Tavern Talk

Tavern Talk
The Nest 


 * Founded by Ouel Zahir two years after the rise of the Aegis wall, the Nest is a fairly nefarious establishment in the heart of Hedgehem. The main room is a sinuous chamber with rough gray stone walls and amber rushes strewn across the wooden floor, with about two dozen tables and a circular bar counter next to the cylindrical stone fireplace in the middle of the room.
 * Vassals serve drinks and meals to patrons at all hours of the day and night. A twisting stairway leads up to the travelers' accommodations.

It's considerably busy for the afternoon. One table is occupied by a group of scruffy-looking fellows who eye the passing rears of serving wenches. A large man sits alone by the fireplace. The bar is occupied by an assortment of other townsfolk.

Taran steps down the stairs from the rooms, walking over to his preferred seat by the fire as he takes a look around, judging the crowd.

The man by the gives Taran the once-over and acknowledges him with a slow nod. One or two of the scruffy men watch Taran with a slight frown. Those at the bar seem more occupied with their drinks.

Taran returns the nod, with a pleasant smile. "Light shine," he says, as greeting. "Something troubles?"

"I s'pose you're not from around here," The man replies. He cradles a mug of ale in a large calloused hand. "And a fool. Or else you'd know the troubles around here. That monster Grinnin' Burus has been wreakin' havoc in these parts."

"I'm not," replies Taran. "And the people here seem able to survive any havoc caused by one lone...anything, really. What is this Burus, to trouble you?"

The man takes a swig of ale. "He's a monster of the Shadow. Duke of the Night, he calls hisself. People are scared to venture outdoors once the sun goes down. He steals our livestock and attacks the carriages that come through here. Been at it in Fanghill as well."

"I have a difficult time picturing you as the sort of man to let anyone corner you, sir," Taran remarks on thoughtful consideration. "What stops you from seeing to this monster? Or gathering some of your friends to do so? I have been in Hedgehem only for a week or so, but you are no rabbits; that much is plain to anyone with eyes."

"I've not seen the monster myself," The man replies. "Though mind you me, I would strike it down if I ever did. He's elusive, but we can hear his laughter some nights. The Imperial Watch have been searching for him and he's eluded even them. As a spawn of the Shadow, he may be privy to all kinds of trickery."

Taran smiles slightly at that. "I'd imagine that the local people would be better able to handle such a creature than the Imperial Watch," he notes. "In this terrain?" he shrugs. "Where have you heard the laughter? He must move around a lot, for you not to have tracked him to a hiding-hole...or is that one of his tricks?"

"We've not found any sort of abode that he might rest in. Perhaps he does not rest at all." The man shrugs. "Only the Church was ever able to drive him from Fastheld."

Taran blinks. "That is a tale I have not heard," he says, quite interested. "The Church drove him away? But then, why would he return? And how?"

"After the splintering of the Church, I s'pose he thought no one would stop his return. As to how, I can't fathom the machinations of his ilk. He's a creature of Shadow and thrives on chaos." The man swigs from the mug again. "But who are you who'd venture to our town and ask such questions? Certainly not a Watchman, and I dare say a former member of the Church would know such things already."

Taran shakes his head. "I suppose you have not been in here in the past week," he says. "A traveling bard; I sing, in the evenings, and I tell stories of Fastheld. The Burus is a story I may tell somewhere else when I go - I like to get the details right." He laughs. "Though I'd like the ending to be that the people here took care of this Burus without the Watch's help. I don't think anyone much likes it when the Watch has to take care of matters." He tilts his head. "Is it true that iron wards the Burus off?"

"Perhaps. No one knows for certain. It's unclear whether it works from a distance, or if you have to actually touch him with it," The man says. "Details, eh?"

Taran nods. "Besides, it helps when finding proper lyrics for a ballad," he says, with a wave of his hand, as if to say this couldn't possibly interest his companion much, but is provided for interest's sake. "So if you would fight it, then, how would you? The smith to make iron weapons? But there's still the matter of where it would hide." He looks thoughtful. "There are caves between here and Fanghill..."

"The smith has been working day and night on orders for iron weapons," The man chuckles. "And we've searched the caves. Couldn't find a thing there."

"...Up on the moors, perhaps?" Taran asks, thinking aloud. "Even if the creature can teleport, it's not going far - just here, and Fanghill..." He taps a lip with a finger, thinking, and then blinks. "Oh, I am sorry - very rude of me to ask so many questions and leave your throat dry. What's your pleasure?"

"Ale," The man raises his mug. "So, bard, do they call you anything or are you a nameless wanderer with many questions on his mind?"

Taran laughs, and calls over one of the serving girls for ale to fill said mug, amid harmless flattery that makes the girl blush. "Taran," he replies with a smile, once she's on her way again. "And yourself, good sir?" He grins. "For a ballad or tale, names work well. Where do you hear it laughing?"

"Erem Marsh," The man replies. "The laugher can be heard from the rooftops, usually. It's an eerie, piercing sort of cackle."

Taran blinks. "...Rooftops?" he muses, and leans out of the way as the ale's brought, and pays the serving girl for it. "High jumper, is he?" He stops, thinking something over. "How did the Church drive him away last time? Can that not be done again?"

Erem takes the ale with a nod. "Again, never seen 'im meself. Dunno how the Church drove him away, though I s'pose it could be done again, if you rounded up enough old Scourges."

