Part 4: Return to Hommlet

Gilly rolls her eyes and ignores Elmo, trying to circle the tavern in such a way to be as far away from the drunk as possible. She calls over one of the familiar serving women that they met previously, and orders up some food and drink, before slouching down, exhausted and spent. She doesn’t immediately spot the new comer, herself only new to the village, and not sure who’s who and what’s what.

Eltrezar orders cheap food and cheaper ale for himself, as well, and then a round for Angel (on top of whatever he himself orders). "You have lost more than most today, my friend. Let us rest and remember. Elmo will do a fine job of spreading their tale, though I worry it will not have the credibility it deserves due to his... disposition." With this, the magicker moves over towards his Halfling companion, and slowly lowers himself into a chair beside her. If no words need be spoken, none are.

Mal follows Gilly to find a seat in the tavern and orders a large amount of food and ale. She hadn't eaten in many days and the smells of roast meat wafting from the kitchen are almost more than the dwarf can bear.

"Feel like I could eat my armor" she murmurs to the halfling,

"I've been tied up in that place so long I didn't think I'd ever see a proper meal again!"

When the barmaid comes by Mal secures a room for herself and asks to have a bath drawn.

Eltrezar manages a curious look at the Dwarf. "Interesting. I had no idea your people bathed. I always thought you took dust-baths, what with your thick hair. Well, the things you learn in a tavern..."

Mal drains half her ale in one pull and nods enthusiastically at Eltrezar,

"It's true, there are many of my kind that don't bathe, especially those what live deep in the rock of the mountain, but the hill tribes have learned much from men and our lives are very like yours!"

Mal finishes the remaining half of her tankard and then promptly orders another.

"Wouldn’t be the first thing to eat your armor today..." Gilly chuckles weakly.

"Those rats... oh! Who’s that?" she whispers, pointing to a man that she hadn’t seen in the tavern earlier on. Adventuring looking type!

"Were some rats giving you some trouble?" a bearded ginger in armor asks. "I've been looking for some work, but I think rats are below even an amateur like myself," he chuckles self-deprecatingly. "Unless I've wildly misjudged the demand for rat slayers."

Hrmph! "You speak mightily for one in clean armor, stranger. While much of what Elmo has spoken of has been... embellished, the size of the rats stands true. The size of a hound, they were. If you have doubts as to their size, I believe we have some marks to show you. But given the current absence of our brave, noble, and unstoppable barbarian, it would be foolish of us not to determine if you are worthy of our quest." The wizard looks agitated, but a swig of ale puts him right at ease. He tucks his beard over his shoulder, but the head from the ale still attaches to his magnificent mustaches. The disdain he puts into each description of the barbarian is clear to see. The ale does seem to calm him down some, though, and he soon remembers his manners. "Well met, stranger. My name is Eltrezar the Medium, known amongst the elves as Tarathiel, the dwarves have called me Dalomdûmir, and the Barbarians of the North have titled me Hrattothvok. I sit here in rest, weary from a quest that has tithed my very energy. What might your name be, and for what type of work might you be looking?"

"The rats? Trouble? No no! They were no trouble.

It was the snake that was trouble. And the lizard... and the bandits... the frogs...."

Gilly drinks.

You have quite the number of names! Almost as many as the ones I give to women while their husbands are working! And what name are you known by to the giant rats? Ha-ha no need to answer, it is but a good natured jest! I am known by only one name, Bors the Fighter. I am looking for any work involving fighting. Or loving, for I am indeed both a lover and a fighter. Bors grins handsomely.

"I mark you as a Northman, Bors of the ginger hair. You can call be Angel just to distinguish me from a demon. Some think of me in that way when they see my bow work. I trust you are equally proficient with that blade you carry."

"If fighting is what you desire, then follow us, Bors the Fighter. For I guarantee you will have your share of it. Alas, we cannot guarantee your safety. That is between you, your armor, and your patron deity. We have already lost the likes of which you could not hope to amount, and I forsee much death in our future. But perhaps if you buy us a round, we would be more obliged to fight beside you, as opposed to behind you." Eltrezar speaks with some comedic effect, but his eyes show that he does not mean it. The day weighs heavy on his mind, and the ale does little to ease his sorrows.

Bors looks at Angel. "Not at all! I'm only proficient with the hilt. Luckily for me though the blade points the opposite way of the hilt, so if I just aim the hilt away from the bad guys, everything works out!"

Turning back to Eltrezar, he quips, "Your expectations are well founded, for I do not hope to amount to much. I am sorry for your loss, they seemed like the highest caliber of rat slayers. A shame you hadn't foreseen their deaths; the better to avoid their fates. However, to honor their memory I will indeed buy a round. Consider my sword arm a part of your arsenal.

It's likely anyone can hear Eltrezar mumble over his ale. Hrmph! "I've met nary a troubadour with a tongue half as sharp as yours..."

Gilly cradles the round that the newcomer buys, and stares into the distance for a time, before simply saying:

"What are we going to do?"

"The opposite of whatever led to your friends' demise would be a good start. Maybe if you filled me in on what you all are doing. Besides culling the rat population I mean."

"The task we embarked upon was to track down bandits that had been harassing the town of late, and to not only put a stop to their activities but to also determine who they might be working for. So far we have discovered their foul lair and vanquished these common thugs, but not before learning that they worked for a man by the name of Blackhound who lurks near Nulb. In fighting our way through the moathouse in which they hid, we also discovered a great many treasures protected by a great many beasts." A glint shimmers in the old man's eyes as he speaks of treasure.

Ahem! "The cowardly bandits also spoke of strange sounds coming from inside the moathouse, echoing up from its depths. Gilly, you ask what we do now? I propose we empty the place of any threat. There are wonders yet to find in that ruin, and it would be best that we find them. That secret door we found is proof enough that secrets are waiting to be found! His voice increases in volume and speed, clearly excited. In this, he misses the likely existential nature of Gilly's question, taking her words at face value.

"Then les us hope the great beasts that guard the great treasure are similar giant varieties of common household pests. Here's to finding giant hamsters, large voles, and slightly less small termites!" Bors drains his mug and slams it down on the table, smiling in satisfaction.