Legends of the Dimwood - Private

[Niniva]

Legends of the Dimwood
OOC information thread

This is the place where darkness breeds legends.
But even the darkness so thick as this, cannot distinguish the light.....not entirely.

[Niniva]

Prologue:


The rain fell onto the forest roof, though most of it managed to break through the leaves above the ground and spatter the plant life below. The plants, primarily moss and ferns littered with a vine here and there, grew so thick between the trunks of the trees that walking in the forest was difficult enough. Running was near impossible. The young elfin girl was discovering this as she stumbled and fell several times in her attempts.

The men that followed her were fairing no better; worse, in fact, because they all carried some sort of stick or club with them that slowed their progress. They stopped every so often to yell obscenities and toss about sexual slurs that she didn’t understand. In spite of the obstacles that tripped and slowed them, they gained on her.

She knew she could never get away from them, but she kept running anyway. Her only other choice was to lie down and take their torture, and she wasn’t about to do that. She would’ve chosen rolling in the slimy sewage filled sties of the swine rather than allowing the monsters chasing her, who called themselves men, to have their way with her. Her mind reeled as she ran, looking for anything that might help her—a hiding place, some heavy brush or small crevice that she could fit into—but there was nothing. And so she ran. With all of her will she reached into the deepest parts of her heart, pulling forth what extra energy she could that she might use her feet to fly over the forest floor. With tears in her eyes and fear in her heart visions of what they would do to her flashed through her mind, urging her to keep reaching, to keep flying. Her feet floated, it seemed, from step to step. Her young mind swore that they were moving so fast they were hardly touching the ground!

The fear in her heart leaped up into her throat as her foot became tangled in the moss and she fell. Hard. She tried to get up but before she could regain her feet the men were on her.

The four men surrounded her, kicking her in the stomach to keep her on the ground hollering and hooping. It wasn't so much the slurs that broke her spirit the most. It wasn't that she had been caught; it wasn't the sharp pains of the contusions on her skin that broke her. It was the laughter; the laughter that came so clearly between their sneers and the connection of their toes with her stomach. It bit into her, bleeding her spirit. That laughter echoed through as though not one of these men had even broken a sweat in giving chase. Not one of them was even winded, and she had given everything she had to get away. Every ounce of her strength was not even enough for these men to break a sweat. She realized, with their laughter, that she never stood a chance, and no amount of believing in herself, or running away would have made any difference, all she had done was made herself exhausted. And now she was broken.

She laid still, not trying to get away, fearing that moving would make them kick harder, and she didn't want to provoke one of those clubs to rise and fall on her back. The kicking stopped and the hollering and laughter became louder. They began to rip and tear at her clothing, spitting on the skin as it was exposed. Still she lay motionless.

The forest hardly took notice. No echo arose, no sounds of rescue. No sounds at all in fact. Even the chirp of birds had gone still, leaving only the sound of men laughing and howling in amusement at the broken girl before them, even the tears she was unable to keep from flowing into the corners of her eyes and across the bridge of her nose didn’t matter to the forest floor where they fell creating little symmetrical circle-like indents in the dirt. Her eyes focused on those circles, trying to concentrate on the pattern her tears created, trying to force her mind away from what was happening; worse, what was about to happen.

One of the men, overrun with his own excitement, raised his club in the air to strike. Instinctively she covered her face to protect herself and flinched for the blow!…

But if never came.

She waited for it for another long breath; even a bit longer before parting her fingers to peek through them. Three men were there, each looking nervously around; one of them spinning in a circle huffing in quick, seemingly shocked, panting breaths. Each brandished his club defensively, white knuckles moving to keep the club between themselves and some invisible enemy. Her eye moved around between her fingers looking for the fourth man, her would be assailant, but he was not there.

A light breeze picked up and snaked its way around the trunks of the trees picking up leaves in rather serene whirlwinds carrying each to the discombobulated men. With the rustling of the leaves carried a hushed horse voice, deep and wraith-like, or at least, what she had always imagined a wraith’s voice would sound like.

