Tavern Interior The Village of Hommlet is a tiny village best known for being located in the exact middle of nowhere. A few dozen mossy old houses built from the timbers of the nearby blackwood forest huddle in the foothills of the Cinder Peaks. The main attraction in town is the Horny Goat, the village's only tavern and your current location. The skies were gray when you stepped through the door. Night has fallen and a steady, cold rain has begun to fall outside. The rain drums on the smoky windows and the wooden shingles. A musty fire glows in the tavern's hearth. There were rumors of work to be found in Hommlet. So far all you've found is dreary houses, muddy roads, and lousy fish soup. "More ale?" The barmaid, Winona, bustles over to you. She carries a tray against her hip and gathers up your empty cups. The bawdy blond is all curves and you've had just enough to drink for her plain face to begin to look beautiful. She leans over your table, her heavy bosom hanging nearly low enough to be singed on the candle in the middle of the table. "Annnnnnything else any of you need?" She bites her plump lip and bats her lashes. She's laying it on a little thick. Must be a slow night. Her husband, Gert, the fat bastard, watches from behind the bar, forever polishing a tin cup on the corner of his apron. The only other patron is seated by the hearth. A slender elf woman in the clothes of a traveler. She has kept her cloak up and her face is mostly hidden in the shadows. It seems as if she is waiting for something.
Silvan eyes the woman's bosom appreciatively for a moment from under his hooded cloak. She was interesting enough, but.... Humans weren't really his thing. They could be fun, but he found most were not capable of handling the way Fellgist had their fun. He doubted the woman would be able to stand his fangs piercing her. No, Fellgists were too rough for most humans. He needed something more.... primal. "Just the ale," he grunted, his crimson eyes glowing slightly from under his hood. He glanced over at his companions and for the thousandth time wondered how he had ended up with them. Why did they even put up with him? He was moody, paranoid, had a wicked sense of humor, and often scared people around them when he pulled back his hood to reveal his eyes and fangs.
Winona's smile falters at the sight of Silvan's glowing eyes. She draws back a little. "Suit yourself," she blusters and directs her attention to Silvan's companions. "How about you?"
Andreas reached into his satchel for his notebook. Worn and faded like his pride, it limply flopped open to the bookmarked page. Another pull into his jacket produced a stub of a graphite stick, and he began to write between dusky fingers. Well I've arrived for what it's worth. May the gods damn the weather though. Worst storm I've ever seen. He frowned over his soaked jacket, dripping by the door on a stand. Perhaps I should've worn something more appropriate. Assuming I could afford something more appropriate. Royalties from The Elven Nations have been drying up, and Nicolai doesn't want to do a third edition. And apparently nobody is interested in faekind, and I worked hard on that one. He twirled the nubbin in his fingers. The ale tastes like strained cat piss too. This trip better be worth it. Monsterkind is fascinating from the rumors. I just hope the readership feels the same. A crack heralded the end of yet another stick, and he pitched into into a nearby bin with a grumble. He clapped his notebook closed, looking up at his situation. Silvan, a Fellgist and therefore a rare sight anywhere beyond his home, preyed on the barmaid's bountiful bust with his eyes. Not that Andreas didn't appreciate the view too of course. As Silvan ordered another glass, Andreas's lips twitched as he resigned himself to the same fate. "I'll take another glass." He drew his eyes over to snag Silvan's gaze. Andreas was probably among the few humans who could stare at a Fellgist and not flinch, only because he managed to interview enough for a book. A short one, and a poor seller, but a book nonetheless. "I'm still rather amazed you're here Silvan. What were you saying before, you're a Beast Tamer?"
Vi'lea took a quick look at the barmaid - and especially at her impressive bust - but said nothing. Sorry, honey, you're out of luck. It's been a long time since I've been with a pretty girl, but it hasn't been that long. And I'm not yet drunk enough to seriously consider paying a cheap whore like you. The dark elf was sober enough to keep her thoughts to herself and to not let them show on her face. No need to piss off the barmaid. After all, Vi'lea could always change her mind later... While the barmaid went to get the ale for the guys the young sorceress took a sip from her own ale - she still had about a third left - and took a look around the tavern, hoping to see something - anything - of interest. Sadly, the place was almost empty. Just the barmaid, her husband, and a woman seated by the hearth. I wonder if she's pretty? With nothing better to do Vi'lea tried to take a better look at the woman...
