Private Tales Raising Hell

[Baise]

"I need a new axe. They said you were good."

The blunt voice was accompanied by an equally blunt thud of an axe being dropped onto the wooden counter. Valthar dumped the axe and took half a step back.

The axe itself was well beyond repair. The head itself had several deep notches and was obviously a few swings away from breaking. It didn't look like it had been a piece of quality workmanship at all.

"What do you have? I am joining this...necromancer hunt tonight."

The Nordenfiir was far from home. He stood tall over the humans who walked to cobbled Street behind him. His blonde hair was tied into several braids that reached the broad arms he had crossed over his chest.

Valthar didn't mean to be impolite. He was a man of few words and needed a weapon urgently.

Míriel Fëanorna

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

Míriel was stood over the main furnace in her workshop. Sweat trickled from her brow down her sharp jaw to drip into her shirt, which was about two buttons undone - another, and she would know she had had a seriously hectic day in the workshop. Two more, and well, maybe she would need to admit to needing an assistant. She had no sleeves to her shirt and her muscles tightened as she brought the hammer down onto the piece of heated metal she was currently arguing with. It was an argument, because the mouthy piece of rock had taken after the mouth piece of trash who had ordered it.

I don't want to just be a set of knives to sit on someone's shelves! It cried. Miri ignored it and took out her frustrations by hammering it again, right where she imagined it's annoying little face might be. She almost didn't hear her latest customer come in. But then, it was hard to ignore someone so blunt. Throwing the outraged piece of metal back into the fire she took her time pumping the bellows back up to a scorching heat before making her way over to the desk he had dumped his hammer on.

"I'm assuming you don't want me to try and.... fix this?" She wiped her hands on her apron as she looked from the crude workmanship to the man who had given it to her. It reminded her of when the stray dog brought her something mangled. Her lip curled a little in disgust. Míri had learned to ask these questions - some people grew sentimental to old weapons. What was it her old master had said? One man's rubbish is another man's treasure? It took every ounce of restraint not to roll her eyes.

"If you're looking for something off the rack," the elf motioned with a sharp nod to the right wall, where her complete works that were for sale were on show. There was a selection of different weapons and variants there of. In terms of axes, which she had a soft spot for, they ranged from a large daneaxe that was a head taller than Míriel herself and had a shaft as thick as her arm, right down to a collection of exquisitely designed throwing axes in a rare blue metal. "Handling is fine. Breaking my workshop is not," an obviously often used phrase. She pointed to the sign above her to reiterate her statement. It read:

No throwing.
No slicing.
No stabbing.
No stroking.

 

[Baise]

"No," he said with a shrug. "You can keep the steel if it can be reused."

His gaze slowly turned towards the rack of weapons. He was certain he would find something suitable. It was a matter of whether he could afford it. Whilst he could use an axe quite well, it was his ability to shift into a Svalen that actually made him dangerous.

Valthar took a step back and looked up at the sign.

"What does it say?" he asked.

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

Míriel gave him a slightly irritated look: what was the point of a sign if she was going to have to keep repeating it anyway?

"No throwing. No slicing. No stabbing," she paused, giving him a slow look from head to toe before skewering him with a gave that would have had lesser beings bashfully casting their eyes aside. "No stroking." Clearly, this had come up enough times that she felt the need to say it now. "If you need to practise with the weight, feel free to use the studio," she motioned to the cobbled courtyard out the back of her workshop where a range of slightly worse for wear targets lay haphazardly. Beyond that lay the open fields where her horses grazed. One, was approaching now. When it wasn't being used for throwing weapons around, it was most likely where the Smithy shoed horses and other beasts.

