---Turn 20 - Back-post---

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

Xavier shook the snow from his cloak and walked towards the three sitting at the bar. Waving Junither over, he paused to speak quietly to the four adventurers.

---Skip---

 

---Turn 20b - Back-post---

---Rodger and Aenarion in the Stores---

"So, friend, how much are you asking for the clothes?" The Halfling looked at the Elf and smiled his best apologetic smile.

---Skip---

"For these? By the gods, man, I think I'm the eighth fellow to wear this shirt. Granted, the boots are more than suitable, so I'll add in a little more for those. How about fifteen and six?"

The two haggled on, the watching Soldier ignoring the sometimes-heated discussion going on beside him. At one point, the diminutive Halfling threatened to throw the armed Elf out. Eventually the two agreed a price and shook on it, the Halfling fighting the urge to gloat, the Elf as impassive as his race could be. Magden looked up at the expressionless Elf, his brow twisted with the first traces of suspicion. "You do have 18 crowns, don't you?"

"Ha! Of course I do, but you can charge THAT to the Factor!" Alarmed by Aenarion's response, Magden ducked a little bow. He scribbled a note on a scrap of slate as the Elf paused to dress.

---Skip---

"Ah Sir! If' you'd only spoken sooner! This is only a small town - unfortunately - and we have but a few tradesmen. What were you looking for exactly? Pharmacist's powders? Recreational potions? Witches' charms? Books?" Magden looked half-hopeful, half desperately confused.

"Books, you say? That holds a little promise. I wouldn't be looking to purchase, of course, but I would be interested in reading one or two volumes, especially if there were any that chronicled a history of this area. Not just a traditional history book, though," Aenarion leaned low over the counter and whispered. "One that covered the, shall we say, darker side of things in this land. Like if someone had some information written about the green-skin tribes, or like fare. Know anyone who's got something about that?" Magden scratched his chin, his lips moving silently.

"Books on Goblins…" He shook his head. "No, I don't know of anyone who has something like that. The Lord might have something, as might the Alchemist, but I know nothing for sure." He shook his head again, the heavy forelock swinging in counterpoise. "And I don't know why you'd want them in the first place. There're people in the town who could tell you all a book could - Amos and his girl, Lucky, would be a good start, as would Urkan and Vertan. Those two know a lot about killing them, that's for sure. Their Shaman can't write so you ain't - sorry milord - are not going to find any of their texts in a town, especially a small town like this!"

---Skip---

 

---Turn 21---

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

"Oh, sorry. Xavier Von Hirst, of the Nuln Von Hirsts."

"Carlsen Gruber, and by the way things have gone since I got here, I'm delighted to meet you." Taking Xavier's hand, he shook it vigorously.

"I hope you're not offended by my taking the initiative in this fashion, and I certainly don't wish to assume any military leadership position; I'd rather cover the management side of things. Perhaps Storm, who I understand has some experience in this regard, should take charge of our little company, though I've said to the Factor that we'd work closely with the proper authorities under Captain Urkan's direction. Any questions?" Carlsen nodded.

"First off. Who's Storm?

"Oh, sorry," replied Xavier, "Storm's a mercenary captain we met on our way here. Skilled, dedicated, fearless warrior." The foppish Student looked about but the brooding Mercenary still hadn't returned although his knife, left stuck into the counter-top, had vanished.

"More importantly..." Carlsen looked over at the initiate, quietly soothing his blistered palms close by the fire, "...you've signed me up as a mercenary with him!" Carlsen remained stony-faced as he scrutinised Xavier's youthful face for any reaction.

"Um." Xavier looked thoughtful. "Darmon. Initiate of Sigmar. He's... ah... yes, he's our spiritual advisor. Looks after the health of our immortal souls and so forth."

Carlsen's face lit with mirth and he clapped Xavier on the shoulder. "Away lad I'm just toying with ye. Good work. What's yer poison? It's on the Lord, after all. " Smiling broadly, Carlsen turned towards the bar, evading the sleeping mass draped like Cathayan silk over a stool or two. "Barkeep, gimme a... Hmm, let me see. Something pricey... " Martha wandered over and lent on the counter in front of them. Keeping her voice low and conspiratorial, she beckoned them to lean closer.

