2. Foaming mugs

Returning to Targos took longer than the leaving. Mayhap it was the burden of pushing the sled or perhaps the knowledge that an axe was being returned instead of a brother that caused each step to be a bit slower but Graendal's place still met them at the end of the trail no matter the pace.

Despite the tears, it was still a kindness for Hruna to know the fate of her loved one. While her brother might now feast in the Dwarven halls filled with other brave warriors that had fallen in battle, the axe provided those on this side a link to the permanence of family if not the individual. To the dwarves, it was enough.

Having completed their somber task, Bells clasped both dwarves in a brief embrace. Sometimes words even escaped a bard's extensive orator abilities.

On the way over to the tavern, I am a bit light on coin until we cash in our payment. Tonight, I shall have to sing for my supper but that is no concern to me as it has not been the first time. What does give me pause is finding someone who will treat us fair and has the ability to pay such a sum. Do you know of such a person in Targos?

The creak of the faded sign announced the arrival at the only place that held a bit of familiarity and as usual for the bard...it was a tavern. No matter what location or even the social economical of its patrons, most taverns were fundamentally the same: loneliness being dispelled with drink, food, and entertainment of various kinds. Bells knew where she fit in that equation so she entered the establishment with a broad smile as she announced, We're back!

The reaction of those inside exceeded her expectations. The bard nodded in satisfaction as the fishermen welcomed one of their own as a hero. If impressed now, their admiration would only increase after Okto's part in driving off the goblins was told. All those hours traveling had not been in vain but had been used to compose a story that highlighted each of her companions in a moment of glory.

Bells pulled Ma to the side after the initial attention to make arrangements for a meal plus a room in return for a night of regailing the guest with stories. Securing an agreement, Bells joined the others at the center table when Copper climber on the chair next to her.A gift? For me? Now aren't you the sweetest! cooed the bard to her newest admirer. No, we didn't make any other towns but you will have to wait like everyone else to hear where we did go but more importantly what was done when we got there. I promise, it's worth the wait!

Bells had given a nod as the stranger had joined their table but had been in the process of turning over the piece of ivory in her hand trying to rightly identify the shape. Catching several men intently watching her manipulations, the bard places the piece on the table, It's a yeti, gentlemen.

Zin takes the sailors word with light amusement, although it’s difficult to see with his face covered. He waits for the guffaws and cheers to die down before calmly stating "The willow can not trap the breeze that comes from the water because it likes the tickle of its branches. It can only revel in the dance of its leaves while the breeze lasts. Wind needs to move, or it ceases to be, and what dance can the willow do in stillness?"

As the group enters into the tavern once again, Okto stands side-by-side with Bells wielding his enormous tusky smile and enthusiastic but rough jazz hands as they burst through the door, triumphantly announcing their arrival and the true beginning of the party. He is instantly drawn over to his sailor buddies with the promise of booze and a good time, and stays with them for a while, cracking jokes, and making them listen to Bells' sing-songy version of the events, then fiercely claiming everything is true and unexaggerated, like any good sailor does.

With the approach of the mysterious stranger, Okto jumps tables, sits with his new party, and greets the newcomer with great friendliness. But as the details of the new opportunity begin to be revealed, he feels caught between his friendly, good nature and his rough, sailor background deeply rooted in Targos. Okto is immediately torn... then lost at the newcomer's hoity words and toity metaphors.

Seeing the group's potential desire to take the job, Okto tries to open a path for him to take it, without ostracizing himself from his mates. "Perhaps what the Termites need is a tough-looking Targosian half-orc and crew to come save their butts! Can you imagine their faces when they realize a poor Targosian orphan sailor is among their saviors? Plus, this sounds like my crew'd get access to their mine, don't you guys think we deserve some of the riches from those mines, we all know who works harder for less. I'll try to bring you back a souvenir." He winks to the Cap'n, then covertly at his party, trying to convey that he is in damage mitigation and roadblock-removing mode, maybe not meaning every single word he's saying.

