Nicodemus

The wizard decides to ignore Doyl's comments and turns to Sallah instead. "Ye-yes, that is correct", he mutters and takes another gulp of his beer.

Doyl

Doyl gives Sallah a stern look and growls "Well, I guess I must've missed it, Sally, because of all the fighting I was doing!" He tightens his grip on his tankard. "And what did you do? Striking poses and keeping your pointy ears keen for Wyrmtongue!"

His voice turns cold as he adds "Silme might still be alive if you'd bothered to even try to stick that spear of yours down the creature's throat before it uttered that spell that struck him down." Doyl lifts his mug and mutters "Here's to you, Silme! Hope you're in a better place," and takes a long gulp.

Sallah

The elf's amber eyes become silvery like liquid mercury and the silvery speckles on his temples become more prominent for a moment. A puff of chilling mist leaves his mouth before he gets back to his senses. "Be respectful with all things related to the creatures of millenia, lest ye'll face your destiny sooner than expected," he comments on Doyl's words which apparently hit a painful spot.

"That spirit has no throat; not even a corporeal body, hence Sallah decided to defend those in need and let the offense to be carried out by those born to offend, not to defend." His words are calm but a hint of rebuking tone can be heard under the surface. "Concerning that elf, Silme, was it? he's probably not dead, just gone. Sallah thinks he must've been taken to this Tavern Caliph, wherever it may be. Sallah received a call from Ehlonna the Huntress to hunt this spirit, but the fate of the spirit is probably tied to that amulet Silme held. Sallah will stay here for the night but would like to leave early in the morning to find this Tavern Caliph. Divine calls cannot be turned down, neither by mortal men, nor by elves of the centuries, and not even by dragons of millenia."

Doyl

Doyl lowers his pint slowly, brow furrowed in mock confusion. "Born to offend?" he exclaims and leans toward Sallah. "People keep telling me that, don't have a clue why," he adds with a tonsil-rattling beery burp right in Sallah's face. He then leans back, clearly satisfied.

"Well, oh Great Protector, I guess you're not the only one planning on buggering off by dawn," he says, glancing at Nicodemus and the late Sir Grale. "You kill a knight and others come looking. Not going to give up easily, either!"

Updated 25 November 2013 (15:15)

Sallah

The elf stays calm as the bubbling gust of wind unsettles his hair. He smooths it back with a stroke before answering.

"Sallah may have choosen incorrect wording, good sir, and requests your apology. What Sallah meant was that some are simply better, or more beneficial if you like, when charging weapons raised high. Maybe due to birth; maybe due to scholarship or battlefield experience. Sallah is of much more use at defense but has devastating power while doing so. Time has just not come to show it. It is in Sallah's blood and the way of the paladins is an excellent way to improve. "

"Well then, Nicodemus, " the elf turns to the wizard, "You being so silent all the time, or just now? Maybe this amount of beer dozed you off? Sallah could imagine calling it a day and retiring for the rest of the night. What do the both of you say?"

Berek Wolf-blood

A burly blonde elf draped in the pelt of an oversized wolf walks in, the creaking of the door breaking the tension inside the tavern. This elf also has a bow slung around his back, carved with arcane runes of fire and ice on the bows sharpened metal limbs. Two knives dangle at his waist, glowing a faint purple in the fire light.

He nods to the barman and sits at the side of the tavern, near enough to Sallah, Doyl, and Nicodemus so that he can hear them with out intruding overly in their conversation. He begins humming to the minstrel's tune, and takes a swill of the ale he is given.

Updated 1 August 2014 (18:52)

Doyl

When the blond elf enters the tavern Doyl's eyes swing reflexively toward him, a sudden sign of attentiveness through his drunken haze. Once he sees that the elf doesn't seem hostile he returns his gaze toward his mug, stops, and goes back to peering at Berek. Doyl ignores Sallah and Nicodemus completely, concentrating rather on maintaining his disbelieving stare.

When Berek sits down, Doyl rises briskly, gulps down his beer in the few steps it takes for him to reach the bar and slams the empty mug on the counter with accustomed vigour. His finger wags in the barkeeper's direction absent-mindedly as he leans toward the newcomer and says, "I know about schools of fish, murders of crows, and packs of wolves, but tell me, pointy-ears, what's a group of elves called? 'Cause whatever it is, one seems to have come to this tavern!" There is a hint of casual violence hidden in Doyl's faintly playful smile.

Berek Wolf-blood

"A group of elves is called a troupe" Berek replies, downing his mug in a few short gulps. He grins as he slams down his mug, showing elongated canine teeth, like the fangs of a wolf. He wags his finger as well, in the general direction of the barman.

"This is some good stuff. Not quite Bugman's finest, but little can better the greatest brew master that ever lived" Berek declares loudly, his grey eyes twinkling. "This is clearly the best tavern in town" he adds.