“Veru Shelashta Mahrria.” It said. The words repeated a moment later, this time harsher and full of anger. And then a third time, closer and more intense. The breeze became a wind, whipping through the clothing of the men and girl, whirling them around, tangling the unkempt hair of the men and ripping the leaves from nearby branches.

Then the voice was a deep rumble, a harsh mystical tone that bounced from tree trunk to tree trunk; closer and closer, as if the voice rode the wind….no….no it was different…like the voice was the wind.

And then, as if time had stopped, all was quiet. In the minuscule moment between breaths, the forest was perfectly silent; eerily silent. For many moments only the rustle of the movements of the feet of the, now quite nervous men could be heard. None of them spoke, only the wheezing sounds of nervous breathing came from their mouths as they twisted wearily left and right, eyes wide and bodies tense in the later stages of fight or flight.

After several long moments each of the men snapped their attention to a slight movement in the rafters of the trees above. Their eyes followed a falling object as it hit the dirt between them with a soft thump. One of them flinched back in a nervous defensive stance. For a moment all three were frozen in fear, for through the dimness, and the dampness of the rain they recognized the crudely fashioned club of their missing companion.

Crimson liquid washed away from the wood handle to stain the leaves of the forest floor.

Lighting flashed and sudden, bright light filled the forest. Though none noticed but the girl, the light revealed the presence of a hooded figure behind the triangle of men. She blinked and when her eyes opened the forest was dark again. Her head tuned in search of the figure, heart racing in her chest wondering what new horror had become her. She began to crawl backward on her hands and her chest heaved in and out as her broken spirit became renewed in the form of fear. Her back bumped into a tree and instinctively her hands shot to her mouth covering her lips to hold back the instinctual reactive scream.

The man that the hooded figure had been standing behind was gone.

A piece of bloodstained cloth from his shirt flapped about on broken branch of the tree near her. Her eyes bulged like saucer dishes and she stared at it, breathing intense and on the verge of losing control of her rational faculties.

One of the two remaining men collapsed from fear and scurried on all fours backwards into a tree trunk, raising his hands in defense. The other remained standing but was visibly mortified, slowly raising both hands, one still clutching to his make-shift club and the other raised in defense.

She could not see what they were backing away from, but with hands still covering her mouth she heard her own muffled squeal when the suddenly rumble of a low growl began to emanate throughout the woods. The sound grew louder until it sounded as though it were coming from every direction, a clear and distinct k-9 growl. The man standing turned and ran, but made clumsy and stupid by his fear his feet caught in the same undergrowth as hers and he fell face first, trying to catch himself with his hands, the club skipping away from him as he let go to catch himself. The rumble of thunder hid most of the rhythmic beat of large paws as they quickened in pace landing softly on the undergrowth in pursuit of the man, but between the rumbling sounds of the weather the thumps of paws could be heard. A blur of grey fur streaked by and she snapped her head to look away.

She heard the man scream over the loud growls, and then a loud snap like a good sized branch snapping from a tree….and then silence.

Her eyes shut tight until that snapping sound. Then they burst open, and her whimper of surprise could be heard. Looking around frantically, trying to find some way out of this new mess, her gaze fell to the last of the four men who had attacked her.

Her fear fled from her then, washing away in the sweet smell of irony. The redemptive odor of justice wafted toward her, and her attention was captured by the man. The smell of urine rose from his the mid section of his trembling body. At least she got to see his dignity gone before she was ended. There was justice, cruel heart wrenching justice in the irony of his impending death. He had known fear, just as he had caused it in her. At least, if she was to die, she had her dignity back in knowing that he had faced his death as a coward, whimpering in the pathetic filth of his own waste.

