Quest The Sword Pointed At The Throat of The Goblin King

[Ser Gavin Halbert]

(OOC: Takes place 31 years ago.)

It's been a few days since Gavin saved Kallirrhoe Aedus from his own people, he still felt a pang of guilt having to raise his sword against them but they were about to kill an innocent woman. Gavin had to do it even if the victim was a witch, still Gavin never expected the decision to make the honorable choice to be so difficult. The two were walking on the Gold Road with Gavin still looking for work, it seemed Kallirrhoe didn't mind being Gavin's cheerleader during battles and peppering him with kisses when he wins. He was "her Knight" and Gavin had to admit he felt better about himself with Kallirrhoe cheering him on.

The witch was asleep in Gavin's arms, her head leaning on his breastplate. He couldn't imagine that it was the most comfortable place to lie your head on though Kallirrhoe insisted that it was. "Good morning sleepyhead," Gavin smiled at the Kallirrhoe and looked ahead at a village ahead. "How are you feeling?" He was taking a liking to this Witch that was for sure and carrying her around kept his strength up.

Kallirrhoe Aedus

 

[Kallirrhoe Aedus]

Rhoe yawned and snuggled against him some more, trying to wake up, but not wanting to stop being so close to him. She rubbed her aching neck, though she didn't complain aloud. "The nightmares are subsiding. Slowly, but they are." Gods forbid they would start again if he ever had to leave her. Imagining things was bad enough, but when she had actually almost died from the things she dreamed about, it made it hard to sleep at night. Or at all. And her circadian rhythm must have been affected by the horrible fright she'd suffered, because she fell asleep at the oddest times those first few days... but usually rocked by the gentle motion of his walking. Of course, he would have been right- the breastplate was not a very comfortable pillow, but his bare chest, which was, would probably leave him vulnerable in a battle. Mainly, she said the breastplate was comfortable because it was as close as she could get to him, and in that sense she wasn't lying at all.

She still felt self-conscious in her clothing, and she probably smelled horrible, too, because fear could make one sweat. And their nightly activities- or sometimes at other times, too- could sometimes have the same effect.

And he'd been carrying her all that time, and she couldn't remember hearing one word of complaint, unless she'd been asleep!

"I probably need a bath, but that would require your not carrying me anymore."

 

[Darmen Tarn]

The band of a half-dozen young men had descended on the quiet village of Daybreak, causing no small amount of commotion at their chosen tavern. The small group was loud and boisterous, happily converting their recent pay to drinks and high spirits – and at a rate high enough that the bartender was content to bid them stay. Among their ranks was Darmen Tarn, a short stout man with a head of youthful and lengthy hair, a drink in his hand amidst a boisterous recounting of the victory that yielded their pay. A topic they all hardly seemed to grow weary of.

This, and thoughts of his next move ran through his mind as he and the crew he had been hired with had their merry celebration. “So what’rya gonna do now that the contract’s up?”

“Damned if I know.”
“Damned if I care!”
“That’s tomorrow talk!”
“Hey-Did you see when those two spearmen came at me?”

And so the topic came full circle back to their victory. Fair point; today was a day of drink without worry. There was but some time until the tavern would close and release them. Rejoicing was the task of the hour; planning could wait.

Ser Gavin Halbert

 

[Liath]

Another village. Another blur of memories. Centuries of life mixed memories together in little forgettable places like this. Most had never seen a man like Liath, nor ever would again. A warrior of the Delbhna, an Erainn, would stick out. Especially one in such antiquated attire. His pact as a Warlock of Fiadh and servant of the Fae Lady gave him unnatural movement and charisma. But this sleepy little place would barely register on his memory in a week's time. When your Patron commanded you go somewhere, you went. Even if the orders specified no time or what to do when there. And this place would be a nice stop indoors.

Standing under seven feet just barely, the hawk-eyed exile had braided the flame-colored goatee and his hair, heavy bronze beads with the curious script of his home carved into it with knotwork animals. A spear that looked like a branch had naturally grown around an eerie-looking stone in his right hand, and a plaid cloak was pulled close to hide a hefty double-edge sword belted to his left hip, a strange and heavy Pictish like shield in blue and white designs was strapped to his back. Trews of stout green wool covered his legs, stout boar hide shoes. His chest was covered in a worn but well-cut saffron tunic, with pale blue tattoos that covered his arms and indeed his whole torso in whorls plainly clear. The only ornament was a heavy bronze torc at his neck and two matching bracelets.

