine dwarven friend. Aidan Flamerule, at your service. What brings you to Gormsey, and more importantly, my table, this early morning?"

[Wallace]

The door of the inn was open and the sights and smells of the street wafted in along with a silent silhouette of a hooded man leaning on a long walking stick. A small and middle-aged man with unassuming clothes and not many possessions on his person, certainly no weapons that one could see, or shoes for that matter. A traveller from other lands, clearly, but which place that was a question only the traveller could answer.

That morning had been a pleasant one. Having arrived just the previous afternoon, the barefoot man had set himself on a large rock and played his odd flute. Passersby had donated their coppers for the soothing melodies which had made the whole bustle of the town square seemed so much more relaxing.
"Bõ the Hummingbird?" A woman had approached him and he at once stopped playing. "My sister was from Katue. You saved her life, her family's and so many others. I recognize your flute, my sister described it along with the wonderful man who helped her. Please, if you have no place to stay my home is yours tonight."

A lovely family Maginta has and she is just as friendly as her sister. Food and drink was shared as well as stories. The wanderer was ever grateful and left early in the morning, leaving the coppers he'd earned on the table not wanting to be too much bother to the family. His interest had been peaked by this srping ritual though and he decided to stay to see at least the burning of the wicker man before moving on. He had taken in the activity this morning but was now once more overcome by thirst and hunger and stepped into the doorway of the inn.

Standing there, he turned and eyed the sign above the entrance which depicted a boar with a noose around its neck. The Hanging Boar was an inn like many others except more crowded drawing so many visitors from so many places around. Tables were in high demand, seats even moreso. A few empty ones at a distant table looked inviting and the wanderer made his way through the crowd, his stick making a quiet thunk noise with every other step he made.

He stood near one of the empty seats and looked at the two bantering people, a dwarf with a rapidly emptying tankard of ale and a tall, shoddily clad man. Not seeing either one of them attempt to stop him from taking an empty seat he took one and sat quietly to wait for service to arrive.

[Dagnon]

"...I thought I heard someone..." Lath muttered to himself as he rounded another corner and stared down an entry alley. The elf has spent entirely too much time walking around this a quiet village over the past few days while waiting on Bryn's master to return.

Lath'arniktae was already growing restless of this place and its people, but there were but a few things that he would not do, and leave Bryn was at the top of that list. With a sigh Lath turned and headed back to the square to find his friend. Upon tracking the fledgling wizard down his stomach grumbled and reminded him he had not eaten in days.

[B]"My belly calls out, food is on me this day Bryn. To The Hanging Boar?"

[Mazzic]

Durin-Daine had barely finished one drink before the human barged down stairs and decided to accost him. Clearly the man thought he, like a dog, had somehow claimed ownership of the table, perhaps from pissing on the floor by it or repeated use. Mayhap Durin-Daine appeared too inviting? He wore simple but well-kept travel clothes, sword across his back and a handaxe hanging from both sides of his waist. He plucked one of the axes with his free hand and casually spun it in around once. "I'm having a refreshing morning drink, quickling. At a table that has been firmly claimed for the Clans." As he spoke another human appeared, but remained blessedly silent, and thus earned nothing but indifference.

[Kirfalas]

Aidan straightened his shirt and waved at the bartender for his usual breakfast, a pint of ale and some baked eggs. He casually pointed at the axe. "You mistake my intent, my friend, I did not mean to offend. Please, put that away, let us have a drink together instead."

He then cheerily winked at the fellow who just joined them at their table. "What say you, good man, a pint?" Aidan motioned towards the bartender to bring ale for the entire table. "Looks like we'll be having a beautiful day, eh?"

The young bard kept using his left hand to motion during the small talk, but those perceptive enough might have noticed how his right hand never rose above the table, almost like he was holding something at his side.

[Mazzic]

The insolence of humans. Ever sticking their noses in the business of others and then pretending they did nothing. The Dwarf eyed the talkative man with suspicion. "I've no interest in spilling blood my first day in town, but it is far too early and I am far too sober for your rambling, human. If you must assault me with your presence, at least be kind enough to spare me your yammering!" Durin-Daine was thankful the other quickling seemed to have the sense to remain an uninvited but unobstrusive guest at the table.

[Wallace]

The man froze in his seat when he was somehow included into the conversation. It seemed these people liked their breakfast with a side of numbing ale and bloody violence. He took his time to formulate a response that would not offend either man and started off by throwing his hood back to reveal his bald head and narrow features with sunken eyes with a pale blue stare that seemed to look right through a person.

"I'm afraid I don't partake but I will raise a cup of sparkling water to your good health," he paused and looked from the man to the dwarf, "and long lives."

