Information Gathering

Orde made his way towards the back of the spacious, dimly lit tavern, a motley crowd of dirty peasants, sellswords, and a few who dressed in the uniform of the kingdom's guard. The tall scarred deacon made his way over to the bar and ordered a large plate of charred meat and boiled potatoes, with a mug of hot water with lemon and mint. Striding over to a table in the corner, he seated himself, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, his stowed weapons digging into his aching back. Sitting with his hat brim lowered over his eyes, he sits quietly, listening to the quiet chatter of the room while waiting for his food. It arrives shortly and the deacon slowly and methodically slices up his meat and potatoes, eating quietly, still listening to all the chatter as he eats.

A tired Esme strolled into the old tavern looking for food. A human, perhaps. No, Esme, you must control yourself. At least while you're in public. The she-wolf glanced over to a dark corner, past the mercenaries and bar maids, to see a scarred man. Her curiosity was peaked and she headed over toward the man. "Well, I've never seen you around here before." Her voice was low. Her golden eyes narrowed, causing a slight glow under her hood. "You must be a slayer of some kind. That or a mercenary."The werewolf placed her hand on the wooden table, digging her claws into the oak. She shifted her hip, causing her war hammer to glint in the fire light.

Orde picks his teeth with a toothpick infused with fragrant oils, his empty plate pushed away from his, covered in the remnants of his meal. He raises his head, cloudy eyes staring at the hooded woman in front of he, saying in an accented voice "Mercenary? You do mis disfavor, lady. I am a Deacon of the Long Night Vigil. And if zhome would call me slayer, then slayer I am, for the unrepentant evil deserve no more zhan one chance at mercy." Leaning back in his chair, her straightens up. "Is zhere some service I could provide for you? A blessing, perhaps?" He would say, glancing at the woman's fingernails carving into the wood. "And az for never having zheen me....I am a traveler."

The she-wolf smirks, causing her slightly pointed teeth to glimmer in the fire light. She pulls down her hood, revealing dark hair and skin. "What is your definition of evil, human?" She kept her voice low to avoid drawing attention to herself and the deacon. "I don't want your blessings. I could care less about the faith you follow. I want to know why you kill my people mercilessly without asking any questions first?" Her smirk turns into a frown, sadness appears in her eyes. She looks at the deacon, begging for an answer of some kind.

Orde leans forward, laying both of his forearms on the table with heavy thuds, almost metallic in the sound of them hitting the wooden table. "My definition of evil is obviously not yours...or else ve vould not be having this talk." The faintest hint of a bemused smirk flits across his face, before his usual sour stern countenance resumes. "You say 'your people.' I am ignorant of who 'your people' are, and I doubt I have had zhe chance to go on any murder sprees. Zhe howls and sounds of the woods zhent me to seek an early night in zhis dirty, dirty place." He stands up suddenly, the ragged deacon almost reaching the ceiling, towering over Esme with his massive shape. "You zheem capable of logic and reason. Indiscriminate slaughter iz never part of my goal, zho I leave the next move to you." He turns away to leave, respectfully, or perhaps mockingly, doffing his hat. "If you have further trifles to bozher me with, or if you would care go discuzh things diplomatically, you may find me in my coach near zhe stables."

((We're just gonna forget she even existed. I mean, Orde had a werewolf confront him, that's cool. Let's pretend it wasn't her xD I'm bringing my elf character in))

Nanine stumbled wearily through dense thickets. After reliving her nightmarish memories in her dreams she knew there would be no more sleep for her, so she had struck out into the dark forest again. To someone wandering lost in a foreign land direction was totally irrelevant. She just started walking, desperately wanting to get somewhere, anywhere.

Eventually the elusive scent of wood smoke led her to a rundown grimy tavern slumped beside a small stream and footbridge. Based on the heavy smell of horses, musty hay, and acrid grain alcohol, it was full of humans and likely unsavory ones at that. But the flicker of firelight on the hazy windows and the scents of cooking food were incredibly tempting…

Perhaps among outcasts and outlaws who valued anonymity her presence would not raise too many questions. Still, unpleasant past experiences with hostile human villages had taught her to leave nothing to chance. Drawing the hood of her green fishskin coat down to shield her face Nanine scouted around the building, keeping to the trees.

After taking note of all entrances and potential exits she slipped into the stables, glancing at the heavily laden coach pulled alongside. The horses stirred and whinnied, disturbed by her unfamiliar scent. Nanine murmured comfortingly and stroked a few fuzzy noses snuffling her for treats as she counted the horses to get a rough idea how many people might be inside the tavern. Just a few, it should be alright then. The last thing she needed was a repeat of the nasty fight at the tavern in the Barrows from which she had only narrowly escaped.