Stepping into the tavern after slipping his spear into his shield bindings, Liath ignored any glances or silences and ordered the local equivalent of whiskey. Fiadh would sense the intoxicant, sure. And be displeased. But he didn't give much of a fig right now. Ale wouldn't cut it. Taking the drink, and ordering a bit of eggs and hash and a room, he took a seat to the side against a wall with his pack under the table, but not in a stereotypical corner. The whiskey would either quiet or encourage the madness in his mind. Only time would tell.

Darmen Tarn | Kallirrhoe Aedus | Ser Gavin Halbert

 

[Jeremiah]

Seven decades. Though time really was irrelevant when it had no effect on your body or mind. He wandered into Daybreak Village with zero idea as to how he had even arrived there. When you walk for nigh a century eventually you just let the wanderlust do its thing.

In reality he had no destination. Not yet. It also seemed like asking people if they'd seen anyone who looks like him was like catching butterflies with an arrow-less bow. Instead he just took the stares as they came and waved to all regardless of their reaction.

He'd found most people don't appreciate that he doesn't sleep, either, meaning if he was to stay here a couple days and perhaps earn his keep somehow, he'd need lodging. The last time he stayed awake standing in the street a woman thought he was a monster. Well, most people thought that of him anyways.

Jeremiah swung open the doors to the tavern, whistling through his mehanical mouth. He moseyed to the barkeep an bowed himself with his hat.

"My dear beverage provider! I am looking for a room that may be cheap and accessible! I need not much space, I'm also looking for work if there need be labor done!"

The bartender just looked wide eyed at the man of bronze. Entirely unsure as to what to say or what he was looking at.

 

[Ser Gavin Halbert]

"Are you mad?" Gavin chuckled gently rocking Kallirhoe as though she was a baby. "You smell lovely like a freshly grown Rose at Springtime. You've taken a bath in the riverbank just last night!" The two of them had been travelling for a few days helping.... interesting people to say the least. If there was one thing that Gavin learned in his travels as a Squire it's that Aretrhil can be a strange place. It's probably why Oban keeps a close eye on the women since they can produce the strongest of magic. That Giant Hen that he and Kallirrhoe met, to think she was created by a mad witch.

Kallirrhoe even though she was a witch did not deserve the treatment she received by the Oban soldiers. She was always eager to sleep with the young man which was something that he wanted to no but couldn't resist her alluring charm. Gavin sighed, he wondered if Ser Thomas faced the same temptations as he is doing right now. He never taught how to resist the opposite sex. The two of them approached a quaint little town, the sign near the entrance read: Daybreak Village.

Gavin heard good things about the town, served as the halfway point of the Gold Road for traveling merchants going in and out to Alliria. It was made from Dwarven architecture that dated back to the Age of Wonders. There was even an Derelict Airship that people could tour around that was located outside of the village. At least that's what Gavin had heard, the Village makes the bulk of their coin from tourism and travelers visiting their shops and inns.

"I'm sure you're hungry," Gavin said entering the nearest inn. He was greeted by the bawdy singing of a man and the rowdiness of the inn. Some people in the corner were playing dice, some were at the table ahead drinking pints of ale. "Time to get some grub," The young man said carrying Kallirhoe.

Kallirrhoe Aedus

 

[Kallirrhoe Aedus]

Rhoe smiled softly. reaching to caress Gavin's cheek. "You're probably right. I need to calm down. It's over now...."

Her throat suddenly clogged. So why did she still feel so...watched? The bawdy shouting of the men as they entered the tavern unnerved her, and she didn't quite know why. She'd used her body for plenty of men, to keep herself from being reported, or worse.

Because now I finally know what it's like to want someone and maybe have them want me back. Because I might honestly to the gods be in love. He knew the worst about me almost from the beginning, unlike most. And because I'm tired of the life I had before. The hiding who I am unless I'm sure my powers are wanted and needed, the faking pleasure when I don't feel any to keep myself alive. I' m tired....

