---Turn 20---

---Duncan, Darmon, and Aenarion outside the Inn---

The axe went back up, and came down a little faster this time. Still smiling, Duncan made a lifting-and-chopping-down gesture. Darmon nodded, lifted the axe up, and brought it slashing down. He lost his grip at the bottom of the arc and the axe slashed down, burying itself headfirst into the snow just a hand-span from the instep of his right foot. Darmon went very, very white.

Aenarion watched Duncan and Darmon spar for a little while. After ten minutes, he turned on his heel and surveyed the Square. Tracks of footprints criss-crossed the Square. Some led to the various roadways leaving the Square but the greatest number left the Inn for the walls. The second heaviest-trod path connected the Inn to a squat two-storey building on the northern edge of the square. Smiling slightly, Aenarion headed to the Stores to get some thicker clothing.

 

---Skip to Rodger and Aenarion in the Stores---

The door swung open again and the Elf walked in. Magden beamed at him. "Good afternoon sir, what can I do for you?"

Aenarion lightly shook his cloak to loosen the snow on it, which fell to the floor and promptly began to melt. He pushed back his hood and knocked some more snow loose from inside the hood.

Then he smiled at Magden. "Hello, my little friend. I could use some new clothes, as I fear I am not in fashion this year."

"Certainly, sir, certainly. I'll be with you just as soon as I've finished with this gentleman… Unless there's anything specific you require?"

"Some thick, warm boots and hose, and a large shirt to wear over this." Aenarion reached inside his cloak to pluck at his dark green shirt.

"Very good, sir. I'll be right back…" Nodding to the pensive soldier, the Halfling wandered off behind the wall of bins.

Aenarion glanced over the stack of clothes the Halfling brought. He picked through the items fastidiously, dropping the majority onto a second pile off to one side.

"No, no, that's a little too flashy, I fear." Hopefully, the storekeeper pointed out a particularly fine shirt woven from Arabian silks. The Elf glanced briefly at it before raising his head to look at the Halfling. "Do you have anything thicker? I don't think that will work well for me." Several fine items landed in the discard pile and suddenly Magden realised that the Elf was searching for warmth over appearance. Without saying anything, he disappeared back behind the bins.

 

---Outside the Inn---

The stranger watched the two men as they swung their axes around. "With moves like those, no green-skin is safe round these parts!" He grinned as the two men turned at the sound of his voice. "The Dusty Throat, I presume?" he said, indicating the inn with a gnarled piece of deadwood he had picked up on his travels. "I hope the landlord here serves Tilean Brandy: I could do with the warmth." He shivered and blew into his hands for emphasis.

"You two look like you could use a drink too... What say I buy you both a round and you can tell me all about these Goblins I've been hearing about, eh?"

Duncan stopped his work, patting Darmon heartily on the shoulder. Looking over to the newcomer, he smiled and nodded to him, lifting his arm to wipe some sweat from under his helmet. Looking back to Darmon, he smiled at him. "Okay. You did okay for a first try. Keep that up and you'll never have to worry about Goblins coming near you again." Darmon stretched a sore muscle, keeping most of his weight off his injured foot.

"I'm more worried about being too close to myself when I'm swinging this thing." Duncan simply nodded and wiped at some more sweat, slipping his axe back into its belt loop. Turning to Carlsen, he smiled and folded his arms.

"You're right stranger, I could use a drink, but its only fair to know who's doing the buying. I'm Duncan by the way." he said, wiping his sweaty hand before extending it for the man to shake.

"Gruber, Carlsen Gruber." The stranger grinned again as he shook the offered hand. Looking over Duncan's shoulder with his roaming ice-blue eyes, he laughed at Darmon. "By Sigmar's beard lad, remind me to be out of arm's length of you when the green-skins come."

Darmon raise an eyebrow at the mild blasphemy. The world outside the monastery was very different indeed. A casual remark like that, if overheard, would have meant a day of repentant fasting. Here, it seemed perfectly natural. Clumsily hanging the axe from his belt again, Darmon stepped forward to shake the proffered hand. "I might have one. It is, after all, the one vice the clergy are allowed."

Duncan merely chuckled and shrugged: "Hopefully," he said, beginning to move towards the Inn, "we won't have to deal with Goblins too much. Now how about that drink?"