It wasn’t until her eyes drifted up his body that she noticed the blood was still spurting forth from his jugular vein, flowing down his slit through. His eyes were still open and the crookedness of fear plastered on his face, twisting it up into the frozen depiction of his manhood. Dying, cold and alone, wet in his own blood and urine. Her reaction was typical; the sight of so much blood unnerved her and her hand shot to her mouth again just in time to hide the yelp of surprise. She could feel her heart racing, and her breathing had been frantic for many long minutes now. She became light headed, feeling her consciousness begin to drown, swimming in the flood of over-oxygenation.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a spot of gray move close to her. When she turned to face it her fear made her heart beat invade her ear drums so that she could head the thud of the unending pounding of her heart like the timpanic resonance of a hammer landing on the head of a deep drum.

Standing before her was a massive beast. It looked like a wolf sure enough, but it was twice the size of any wolf she had ever heard of, even in the woven stories of the story tellers drifting down from wilds of the north so renowned for exaggeration. Its teeth curved down into points, the k-9 incisors sliding over the lips of the bottom jaw. The gray fur on its back spiked up far above its shoulder blades, but even the shaggy, wild and unkempt coat of fur could not hide the massive muscles underneath. Yellow eyes studied her carefully, unblinking eyes with large perfect black circles for pupils. They seemed to give off a hint of a glow in the darkness of the damp forest.
She pressed herself back against the trunk of the tree waiting for the imminent pounce of the huge beast. Turning her head to the side and snapping her eyes shut the beast stepped closer, the sound of heavy breaths sucking in the air through its nostrils taking in her scent could be heard. She began to tremble instinctually, though it was more from anticipation than fear. She had resigned from fear many moments ago, when she realized her fate was inevitably sealed now.

Her hand shot to her eyes, shading them as the forest suddenly became bathed in brightness. Even her closed eyelids didn’t seem to be enough to protect her eyes so her arm rose to shade them. She winced, and her mind, yet again, turned sharply toward the new distraction. Almost as though the warmth of the blindingly bright light tore her nerves from her body that she might not feel the edge of her sanity any longer, her body fell calm, serene, still swimming in the swirling maelstrom of her thoughts.

A moment later she realized that at the center of the brightness, was the dark shadow of a man, creating a stark contrast, an almost mystical aura of light emanating out from the blackness of a humanoid form. As it moved closer she slowly lowered her arm staring up at the man before her, examining him with her eyes, though the light behind him was so bright she could make out nothing of his form save for that he wore a hooded cloak and leather pants that appeared to finely made by the hand of a skilled clothier. Before she could see any more of him his hand raised to the cowl of the hood which was up covering his features and gave a two fingered friendly salute as if to accept the gratitude she had not yet had the time to remember to express. In the next instant the light flashed and then was gone with a gust of wind which lifted her hair whipping it around her face. Her head darted left and right, her body jerking with it straining to look around the forest but there was nothing. No one. No beast, no hooded figure, no men chasing her, only the remnants of memories confirming that any of it has actually happened; the tattered cloth that was once a man’s shirt, the blood stained club, and the musty scent of urine. Her breathing returned to the quick pace it had been at and the feeling of fear washed back over her, rushing her senses. She gasped in a deep breath before the blackness of the forest began closing in on her, and then consumed her.

Her body collapsed awkwardly rolling to her side, her breaths finally slowing and her mind finally relaxed. Fainting has it’s purpose.

[Niniva]

Chapter 1: The Gathering

The "Dark Path's Lantern" (which it's patrons lovingly called "The Lantern" for short) sat on the very edge of the darkness that loomed as a shadow case by the great trees of the Dimwood. Facing sound, the entrance was just a wooden door that swung open and closed on a loose hinge whenever a patron entered the establishment.

