Birthright: Tuornen Chapter Five

[Brock Marsh Runoff]

STREETS OF HAES

For all his mountain upbringing, Rennault seems a little nervous at first to see the bear amble about, but it seems like the dwarf has some kind of control over the beast. Might be useful, that.

"Fight with us, Torthur, and you'll have plenty of chances to fight goblins, Alamiens, elves, and damned near anything else with an eye, a hand, and misplaced ambition."

With that, he sets out to find some breakfast with the two soldiers.

"So how did you find Torthur?" Renn asks Roald as the three (plus the bear) walk to the tavern. "I thought my men had found every rough fighter in the city."

"Are you new in town, Torthur? What would bring you here, in the midst of war?"

[steveflam]

"War? Nah I aint here fer that.. I be here fer wrasslin, drinkin an startin me own brewery."

[Varrus the Ethical]

Roald shrugs. "I guess you can say that he kind of fell into my lap, Captain. He just happened to be drinking at the Gorgon's Crown at the same time I was staying there."

[Adam]

Cormac drops to a knee and pulls an arrow from his quiver, drawing and leveling on the grey-skinned creature before letting fly.

[ewancummins]

Cormac drops to a knee and pulls an arrow from his quiver, drawing and leveling on the grey-skinned creature before letting fly.

Cormac's first shot just misses, but his second shot bounces off the wall and strikes Forede in the face.

Foerde isn't harmed by the ricochet, but he's confused for a moment-- long enough for the tall, robed goblin to hurl its spear straight at him. The spear slices through the priest's leonine mane before landing with a thud in a gravel pit behind him.

The other two robed figures drop out of sight behind the top of the wall. Loud voices cry out in goblin-speech...

[steveflam]

Roald shrugs. "I guess you can say that he kind of fell into my lap, Captain. He just happened to be drinking at the Gorgon's Crown at the same time I was staying there."

Torthur keeps up with everyone, though a dwarf. He keeps Clyde close to him and for reason. The ursine doesn't like being around so many
people in the streets. "I 'erd o ye Roald. Siege breaker n all? Neat little feat, lad. As fer me, Misser Renn, Ask around any drinkin hole, I be known fer me prowess wrasslin n drinkin. But fear ye not. I knows how ter use me battle axes jest fine. Once I had me fun in Alamie, I wants ter go n kill me some gobbies. Aint nuthin but a waste o flesh if ye be askin me, them gobbies n worgs. Buncha bulllies n idjits."

He scratches his beard in thought. "Gonner bring back some kegs o ale fer the fun of it. Compare their slop top yer decent ale n mine."

[RocEter]

"Let's fall back and think of a new plan.." Foerde says then he begins chanting.

[ewancummins]

"Let's fall back and think of a new plan.." Foerde says then he begins chanting.

The goblin who had thrown a spear now drops out of sight.


Cormac and Foerde hear tramping boots, irritated curses, and rattling harness from beyond the wall and the gate...

[ewancummins]

.

STREETS OF HAES

Roald shrugs. "I guess you can say that he kind of fell into my lap, Captain. He just happened to be drinking at the Gorgon's Crown at the same time I was staying there."

Torthur keeps up with everyone, though a dwarf. He keeps Clyde close to him and for reason. The ursine doesn't like being around so many
people in the streets. "I 'erd o ye Roald. Siege breaker n all? Neat little feat, lad. As fer me, Misser Renn, Ask around any drinkin hole, I be known fer me prowess wrasslin n drinkin. But fear ye not. I knows how ter use me battle axes jest fine. Once I had me fun in Alamie, I wants ter go n kill me some gobbies. Aint nuthin but a waste o flesh if ye be askin me, them gobbies n worgs. Buncha bulllies n idjits."

He scratches his beard in thought. "Gonner bring back some kegs o ale fer the fun of it. Compare their slop top yer decent ale n mine."

Having reached the Fish Market near the River Gate, the two men and one dwarf find plenty of venues for eating or drinking. With all of the dead men and most of the debris of battle cleared from this broad street, the fishermen and river merchants have set up stalls to serve the hungry crowds. A not quite familiar mixed smell wafts from the nearest stall-- a hint of beer, fish, woodsmoke, and something else harder to place.

Clyde wanders over and sniffs around the plank and canvas stall.

The big man inside nearly jumps out into the street, but then calms down. He turns his bewhiskered, rosy face towards Torthur and the others.
"You gents favor the newest style for fish? Mine's the best. No spoiled lard left over from siege-hoarders. No sir, good fresh cooking fat, just shipped in. And proper beer in the batter too-- not sour dregs! "

A peek into the tent shows a short, plump woman hard at work alternately peeling potatoes and gutting fish. A cauldron set over a smoking makeshift stone stove behind her sizzles and bubbles with hot lard.

[RocEter]

"Let's fall back and think of a new plan.." Foerde says then he begins chanting.

The goblin who had thrown a spear now drops out of sight.


Cormac and Foerde hear tramping boots, irritated curses, and rattling harness from beyond the wall and the gate...

"Cormac, we need to take this temple!" Foerde says to Cormac.