The stallions ears were pricked forward, nostrils flared slightly as he gently cantered over to the boundary between his fields and Míri's workshop boundaries. Pacing along the line of the fence the black stallion stuck his head through the large stable door at one end of her workshop and nickered gently. He pawed the ground, knocking the door to get her attention. Slowly lowering the axe head between two fingers to the table, she returned to her furnace, ignoring the horse entirely. She could feel his tension. It said that this man smelt wrong for something on two legs and it made Thorlion anxious. She found the best thing to do was to leave her clients to judge her work for themselves, she would not force a sale. Instead she took the screaming metal from the fire and plunged it into slack tub.

 

[Baise]

The Nordenfiir didn't even blink as she took him in with her gaze. Above all other things he had learned to give little away. He had been cast from hell itself into this foreign land. On the way back so far he had been accosted by chimera, orcs, and sorcerers. He kept his head down and put one foot in front of the other.

Valthar and the horse looked to one another. The Nordenfiir had crossed paths with too many horses in the summer lands already. They didn't like his kind at all. One of them had very nearly broken his arm with a sudden kick. It's rider had come off the worst from that exchange.

"I assume you have had people stroking your horse and not your swords..." he said as he pulled an axe from the wall.

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

((OOC: Things in green = the Common Tongue, Things in orange elvish))

If a horse could have made a gesture to the man that he was watching him, Thorlion would have been doing it right now. He let out a snort and bobbed his head, kicking the door - lightly - one again. He had been on the receiving end of his friends temper once too often for breaking down her door. His ears flattened.

"Be calm, Thorlion. This man is a customer, and he will be treated with respect." Míriel didn't even bother to glance up from her work, she knew that the stallion would respect her. Even if they couldn't talk to each other, they understood one another on a level she doubted she would have with any other being. Content with how the blades were beginning to look, she rested them on her anvil to cool to room temperature. She would examine them further in the morning. She looked up when the man spoke, mildly surprised. Most of her customers didn't bother talking to her beyond asking about the weapons. Carefully, she wiped her hands on a rag and moved to stroke down her horses nose, scratching him lightly behind the ears. Was his comment meant to be... humour?

"You would have hoped so," Míri raised both her eyebrows, her lips curling slightly at one corner. One half of her hair was pulled back into a rough braid that was messily coming undone. The rest was a shaggy mess from her time bent over the fire, which she ran a hand through now. Leaning her weight against the door and her horse, who began to anxiously nibble at the end of her braid. "Unfortunately, a surprising amount of my customers like to coddle their weapons as if they were babes. It makes me uncomfortable," the smithy folded her arms over her chest and nodded towards the axe he was holding. "It looks a little too light for your build. Is it a fighting weapon you are after?"

 

[Baise]

Valthar looked towards the horse. It continued to stare back with those dark eyes. The stare off lasted a full second before Valthar decided he wasn't going to win.

"That is a strange thing to do with weapons," Valthar replied. With a sharp cant of his head he filed it away under his collection of 'weird shit summerlanders do'.

Valthar placed the axe he held back on the rack. She had told him to go out back if he wanted to actually swing some weapons but he didn't want to get any closer.

"Horses do not like my kind at all. So I will not stroke you axes, nor your horse. I need a weapon. Have you had any others come through going on this hunt for a necromancer?" he asked.

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

"Thorlion..."

Her tone was a warning to the stallion as he continued to stare down at the man. She had not seen him react so since she had had that... Oh. Realisation began to dawn on her. So he was a shifter of some kind, because he definitely did not look like he was part animal in his current form. And it wasn't a creature that Thorlion believed he could clove the head in with his hoof easily, so some sort of predator animal. Interesting. She held his gaze for a moment that seemed to stretch on a long time, even uncomfortably so, before she slowly pushed off from the door.

"Thorlion doesn't like many people, if it makes you feel any better. He is a jealous horse," Míriel shot a look over her shoulder to the animal. The black beast snorted once then begrudgingly backed away from the door and put his head down to graze at the grass instead. She had no doubt he was listening to any sign of distress in her voice, but at least he was no longer threatening her client. "As for your question, a few have come here for weapons for such a quest, though most pre-ordered something more tailored," she ran her hands over the collection before, nodding slightly to herself, she took down a large two handed axe. It came to the elf's shoulder in height but it was a heavy set weapon. With enough brute force and skill, a person might be able to swing it with one hand. She handed it out towards him.