"If it's not your money, I've got a bottle of Norse Aquavit you could get rid of for me." Carlsen looked at Xavier and licked his lips.

"What do you say?"

"Go on," Martha coaxed. "It's thirty years old - good stuff - and sealed in a lead-glass bottle." Xavier looked unsure. "It's three crowns a bottle! It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience - a free bottle of antique Aquavit!"

"Do you think I could see the wine list, please?" Without comment, Martha ticked her wares off on her podgy fingers.

"I've got a couple of bottles of Estellian White, and a couple of the Red… and yes, I've got one bottle of Brettonian Red left. A 2493 if memory serves. What are you having?"

Xavier chose the 2493 Brettonian Red - 'a good year!' - and Carlsen and Duncan plumped for the Aquavit. Martha nodded, pleased and bustled off out the back to fetch the bottles. She gave the Red to Xavier who whipped off the foil and eased the hand-carved cork out of the mis-shaped bottle with practised ease. Duncan lent heavily on the Aquavit's cap while loosening the wires. The coin closing off the top had welded itself to the neck of the bottle but they got it off easily enough by levering it up with the edge of a dagger. It looked like water when Duncan poured it out into the brandy thimbles they'd just emptied. In contrast, the Red was almost opaque. The smell was overpoweringly rich with just a hint of oak barrels and fruit many years old. The three toasted each other and drank. Xavier smiled, a tear welling in the corner of his eye.

"Gods…" He wiped the tear away with a finger and took another sip. "That's… Wow… That's the best I've tasted in ages…" He took a closer look at the label: 2393. He shook his head in amazement and took another sip. The other two also had tears in their eyes, but that was more due to the strength of the spirit rather than to the quality of its ageing.

 

---Skip---

"Thanks for the drink, friend." Carlsen said with a wide smile, still fumbling with the empty glass as he spoke. "It's just what I needed after all of that practise." He gave Darmon a fleeting glance: The boy had his face just inches above a steaming plate of stew and he was shovelling as fast as his half-numb hands could manage. The smell made Duncan's stomach ache. "Maybe I can return the favour to you some time," Duncan said, folding his arms and resting them on the counter. "So what brings you to this strange little town?"

Carlsen swirled the contents of his stein, staring wistfully beyond the contents. A tiny, almost-smile creased his lips briefly. "Fate" Chuckling without mirth, Carlsen emptied the mug. "I've been tracking some particularly elusive game for a few weeks now. Followed the trail up and over the hills before the snow came in. By His beard, I should've turned back long ago. Damn snow." Staring squarely at the Labourer, Carlsen continued. "As soon as the Westerly swept in, the trail was destroyed. Stumbled around for a few nights, you know, sleeping in the shelter of the riverbank. It led me here, so here I am" Carlsen's eyes darted left and right, seeming to lower his voice as though They could hear every word. "Out of the frying pan, eh? Such a shame too. Back in the city I had some uppity hedge-wizard from the celestial guild offering a big bag of Karls for the skin." Carlsen leaned closer to Duncan, his voice adopting a conspiratorial tone.
"And only Sigmar.." Carlsen made the symbol of the twin-tailed comet quickly as he invoked His name. "... knows WHAT those mad spell-flingers want it for, eh?" At the mention of Sigmar's name, Darmon pulled his face up from his stew.

"You use His name quite casually. Let us pray that His aid in the coming battle is not so casual." Darmon pushed the dregs of his stew away. "I am no fighting man. The goblins may well make short work of me. But Sigmar has given me all that I need to serve him as he desires. I hope that you have some faith that can bring you the sort of comfort my faith brings me." There was a pause as the scrawny initiate stared the bigger man down. Carlsen looked away, embarassed, and poured himself another thimble-full of Aquavit.

Duncan ignored the heavy bottle and reached for his first mug of ale. "So, Carlsen, do you have a profession at all?"

<Reply-Carlsen>

 

---End Turn---