The building was two stories tall, and quite large. The bottom floor had a bar-style tavern, though it was riddled with tables and even a small sitting area around the hearth of a fireplace that was always lit with the soft orange glow of a warm fire. Tonight an older gentleman named Tucker Jones was manning the fire, sticking a cast iron poker into the burning embers to get it going now that the light of the sun was dying out over the horizon. His wife, the busty and rotund lady with a pleasant laugh and a mole on her right cheek was humming to herself (out of tune as usual) as she pranced around the tables wiping them off. They didn't get many customers until dusk. And they were almost all gone before dawn. That was the way of things on the path through the Dimwood. It was early yet, which is why they both looked up in a bit of surprise when they head the creak of the wooden door open and swing shut with a thud.

In the door way stood a man, or at least, it looked like a man. It stood up on two legs like a man, had two arms like a man, but something about the fella seemed....off. For one thing he seemed overdressed. He wore leather and cloth all over, from feet to finger tips, which included leather gloves and boots, as well as leather pants that were made from what looked to be the hide of a mewtain. That got both the tavern's owners to raise their eyebrows. His chest was covered in the same type of leather, and his arms were covered with a cloth undershirt that ended by being tucked under the lip of his gloves at the wrist. On his head he wore a cloth tunic, which was obviously well traveled. The edge was dirty and tattered near the bottom, with a few holes at the back, but the hood was intact and pulled over his head. It had a long cowel that hid the face and head of the individual beneath it quite well.

After a moment of dramatic pause at the door he stepped up to the counter of the tavern, though no one was there just yet. Tucker's mustache furrowed and he tapped the hot poker against his leg as he watched his wife waddle her way over to the counter. "Well now. Aren't you the 'dark stranger' of the Dimwood. Where you come from then? Headed on through the wood on the 'morrow or are ye just makin' it through now?" The stranger just set his hands on the counter and didn't respond. Leaning on the counter, his right hand moved inside his cloak and found a satchel at his belt. Lifting it up he moved it over the counter and dropped it down. It clanked with the sound of jingling coin.

His golved hand pointed to the keg tapped behind the counter. Fanny's eyes lit up, though Tucker still kept his eyes set on the stranger, and his mustache furrowed. Fanny hurriedly poured him a mug of ale and he took it and moved to the very back corner of the tavern where he was enshrouded in shadow. His figure was barely outlined as he leaned back and set his boots up on the table top. Reaching to an inside pocket he produced a long pipe made of the gnarled black branch of a Dimwood tree. Packing the bowl of the pipe with a sweet smelling leaf of some sort he then struck a match and puffed on the pipe.

The flame of the match didn't illuminate his face, but it did make a small glimmer off his eyes. Eerie they were. Like the glowing eyes of a deer when light hit them, only his eyes seemed to have no focus. There was no direction to them, it was as though the were without a pupil, just a solid color that shone as a glint in the matches flame. But he puffed the pipe until the ember was strong and then the match went out and his face was shrouded in darkness again.

Tucker frowned at this. Strolling his way over to the stranger he leaned over the table and in a gruff quiet voice he muttered. "No trouble in here. Don't deal with trouble makers so's if yer thinkin' o' waitin' for trouble ye best continue on your way then." The stranger's head didn't move he just nodded and shrugged. Fanny waddled over and took Tucker by the arm. "Now Tucker don't you be causin' no ruckus now. He's paid up good for a night's worth o' drink an' more. Beggin' your pardon mister. Don't you pay him no mind. He's jus' testy. Been an eerie wind of late, whispers of trouble. But trouble don't pay in gold pieces near as I can tell. So you just sit comfy an' I'll tend to yer needs." The stranger lifted his pipe and nodded his head slowly.

"I do thank you ma'am" came a strange voice from the hood. It actually sounded quite eloquent. Well spoken even. It caught them both off guard slightly with it's calm, soothing tone. Fanny and Tucker shuffled off, casing glances at the patron once in a while as if trying to figure out his intentions, but neither of them seemed to get much in the way of a clue.

The sweet smell of the leaf in his pipe did add a bit of flavor to the air, and before long weary road travelers would be entering the place. And there was work to be done! Fanny set to rinsing out mugs and cleaning counters and Tucker went back to tending the fire, a serious look on his face, trying to appear tough and able-bodied, though he was getting on in age and while he'd broken up many a bar fight, he was looking and feeling a bit greyed of late.