"This is Vilissë. The axe head is awakened metal that will glow when the undead are nearby - for some of them the light is too painful to bear and they will turn away from it instead of fighting you. Perhaps, more useful to you on this quest than just a normal axe, especially for one who is not relying on his weapon alone to fight," she arched one eyebrow at him in a manner that suggested she was making an educated guess and wanted to know if it was the right one.

 

[Baise]

Valthar gave a slow swing of the axe despite the advice against it indoors. He didn't like the idea of heading out any closer to the horse right now. It was weighted so well he probably could use it in one hand. It would probably be a touch too heavy for most humans and elves to use that way.

"If they are having custom work done then they probably have more coin than me."

Valthar grunted. He leaned the axe on its handle, running his thumb across the blade.

"Lots more. If the axe can do all that then it's also probably too much for me."

He shot the owner an apologetic grimace. It was the most expression he had shown so far.

"I am a nordenfiir which you seem to have guessed. I am far from home. I won't take your time up with the story, that would seem like asking for pity.

"Have you anything more...plain?" Valthar didn't want to insult her craft yet he also didn't want to just flat out say 'cheaper'.

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

So he was a Nordenflir. Yes, the smell of a bear would definitely cause her Thorlion to be so protective of her, such a powerful animal, let alone hiding in the skin of a man at times, could very easily kill her and her horse with a swipe of the paw. But damn did that axe suit him. Her job was an art, and sometimes she just wanted the weapon to be with the right person. When she had made it she had not known who it was for, but now she did. It was a peace that settled within her knowing that.

"You are not wrong about the people before you, they did indeed have a lot of coin. But, and please correct me if I am wrong, the Nordenflir don't typically deal in coin, but trades instead?" Míri tilted her head to one side as she looked up at him to catch his gaze and keep it. Despite the animal that was a part of his soul being reputed as large and fearsome, something about his manner made him across as almost... timid. Perhaps he was used to being on his own and was unsure of how to handle talking to people. Or perhaps the story of why he was so far south was something shameful and it had eaten a little at his pride. Either way, she wouldn't let someone who felt they had nothing, leave her workshop without the weapon that was so obviously meant for them.

"I'll be frank," Míriel pushed herself onto her desk, so she sat facing him, her hands braced either side of her thighs. "Based on what you brought into this workshop, I don't think your coin would pay for anything in this workshop. But, if you are fighting a Necromancer, not much outside of this shop is going to do you any good. So what have you got to trade for my goods? Do you still go home regularly and could fetch me something I wanted from your lands? Do you have a skill?" Or... there was something she had always wanted to do with the great bears...

 

[Baise]

"Not much," he admitted. Valthar. "Vilissë," he said quietly, looking at the axe before putting it down on the rack. He was used to not having very much so he only felt a tinge of regret knowing that it wouldn't be his. He helt out little hope of a trade.

"I am making slow progress to get back home," he explained as he took a roll of leather from his bag. "I am months away and intend to stay there when home."

Valthar poked and prodded the items that fell loose from the roll.

"Some northern spices, knife from a big witch that tried to kill me, tusk from a troll. That also tried to kill me."

Valthar grimaced. There was more but it clearly wasn't enough. It was a reminder of how many things had tried to kill. Him.

"I've never liked coin, but it is what people use here." Valthar shrugged and was already looking towards the entrance. "Necromancer might have something worthwhile, but then I might not come back."

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

Miriel's lips twitched as he began to slowly unroll a piece of leather and lay out odds and ends that he had collected on his travels. Seems the guy didn't know how to make friends very well. Yet, for her, the man was just getting more and more intriguing by the minute. Being a warrior herself, she loved nothing more than to share a drink and hear stories about another warriors triumphs and low moments during battles.