Umbra's ears perked up once Nanine entered the stables. The Dire wolf stood on his hind legs, supporting himself on the door of his stall. He sniffed the air, curious about the new person in the area. Umbra barks at Nanine, trying to get her attention. Iste walks into the stable after a long night of travelling. The hood of her brown cloak covers her face as always. She looks up to see Umbra standing up and barking at Nanine. Before she has a chance to say anything, the horses begin to nicker and whinny. On rears in his stall and begins to kick. Umbra's hackles stand on end and he snarls, revealing white fangs. The elf looks over to see a human-wolf-hybrid standing on it's hind legs and staring at the carriage in the the stables. It's golden eyes shine in the darkness, it's maw is wet with saliva as it turns it's gaze to Nanine. The beast falls onto it's front legs and runs to the Priestess, snarling and snapping.

Iste's green eyes widen. She grabs her spear and runs toward the she-wolf, impaling the creature on the silver tip of her spear. The beasts screams and howls were enough to deafen the elf.

Orde hears the sounds of the horses nickering and adjusts his position, putting down the ink tipped quill he was writing with. Very carefully, he edged his way around to the side of the walls, sliding down his heavy black axe. Carefully, he moves his way towards the entrance, then, hearing the snarling and howling, bursts out with his axe held high and great tattered coat pulled tight around his breastplate. The imposing figure jumping out of the coach would be quite a sight, landing on the ground with a soft thump and taking in the scene in the stable.

The horses stamped and kicked in their sudden fright. Nanine quickly backed away, ducking their flailing hooves and searching the shadows for the barking dog she thought had alarmed them. Out of the darkness a monstrous werewolf rushed at her, its mouth open in a ferocious snarl. Nanine’s heart stopped as she stared at the bared fangs and the glaring golden eyes hazy with the red light of madness. The powerful beast lunged. Acting on instinct the priestess slammed her driftwood staff down on the werewolf’s slavering jaws. Crack! The werewolf growled in response and Nanine almost retched at the smell of rotting flesh on the creature’s hot breath. Lethal claws fully extended, the werewolf braced to spring—its head swiveled to the side as another shadow rushed forward from the stable depths, spear raised.

Starting to panic and thinking she had been ambushed, Nanine did not wait to see who the new attacker was. Digging her staff into the ground she vaulted cleanly over the werewolf and onto the back of a huge brown cart horse. The stallion screamed in terror and bucked but the priestess clung to its back and cut its rope tether with a single slash of her long knife. Released, the massive horse kicked and whirled in place, frantically seeking escape. Chaos and confusion boiled in the darkness as the werewolf and the brown cloaked figure turned on one another. Hooves thundered, donkeys brayed, horses shrieked, and the werewolf’s deafening howls of pain and rage added to the cacophony of the fray. The stallion galloped flat out for the stable doors and Nanine clutched his mane in a death grip, her long green coat and tunic fluttering around her slender body. Abruptly a tall imposing man wearing a wide brimmed hat burst from the carriage and blocked the path to the doors, his heavy black axe raised to strike.

Trapped! Nanine dug her heels sharply into the horse’s sides and the stallion reared, huge hooves trampling the air inches from the man’s scarred face.

Orde watches as the horse paws the air in front of him in slow motion. The deacon could feel the breeze from the lethal hooves blowing across his scarred face. He matches the horse's motion as it descends back to the ground lowering his axe in sync with it and planting the head in the ground. He reaches up with a gloved hand and pats the horses's snout, whispering in a thick foreign language. It seems to calm the horse down almost supernaturally quick. He gave the brown hooded figure a quick look and raised his right palm, aiming it at the wounded werewolf as he gazes impassively at the strange woman on his horse. "I belief zat zis is my horse you are trying to steal. Come down child, away from the beast."

Nanine stared at the scarred man with wide grey eyes, as surprised that he—a human— was making no move to attack her as she was that he had calmed the cart horse so effortlessly. From her experience as a diplomat the priestess knew the man’s suggestion to dismount was really a command thinly veiled in politeness. For the briefest of moments she hesitated to obey. If he chose to attack her while she was getting off his horse she would be totally vulnerable. He could easily kill her in such a situation; his skill with the axe whose blade was now buried in the earth confirmed that beyond a doubt. Then again, despite the man’s stern appearance the tone behind his words, if not exactly friendly, held no immediate threat.