The patron sat, almost motionless, feet up on the table, and well crafted smoke rings drifting out of his cowel. Watching and waiting.

[Lord Tirac]

Through the dark stormy night a little wooden cart covered with clattering vole skills that had been strung up around the sides was grudgingly moving along a muddy trail. Pulling the cart, his wind-skewed hair covering his face was a very small man, but in this weather he could have easily have been mistaken for a boy. The man was in fact a halfling, young but definitely not a boy. Still, it was all he could do to keep dragging the cart, every so often he stumbled. But just when he was about to give up his long trek into the very dark night he saw something... a faint light. yes, that was what it was. The halfling's heart leap at the sight of the source of comfort. He was so excited he failed to notice that his cart had become lodged in the thick mud, that is, until he fell over, landing face first in the mud, soaking his hair and clogging his nose and eyes

"Damn fangled cart!" He shouted into the raging tumult, his voice being snatched away and carried off by the racing wind. Forget the cart for now he thought, just go towards the light. He weakly moved closer and closer, until he felt that he could barely move. Then, with a burst of strength he thrust open the tavern's door and teetered in.

He felt very strange walking into the tavern. I feel like I've seen this place before. He thought as he sat down near the front, he rubbed his eyes, trying to clear them and looked around.

"It's like deja vu..." he whispered with awe.

[Niniva]

"Deja.....what?" Fanny blinked and stared at the little halfling. She finally set a frown on her face and a furrow to her brow when she saw the muck he had trudged in with. Her hands balled into fists and she set them on her hips grumbling to herself. "T'wern't no rain in the air when I went out earlier. Damned storms roll in an' they bring the munchkins with 'em. Well? Lad? What do you got to say fer' yer'self then?"

She waddeled on over to the counter and rummaged around until she had put away her cloth and then set an elbow on the counter leaning over it and peering at the little halfling. "Now.....you fer stayin' the night I reckon? Almost everyone is. Then again you ain't look like you got no horse. You sure you ain't stumbled into the wrong neck 'o da woods then? So to speak of course. hahahaha" she roared out laughing and shaking her head. "You won't wanna be headin' on don this road without a horse young fella. You bes' put yerself up for the night and head on back the way you came. 'Less o'course yer thinkin' there's something on the forest edge yer for wantin!" She chuckled. "What'll it be? A room? a Drink?"

Old Tucker shuffled his mustache back and forth but paid the hapless halfling little mind. He didn't seem like much trouble. No, actually, he seemed a bit worse for wear at present. And it was Fanny's job to play host, not his.

The dark hooded stranger didn't even move. In fact, you might think he was a statue were it not for the pleasant aroma from his pipe and the occasional smoke ring. Quiet as a church mouse too.

[Lord Tirac]

The halfling moaned, rubbing his head and looking down, the only hint that he was even acknowledging Fanny was when he coughed once and muttered.
"I never needed no horse, never did and I never will. But I definitely want a room for the night and a pint would be greatly appreciated." He rested his head against the table, and sighed. "Hope the weather clears up. I'll be needing to retrieve my cart pretty quick. Wouldn't want bandits getting in there. Just my luck too." He glanced around the room wearily, his eyes falling finally on the cloaked figure.
Strange. He thought. So quiet. Like an old, calm tree. His solitary vigil rivaled that of stone. But the halfling didn't pay much mind to him, probably just passing on through as well.
"Name's Frichdar. by the way" He said grumpily.

[Niniva]

His muttering caught a laugh from the Tavern's owners. "Bwahahaha! No horse indeed. Ain'tcha know where you are?!" Fanny threw her hands up in the air, belly jiggling up and down as she laughed and pounded the tavern counter. "Oh you ain't never needed no horse before maybe, but yer headin' the wrong direction if yer fer thinkin' you'll survive through the Dimwood without one!" She laughed still.