Doyl

"A troupe? Bwahhahhahaa! Makes sense, most of your lot are mincing pansies. Ha!" He raises his refilled mug at Berek and notes, appreciatively, "And most of you pointy-ears can't tell beer from bathwater." Doyl takes a swig, makes sure the barkeeper is out of earshot before adding "But yeah, this sure as hell isn't Bugman's, but as good as any you're likely to find outside of that brewery." When the barkeeper wanders back Doyl raises his voice, "Say what you want about the beer, but the booze in this place tastes like a dwarf with the runs!" He turns toward the sour-looking barkeep, saying "And don't give me that look, Wael, you know it's true! Ha!" He ends the sentence with a theatrical burp.

Having satisfied his need for what he considers witty banter, Doyl turns back to Berek and asks, "What brings a reasonable pointy-ears like you to this rathole? Don't tell me it's some sort of ghostly bloke that messes with your head!" There's some genuine worry on his face towards the end but he does his best to hide it behind his tankard..

Berek Wolf-blood

"I came to hunt. I heard the hunting was good around here from a pack of troublesome Wargs a week north of here. That is, before I killed them." Berek grins again, showing his fangs once again. "So I came here. I smelt something evil, but it left before I entered the bar. I take it, that was your doing?" he glances over to the wizard and the other elf.

Doyl

Doyl smiles gleefully on hearing about Berek's encounter with the Wargs, but his grin twitches and tightens uneasily when reminded about the encounter with Anatrium. He follows Berek's gaze. "Yeah, there was this sword-wielding ghost-thing from who knows what dark bowel of the world," he says grimly, then breaks into a grin, lifts his mug and adds, "but we kicked its arse! Ha!" He takes the appropriate swig.

He continues mid-burp, "Well, Twerp there and I did - gotta hand it to the little guy, he fights good for a wizard." He gives Sallah a distasteful look. "The pointy-eared pansy there did sod-all, just struck poses and talked big!" He raises his mug in a toast: "Here's to real warriors!"

Berek Wolf-blood

"Aye, to real warriors!" Berek agrees, raising his mug in agreement. He downs the rest of the mug in one go.

"You seem uneasy" Berek says. "I'm guessing that æther-beast took something or someone, from the scent of warp-corruption here."

Doyl

Doyl stumbles backward half a step as he too takes a long draught of his ale. He rights himself and as the tankard comes down it reveals a grim, saddened visage. "I don't know what happened. Silme - another pointy-ear - just disappeared into thin air when I cut the ghost in half and sent it on its way. Who knows in what Deep Place he is now." With a sigh he adds "At least I know he can put up a fight, unlike some," and gives a mean look over his left shoulder in Sallah's direction.

Suddenly, Doyl looks bemused and sniffs the air. He looks down slowly at the long gash down his left arm. "That really should hurt more, " he mutters. "And it smells funny." Doyl's legs buckle mid-sentence and he crashes down, eyes and mouth agape.

A tiny wisp of black smoke puffs out of the wound as he hits the floor, and the smell of brimstone is obvious to anyone with an acute nose.

Berek Wolf-blood

"Skjata!" Berek swears. He rummages through his pack quickly, and pulls out his spell book.

"Come on, come on! Where is it!" Berek shouts as he rummages through the book. "Yes!" He cries with glee as he finds the page. He mouths the words on the page, in an attempt to heal his new found friend.

Doyl

Doyl writhes and spasms as the smoke grows thicker, and by the time Berek begins his incantation Doyl is in danger of breaking his back. As the spell proceeds, the spasms ease up, and the last word sends a quick, blue flame down along the wound. The smoke ceases and Doyl breathes easy again.

He looks at the ashen grey skin around the wound uneasily. "Thanks, mate," he grunts to Berek as he levers himself up wearily. "Any idea what in the Five Pits that was?"

Berek Wolf-blood

"I have no idea, but you should get a real healer to look at that. That was only a battlefield healing spell, so it's only a temporary fix." Berek says, looking worried. "It still smells tainted." He adds, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Take this, just in case you drop again" He hands Doyl a piece of parchment. "You don't need to cast it, it activates when you are almost dead. It's pretty handy is dire times."

Doyl

Doyl looks at Berek visibly gladdened but slightly confused. "Er... thanks. I'm in your debt," he finally utters and takes the parchment with a nod and tucks it under his brigandine. "The name's Doyl, by the way," he adds and extends his hand for a warrior's handshake.

Berek Wolf-blood

"They call me Berek" He replies, taking Doyl's hand and shaking it.

Doyl

"Good to meet someone with a bit of spine around here, Berek," Doyl says as he goes back to his pint. "So you're not a proper healer then? Pity, that. Meadowgate has been short on those since the Golden Order came and executed Granny Pressik. Now all we've got is the likes of that poxy strummer by the fire there," he says with derision, nodding at the minstrel. He glances at Sallah with no less distaste and adds, "That pasturing pansy seems holier-than-though enough to pass for a healing sort of priest, but no way am I trusting myself to his care."

After a sip, a burp and a sigh, Doyl mutters bitterly, "Seems like the sodding bastard of a king doesn't want proper healers outside of his precious Spiketop."

Berek Wolf-blood

"I'd honestly like to give the king a taste of my knives, or my axe. He deserves something painful to the face. He is ruining the lives of the people with his dishonourable actions." He says as he relishes the fantasy of swinging his axe through the face of the tyrannical ruler who was the king in those parts.

"At least his guards might put up a decent fight." He adds after a sip of his mug.