Sheathing her knife and keeping both eyes focused on the silver-haired man the priestess slid gracefully off the horse’s back, cautiously dismounting on the side nearest him so the horse’s muscular bulk was between herself and the enraged, bleeding werewolf. Through miscalculation Nanine landed far closer to the man than she had intended. He stiffened. Unsure whether it was a reaction to her appearance or a warning not to come near, she slowly backed away, holding her driftwood staff lightly at her side to show her peaceful intentions.

The priestess inclined her head courteously. “In Setkareh’s name, my deepest apologies. I am no thief; I sought only higher ground and a means to escape being devoured. I meant no transgression.”

The deacon watches the strange woman, stiffening in surprise at her features. She seemed covered in wet and shiny scales, although she did not appear monstrous, more like a mixture of elven and human features. In all his travels Orde had never seen such a creature. "I notice from your raiment and staff that you appear to be some sort of pilgrim. From vhere do you come? Are you akin to the shamans of the peaceful goblin tribes in our valley?"
Orde turns his attention to the hooded stranger, and the long spear sticking out of the wolf's chest. "Vould you kindly finish zat mongrel off? I am already half deaf; I do not vish to become deafer."

Iste battled the beast for a few moments more. She finally ends the struggle by twisting her spear into the wound. The beast lets out a final shriek before passing on. The warrioress removes her spear from the she-wolf's chest to find that the tip of her weapon had been bent during battle. She lets out an annoyed sigh as she cleans the beasts blood off. The elf looks up at Nanine and Orde, unsure as to whether or not she wants to speak to them. She speaks softly, first to Nanine. "Are you alright, miss?" Her voice was almost like that of a nightingale's. Before Nanine can answer her to her face, she turns around to face Umbra. The Dire wolf stares at his master. It's as if they are talking without speaking. The elf pulls her hood down, revealing her auburn hair. The light from the torches shine in her emerald eyes and reflect of her scarred face. She looks up to Orde and nods at him. "You should learn to listen a little better deacon."

Taking on the formal stance befitting one of her rank, Nanine drew herself up to her considerable height, noting that the scarred man stood a full head higher. She smoothly slid back her green hood and settled it about her shoulders, fully revealing her face and shaved head.

“I am afraid I know little of goblins; I have traveled far, very far, wandering lost in your strange land. The Great Waters and its shore are my home. I am Nanine, a Priestess of the Temple of Setkareh, Goddess of the Sea, may the tides forever dance upon the sands.” She made the customary ritualistic gesture associated with the goddess, lightly touching her forehead and then turning her hand palm out with her long webbed fingers spread. “I served the Temple in the city of Pyscae…may the gods have mercy upon us all…”

Nanine trailed off into silence, hoping the tall man had not been able to hear her voice thickening with grief through the piercing shriek of the dying werewolf. It was an internal struggle to compose herself, but the long hours she had spent speaking before the Council allowed her to keep her face serene. She took the opportunity to study the man’s features; they were haggard but strong. Unlike other humans she had encountered he seemed trustworthy, but only time could reveal if her initial judgment would be a lasting one. Hearing the brown cloaked stranger’s soft inquiry, Nanine turned.

“Yes, a bit startled, but that will pass.” The priestess smiled and bowed graciously to them both. “Many thanks. For your aid you have my gratitude; whatever help I can be to you, I offer it freely. May I know the names of those who came so swiftly to my assistance?”

Orde grunts at the the hooded elf. "I vas preoccupied with my nightly inscriptions. I am no mere vandering priest, I keep records." Prde inspects the sea person very slowly, listening to it praises its foreign gods. Thinking back to his studies, he remembered no mention of creatures from the sea. In fact, Orde had never really heard of the sea, and thought it was merely a type of large swamp."Vell I haff to say I have never met one such as you, priestess. And you appear to be quite capable of sentient conversation, nor have you displayed any emotion zay could be construed as aggression." He pauses, letting the girl speak. As she finishes, he takes a knee and doffs his hat. "The Long Night Vigil is a religious order that commands many peaceful kingdoms of humans, and even a few peaceful nonhumans. If your people have a city, if I heard correctly, you may count my order among your allies, given you help me with a few tasks. I am Deacon Orde Vurmbrand, Warden of Sturmundrang."

He stands up, and looks at the elf again, walking towards the dead werewolf, taking out a long and pitted knife. Kneeling over it, he talks while inspecting the corpse. "Quite an expert kill. You seem to be very profficient in what you do."

