Snake's Demise.

Daglin was on his way to his room, but stayed in the main room for while waiting to see how the discussion between the innkeeper and Baelrick would unfold. By nature, he is not keen to part with his hard earned gold, especially for a half-drunk man he barely knows. He is still hopeful things will settle quietly though.

Baelrick heads to the rented room with a yawn and a stretch, clasping Thallan on the shoulder. Good man!

"Don't worry, now you owe me a favor large one, hehehe."

Thallan finds Baelrick, and they have breakfast before they leave.
"Any suggestions? I don't want to kill anyone out of hand, but we should see if there's a bounty or some such. What say you sir?"

Tyr didn't sleep much, he didn't need too. After three hours of deep sleep he slumbered another hour in the Bison's fur before rising. The sky was just brightening in the east. It was the most glorious time of day.

Finding a nearby High point Tyr placed a blanket and knelt raising his hands to the dawn. He prayed in Adunaic, almost perfectly still in his sun salutation, only the rise and fall of his chest was moving.

It rose and he began his prayer.

"Heil Opgang Soweilu
Magnus Stor Got und, Lysgiver
skinner klart med lysglimt og krydser himlen
at erobre nattens tæppe
forfærdelig og stormfuld stjerne
Blive min Styrke

Hail Rising Sun
Powerful Great God and, Lightgiver
Shining brightly with flashes of light and crossing the sky
To conquer the blanket of the night
Terrible and Stormy Star
Become my strength."


Rising Tyr found that Fylgja had followed him and had freshly killed something. He scratched between her ears and went about to find the Elderman, looking for the house indicated by the shop keeper the night before.

Fox Foot waking brought Fylgja to full consciousness, she didn't miss a beat. Rising she chased the delicious smells of this land. In particular the fat and lazy mice she had been smelling all the night. She had twice hunted them in her dreams, each time they slipped past her. But today, she nimbly sprung from bed and caught a mouse within the minute of rising. Fresh hot blood filled her mouth, the mouse struggled feebly for an instant before being crushed in the vulpine's powerful jaw. She was still famished even after such a juicy morsel. Fylgja the shefox sniffed out her next hunt. Somewhere nearby was a pheasant. She knew it was a pheasant, it was her favorite meal. But it was also dangerous.

Fylgja crawled on her belly her mouth agape tasting the air ears perked. She could taste it, and in moments she could hear it. The tender coo, oh what a delight. Back arched she walked upon the sides of her paws, leaving neither impression nor making sound. She relaxed her tail laid flat. Listening and learning. Waiting.

Time passed and Fylgja sprung forward silently, a crimson bolt in the heather. She caught the sleeping pheasant moments before sunrise, it died instantly she devoured the soft parts. But did not bother with the meat on the bone. Licking her greedy chops clean of the blood.

She heard The Healer moving and immediately abandoned her hunt. Springing over the grassland to his front as he knelt making strange, even for the strange thing he was, noises. She stared at him, unblinking for quite some time. Wondering what would possess the ape to be making such racket. From beneath the buzz of his chanting she could hear his heart, it was much slower now than when he was sleeping. "Eee-hee." She spoke, but he did not seem to understand. Fylgja waited for The Healer to wake from his inscrutable trance. Pawing at the dirt to clean her paws.

When he finally woke she pushed her head into his palm, nipped his wrist lightly and spun three circles in excitement. Then proceeded to dance, trotting from foot to foot as they walked.

Thorbjorn roused and grumbled as he did so. He began his day like any other day, hungry, enraged, wild. As The Healer walked away from him the Bison lumbered eating grass with every step. Stomping upon and eating a small snake that cross its path. The Bison chuffed at the sensation of grinding the snakes bones into the sweet blue grass.

It took six more strides and chomped down on an oily looking bush that smelled savory to the Bison. Young juniper. It decided it didn't care much for the taste but chewed and swallowed anyway. Ten more strides he had covered half the distance from The Healer. It was young, that much was now clear. A juvenile, but a massive specimen. Stronger and hardier than any bull.

It spotted a lizard and charged, thunderous hooves that came to a sudden stop as the Bison leapt and snapped. Missing. The swift lizard darted away. Thorbjorn roared in frustration, it was a terrible dreadful noise. It bucked several times stomping out its anger into the ground. When it's tantrum finished, it headed directly for Tyr.

It bleated, lamenting to Tyr. "Hmaooo! Mrghnn-oof." It was crying snorting and in a froth, but shedding tears. It easily overtook Tyr and stomped into his way. Turning to the side he offered his flank. And The Healer nimbly hopped into the saddle. Thorbjorn visibly calmed as he took the weight. It was obvious the animal was deeply comforted by The Healer's presence. It bit a chunk out of a licorice scrub as they rode to the Elder Halfings house.

The morning comes far too soon, and the light peeking through the window brings with it pain. Baelrick winces at the sunshine that robs him of energy and instills a pounding headache within him. He grumbles as he rises, searching for some water to splash on his face as well as drink. Stumbling out into the hall, seemingly does everything in his power to worsen the headache by managing to hit his head several times along the way.

His new friend the elf is waiting for him, seemingly less hungover. Of all the gifts the fair folk had, this was the least fair. Sure, he may be suffering inside, but he didn't look it. Baelrick listens to the reasonable question before shaking his head. "If there was a bounty, they would have a direction. They know not where their kin have disappeared to, hence no leads for us other than Snake's Demise. I'm sure the halfling is already impatiently waiting."

Eventually, he makes his way out into the day with a hunk of bread and some hard cheese. Remembering (somewhat) the map that the halfling had shown the night before, Baelrick begins working his way in that direction. First, though, he stops at the stables to collect his stubborn mule and cart. Why walk when he can ride?