Tucker wasn't nearly as open about his laughter, thought he did chuckle a bit as he knelt down and shoved the hot poker into the burning embers of the fire and shuffled his mustache back and forth patting down the comb-over atop his head.

Fanny just kept talking all friendly like. "No sir, little fella, it's a days ride n' more to make it to the other side, an' if ye don't make it neither you nor your horse'll live on through the night. Mewtain'll getcha in a heart beat I reckon. 'Less you ain't going through to the other said." She wandered on over and started pouring a pint. "Settle yerself in then lad. Things are about to start pickin' up I reckon, folks'll want to hide indoors outta the rain." She slid the pint over the counter to him and collected his money.

Off in the corner the hooded man still never so much as moved. Mostly full glass of ale just sitting on the table. He was quite difficult to see in the shadows of the tavern still, but he was there.

"Frichdar?" Fanny rubbed her chin slightly and flicked at her mole. "That ain't a usual name you got. Sounds familiar too. You been 'round these parts before?" Tucker called out over his shoulder. "Oakly? Frickdar Oakly? We had a halfling couple were regulars through here years back. What were it....twenty 'r so? Maybe only fifteen. Anyhow, they had them a boy named Frickdar. Son of a herbalist. Damn fine cookin' family they was. Damn fine!" Fanny exclaimed. "Oh good gracious, yes! Darianna and Rickle! Yes! Yes! Anyway, just makin' small talk. I'm sure it's just coincidence." She babbled on.

[Lord Tirac]

Frichdar felt his face grow red and hot. How could he possibly afford a horse? Did these people think he had money to burn? Besides, where would he ever find such an animal? Surely not in the forest. The halfling had just about enough of the joking scorn when Fanny spoke his last name.

"Yes, Oakley." He whispered hoarsely. "my parents... you have heard of them!" Frichdar's heart leapt as vague memories of the Tavern filled him mind. I was right. he thought. I have been here before.

"I'm not a bad cook myself," he said bashfully, still blushing from the joking way the two had discussed his lack of a horse. he took a big gulp from the glass, wiping his mouth with a grimy hand.

[Niniva]

"Wellllllll," Fanny plopped her fists on her hips again and leaned over the little halfling. "Well you ain't been here in twice a decade! How's yer folks?" She asked still laughing cheerily. "If'n yer half as good a cook as them folks o' yours you oughta brew us up somethin'!"

Old Tucker clanged the cast iron poker against the cast iron pot by the stove. It was big enough for Frichdar to sleep in if they stuffed him in it, which, of course, they wouldn't. "Yep. Ain't used this in a good bit. But if'n you knows how to make a stew like yer daddy then yer welcome to cook it up. Might consider lettin' ya stay fer free. You got stuff for cookin'? Lookin' like you travel pretty light." He said looking over the little fella with a raised eyebrow noting his lack of a pack.

"Aye! They made a good stew they did!" Fanny smacked herself on the thigh and chuckled. "You said you ain't got no horse, that mean you just walked? But you ain't even got a change o' cloths!"

And then the prim and proper voice chimed in from the back of the room from underneath the hood. Once again eerily polite sounding and almost wraith-like. "That is because he pulls a cart. Unfortunately, the road is not well kept and the rain did not help. He was....pulling his cart of wares himself, and he stumbled and fell."

Fanny stared dumbfounded at the hooded figure. Tucker shuffled his mustache and slowly stood up. "Now....how you know that?" The hooded figure just shrugged slightly. "I think you will find....young Frichdar has come to the Dimwood to hunt, though not for game. Rather, for some of the fungus and shrubs, and a rather famous weed. Some of the stuff I am currently smoking I would imagine. You laugh at his expense for not bringing a steed with him, but I see that there is no reason to have one when your plan involves going no further into the darkness than a few hundred yards. But do not take my word for it. Ask him yourself." He shrugged slightly and then fell silent again. Oddly, he hadn't even moved while he spoke, maintaining his statue-like stillness until that shrug.