While the silver-haired man spoke Nanine contemplated his words, searching for subtle hints that would reveal more about him. She wondered why he emphasized her eloquence and lack of aggression. Without those characteristics might he have thought her a monster to be slain? Or could he be underestimating her abilities? She was religious caste and certainly no warrior, but she was far from defenseless; an enemy facing her in the water would be gutted as cleanly as any fish. Then again, perhaps he simply meant that she was a good prospective ally, which was what he seemed to her.

The priestess was surprised, and secretly flattered, when he courteously knelt and took off his hat while introducing himself.

“Well met then, Deacon Orde Vurmbrand, if rather unexpectedly,” Nanine replied, smiling openly. “I have never met a religious man who carried an axe, but the City of Pyscae would be pleased to welcome you and your order as allies. Unfortunately due to internal troubles the Sea-People presently have little to offer you in return, but what help I have to give is yours.”

She followed Orde over to the elf, and as he struck up a conversation with the stranger Nanine edged around the werewolf carcass and the dark spreading pool seeping from its side. The blood had a sharp unpleasant tang to it, and Nanine mused if madness had a smell. She bent to retrieve the small seaweed-fiber haversack she had dropped in the scuffle, eyeing with uncertainty the large predatory dog at the elf’s side. “My knowledge of the creatures in your land is somewhat lacking…What is he? A dog?” she asked.

Iste looks at the deacon and smiles, smug. The elf throws her auburn hair into a bun. "I was raised in the Northern mountains. We had to protect ourselves. Spears and arrows were our best weapons. Werewolves are slightly over-populated where I come from. You had to learn how to kill the beasts if you were to survive." Umbra nuzzles against Iste's face, groaning at her. He's speaking to her, trying to get her attention. She smiles and begins to scratch under the Dire wolf's chin. The beast begins to wag his tail, then he looks to Nanine and barks, wagging his tail even more vigorously. "Hush, Umbra. Barking at strangers is rude." The red-head looks at the priestess. "He's a Dire wolf. A beast of the North. He is the symbol of my people." A sigh escapes her lips. Her eyes grow sad, thinking of her homeland.

The dire wolf wagged its tail like a giant puppy; despite the creature’s large size he appeared to be friendly. Cautiously, Nanine reached out and ran her pale blue-green fingertips across the dire wolf’s forehead. The fur was warm, thick, and unexpectedly soft; it tickled pleasantly as it brushed across the webbing between her fingers. With her nervousness quickly evaporating the priestess dared to place her palm against the wolf and gently stroke his velvety head and ears.

“The mountains? The only mountains I have seen are underwater, though I have heard tales of the far north from travelers. It sounds a cold, harsh place, nothing like the sun-drenched coast that is my home. May I know your name as well, or are you determined to keep it a secret?” she asked the elf, smiling.

The protesting squeal of door hinges caught her attention and Nanine glanced through the stable doors. A small group of people, several well on their way to being drunk, stood in the tavern doorway staring across the yard at the stable.

“I do not wish to alarm either of you,” she said, keeping her voice low, “but the noise of the skirmish has attracted attention.”

Orde looked up, and walked away from the elf, his limbs feeling as if they hadn't moved in ages. Odd. He waved his hand, ushering the two women to the back of the stable. He doubted that the inhabitants of the tavern would be very accepting of the strange fish woman, or even the elf. He poked his behatted head out of the stable door, and followed. Hopefully, the emergence of the hulking, scarred figured would scatter some of the less bold. "A wolf vas attempting to attack the horses. You need not fear; it has been dealt with..." He stepped out, shutting the door behind him in case anyone decided to be curious.

"My name is Iste." The elf smiles at the priestess. Alarm appears on her face when she notices the others. That's when she sees her oldest brother, Callidus amongst the men. Iste pulls her hood over her face and jumps into the stall with Umbra, pulling the Dire wolf to the floor. A sigh of relief escapes her lips when she hears the door shut. Popping her head up from behind the stall door, she looks at Nanine. "Is the coast clear?" Fear is present in the warrioress' voice.

An elf in the group steps to the front, a smirk on his face. His pale blue eyes show a glint of malevolence as he looks at the deacon. "Sir, I have something to ask you, if you don't mind." My brother and I are searching for someone and I believe that I saw her "steed" in the stables. I would like to have a look...."

