Snake's Demise.

"Probably some arseling startin' rumors. I don't belive shite till I see it. More Ale sweet lady and another'n for me mates here. There's some drinkin' to be done this night.

We're all getting closer to death, friend, it's gonna find us soon enough - only the when and the how have yet to be decided. Till then, eat drink and be merry!"

Thallan stands up and begins to shuffle his feet to the music

As the frightened Halfling children ran past Artur, he felt a palatable sense of dread emanate from the pit of his stomach. If Wildlings really were here then he had no idea how the town could properly defend itself against them. Trying to hide his discomfort, he said to Peli, "Pardon me, but what were those children screaming about?"

Thallan see what is happening. He signs with a nod to Baelrick and Daglin to follow him. He asks the father/uncle, "Sire, I couldn't help but overhear your strapping young lad here say something about wildlings. Is it true?"
Thallan's face becomes one of concern.

"They must not have liked your face Thorbjorn." Tyr joked with the Bison scratching the hump of the Bison's shoulders where it met Thorbjorn's neck. He was well aware that the Bison did not care for opinions, but having been so long its companion he didn't have many other people to talk to. Fylgja the Fox bat its ear indicating that it was disturbed by the racket, but the fox was too far gone from the mushroom it had eaten earlier to do much more than that in protest. She keened and rolled to the other side of her body upon Tyr's lap. Returning to her waking dreams with a loud sigh.

Tyr only wished he could be so relaxed. This far south the people didn't know the difference between a Free Man, and a Beastling. Tyr scoffed at their superstitious nonsense. He shook his coin purse and found the clinking within to be less than satisfactory. The settlement would mean work, and work was always profitable.

Thorbjorn meandered slowing down to an intolerable pace as he lifted his massive head and sniffed the air, losing hopefully he stopped and shook his back.

Tyr could have forced Thorbjorn to carry him longer, but was to lazy to do so as he gathered Fylgja and placed her over his shoulders. The fox squeaked in protest but relaxed as soon as she came to rest on Tyr's shoulders. She coo'd happily and closed her eyes again.

The Warg Skull headdress did not close resemble the southern Warg. The skull alone was large enough to be worn on Tyr's head, and while still more boy than man, Tyr was a larger human, taller and fuller of lithe muscle. He looked more Elven than Man, with the brilliant red highlight in his bronze hair. The way he moved was with perfected grace and poise. He shifted his weight and balance without the slightest loss of power as he walked clad in wooden shoes, and a leather tunic that stretched past his knees. Even from a distance the quality of his clothing boasted the quality of craftsmanship of his land.

He carried a staff, that had been curved at the head, at one end an iron ring. Studded leather formed a small net between the ring. On the opposite head, an iron spike. It was a cultural implement from the distant north. A tool for playing a sport, knattleikr. Covering his brow the youth peered into the main drag that made up the road, identifying several persons and places of interest. To the Elf he raised his hand overhead and flashed a sign, the index and thumb if his left hand curled in a circle, Othala, the middle, ring, and little fingers of his left hand forming the Kennaz rune.

"Heil Noldor." It spelled in an archaic Elven Language.

"I am Called Fox-Foot, Holy Shaman, Healer, for trade, bless your fields and children. Thorbjorn produce many fine steer for beef. Him produce fine cow for hoosband. Ald for one silber."

Tyr had a very strong lilt in his voice. And the forced enunciation of his speech along with his timber implied he didn't actually speak the common tongue. He was reciting something he understood the meaning of. He was loud enough that he was certain any of the nearby people in houses could hear him. He waited a moment to see if anyone would take his offer.

A loud scrape sounds through the tavern as Baelrick slides back his chair, and even louder creaking sounds as he rises to his feet. He nods to Thallan before reaching for a staff that had been propped up behind him. The piece of wood looked closer to a tree than a walking aide. The gnarled top and smoothed grip suggested it was used for corrections of others more than his stance.

Baelrick stretches his arms out wide, the sound of his back crackling was impressive. And when he stumbled to the door, it was the trail of alcohol vapors that were more impressive.

"Oh Thorbjorn, here is Ein Bisschen." Tyr laughed shamelessly at his own joke. "A Bison. Just a wild one of yon, cattle. I stud him out when there's a herd. If a male is born it will make for a fine beast of burden. But a cow born from Bison will make the best like of cattle ever witnessed." Delighted to have a person who would talk to him Tyr spoke an old tongue of Elvish with the merchant though seemed to have little difficulty understanding the Common the Elf spoke. "These people, they think I am a savage? That is ironic." Tyr chuckled at the notion. "I come from Far Away, for I am an envoy for the Free Men of the North, surely you can see I am no savage." To emphasize his point Tyr pointed to the sacred arm band about his left arm. A coil of metal that took fine and precise tools to make, a technological marvel to most. Further the brass cuff on his jerkin, and the fine steel chain, holding a small hammer around his neck, all finely engraved, obvious trappings of power, and technology beyond what was in this part of continent. "I am a Seer on pilgrimage. Will you help me kinsman?"

"I would never have thought that I would find such strange company in this village, after all the times I have been here..." mumbles Daglin, as if ha was talking to himself.