"Coin is nice to have if you live here, but it doesn't mean that much to me. Shiny metal that means a certain amount more than other shiny metal," her shoulders half lifted in an imitation of a shrug. Pushing off her desk she wandered over to the half open stable door and then pushed it closed, throwing Thorlion a reassuring look, then she did the same to the back two doors which opened onto the courtyard. What she was going to ask... might well upset the horses and the last thing she wanted was to be tending to a stupid young colts broken leg.

"There's always something I've wanted to ask a Nordenfiir," Miri was unsure of how delicate she would have to handle the question. Turning round to face him, she leaned her back against the door and very slowly bit down on her lower lip. She had always been told she was too blunt, and who knew when she would get an opportunity to ask again, so it had to be done... right. "I would consider this more than sufficient payment, if you agreed. I've wanted to make a set of armour for your kind... when you are in your bear forms. I have no idea if it would sell, it wouldn't even really matter to me, it's more of a vanity project," the delicate work it would take, figuring out how one of them could put it on whilst in their bear forms, it was a new challenge and an exciting one.

"What say you?"

 

[Baise]

"Coin is rather vital here, I've found," Valthar added. Everyone seemed to want to take some from you for everything. From the ferryman, to the town guards at the gate.

Valthar watched her curiously as she started to lock up the stables. When he had been told that Miriel was one of the best smiths in the area he hadn't formed any expectation of what a female elven smith would have looked like. As he watched her closing the stable doors he realised that she didn't match any nebulous version of her he may have constructed on the way here.

Her weapons didn't look like delicate elven blades. She was also built like someone who wielded a hammer all day long, but the tattoos suggest someone who had been - or was - a warrior.

He started to suspect what was coming next. He felt a flicker of anger deep in his gut. Once his people and their magic had been for the entertainment of others.

As she started to explain he realised her interest was more commercial, or at least professional.

"That would be fine," he replied. There weren't any other. "They always have to be custom made. We vary in size a great deal when we change...you want me to don't you?"

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

"If... you don't mind. I understand this is a part of your soul you would be sharing with me," probably akin to asking a man to strip off and pose for her completely nude. She could see the wariness and dying anger in his eyes, and she could completely understand it. If someone had asked to ride Thorlion for the sake of experiencing a flight on a winged horse, that would probably be as close as she could get to imagining how it might feel to be asked to transform on a whim. She listened to what he said thoughtfully and then moved to her desk to pick up her leather journal. There was piles of notes and drawings, of armour and weapons for a myriad of people in there. Turning to a blank page she began to scribble what he said down as a note.

"That makes sense," she spoke in a professional manner, as if he were the customer come to her to ask for such a piece. "The reason why my weapons are so well known is before of my magic, I can enchant piece of metal. Perhaps..." she was musing down almost to herself as she chewed the stub of her pencil, "Perhaps I could enchant the armour to grow and shrink as required." it would be complicated, it would be hard work and gruelling magic but the excitement was running through her now. Making things and being with horses were probably the two occasions that Miri's rough exterior dropped a little. Suddenly she remembered herself and cleared her voice, ceasing in her scribbles.

"You do not have to, this is a trade after all. The terms should be set by us both to mutual satisfaction. Is there anything else you would want, or any conditions you would like to set?"

 

[Baise]

"Conditions?" Valthar asked rhetorically. He was at his heart a simple fishman and didn't think of the nuances of a verbal contract. This one seemed simple enough. Someone more astute might have asked the precise terms of this deal, but Valthar merely offered a shrug.

He set down his pack and stepped out into the open. Valthar started to lean forwards and looked as if he were going to tumble. It was a pair of great paws that landed on the grass.

Valthar turned towards Míriel Fëanorna and drew himself up onto his hind legs. He was a great bear covered in reddish brown fur. There was a serious of small diamonds in a darker shade on his right shoulder, which had looked like simple black tattoos when he had stood before her as a man.