Nanine swiftly stepped out of sight behind one of the thick posts supporting the roof just as Orde pulled the stable doors shut. Safe for the moment, the priestess studied Iste, puzzled. Peeking over a stall door the elf’s face was as pale as a sun bleached shell. Strange; she would not have expected someone who had slain a ravenous werewolf to fear a mere group of people. Unless, perhaps, Iste had some specific reason that was unrelated to Nanine’s general distrust of humans. In answer to the elf’s question Nanine silently approached the doors and peered through a crack between two boards, listening carefully to the tense conversation outside.

“The coast, as you say, is actually rather crowded,” Nanine murmured worriedly. “There are elves among them, and unpleasant ones at that. Acquaintances of yours, perhaps? They have seen your wolf and are attempting to gain entry to the stables…forgive me if I judge them harshly, but I do not think it would be wise for you to be found here.”

Glancing around quickly Nanine located the only additional exit from the stables. She pointed to the small triangular opening high up at the end of the roof peak that served as a vent. “Elves can climb, yes? Though I do not think I or your wolf companion will be able to follow.”

Iste looks up at the exit. She's seen Umbra climb mountains and through small caverns. That vent is nothing. "I can climb. Umbra can make it through, no problem." Suddenly, there's a loud bang, as the stable doors are slammed open. Callidus' pale eyes gleam in the light of the torches. A smaller elf steps from behind him. His eyes are almost black. A smirk dances over his lips once he sees Iste. "Hello, little sister. I'm so surprised to see you, alive." The smaller elf, Dolor, begins to step toward Iste, drawing his sword as he walked. Callidus draws an arrow from his quiver. They corner her. "Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way." Callidus sneers, "Come home with us and face father or die right here."

Callidus looks into his sister's green eyes. Suddenly, he sees lunacy flash through them. Iste kicks out, knocking Dolor to his knees. She steps on his hand, forcing him to release his sword. Dolor cries in pain as Iste stomps down, breaking his hand. She grabs his sword and slashes at her oldest brother, causing him to release his arrow into the wall behind Iste. The warrioress holds Dolor's sword to Callidus' throat. She looks to Nanine barking, "Call Umbra and get out of here. I'll catch up." She backs her brother into a stall. A frown appears in Callidus' face. He's being cornered by a woman. Anger glints in Iste's eyes. "You will stop following me and you will return home to our father, Marius and tell him that if he wants me dead that he had better come do it himself." Iste's voice turned into a snarl.

There's a loud thud as Orde buries his hefty axe into one of the wooden posts of the stable, making a statement, although he makes his point clear, his thunderous voice booming. "There vill be no further quarrel or bloodshed here. All of you put down your weapons and get outside. We will settle this like civilized beings or so help all of you I vill raze this wicked place to the ground." He frowns, knuckles bulging. "I suggest ALL of you make your way outside. I vill arbitrate." He withdraws his axe and leans in on the dirt, glaring menacingly at the quarreling elves, the intricate weapon nearly as long as some of the men. Orde waits for the others to follow, and looks at the the priestesses hiding spot. "The only people who remain in here vill end up like zat wolf." He points to the bloodied body, but holds his hand palm up, as if to motion for the priestess to stay hidden. It would most likely not be very good to reveal herself, especially in this charged environment.

The moment the stable doors burst open Nanine threw herself beneath Orde’s carriage. Lying flat on the floor amid the dust and stale hay she held perfectly still, waiting for any indication that the two elves had seen her. When it became apparent that their attention was focused on Iste, the priestess cautiously moved forward, keeping to the deep shadows beneath the carriage until she had a clear view of the two male elves. The slightest suggestion of a grim smile passed over her face; they had their backs to her. With stealth and surprise in her favor she just might be able to help turn the tables. Reaching into the wide sleeves of her coat, Nanine grasped the hilts of the twin blades strapped to the inside of her wrists. One deft movement and they slipped silently from their sheaths. The long thin silver knives gleamed coldly in the torchlight. If Iste required assistance at least one of the elves would feel icy steel slicing through his tendons.

But Iste had the situation under control—in a matter of seconds the fight was over. Uneasy about revealing herself, Nanine hesitated to call Umbra as the she-elf had instructed. Escaping the stable would do her little good if she ran straight into a hostile crowd outside. Then Orde’s booming voice broke in, and leaning forward Nanine caught his subtle gesture telling her to stay hidden. A wise course of action. Kneeling under the carriage, the priestess pulled the hood of her green fishskin coat down to conceal her face and waited, knives at the ready, praying to the gods that the male elves were too cowed by Orde to wonder who Iste had shouted at to escape.