[Kirfalas]

"To that I will gladly drink!" Aidan raised his ale and took a long swig, drinking away his headache. He then started on his breakfast, finally taking a moment of silence.

[Mazzic]

With a roll of his eyes Durin-Daine raised his cup. "Yer lucky I find it in bad taste to smack strangers who don't swing first. If we must share a table I suppose an introduction is in order. I'm Durin-Daine Duskhammer."

[Dagnon]

Bryn and Lath agreed it was time for a bite to eat and entered the inn, seeing a pair of dwarves and a human almost coming to blows the elves found a quiet take to sit at.

[Kirfalas]

"Well met, Mr Duskhammer. Mind if I call you Durin? As I said earlier, I am Aidan Flamerule and I frequent these parts, until fancy strikes me to find a new haunt." Aidan finished his breakfast and motioned the bartender to keep the ale flowing.

"I take it you're in town for the festival? Excellent time to arrive in town, I'd say. What can you tell me of your travels? And what was that about a Clan?"

[Mazzic]

Duskhammer had to remind himself that Men were barely long lived enough to learn manners before they died. And this Aidan was clearly a juvenile specimen. "I am the son of Thoradin Silverspike, defier of tyrants, who was the son of Duradin Golden-Oak, who led the Clans Grimurdan and Thorankad across the Great Sea and established our people here in Austeria." He paused, taking a drink. "You may call me Durin-Daine or Duskhammer."

[Himo]

"Shut up, leave the money on the night-stand, and go. Just because I let you sleep here, doesn't mean you can keep me awake," Samantha growled at the bard before he left. She heard some coins chinking on the bed-stand and moaned. It indeed for too early for her taste.
"See you tonight?"
A flying pillow was her only answer. She yawned and left the bed to slip into last night's dress, not caring about the wrinkled look and occasional beer-stain it had. Occupational hazard. While throwing some water into her face and trying to get her hair into a somewhat decent ponytail she looked at herself in the small mirror above the bed-stand. Samantha Thorn wasn't a bad innkeeper, the Hanging Boar was her life, but the beer and one-night stands came easy ever since her husband had died a year ago. What the medicine man said was a simple yeast infection eventually evolved into something much more and she had sat next to his bed for a month as he became nothing more than a husk covered in green-brownish bruises. All the time she had been unable to do something except for the most basic of care. It had numbed her to the point of not caring for anything. She walked out of the room on the second floor and looked into the common room leaning on the railing. She smiled when she saw her daughters, Meridith and Megan, already so busy with serving breakfast and cleaning up her mess from last night at the bar. The only two persons she cared about. The inn was already very full because of the upcoming festival. Most of them she did recognise, with a lot of them from out of town. Traders and merchants that came each festival, but some figures at Aidan's table did not ring a bell.

The door flung open and a clearly angered farmer Wilsom walked up to the bar.
"Bah, a beer please Megan. I'd wish you a good day of freedom if it were such a thing."

He was angry and the entire inn could hear him. With a supple flick of her wrist Megan filled the cup and put it in front of him. The farmer scowled as if he had something to say.
"What's going on Wilsom?" she inquired, "It's not even noon. A little early to be angry already."
"I wished to bring two sheep to the festival as part of my contribution to Beltane, but this morning I encountered two of my flock dead."
He shook the cup in anger.
"Must be those wolves I saw lurking about last week. Normally I would ask the nearby soldiers of Keep Helmsworth to thin the pack, but with half of them moving away I know what the captain is going to say."
"That's a bad way to start the day Wilsom," another farmer agreed. "The capital has no feeling with what we need at the border."
"Yeah," he sighed as he took a sip, "I'm going to ask around later to see if I can find some other men to help me get rid of them. I can't lose my entire flock."

[Rhoon]

Rorik layed in his thatch filled bed staring wide awake at the ceiling of his mud hut, the smell of brewing beer hanging in the air. It had been nearly a week since Thor, God of Storms and Thunder had come to Rorik in his dreams. "Rorik, your time of exile has come to an end. You are needed in the mortal world and will do my bidding. You will go to the Festival in the Village of Gormsey and bring them their salvation!"