He knows his idea is crazy but with a little bit of divine favor and a lot of luck they could take it. To him it all depends on how many goblins coming rushing out that gate. Either way he begins to chant in Andu.

[steveflam]

.

STREETS OF HAES

Roald shrugs. "I guess you can say that he kind of fell into my lap, Captain. He just happened to be drinking at the Gorgon's Crown at the same time I was staying there."

Torthur keeps up with everyone, though a dwarf. He keeps Clyde close to him and for reason. The ursine doesn't like being around so many
people in the streets. "I 'erd o ye Roald. Siege breaker n all? Neat little feat, lad. As fer me, Misser Renn, Ask around any drinkin hole, I be known fer me prowess wrasslin n drinkin. But fear ye not. I knows how ter use me battle axes jest fine. Once I had me fun in Alamie, I wants ter go n kill me some gobbies. Aint nuthin but a waste o flesh if ye be askin me, them gobbies n worgs. Buncha bulllies n idjits."

He scratches his beard in thought. "Gonner bring back some kegs o ale fer the fun of it. Compare their slop top yer decent ale n mine."

Having reached the Fish Market near the River Gate, the two men and one dwarf find plenty of venues for eating or drinking. With all of the dead men and most of the debris of battle cleared from this broad street, the fishermen and river merchants have set up stalls to serve the hungry crowds. A not quite familiar mixed smell wafts from the nearest stall-- a hint of beer, fish, woodsmoke, and something else harder to place.

Clyde wanders over and sniffs around the plank and canvas stall.

The big man inside nearly jumps out into the street, but then calms down. He turns his bewhiskered, rosy face towards Torthur and the others.
"You gents favor the newest style for fish? Mine's the best. No spoiled lard left over from siege-hoarders. No sir, good fresh cooking fat, just shipped in. And proper beer in the batter too-- not sour dregs! "

A peek into the tent shows a short, plump woman hard at work alternately peeling potatoes and gutting fish. A cauldron set over a smoking makeshift stone stove behind her sizzles and bubbles with hot lard.

"Whoa Clyde! Stay there!" Torthur calls after the bear as he walks up next to it and ruffles its fur affectionately. Torthur smells it too and likes it. "Who'd a thunk, beer n fat in food? An this be a family business, I see. Fellas come here we eatin from 'ere! Me friend Clyde an I will have a few. Don't know about these other gentlemen." The dwarf hands over a few coins, happy to. He liked the idea of a family business, sort of reminded him of home.

[ewancummins]

STREETS OF HAES-

The street vendor takes the copper pennies, counts them, and says-

"Full scoop for Master Dwarf and the same for his bear."

The woman lifts a sieve from the cauldron, full of sizzling fish covered in batter and crispy tater slices. She wraps the hot food in dried reeds and hands the packets to the man.

Holding the steaming bundles in his broad, callused hands, he offers the meals to Torthur.

"Careful, it's still real hot!"

[steveflam]

Torthur lkicks his lips in anticipation. Taking one in each hand, he juggles them a little because of the heat. "Hot ....hot....hot.... hot.."

He places one on the ground for Clyde. "Knock yourself out. I'll git ye a few more, ye ursine pig."

He hands over some silver coins now "Keep em coming fer tha pig there. An feed me friends too."

After blowing on it to cool it down he takes a healthy bite and savors the strangely prepared fish.

Between mouthfuls he'll ask "Where ye get yer ale?"

[ewancummins]

Torthur lkicks his lips in anticipation. Taking one in each hand, he juggles them a little because of the heat. "Hot ....hot....hot.... hot.."

He places one on the ground for Clyde. "Knock yourself out. I'll git ye a few more, ye ursine pig."

He hands over some silver coins now "Keep em coming fer tha pig there. An feed me friends too."

After blowing on it to cool it down he takes a healthy bite and savors the strangely prepared fish.

Between mouthfuls he'll ask "Where ye get yer ale?"

"Trade secret." He smiles. "But if you're thirsty, try the Kraken's Arms. I stopped in for a drink when I got into town yesterday morning. They don't have much good ale left, not at prices I cared to pay. But they had just finished brewing a tasty batch of small beer. Maybe it's not all gone yet?"

[ewancummins]

FARMER'S HOUSE, CROAKER NORGE



After Devlin reads the latest dispatches and sends out messages of his own, one of his knights tells him that breakfast has been served.


The farmer’s wife has set a table for Devlin and his four knights, with a stool in the corner for Filbert. She and her husband withdraw to the porch, as befits their lowly station.

Young Sir Joram inspects the platters of white butter, black bread, boiled mutton, and roasted turnips. He impales a piece of fowl on the point of his dagger lifts it to his nostrils, sniff, and declares
" Looks good to me, Your Grace."


No sooner than the party has set down to eat but a rider walks through the door, bowing low. The mustachioed young gentleman speaks in hurried tones, “Your Grace, forgive me, but I bring urgent news. A company of heavy horse has been spotted on this side of the border, riding towards Fox Run in Ghonallison. Not Count Robin’s men--they ride under the sign of an Black Tower.”