Thallan follows Baelrick outside.
"Long strides, short legs, I see how you move so quickly now!" he says as he tries to keep up.

"A man of my import has no time to waste walking slowly! And if there are some to be protected from the Wildlings and free ale to be earned, then haste has double importance... Hmmm, I used that word twice..." His stride is truly mighty, and he heads in the direction pointed. He hopes it is a wild man, as bears are much more fierce opponents.

"They screamed about servants of the Enemy!" Peli replies with way, way more enthusiasm than the idea should ever prompt, her eyes lighting up like a magpie's upon seeing a shiny trinket. She grabs for Artur and tugs him forward, towards the source of the commotion. "Let's go and investigate! Maybe we'll get to do battle! Do you think it is related to the ruins? Or the curse? Trouble comes to those who seek it!"

The halfling continues her chattering as she drags her new companion to the town square and then a merchant stand by which she notices a... bison? And a human? And a fox?! Peli squeaks in delight, letting out a sound of excitement and pointing the odd company out to Artur. "Look, look, do you think he is an adventurer? He must be! Come on, we should recruit him too!" Without further waiting, Wheatstalk dashes towards Tyr, waving at him and the merchant he is talking too.

"Hello-hello, excuse me, can I talk with you for a minute? I promise I'm not stealing a potential customer, master elf!" She skids to a stop right by the odd-looking human, looking up at him and extending her hand. "Hi! I am Peli, and I am recruting a band of adventurers and curse-cleansers! Are you here for the ruins, too? You should join us, we are going on an expedition tomorrow! Oh wait, do you understand me?" She looks over her shoulder to see if Artur followed her. "Artur, do you speak Elvish?! It is Elvish, right? I think it is Elvish..."

Bean - a small gray terrier following after the halfling, - is meanwhile busy warily eyeing the fox on the man's shoulders. He seems more suspicious than aggressive, though, and politely keeps to Peli's side.

"Pardon me, this one wants my attention." Tyr apologized to the Elf in Quenya and turned his attention to the halfling woman. He assumed she was a child, he afterall had never seen a halfling before.

Hunkering down Tyr met the approaching person eye level and considered her. The eyes were far quicker and wiser than any child. "Hallo Peli, I speak little common." He replied matter of factly. "I am Called Fox Foot, know I the language of Elves. I am Holy Healer from Far Away." Tyr pointed North by North East. "I work for silber." Soft and lilting, baritone he had kind eyes and a nice voice.

At his voice the sleeping fox stirred and nipped his earlobe with a yip. It was telling him to be quiet, a very wise fox indeed. Fylgja was old, up close she was going grey and had swollen joints, it was no wonder she rode on the humans shoulders. But Tyr ignored her behavior focused on Peli.

It was important to note, while then leather showed a scarcity of material, the cut and tailoring of it indicated he came from a highly advanced culture. The stitching itself was uniform and created neither burr nor blemish in the pattern. With his arm ring and cuff, made of brass as they were, engraved to resemble tokens of authority and a badge of office. His outfit also looked quite comfortable, even though it favored function over form. The headdress was the one embellishment made solely for Form. While the paint upon his Bison and Flesh marked him as some kind of tribal warrior, the fineness of his clothing indicated he was no savage. That, and he was remarkably clean, he washed regularly even if it was just in troughs and rivers. This close he smelled like lavender oil more than sweat, the scent wafted from his oiled hair beneath the headdress.

Hark! The wilding stood plainly before them! And he threatens a half king? Wait, that was the small one he had met earlier! And a merchant, too! Baelrick's sloppy stride increases, not quite recognizing that the scene is a peaceful one. It is clear from his nose being the color of his wild hair and beard that he is well in his drinks at this point.

"Begone, Wildling, before I smite you atop your blasted head! These halflings have us to count among their protectors, and protect I shall, if need be! But it needn't! For you shall return whence you came!"

Thallan noks an arrow though he holds it downward. He stands firmly beside Baelrick, ignoring the other human.
"Wildling, speak your peace or be prepared to stand and deliver!"

"Wild man, no! Free Man. Shaman. No, Wild Man."

Tyr was clearly very insulted by comparison, slapping the ground for emphasis each time he said Wild Man. "My am journey for a weapon to use against The Enemy."

"Hey, no assaulting our new potential companion!" Peli twirls on her heels to point accusatorily at Baelrick and Thallan, before putting her hands on her hips and giving them a judgemental look. "He said that he is a healer, and we need a healer! No weapon-waving, please, that's not how recruiting process goes." She pauses, examines the drunken state of the bearded human, then looks between Artur and the elf merchant. "And I agree, I think Fox Foot here has a great sense of fashion and isn't threatening anyone! We were having a very nice chat; so it's okay, human-friend-whose-name-I-don't-know-yet!" Her last words are directed towards Baelrick, and she attempts ro give him a pat on the hand (shoulder is out of her reach).

She then nods to herself, satisfied with her support for the peacemaking effort, and turns away to face Tyr again. "Sorry about that, friend! Also, what is a silber?" Her eyes wander around the man's attire, completely fascinated by his accessories. "If you came here to trade, I can help you! I used to be a merchant, and while my bartering skills are rusty, they still work. And you can help us after! An exchange, ey?"