"We have a metal, solstal steel. It can be enchanted to remain when when we shift." He could, apparently, speak in this form too. His voice was low and gravelly.

"No one will let you have any unless you worked as a smith on the island," he said without apology. Valthar dropped back down onto all fours with a thud.

"Front of the chest, head, shoulders, back of the neck. My shape changes far more like this." Going from his hind legs to all fours should have made that obvious.

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

Honestly, Miriel hadn't been prepared for him to be so accepting of the deal, nor had she expected him to just transform. Blinking twice in astonishment, she didn't say anything for a moment, simply listened to what he had to say - another surprise. She had already read what meagre bits were written down about the legendary steel, so it didn't surprise her when he said she wouldn't get her hands on any unless she planned to move to the North. Unfortunately, Miri was very much a summer person, her home being the sweaty jungles in the southern Ixichel Wilds. Grabbing her tape measure she paused in front of the large bear. He was absolutely stunning. The russet fur looked so deep and thick you would be able to loose your hand in its warmth.

"May I?" she waited for his nod before she touched him. It was a tender, light, feather touch to begin with, but when she seemed more certain he really was ok with her touching him, it was quicker and methodical. She thanked the stars she was tall, but for some bits she had to get her stool and use that.

"It is definitely beyond my skill to make it change to fit both human and bear," she conceded. It frustrated her, for she wanted to push her craft to be the best it could be. "But maybe so it shifts to accommodate the movement more. Maybe a chain metal rather than a plate," she was musing out loud, writing things down as she went. It didn't take her very long to do the measurements, probably about 20 minutes in total - maybe even less. "At least, I might be able to offer something crude if more of your kind find themselves in need of something," she said at last, stepping round so she was in front of him again and gave a gracious bow. "Thank you, I'm not quite sure I can put into words the honour you have done me today."

 

[Baise]

"It's..."

At least in bear form it was much harder for his body to betray him and reveal his embarrassment. No one had really been enthralled about him being a shifter before. Certainly those who had tried to do him harm on the road had seemed less than happy about the sudden change in circumstances.

"Chainmail might slide forwards when on all fours," he thought out loud. He stayed in this form for the time being, aware that he would perhaps be slightly red of face if he shifted back.

"In battle when I shift I am something of a large target for javelins and arrows. I am sure others would appreciate something to help." Chain would need some padding behind it or else it was nothing more than a lot of holes to a crossbow. Fortunately a bear had a thick hide and fur as well.

Valthar sat back onto his haunches and shifted back. He pointed towards several pock marks on his left shoulder. In the summer lands he rarely covered his arms.

"Orcs," he explained. The wounds were smaller in this form. "Now, I am very hungry," he admitted.

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

"That is true, your fur is soft, not as coarse as I had thought it would be," it was meant to be a pragmatic observation, and she wasn't looking at him as she spoke, scribbling away in her book. It would definitely have to be some sort of plate that could stop javelins and arrows as he had pointed out. Perhaps... a harness of some kind that plates then slid out of and moved. More like scales, lots of little pieces of metal overlapping one another - that might help with the transition from four legs to hind legs as well. Miriel had to admit, she wasn't entirely sure how he would appear turning back, and she lifted her eyes with slow caution.... then relaxed on seeing him clothed.

"Impressive," Miri snorted, walking over and crouching in front of him to examine the wounds with curiosity. When it came to battle wounds, she was quite bad with the social etiquette of personal space. Pulling down the sleeve on her blouse, she pivoted on her feet to show him the large star like scar on her shoulder blade. "Giant's mace," she grinned, a touch of pride in her words. It had been a lucky escape. And like that, she was back on her feet and reaching for Vilissë, which she handed to him with a flourish.

"Well, if we're all done with business here, why don't you join me for a meal and a drink? There's a tavern round the corner which does a really good homemade pie," she hooked her thumbs into her belt and nodded her head in the general direction of left. "You know... I forgot to even introduce myself properly," a quick laugh. "My name's Míriel Fëanorna," she held out a hand.