Winona returns with a fresh round of drinks. She leans her warm bosom against the back of Andreas' neck as she reaches past him to set his ale on the table. "Anything at else, anything at all, come and find me in the kitchen," she whispers in Andreas' ear. She gives a suspicious look to Silvan and barely even glances at Vi'lea before departing for the kitchen. Vi'lea's attention is focused on the elf sitting by the hearth happens. The woman happens to glance in Vi'lea's direction and Vi'lea catches a glimpse of the woman's face under her hood. Big, silver-blue eyes and the pale skin of a city elf. A small, pouting mouth that seems to worry at the corners and a chin as delicate as the point of a heart. She looks into Vi'lea's eyes for a moment and she seems to search for something. The moment is broken as the door to the Horny Goat bangs open. The storm blows into the firelit warmth. Lightning flashes and silhouettes a huge, rain-soaked figure in a canvas cape. His mouth and nose are wrapped, but his prominent brow and reddish eyes speak of an orc heritage. He scans the room and takes a step into the tavern, almost falls, and pushes himself up on one of the structural timbers. The elf woman by the fire rises quickly and helps him over to where she was seated. She opens his cloak and seems to inspect his body. "You're bleeding," you hear the elf say before their voices become terse whispers. At the bar, Gert fidgets as if he is grasping a weapon under the counter. Pureblood orcs are hated and half-orcs barely tolerated in human settlements.
Vi’lea needed only a moment to decide what to do. She didn’t care in the slightest that the new guy had some orc blood in him. Where she came from orcs and half-orcs were pretty rare sights because the different tribes were busy trying to destroy each other, but the few orcs she had met were all decent people (when not busy killing orcs from other tribes, at least). What she did care about was the fact that the guy was wounded. Whatever had wounded one person could potentially wound another… Without hesitation she got up from her spot at the table and approached the elven woman and her wounded friend. "Pardon the intrusion, milady" she spoke when she got close to the pair and bowed slightly "but I couldn’t help but notice that your friend is wounded. May I ask what happened to him? I don’t mean to pry in other people’s business, but if whatever hurt him might pose a threat to the village I’d like to know about it ahead of time rather than learn about it later, at a bad moment." She made sure not to stare at the woman – now was not the time, no matter how curious Vi’lea was.
Vi'lea sees immediately that the orc's wounds are quite grave and poorly hidden by his cloak. Blood is dripping at his feet. He looks at the woman and she nods slightly. He pulls down the scarf covering most of his face and reveals that he is a full-blooded mountain orc. "One of Torvek's assassins," growls the orc. "She is no more." The elf woman pulls back her hood and bares the full extent of her white-maned beauty. Her eyes are determined, but she seems so delicate otherwise. "I am Lyssa of the Order of Trappers. This is Hurley, one of my scouts." "The only one you have left," he grumbles. "Torvek has opened a rift. The mountains are overrun with his fiends. Spreading in every direction. Half woman, half creature. He controls them from the..." Hurley tries to steady himself. Lyssa grasps his wrist. She looks to Vi'lea and to the other members of the party. "I am not a warrior," she says. "But I know how to stop these monsters before they spread to Hommlet and beyond. I am able to attune a crystal to trap their fiendish essence, but they must be nearly incapacitated for the trap to work." "Nearest... nearest are the slimes," says Hurley. "I can take you there. Just need... to rest." His head nods forward and his eyes close. He may be unconscious or he may be dead.
Riekan silently cursed the fact he was a heavy sleeper, a dangerous trait considering he still had a few bounty hunters from Anglurea after his head. When he woke up at the Inn next to the tavern, he briefly wondered if his companions were still there or if they had gotten tired of waiting for him and left Hommlet. He got out into the rain and headed to the next door. However, when he arrived at the tavern, he didn't expect to find the beautiful dark elf Vi'lea standing next to an equally beautiful white-haired elf and a wounded orc. His old knightly quickly taking over his mind, he approached the trio. As he walked, Riekan thought with a mental chuckle that the elf probably had a better chance with Vi'lea than him. "What happened?" He inquired. "You all look really somber."