Fanny cast a glance over at the halfling. "Well? That right?"

[Lord Tirac]

Frichdar grinned broadly at the mention of his father's stew. The young halfling didn't enjoy bragging but he beamed as the two assumed his abilities were as good as that of his parents.

"Well, I guess I could whip up a li'l sumth'n" He blushed. Quickly however, his fatigue quickly set in again. "But maybe tomorrow. He groaned."
But Frichdar's blood ran cold as the strange figure began to talk, saying things that Frichdar knew no one but his closest companions who were few and far between would know. Even things that only the young halfling should know.

"How... How is it you know of my interests and of my turmoil prior to arriving at this Tavern? And yes, that is accurate."

[Niniva]

Fanny and Tucker seemed to be scratching their heads. The moment seemed to be standing on the edge of a knife. The distrust showed in their eyes, as well as the small shadow of being impressed by the shadowy figure in the back of the room. But he had gone silent again, and once against sat motionless, just puffing on the pipe full of sweet smelling weed with a stature of confidence as though he simply knew he was right.

Fanny broke the motionless ice of the room by simply shaking her head and starting to wipe the counter muttering something under her breath about the 'damn fool of a crazy b*****d' and how they were 'always catching the crazy ones when the storms blew in'.

Tucker just stared for a moment longer, with old bug eyes and a mustache that wiggled back and forth in thought. Though he finally looked to the halfling when he affirmed how correct the hooded figure had been. "Well," he began with a cough and a gruff clearing of his throat. "You shoulda said so. Lets go getcher cart with the mule an' drag it up under the awning out back by the stable. But lets be quick. Storm'll make it darker'n usual an' that means the beasts'll be out." He clapped the halfling on the back. "c'mon then. Sure'n this fella here'll let you borrow some o' his herbs for cookin' an' we could all use a pot of good stew to keep the cold at bay."

He didn't wait for affirmation before he started heading for the door and shoved it open heading outside into the rain. The good news was it was a warm rain so at least the 'cold' old man Tucker mentioned was more a figure of speech than anything. He headed straight for the stable and pulled the reigns of an old mule down and led it back out front where he expected to meet the halfling.

[Lord Tirac]

Frichdar bumbled around, trying not to stare at the cloaked figure as he clumsily tried to follow Tucker outside. No.. not the storm again. he moaned to himself. He'd just gotten settled into the tavern. The halfling shook his head but followed Tucker anyway, his leather shoes squelching in the mud. He saw tucker out a little ways off from the front door, with a mule in tow.

"What do you mean by... beasts?" Frichdar. asked nervously. Giving the animal a nervous pat.

"Surely nothing too frightening, right?" just my luck he thought. next thing you know I'll be some giant monster's snack.

[Irako of the Desert]

♞xxxxxxxxxxSomeday you'll see who I really am...

Keldra sat at a table near the wall, nursing the same mug of ale she'd ordered an hour ago. Her sword leaned next to her against the back of the chair in its sheath rather than strapped across her back so that she could sit properly. Her ale was lukewarm now and disgusting, but she wasn't here to drink. She was here to listen to the people who passed through this tavern and to the people who lived here in this dangerous wood.

She'd arrived several hours ago and had been quietly eavesdropping on whatever conversations she could manage to hear. Since there hadn't been a lot of people all day, she hadn't learned much. Out of politeness, she ordered something to eat or drink once in a while, which only alleviated the tedium a little. The most exciting thing that had happened was the arrival of the hooded stranger who barely said anything, but just smoked and drank. He seemed to be doing the same thing she was, so she ignored him. After that, people had slowly begun trickling in.

She'd listened to the exchange between the halfling and the people who worked in the tavern with concealed interest. He was a potential employer-slash-excuse for wandering around in the forest and running into some of the creatures that were rumored to wander around in here.

