A Terra Tale: A Trip to the Mohrg

Chapter Three: A Friend in Need...

"Do you know my friend that each one of us is a dark mystery, a maze of conflicting passions and desire and aptitudes?"

-Agatha Christie

Fallow Creek was the closest slice of civilization to be found when hiking down from the Rubyvein Mountains of Bornum. Nestled overlooking a cliff side waterfall and had been, at one point, a popular gold panning location.

But, as time moved forward, the gold vanished, and the people left. Those that stayed became land rich but lived largely off sharecroppers could grow what. The buildings were old, made from treated timbers and thick stone columns made from heavy blocks and mortar.

Here, in the sleepy hamlet, so many would ride past without notice or care, was one of the worst-kept secrets in all the Norturlends.

The Sound of War was an old building and looked as if it had originally been a barn. Old timbers crossed the ceiling of thatch and wood, with the interior gutted and outfitted as a simple rustic tavern. An old dwarf manned the bar, heavy eyebrows almost obscuring his bloodshot eyes as he wiped down mugs with a foul-smelling rag.

Those with a keen eye, or said the wrong thing at the right time, would be given the key to the back room, and a barked order to go grab a pony keg from the storage room in the back.

Heading through the back kitchen, the only door the key could be to be a heavy thing, reinforced with iron. Inside, one would find a stairwell leading deep underground, guarded by a hefty orc guard that seemed fond of a rather dangerous looking axe.

Hearth and haven to the weary traveling mercenary, have a drink and leave a coin, have a wink and take a tarry, be rested before you are going!

Walking in, Heidigger threw his hands up high and stretched with a loud, drawn-out sigh. "Ah, that's the smell I needed to take a whiff of!"

Fen crinkled his nose. "I think Baltus is making the pickled herring stew again..."

"That or his son is brewing those Troll Sweat tonics he's been bragging about again..." Miro groused, shaking his head. "Let's just get checked in and have everything handled right. Alma, you have the lists of what we're selling?"

The half-elf nodded, pulling a small pouch from her belt and tossing it to Miro. "That'll cover us for four days, like normal. Everyone, leave your weapons with Baltus. His daughter will sharpen them for us like always."

"Not right ta have a lass be swingin' a hammer like that..." Heidigger grumbled as he hefted the looped bandolier, he would hook his massive axe to when he needed both hands, unbuckling it quickly. "Be even worse if'n she wasn't so damn good at smithing though, so can't bitch too much I guess..."

"Calm down, grandpa, before Alma spikes your drinks with itching powder again." Miro snapped.

"I will, too." She chirped; hands held interlocked behind her back. "Three mugs in and you'll be feeling too buzzed to notice my slipping some dried Skull Spider toxin into your next one."

Heidigger snorted. "That? You're tryin' ta kill me with the stuff the church gets ta deal with rats?"

"Kill you?" Alma smiled, head tilting slightly as her face shifted into a predatory grin. "No, you're a dwarf. You'll live through a dose easy enough, just have a stomachache. Two will make you shit yourself, three would give you a twenty-hour hangover. I have over eleven doses now and no desire to get hammered tonight."

"Fine, fine..." Heidigger held his hands up as if in surrender. "Jus' sayin' his girl ain't gonna find a family in the forge. Gotta be out and about ta meet people, y'know?"