Andreas reddened harshly as Winona encircled him, whispering the sickly sweet invitation into his ear. He sneered as his loins stirred, pointedly reminding them that, just because it's a restaurant doesn't mean eating there is a good idea. Graciously she made her exit, and felt a bit indignant that she refused to languish her attention on anyone else here. Something about being a token human wandered through his head as he hoped that something a bit stronger than cat piss ale would wash away his erection. As he turned to Silvan, his wish came true as a possibly crossbred orc bled his way into the tavern. Riekan wasn't too far behind, and he made a mental note to use him as a human shield against the barmaid if need be. To teach him a lesson for not being here earlier. Vi'lea blathered on about defenses and retaliation and bullshit, and Andreas bit back a vaguely stereotypical comment. No, he was better than that. Damn tribal humanity. "Excuse me, Lyssa, that was your name?" he announced. "I don't know that much about orc anatomy, but do you mind if I take a look?" He opened his satchel and removed his instruments, dragging the ale with him as he crossed the room. He hoped the strength of the alcohol matched its bad taste as he poured it over them. Not the most sanitary of conditions anyway, but it's better than him bleeding out.
Lyssa stands up from her seat and makes room for Andreas to have a look at Hurley. The orc is now slumped back in his chair, blood oozing from one nostril and soaking the front of his rain-dark cloak. Andreas opens the cloak and sees that Hurley has been stabbed several times in the belly. Andreas, you think you might be able to stabilize him, but he will be on death's door until you find a real healer or some sort of potion.
While Andreas examined Hurley’s wounds and tried to save his life Vi’lea quickly filled Riekan on what they had just heard. Since she would be of no help with the healing she instead turned her attention back to Lyssa while silently praying that the orc would live. Not only he had information they needed, but he was a scout so if he recovered he would be most helpful… as long as he did not get himself killed, anyway. Besides, she didn’t like watching people die right in front of her. "I admit this is a lot more serious than I expected. My sister would be much better suited for dealing with this issue. Alas, she’s back home and since time is of the essence we can’t afford to waste any trying to contact her. We’ll have to deal with this on our own and hope that more people will happen to come this way." She paused briefly to catch her breath. "Hopefully this Torvek guy knows what he’s doing. I’ve heard stories about great destruction caused by rifts that went out of control because the people that summoned them were incompetent. I have no desire to see with my own eyes if the stories are true." Vi’lea paused again, this time to consider what to do next. "It doesn’t look like the rain is going to stop any time soon. Going out now, while it is dark and raining, seems like a bad idea. I think it would be best if we wait until morning – hopefully the rain will stop. In the mean time what can you tell us about this Torvek you mentioned? The more we know about the enemy – the better. Unless someone has a better idea?" the dark elf briefly looked at the other people present. She was about to turn back towards Lyssa when an idea occurred to her and she focused her attention on the barkeep instead. "My good sir, do you happen to have any healing potions on hand? Also, I was wondering if this village has any sort of defense force? A guard, a militia, anything at all?" She suspected the answers to her questions would be negative, but it did not hurt to ask.
"Sweet merciful gods." Andreas called out to the tavern. "Anyone have anything I can use as dressing or packing for the wounds?" Trying to keep his hands fresh of orc blood, he grabbed his flame charms and shoved them into a few wounds, attempting to cauterize -- with little success. "Damn good assassins." He turned to Lyssa. "I thought orcs were a bit more resilient than this." Hurley continued to bleed badly. "Fuck, I need a potion of healing or rejuvenation or something!"
Riekan thought back to the witch who gave him the runes, she would probably be able to help Hurley, but she was too far away for him to get to her in time. He couldn't help but stare at Lyssa while Andreas worked on the orc. The white-haired elf was exquisitely beautiful, but he was sure he already had Vi'lea's competition regarding her. Since he didn't know the first thing about healing, Riekan decided to let Andreas take care of everything and sat down beside Lyssa. "Do you want some ale?" He gently asked the distressed elf. "It might help you to calm down for a bit."