Peli wakes up shortly before the sun rises, and after her usual morning ritual sets out to prepare breakfast. True to her word, she has made dough for a pie yesterday and now it is ready to bake into a pie - it would be a small pie, otherwise it would be impossible to do with a campfire alone, but she hopes that Daglin enjoys it nevertheless. Admittedly she doesn't know much about dwarven cuisine, but surely pies exist everywhere...

She also makes a variety of other fare for the elf and the human from the tavern - really should've asked their names yesterday, - alternating dishes between roasted meats and vegetable salads in case one of them isn't fond of either. Only when she is satisfied with the amount of food does Peli pause her activity to go and check on the one who stayed camping with her.

"Artur, are you up? I made breakfast! No one else is here yet, so I was thinking of going to see if Fox Foot is around."

Peli puts a finger on her chin and looks thoughtful. "Tyr? Do you mean the guy with a bison and a fox? He told me that he is called Fox Foot back at the market - which is a bit of a funny name, but I like it! Did he introduce himself differently to you?" She shrugs. "Maybe he has many names! Anyway, I'll go seek him out, can you watch over the camp in the meantime? Or you can go look, and I'll stay!"

Tyr found he liked the purple thatch growing just about everywhere in the settlement. It was sweet and savory, good spice. He reached into his satchel and pulled a bit of dried fish flakes. There were quite a number of houses with flowers in the window.

He remembered what the Elf described them as well enough. Trying to identify them at a distance was a challenge.

Tyr fixes himself another small portion of dried fish and milk thistle. This time he pinches some fish bones onto the mix, a kind of dry fish cake. He sups, feeding a morsel to Fylgja and allowing Thorbjorn to meander as he grazed on the tall grass nearby the Elder's hut.

Tyr wondered how a man earned the name Fimbulbottom, he conjured it must've been a title like his own. Fimbul meaning powerful in his own tongue. Reasoning that he must be at least similar to Harald Foulfart, a king of the Numenoreans in the recent past.

Tyr had an uncanny ability to remain undetected. He wasn't hiding, it was just the grace with which he rode, and moved. It tricked the eye into thinking nothing was occurring. Thorbjorn's own painted fur, in the patterns of grass and wildflowers helped to obscure him at a distance.

Tyr offered Fylgja a magic mushroom, but having just eaten her fill she turned her nose up to it. Tyr instead ate it himself and waited for The Elder to finish his breakfast. He meditated, listening to the towns folk. The talk pertaining to disappearances all mentioned "Snakes Demise" the word sent a chill down his spine. For he had been born under the omen of the Snake, and such an omen did not occur coincidentally.

After some time waiting he saw that Peli was following Thorbjorn's trail and waved at her from a distance. The mushroom had just began to effect him. His vision sharpened, senses at their peak, except for his sense of smell all he could smell was the spore of the mushroom as it consumed the water and food. Tyr having taken many such magic mushrooms before belched as soon as the need arose. It combatted the nausea of having his senses heightened. The feeling passed moments later, and Tyr found himself treated to a warm buzz through his aching limbs. The colors were brighter and sounds more clear than ever. This brought a grin to his face. It was truly a magnificent day.

Thallan greets the Halfling Peli with a quarter bow and nod.
"Pardons milady, I have failed to introduce myslef. I am Thallan Utinu En' Thrallin, Taren En' I' Tiresten Shallin, Taur'ohtar En' I' Mor Searin, of Elduin, but you may call me Thallan if you find it easier on the palate. I see you've made a fine spread here and I suppose we are to partake of it. I do not wish to offend thee milady, so if I may, I shall have that which you've prepared with so gentle and generous a heart."
Thallan sits and eats his fill so as not to get off on the wrong foot with those who intend to journey to Snake's Demise.

After, he greets Artur:
"Sir, I see by your accoutrements and armor that you are a sworn man. You've given the Oath of a Knight I assume. I've also given my Oath as a Ranger of the Black Arrows. Ours is to protect the good folk of the forest's edge, the forest itself, and to rid any blight, be it monster or man by sword or any means including the sacrifice of my own life. Yes, I am somewhat given to drink and my nature is less than polished, but I usually travel alone. Bandits make no fuss who they leave lying in the shadows of the forest. But I digress. I believe we are on the same path and so you have my hands, be they used to save life or to deliver those over to death's hands whom fate has decreed. Forgive me if I forget my manners...hehe." He bows with a fist in his hand as a sign of his bond to join the knight in his current quest.

Baelrick follows Thallan, not rising from his cart. The seat had already been worn to the shape of his generous buttocks. "And I am Baelrick. Just Baelrick. No oath have I sworn, nor family name do I hold. I have oft been called Tawdry, or Fat Pilgrim. As I said, I assume, last night, I seek the town's hedge wizard. For my own reasons." The rotund man seems rather taciturn this morning, a stark difference from the boisterous man the night before. Then again, who wouldn't be with a hangover the size of his?

Daglin simply followed his companions from the inn to the rendezvous point. He politely introduces himself as a dwarven blacksmith, without much fuss, and readily accepts the food presented to him, with a smile.

A dwarf of a few words, he notices that the people around like to talk, so he lets them and listens to everything with interest.

When he could tolerate the wait no longer, Tyr dismounted and allowed Thorbjorn to graze as he might. Carrying Fylgja on his shoulders he scratched her neck eliciting a sound not unlike laughter from the shefox.

Tyr walked very slowly to the door of "Fimbulbottom's" abode and gave three distinct knocks.