She'd explained that over the last few days on their trip. Somehow such things were easier to admit with Gavin's arms around her. Still, she snuggled a little bit closer as they entered the tavern. She would feel utterly useless, just sitting there on the ground if he wasn't carrying her, and she knew it was possible people had looked at her strangely over the past few days. But even now that she might be able to walk again- or at least was closer to it- she felt so safe when he carried her that she never wanted him to stop.

What was happening to her since she'd met him?

It was true, though, for the first couple of days, her stomach could not bring itself to eat. Only now that they'd been helping people along the way was her system beginning to return to normal.

" I should try to eat something." Thank you for looking out for me.

Well, then, what now? Perhaps while they ate, they could hunt out another quest to involve themselves in. The nearest tables seemed to be occupied by interesting looking people. And just what was that...thing... standing at the bar? Rhoe hadn't seen anything like it at home.

Ser Gavin Halbert Liath Darmen Tarn Jeremiah

 

[Darmen Tarn]

Stepping into the tavern after slipping his spear into his shield bindings, Liath ignored any glances or silences and ordered the local equivalent of whiskey.

The band of men in the tavern stilled their conversation, one of them glancing towards the giant of a man before the remainder turned their gaze to him as well. Well into their drink, their curious looks were obvious as they peered over the commotion of the newcomer before returning their attention back onto themselves and resuming their loud conversation within the busy tavern.

Jeremiah swung open the doors to the tavern, whistling through his mehanical mouth. He moseyed to the barkeep an bowed himself with his hat.

"My dear beverage provider! I am looking for a room that may be cheap and accessible! I need not much space, I'm also looking for work if there need be labor done!"

At this the men gave their discussion another pause, turning to the odd automation in unison and its strange sounding speech. They shared hushed questions, asking each other what it was, or what they thought it was; for none of them had even the slightest clue either. Eventually they returned to their former topic once more, bantering among each other at their chosen bar table of the evening even as others entered after.

Their topic seemed to involve the large red haired man, albeit indirectly. The band of raucous mercenaries were apt to compare his large stature to that of their fallen foes, their already bragging tone becoming more energetic. Darmen spoke up next:

“That guy with the axe – he must have been around that big, no more than a hand smaller.”
“Doubt even close, Darmen”
“Big compared to you, maybe.”
“Yeah, that’s like twice your size, pal.”
“You wouldn’t even dare take on someone like that.”

In all honesty it was the liquor that spurred such a claim from Darmen’s lips, and it was the liquor too that caused him to take offence at his comrade’s doubt in his story, even if it was an exaggeration. Darmen was content to take another swig of his ale, before another of the men spoke up with a trouble making dare.

“I’ll even put 5 silver on it!”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Take him, pal.”
“We got your back!”

Challenged to live up to his own drunken tale, Darmen took another gulp of his brew. For a moment, he seemed hesitant to react until the next words were spoken:

“Don’t be a coward - Go on, yeah?”

His expression turned to an offended scowl, eyes shooting daggers at Gaz before setting his mug on the table with a deep thump and spillage of beer. With the eyes of all companions upon him he slowly rose from his seat, their gaze following as the brash young Darmen rounded the table and began to approach the towering man – one nearly twice his size. Unwise? Most likely. But he was well inebriated – and certainly not in mind to accept the mark of ‘coward’ peacefully.

 

[Liath]

As Gaz ran his mouth, Liath looked up from a cup of whiskey and pulled what could only be described as the bastard love child of a kukri and seax from his belt and stabbed the table with it. The look that followed was pure venom and derision at the other, ignoring Darmen Tarn for a moment as he stared daggers at the loudmouth drunk.

"Come and dance the dance of four fingers then, my loud mouthed companion. Let the boy keep that pretty skin whole, and us warriors show him how men do. Unless, of course, you can only goad children to do what you dare not..."

Thinly veiled disgust and a tinge of rage in the madness that shone in his eyes, and a feral smile that would give even rabid beasts pause.

He hated braggarts.

Darmen Tarn