 

[Baise]

Valthar scratched at the side of his neck. He had never really thought about the coarseness of his fur before. His svalen hadn't emerged until he had been trapped in Pandemonium. He had never shifted in front of one of his own kind.

"Sounds like you were lucky," he said of the giant. He wasn't doubting her skill, though his perception had already changed just on the basis that she would be anywhere near a giant swinging a mace, just that even a glancing blow from such a beast could have been fatal.

"And Valthar Ardllsson," he added with a nod of his head. "I was never going to turn down food and beer.

"I know most of my kind that come this South are mercenaries. I am not a great warrior. My father was. I got lost here by accident. I am actually just a fisherman," Valthar explained with an apologetic shrug. Might as well get that out of the way now. She dealt in magic weapons and fought giants, he doubted she would find him interesting beyond his ability to shift form.

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

Miriel grinned when he took up her offer of food and a drink and collected her coin and keys. As her house was built next to and over the top of the forge, she had little need to take anything else. Apart from, of course, her set of three throwing knives which she tucked into her boots. You just never knew when you might need them, she reassured herself as again a small voice in the back of her mind asked if she just had an unhealthy attachment to the trio. As he spoke about himself a little she ushered him out the door with his new weapon and locked up behind him. Her eyebrows slowly pulled down into a confused knot.

"Not a warrior?" Miri snorted in disbelief. "From the short time you've been in my shop I've learnt you've faced a 'big witch', an ogre, a troll, you're about to go gallivanting off after a Necromancer..." the elf shook her head and began to lead them down the street, her hands sliding into her pockets comfortably. "I'm sorry Valthar Ardllsson, but being a great warrior does not mean that you stand and commanded battles, or go through rigorous training, it means fighting for good when you need to." It was something she found baffling amongst other races, that being a warrior was something glorious. It was a solemn duty and often incredibly lonely.

Miriel was right about the tavern not being very fair, they had barely walked for a couple of minutes before the large building appeared, it's open doors spilling a warm firelight onto the dusk shrouded streets. There was a soft lyre being played and the melody drifted to them on the street. Upon entering the establishment she held up two fingers to the barman who put a thumbs up back as the pair got seated. Clearly, Miri was a regular.

"But I have to ask, how does one get so lost he ends up so far south?"

 

[Baise]

It gave him something to think about. However, fighting for a good cause wasn't what he was doing. At least not from his perspective. By tooth and claw he would find his way home. Everything he had done so far had merely been necessary to achieve that aim.

His father's deeds had been known across Eratejva. Valthar was not like the man is father had been. Everyone had been keen to remind him of that at every turn.

The bar was uncomfortably warm. Why in blazes would they have the fire burning when it was already so warm outside? Still, there was mead, beer, food and company here. He wasn't about to leave.

"Through hell, it turns out," Valthar replied. He didn't consider himself a great storyteller, but he cruelly left the start of the thread hanging to see if it had her interest.

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

It was the barkeepers wife, Jaynie, who delivered the duo their tankards of the ale on tap. It wasn't the best but it wasn't nasty, good enough to drink with good food and to take the edge off of a day.

"Evenin' Miri, what can I be getting you two this evening?" she was a comely girl, all curves and soft smiles, but she had that slight attitude in the way she held herself that showed she wasn't about to take any drunken nonsense and would be more than happy to turn a man out by the ear. She used the tray she had brought their drinks over on to clear the empty ones the previous customers had left from theirs.

"What's on the menu tonight?" Miriel flicked two golden coin to the girl who caught them out of the air with practised ease. The money would more than cover both of their meals, current drinks and another round after.

"Well. We've got a nice bit of pig roasting on the fire or we've got our homemade game pies just coming out the oven, both with potatoes and some veg." The barwomans eyes glanced to Valthar with mild curiosity, but she was used to the smithy bringing in customers after a long day in the shop.