Were Gods always this direct? Rorik wondered to himself as he watched a fly buzz around the room in sporadic patterns -- clearly having been drinking from one of his ale mugs he left on the counter. Rorik did not know the answer to his question, more so because he had never heard his God speak directly to him before; for the first time in his long life, the conversation was more than a one-way street. Though admittedly, it was still one way, just at him, instead of from him. His God had commanded him to leave this place

Nearly 10 years ago, Rorik had been the major dissenter against the Church's leadership in misuse of tithe funds to purchase extravagant possessions. When so many were in need of basic items such as food and shelter, they were lining their pockets with golden trinkets and jewels. A flash of anger began to fill Rorik again, remembering the argument with the Tempest leadership. "The people don't need to drink from ruby encrusted gold chalices. They need food, clean water and a warm place to rest at night!" The leadership disagreed, citing stature and prominence among the other religious entities -- "Thor needed to see the sacrifice the people made to present such luxurious offerings in his name," they had said -- "What a bunch of horse sheit that was!" Rorik found himself yelling out loud to no one in particular. Now sitting straight up in his bed, he decided it was time to pack his things; the road ahead was a long one. Stopping for just a moment at his crudely fashioned window, he gazed over all the hard work he had accomplished.

Rorik had settled a secluded piece of barely fertile land in the deep forests and began clearing it to grow food and animals for those who got by on far too little. Rorik remembered those first few years of cutting down trees and clearing all the brush and trying to grow all kinds of food types; almost all of which failed. The only plant he could get to take to the soil ended up being perfect for producing meed and ales. While this had not been his intention, this is what Thor had provided him and so he spent the last 7-8 years perfecting his brew; trading it with locals for whatever he needed to get by and donating all the coin he could generate from random passer-byers, in need of thirst quenching.

Branding the last of a dozen barrels of ale with the mark of a hammer -- Thor's hammer, Rorik loaded the barrel of ale onto his small cart and spurred Thorina, his hard working donkey, forward. Taking only a few basic material possessions, including the chain mail armor and Warhammer he had purchased with proceeds from his Ale sales, Rorik set off for Gormsey.

It took nearly a week to arrive at the small village and his timing seemed to be perfect. The town was still setting up and all the hard workers looked like they could use a drink of Thor's blessed ale. Finding an area to setup, Rorik quickly unloaded all his barrels of Ale and Meed and broke down his cart to create a make-shift shrine to Thor and provided some shade for his tired ass; which Rorik gave some of the ale to drink after pulling the cart the entire way.

Moving in front of the make shift shrine, Rorik poured some meed and offered it to some of the locals, "Come gentle folk of Gormsey, celebration is at hand! Quench your thirst and save your soul! Thor's meed and ale, blessed by the Tempest deity himself. Only a few coppers a mug and all donations go to charity; Cleric services also available!"

[kabetts]

Bryn offered Lath some of the pastry he'd been eating but at the sight of it, and the road dirt that was still somewhat obvious on it, Lath chose to head to the inn. Bryn followed merrily along behind. As he followed Lath in through the doorway he overheard the farmer.

"Lath, did you hear that, wolves. I bet that would be more fun than sitting around here doing nothing."

Before the older elf could even respond Bryn was sitting next to the man.

"My friend and I will help you. I've never seen a wolf before. We're from the city, there are lots of dogs there, some are large, like the ones that the halflings ride on. I've heard the wolves are that big. I'd really like to see them myself."

[Dagnon]

Lath's jaw dropped a bit as he tried to answer, but Bryn was already talking away and offering their services!

"I......but...." Without a doubt sitting around in this dusty little town was starting to wear on him, his legs growing sore and restless and his mind doing the same.

"But we won't do it for free." The elf added bringing his chin up and making sure that the farmer knew they would not be doing any charity today.

[kabetts]

Bryn glanced at Lath and nodded, "Yes, we should get paid.  I wonder if the wolves have puppies.  Maybe we could bring them back and sell them at the fair, it is the time of year that they might.  Do you know where their den is?  Would you lead us there?."

[kabetts]

While he waited for the man's response Bryn whispered a few words in the language of magic to show them a trick.  He created a small wolf puppy sitting on the bar wagging it's little tail. (Cast Minor Illusion)

[kabetts]

Bryn leans toward the man and whispers conspiratorially, "My master says that when I get more powerful I'll even be able to make him bark."

[Dagnon]

Upon seeing that Bryn was starting to sound crazy he placed his hand on his friends shoulder and spoke to the man. "We would be interested, if the price were commensurate with the taks, of helping to rid you of your wolf problem."

[Mazzic]

Durin-Daine perked up when he heard the talk of life stock being savaged by wolves. He had spent many years along the border, crossing back and forth as his work required. He had rarely seen wolves move far into Austeria. He eyed the odd pair that immediately assaulted the poor man who mentioned the issue - apparently the town was overrun by impertinence. He rose from the company of Aidan and the Silent One and moved to stand near the villager. "Careful friend, these two don't seem fit to find their own arses, much less track wolves. But that is getting ahead of ourselves...are you sure it was wovles you saw? And have you disposed of the pair of sheep yet?"

[kabetts]

Bryn made a sour face at the dwarf as he approached, then waved his hand as if to ward off a bad smell.

"Perhaps that's because we can't smell them from across the room?"

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