(Adventure) The Haunted Halls of Stonepike

[dpdx]

[Psst... Rurik went home and got another one after the Monastery, so it's not the same one. Although, once he progresses enough to Craft Wondrous Item, the Jug of Endless Ale is not far behind... ]

Rurik notices the party splitting up into their usual cliques, and sympathizing with the others in the party who might feel out of place (much like Rurik does whenever he goes to the Red Dragon), looks over at Aranel and Thurgan.

"Ye know, yer wi' us, an' we got room. Ye could sit 'ere, if'n ye wanted."

 

[Keia]

As she was asked what she wanted...her mind blanked. "I'll have...the...house special please?" she suggested, praying it was edible to her. To Thurgan she mumbled a "What's got you so relaxed and happy? Thought you'd be pleased in a place like this..."

Thurgan looked perplexed a moment or two at Aranel's question, thenfollowed with a quiet reply, "Err, it's been over fifteen years since I've been among others of mine in a more normal settin'. I mean, travelin' with Rurik and Sturm, Urgan and Algram ha' been great an' I was okay then. But . . . this is diff'rent, somehow."

Thurgan eats his fill and watches the others around him, feeling somewhat self-conscious. To Sturm, Thurgan said more vocally, "I'm sorry I miss'd it. Sounds like a mighty swing."

OOC: I think we're all at the same large table the matron indicated for us to sit at, right?

 

[nimisgod]

Sir Ishmael sighed in nostalgia as he sat back from his meal. He thought longingly of home and of all those who were waiting for him. But he knew that he could not return as long as dishonor hung about his neck. Revenge, bitter and just, also called him away from his family.

The halfling shook his head free of such thoughts and returned to the conversation at hand. While he wished to speak in the dwarven tongue, he did not feel confident enough in the speech to speak it correctly.

"Aye, that was certainly an earth shattering blow, Sturm. It was indeed like thine namesake in ferocity and destruction. I imagine that the repast after that combat seemed all the sweeter for thee, my friend.

And this fare is certainly exquisite! Long have I traveled without such succulent delights dancing in mine mouth. These spices are rightly placed in amount and the ale, mmm, brewed well and good!" Sir Ishmael nodded in compliment to the matron.

He smiled amidst the companions' presence, leaving behind his past doubts for the moment to enjoy the present.

 

[Ankh-Morpork Guard]

Telerin tasted the foor and smiled, patting Whitefang on the head some, "A very interesting spice. It is nice to have a good rest as this..." he trailed off a moment, realizing that he was almost anxious to get down to business. It surprised him enough that he decided to simply stay quiet for the moment.

 

[Aranel]

Aranel had been putting a peice of the meal in her mouth as she listened to Thurgan, a moment later she was chokin and gaging slightly. "Ah! Ah! Burning!" she whimpered downing a lot of ale all at once. She coughed slightly and took a long steadingly breath. "Well....that was strionger than...I expected." she mumbled her cheeks turning redder by the moment. "No disrespect intended. I just wasn't prepared for anything that...strong." she mumbled in general.

Cautiously taking a little more of the meal she chewed it slowly and felt a strong pang of longing for home. One of the first ever. It would have meant no sleeping outside in the cold and wet...no being attacked by anything more dangerous than a rat...no eating food that could peel paint...

Shetook another long draft of the ale and settled back into her seat. "I'm...just..." she pointed out herself, then the fact she was the only one of her kind (she could see) in the room. "But I'm getting used to it...since I left home I seem to be part of a minority wherever I go." She tried a smile to lighten things "As for you Thurgan, you'll do fine as soon as your memory brings back all you love about your people." she replied.

 

[Guilt Puppy]

"Aye, that was certainly an earth shattering blow, Sturm. It was indeed like thine namesake in ferocity and destruction. I imagine that the repast after that combat seemed all the sweeter for thee, my friend."

"Ye know Sturm o'Engwor? Well 'ow's 'at fer a small world!" he says between large, strong bites.

He turns, confused at first and then quite amused at Aranel's reaction to the Dwarven food. He settles a little, nodding a bit at her homesickness, before adding his own piece.

"No worries, we all get tha' feelin'... Ye ne'er know, mebbe yer next job'll take ye o'er'n Elfville..."

He turns and hides his face in plate.

"But ye can coun' me out on tha' one..."

 

[Aranel]

Aranel raised an eyebrow at him. "I heard that." she replied with a faintly amused grin. "Not that it matters because if there's any job that requires me going to 'elfville' it's better for my health to wander into a trolls den unarmed and unarmoured." She replied twirling her eating knife around her fingers before using it to cut another delicate portion of her meal.

"I'd have more chance of coming out alive too." She added after hurridly swallowing the food. Rations. Breakfast tomorrow would be that little bit of food she'd had stored...Or maybe no breakfast, there was always lunch.
Aranel realised she may have said too much, gave her tankard a dark look for a moment before shrugging slightly.

"I've seen people die of boredome in those places, why else would I leave?" She asked alloud to no one in particular.
"Not for the food in any event." she added in her own small quiet voice.

 

[nimisgod]

"I cannot honestly say that I knew Sturm o'Engwar, I mean, Sturm o'Engwor." Sir Ishmael silently and quickly chastized himself for his unfamiliarity in the pronouncation of dwarven names. "Friend Sturm, I was simply likening thee to an unyielding tempest, blowing away everything in thine path. But this other Sturm sounds quite interesting. Sometime on the morrow, thou shouldst enlighten this ignorant halfling about this personage"

Sir Ishmael raised an eyebrow at Aranel's words in surprise. It seemed that there was something of a commonality between them: exile (self-imposed or otherwise) from their homes.

"Pray tell, Aranel, why art thee not welcome to elven territory?" asked the Halfling, who was trying not to be too blunt (shades of his dwarven mentor) nor too loud. "I would presume that whatever incident eventually led to thine travels around ENworld?"

 

[Aranel]

Aranel gave him a nochelant shrug. "Insulted the cooking." she joked without too much enthusiasm. "No reason any of you should trouble yourselves over. My kin and I have clear understanding." She added.

 

[Guilt Puppy]

Sturm stares blankly at Ishmael's explanation, but decides to let it go.

Aranel gave him a nochelant shrug. "Insulted the cooking."

"Haw! Ain' tha' jes' a pointy thing'n do, throwin' out some'n o'er cookin'..."

He drowns his laughter in his ale, and resumes eating.