♞xxxxxxxxxx... And I'll prove I'm worth something to you.

[Niniva]

Old man Tucker pulled the hood of his woolen cloak up over his head and wiped the rain off his mustache looking over at the unhappy halfling. "You mean you wandered up here to go fiddlin' around in the trees after some plants an' you didn't take no time to learn 'bout the place?" He looked skeptical but turned and led the mule down the road, thankfully AWAY from the woods. "Well where to start! Most famous is them Mewtain. Nasty critters they is. Always huntin' and always in packs. Sometimes in the winter they surround the tavern at night. They don't never get close mind you, but they's there. When the fire gets goin' you kin see there eyes in the woods." Tucker was a rather animated man, talking with his hands as well as his mouth, he waved it this way and that to emphasize his words.

"And then 'course, there's the orcs and goblins, but they's same as anywhere else. Ain't too many left though. They all prolly got killed off by now. They recycle there numbers e'ry once in a while, a horde'll march through an' fer a few months there'll be talk o' caravans getting ransacked but then that talk dies down after a couple months. I spec't it's either 'cause o' the mewtains or the R.O.U.S.'s....or hell I hear'd tell from a hunter there was spinners in there off the road a piece. Big one's." He paused to look at the halfling eyebrow raise. "Colonies o' them critters, 'bout your size spun up webs all through the forest." He then waved his hand in dismissal as if it wasn't important.

"And then o'course you got'cher host 'o the regulars. Bats, owls, rats, mice, course there's plenty o' bugs but they ain't causin' nobody no harm. If you stick to the road it's smooth sailing through the day, nobody stays through the night though. 'Course if yer going to gather herbs then you won't be on no road will ya?" He smirked looking over at the halfling and chuckled. "Well, then I s'pose you might look into hirin' some help t' keep the critters off. Think there was a lady lookin' fer work back at the tavern. But I ain't never seen her before. So I can't tell ya how good she is. Might be good enough to stand in their way while you high-tail it back to the Lantern though!" He roared in laughter at that mental image and slapped his own knee.

And they finally made it to the cart. Tucker handed the reigns to the halfling and then went and hitched up the small cart to the back of the mule, which was actually quite a calm and friendly animal. Nothing at all like the 'stubborn' reputation the animals usually held. They started off again and Tucker just tugged his cloak tighter. "y'know we got us plenty of rooms on the top floor. You lookin' for a place to stay for a good bit we always could use us a good cook!" He chuckled.

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Back at the Tavern Fanny hummed to herself as as she wiped the tables off. Every few minutes she looked out the window and muttered to no-one in particular, "Rain's gettin' worse. Warren better get back soon." She then went back to wiping the counters and tables, lifting the drink from the woman's table and wiping underneath it and nodding to her with a crooked smile. Fanny stayed contiguously far away from the table of the stranger in the back though. Something about him told her she had better wait for Tucker to get back before she ventured back there.

[Lord Tirac]

As Tucker discussed the various beasts that dwell in the forest, Frichdar gradually became less bewildered. He had heard stories of far worse beings, they were most likely just stories after all. and you thought there would be dragons he scolded himself, his face growing red and hot. Frichdar's spirits rose with every minute around the older man. Something about his personality was contagious and before he knew it, Frichdar was petting the mule and humming a song happily as they made their way back to the tavern.

"Well, If she's looking for work I believe I'd be able to find something for her to do to help me." Frichdar said. "But as a meat-shield in case of attack?" He laughed

"You'd better be joking. I don't think someone would take kindly to being 'monster bait' no matter how good the pay is." Frichdar scratched at a bug bite on his shoulder before continuing.

"I'll need to consider your offer of cook if I can even dream of hiring her though. The pay from my wares isn't exactly enough to afford to hire servants ya know." Suddenly, a small furry face peeped out from Frichdar's sleeve. The creature snuffled around and then slid back inside after it's master gave it a reassuring pat.