A look of admiration dawned over the performer's face as the newcomer captured and turned the energy of the room with a slew of prettily formed words. Bells had momentarily closed her eyes expecting to have to intercede at the expense of her dinner but her eyes had snapped open when pure poetry was spoken.

The man was proving himself to be a contradiction as he covered half his face as if he didn't want to be known but spoke as one with authority which certainly drew everyone's attention. Obviously learned but also desperate for coin. A man who asked for their secrets while revealing none of his own.

Bells affectionately grinned over at Okto as he tried to make peace. No one had a bigger heart. Bells nodded encouragingly when the half-orc appealed to the fishermen's pride of needing to save such a pathetic bunch. Bells was sure such reasoning by one of their own would prove effective especially following the confusion brought on by those words! Bells might have had some professional jealousy if they hadn't been the loviest cadence of words she had heard in quite a while.

Zinvaris notices Bells scrutiny of him. He stares at her briefly his blue eyes locked on hers. He nods his head slightly. Zin switches to watching the half orc intently as he smooths the water with the fishermen. Once Oktu is done, Zin leans towards him and pitches his voice for just the table. A discordant sound of the harsh gutturals of Orcish in the melodic elven voice are heard.

Lat have ul tuztor ro ij diplomat. Dog yur tribe dajo ul tuztor ro obould?

Okto’s light gray-green skin blanches at Zin’s words. And while his smile remains shakily at his lips, it leaves his eyes entirely, replaced with hints of pain and shame.

He whispers back for only Zin, leaning into the most orcish accent he can muster, "Go nurj azun do tribe ni, mongdre Targos. Grujonki, please."

Zin’s eyes widen a little. He coughs and whispers back to Okto Forgive my offense Targosian

Into his food and drink, Anders retreated. The journal, still in his coat, continued to weigh on his mind. Now that the job had been completed, he would likely have some time to peruse it. But if they departed for the mines, that might take precedence. Sometimes the best cure for a troubled mind was a hunt. As the conversation between his friends and the stranger continued, he was shocked to see Okto become tight lipped. Anyone who could get that chatterbox to shut it for a moment was all right in his book.

Anders looks to Rayne, all dark and brooding, and begins asking the man about his own story, but is interrupted by the bells. Attending services to Auril was something Anders had neglected in the past, but her hands had been around his throat not a day ago. He rises to join, for the same reasons that the sailors do. He looks back to the table to see who follows.

Zin watches as the mood of the tavern changes. He sees the old ranger start to move off with the crowd and looks to the others. He wasn’t sure if they had reached any kind of accord. Zin seems poised ready to move if the others are going to attend the service.

Unanswered questions hung in the air. The chance at understanding laid down the snow covered lane where the faithful gathered. Bells slipped on her coat pulling it tight instead of taking the time to fasten it properly before following the ranger. It was time to see for herself what those in this town truly believed.

Rayne nods to the elf, "I like the way you handled those sailors. Is the hunting grounds you speak of the Termalaine mines by chance?". Rayne's question is cut short, however, as the bells ring and the tavern goes quiet. He stops spinning the wooden token between his fingers and holds it in his palm. He nods to the token as he slips it back into his pocket, "I guess its time to find out what this is all about, but Termalaine, kobolds or not, sounds a sight better than ending up as fodder for Auril." Rayne stands and follows the rest towards church.

Zinvaris quietly stands after the service, his brow furrowed as he contemplates how the priestess' words, while harsher, were in the same vane as the ones he used earlier at the tavern. He couldn't help but lament at how different this land was than he expected when he chose this path. He whispers to himself ...monsters all around... and then seems to jolt out of his contemplation and puts his hand into his cloak. He stares hard at the altar and priestess with a cold expression matching the icy wind blowing through the shelled temple of Lathander as he quietly asks the others, ...do you follow her, the frost maiden? Some how his tone and words chill the environment even more.