The tavern becomes chaotic as Andreas works to stabilize Hurley, shouting for gauze and implements and summoning both the bartender and Winona from the kitchen. They help him to stretch Hurley out on one of the larger tables. The orc is well-muscled and covered in savage tattoos. With the assistance of Winona and her heaving bosom, Andreas manages to stop the bleeding. Hurley does not regain consciousness, but his condition is at least no longer worsening. Unfortunately, there are no potions to be had. The bartender, Gert, dons his raincoat. "I'm going to fetch Julian of the town guard. He'll be asleep at this hour, but I expect he'll want to know about an orc bleeding to death on my table and word of fiends in the mountains." Vi'lea fills in Riekan. Lyssa introduces herself to Riekan and refuses his offer of ale. "Not in the mood for refreshment," she says, her expression businesslike. "If what Hurley said is true, the slimes will be operating out of ruins or a cave of some sort. The lesser slimes aren't much of a danger, at least to a group, although they might try to turn a woman if they catch her. If there are several of them, then there might be an ooze nearby too. Those are very dangerous, much more intelligent and very carnivorous." Lyssa looks at her unconscious companion and then at the group. "I can attune crystals for you to trap them, if you'll take the job, but unless Hurley wakes I am afraid I cannot help you find their lair."
"Rest assured, I will do my best to help you, Lyssa." Vi’lea promised, then took a chair and sat down next to the elven woman. "While we wait for the good bartender to come back, could you tell me more about yourself and about the Order you belong to? The Order of Trappers, was it? I admit I have not heard the name before…" As she asked the question the dark elf had to remind herself not to stare at the beauty she was now sitting next to. It wouldn’t be polite and it could give a bad impression.
Riekan takes a look at his satchel and does a quick counting of his money. He thinks he has enough of it for a healing potion. Figuring it might impress Lyssa, he stands up and dons his red hood. "I'm going to check if the potion store is still open," He announces, heading to the door. "It might help Hurley." He adds as he exits the tavern.
With hands more bloody than a boxers', Andreas wiped his brow and whistled. It took more bandages than seen in a faekind burial ritual and Andreas was pretty sure he was filled with more cotton than organs, but Hurley was fine for now. "Never though I'd ever perform emergency surgery on an orc, but there's a first time for everything." He looked up into Winona's chest, then her eyes. "Thanks, that's more like the help I wanted." He smirked, but became stolid. "But until you can get a healer or brew up a potion though, I'm going to have to redress and repack him in about an hour." He dunked his flame charms into the glass, watching them slowly sizzle into sterility in the ale. That's when he heard the word "slimes" for the first time floating in the air from Lyssa and Vi'lea, and the color drained from his face. Great. Slimes. He had heard... unfortunate tales before, but only the gods knew how many were true. He thought in that this endeavour, if slimes were ever on the menu, he could at least work himself up to it, but apparently he wasn't going to get his vegetables first. Maybe it was best to be in a party instead of roaming on his own then. This wasn't the elven cities anymore.
Once Lyssa is reassured that Hurley is not about to die, she sits down and flashes her silver-blue eyes at you. A smile flickers over her lips. "A dark elf. Vi'lea, you said? A pleasure to meet you." She offers you a delicate hand. "I'm not surprised you haven't heard of the Trappers. We helped to close the rifts hundreds of years ago, but it has been four centuries since a major opening and our numbers and influence have dwindled. Most kingdoms assume their conventional guards can handle the fiends." She pulls her collar aside a bit, showing you the top of one of her pert breasts. A jagged scar frames her pale flesh. "The fiends are back and trappers like me are the only ones that can contain them in crystals, though I have read some try to keep them as pets. Some dark force is leading mad men to open rifts. Torvek is not at the heart of this, but he may have answers." You venture out into the rain. You find a general store but it seems to be locked up. There appears to be a home above the shop and you see a candle burning in the window. Perhaps you can bring the shopkeeper down to unlock and show you his wares. Winona mops the sweat from your brow and then looks down at your trousers. Her hand strokes your pants. "Oh, no," she cries, squeezing her breasts between her biceps as she leans down to have a better look. "These are soiled with blood. If you let that dry the stain will never come out. Quickly, come to the kitchen with me." She takes your hand and tugs you towards the kitchen, mischief in her brown eyes.