Xavier caught up with the three men as they hesitated, waiting outside the door. The four went in together.

 

---Skip to the Stores---

A third pile of clothes had grown beside the other two on Magden's counter. The Elf perched delicately on the side of the counter, one immaculate foot just sliding into a nobleman's black leather country-boot. Standing erect, Aenarion took a step forward and frowned. "These boots are too tight in the toes. Do you have any others? I really appreciate your help, you know." Magden smiled solicitously and held up a pair of tan leather walking shoes, complete with padded collar, high sides, and delicate carvings in the side of the thick sole. The Elf reached for them languidly. "Ah, those look wonderful...""

The Halfling watched him put them on with just the correct amount of concern. Yes, thought the Elf, a decent sort, for a Halfling. Pausing with one shoe on and one shoe off, Aenarion looked up at the storekeeper. "So, you must know just about everybody in this settlement. If someone might need some, say, information or 'services', who would he talk to?"

Magden looked away for a moment, his lips moving. "It depends on what this person is looking for, mi'lud. If… this person… were looking for… company… then there are a few… ladies… I might be able to introduce them to. There's no particular place in town for such a rendezvous, so the best I could suggest to your… friend… is that he might meet one of other of these ladies in the inn… or in his room." The two made eye contact, Magden looking for some reaction and Aenarion as impassive as ever. "Money might have to change hands first, of course, to prevent any… unpleasantness." Their eyes met again. There was still no clue as to what the Elf was after. "If your friend were after… certain substances then it may be that I could provide them. I have a small supply for… favoured customers. My personal store will have to last a long winter and so the price will, unfortunately, be higher than the gentleman might…" He trailed off, confused by Aenarion's lack of response.

 

---Junither et al. inside the Inn---

Stamping his feet to shake off the majority of the snow on his boots, Carlsen unslung his bow and quiver and carefully laid them near the fire to dry off. Unravelling the heavy cloak from around his body, he looked over at the plump woman behind the bar.

"A mug of your frothiest please, and a brandy, Tilean if you have it. The same for these two." Carlsen indicated the two axemen behind him. Martha nodded and reached for the glasses. Hanging his cloak on the drying rack before the fire, Carlsen took a seat at the bar and studied the patrons around him. "A motley looking crew if ever I saw it. Particularly this one" he indicated the soldier slumped over the bar. "So, what's all this about Goblins then?"

Xavier shook the snow from his cloak and walked towards his stool by the fire. He paused to speak quietly to each of the adventurers as he passed.

Duncan wiped his hands again and nodded to everyone he knew in the room. Most nodded back. As Darmon moved past him, he grabbed the boy's shoulder and cleared his throat. "My friend here is a fairly quick learner. If he runs into them, those Goblins won't know what hit them." Amos smiled affectionately. Vertan barked once, bitterly, still not raising his head from his arms. Martha smiled as she placed the last of their drinks on the counter.

After the hours of axe practice, Darmon was thankful to be in the warm tavern, and couldn't remember a better tasting mug of ale. He examined the blisters the axe-handle had raised on his hand, probing them with his fingers and trying to decide if they needed to be lanced. "I still wish I had a Warhammer," he muttered to himself, although he took comfort in the axe sitting at his side. When he could get the hostess' attention he asked for a bowl of whatever stew she had, and a needle, if she could spare it.

Still chuckling, Duncan patted Darmon on the shoulder and swivelled back to look at Carlsen and those promised drinks. The other man was lowering his thimble of brandy from his lips, fighting to keep the tears back. "Ugh…good…stuff…" Grinning, he tossed the other half of the measure back and burst out coughing. Duncan grinned at him and at the apprehensive noviate, paused for effect, then tossed his back in one go. Carlsen laughed, clapped the labourer on the knee and toasted him with the empty glass. Duncan coughed once, his cheeks slightly flushed.

 

---Time Passes---

The lanky Factor pushed the door open and led a Dwarf with a full beard of dark-brown hair and a white-haired man in stained and stinking priest's robes into the room. "Gentlemen, ladies." He nodded to Martha and ordered three ales. She nodded and started pulling the drinks. The Dwarf nodded to Amos.

 

---End Turn---