"I'll take the pie, Valthar?"

Once the woman bustled off with their orders to the kitchen, Miriel leaned back in her chair and took a nice long swig of the ale.

"Consider me buying your meal as payment for this very long story you're about to tell me of your journey through Hell, with full gory details included" her lips twitched. It was a common thing to do for a travelling bard, and it was meant as a slight joke.

 

[Baise]

Valthar chuckled softly, that stoic expression finally breaking.

"There is no taking the offer back now. I might not be the best story teller, but it isn't wise to pull a plate of slow roasted meat out from under the nose of a nordenfiir," Valthar said before draining a third of his mug in one go.

"I was a fisherman. I am a fisherman," Valthar said. He seemed have managed to reach a point of contention for himself already.

"The red mists came close to my home town. Faarin. On the coast. We hunt and we fish and we provide. But I had to raise my axe that day."

The fear was what he remembered most from that day. Emotion, like scent, was such a strong connection between the pst and present. The threads that wove memory together. Valthar felt a flutter of that same fear, but it was coloured by experience.

"I never left home much. I spent most of my time at home, the nearest bar and my boat. Foreigners were strange and confusing so an army of demons slithering out of the mists towards my own town...we held the shield wall as long as we could."

Valthar drained more of his mug and wiped his mouth. At the far side of the inn several dwarves made a brief ruckus around a game of dice. It sounded much more rowdy than it truly was. No one threw a punch.

"We held as long as we could. We lost a lot of people. Demons as black as night on two feet, little white on all fours with razor sharp claws. No two of them quite the same. They fell back and that's when we found out we were in Pandemonium itself. But..."

The rest of the mug was drained in one go.

"...that might require another beer?"

Valthar had the good grace to look a little embarassed this time.

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

The sounds of the tavern became mute to Miriel and she leaned forward bit by bit as the story went on. So much for not being a good story teller!

Miri had her chin resting on the back of her clasped hands by the break in the tale and she took a moment to collect her thoughts. It sounded, frankly, like a horrific situation. To be going about your normal day and then to have not only your town over run, but to find yourself pulled into a hellish landscape for your troubles too? Her own ale was left forgotten so caught up was she in the tale. Something niggled in the back of her mind though, a memory of another's story about red mist and monsters. Perhaps it had been her old tutor and the previous owner of her workshop; he always told her of the more bone chilling tales.

It was Jaynie returning that finally managed to pull Miri's attention back to the real world and she gave the woman a faint smile. The bar woman placed the pairs steaming dishes down in front of them, and as if she had guessed, another ale for Valthar.

"It sounds like a truly horrible experience," a grimace. "But you can't leave me on the story's edge like this - was it a portal stone of some sorts that took you there? How do you even begin to find your way out of a place like that?" She popped a nice chunk of the steaming pie into her mouth as she waited for the next instalment.

 

[Baise]

Her keen mind had already managed to skip to the end. That was mildly disappointing. It was tempered by the fresh meat and second ale being placed before him. He was a simple man and easily pleased. Especially after the hardship of long miles across a foreign land.

"The ground beneath our feet was a dark mulch. Maggots the size of your fist squirming through it. The sky was a dull brown, everything was covered in red vines."

The competing urges to tell the story and stuff his face with roasted hog battled for a few seconds before he continued.

"We barely gathered our wounded before we were attacked again. Demons of even greater stature. There were armies from other realms of Arethil trapped with us. Orcs and...undead."

"We kept fighting forwards because...which other direction would you go? And yes, we found a portal stone. Those red vines were wrapped around the stone, pressing into cracks in its surface. We fought...some of our own. Those that had been changed by the demons.

"We made a final charge and I was dragged to the ground by demons. That was when I first found my svalen. I fell behind the other, charged for the portal stone and found myself on the far side of the world. Next to the laboratory of a mad Alchemist who created chimera from children. But that one will wait until I have eaten..."