Taran hmms a bit to himself. "If they did, perhaps they have records of the doing," he remarks. "Did something happen, do you think, to bring him back?"

Erem shrugs. "Could've been the Church being fragmented. Who knows? The Shadow has strange machinations."

Taran nods. "That it does," he agrees. "And he steals...cattle, children, carriages...no trace left behind?"

"Well, he doesn't /steal/ carriages, but he does attack them. I guess he could steal something from them. But yeah, he steals children and livestock. People have managed to keep the young 'uns safe, but the livestock's been pilfered a few times," Erem explains.

"...Has anyone survived one of the carriage attacks?" asks Taran carefully. "Livestock just - goes missing? Or is there blood at the site?" He taps his finger on his thigh. "Different tale, if he's stealing them to eat later or if he's dropping hawklike on cattle in the field."

"Goes missin'," Erem replies. "I think if he stopped to eat at the farm, he'd get caught, eh?"

Taran smiles. "I put nothing past him right now," he says. "I met a man in Fanghill who said that the Burus fled *into* a warehouse. I can only assume he had some way back out of it - it would be stupid to run a'purpose into a dead end."

Erem nods slowly. "Seems strange, indeed. He probably had a way out."

"My thought as well," Taran agrees, and leans back in his chair. "...You've never seen this monster. Do you know someone who has? I'd imagine it's hard to see a creature that only comes out at night anyway, but...hm."

"Not many people have gotten a good look at him for that reason, yeah. Though they say he fits the description of the legend rather aptly, from the stories of a couple of carriage drivers who got a better look at his face than most," Eren swigs his drink.

"Only carriages and cattle?" asks Taran. "So far, that is?" He taps his finger again. "That's...quite interesting."

"Is it? I figured he didn't go after the little 'uns yet because they were all kept safely indoors," Erem says. "Though I'm not a well-travelled and educated man like yerself."

"Stories and songs," Taran dismisses with a smile. "Just stories and songs. A little background from old grandfathers at times. But I *am* curious...what proves this Burus isn't a man in a cape and makeup, using the legend to steal his food and from carriages?"

"Well, nothin' I s'pose. But nothin' so far proves that he is." Erem grins. "Can't rightly know until someone catches 'im, can we?"

Taran nods, conceding the point. "I wish you all the very best of luck in that," he says. "T'would certainly make a wonderful ballad."

"Certainly would. I hope to hear that ballad once someone ends that monster," Erem nods to Taran. "Thank you, bard."

"Thank *you*," Taran replies. "I'll hope to hear the story of that ending, to make it part of the song."

The Bait
The Nest 

''Founded by Ouel Zahir two years after the rise of the Aegis wall, the Nest is a fairly nefarious establishment in the heart of Hedgehem. The main room is a sinuous chamber with rough gray stone walls and amber rushes strewn across the wooden floor, with about two dozen tables and a circular bar counter next to the cylindrical stone fireplace in the middle of the room.''

''Vassals serve drinks and meals to patrons at all hours of the day and night. A twisting stairway leads up to the travelers' accommodations.''

Taran is at a seat near the fireplace, a mug before him, and watching the tavern gear up for its evening business. He's watching the people fairly closely, possibly to see what sort of music is best for the evening's mood.

Cyneray enters The Nest, looking... refreshed, if not a bit damp from the afternoon showers. The tavern is only partially filled, and Coolweather winds himself through a few private conversations to find a stop near the fireplace near Taran. "How's the day go, mate?" he asks, taking a seat.

"Very ...interestingly," Taran replies, waving a hand over the mug as if to say 'have it'. "Had a long talk with one of the locals."

Cyneray grunts. "Sounds lovely. Lemme know when the wedd'n is," he grumbles. "Here sumthin' about our... 'business' while you were at it?" he asks, pausing to flag down a barmaid.

"A lot, actually," says Taran with a laugh. "Just not so much I'm sure we can use." He ticks points off. "Iron's untested - nobody knows if you just have to have some, or if you have to touch him with it, or even if it works at all, but in the nature of certainty the smith's working overtime making iron weapons." Another finger. "Just livestock and carriages so far - no children, no signs of blood where the livestock get taken." A third finger. "They've searched the caves and found no sign, but they'll hear him laughing from the rooftops." Fourth finger. "Nobody's really gotten a good look at him, either."

Cyneray releases a few Imperials onto the bar as a tender fills a mug in front of him, giving the man an upward nod as he scoops the coins and moves on. "Don't sound like much ofa danger now, do he? Maybe we oughta go fer a looksie ourselves, eh?" has asks, giving Taran an expecting, slightly mischevious glare.

Taran shrugs, smiling slightly. "He's terrified our big, burly locals," he says, indicating the rougish nature of most of the clientele. "But they're thinking in stories - I'd be afraid of a monster, too. I'm not entirely sure that's what they've got on their hands, though. If you'd like to go looking, we can hike up to Fanghill."

Cyneray wipes his lips after taking a large gulp of ale. "Hah!" he laughs deeply, looking over at Taran. "You're no burly local now, is ya?" he says, still grinning. "I'm thinkin, i'll hit the road to Fanghill. You'll be gettin there a... different way," he says.

Taran tilts his head. "What way would that be?" he asks, curious. "And no, I am not - nor have I any skill at combat. But I've told too many tales to be frightened of something I've never seen."

"Oh no, my boy," says Cyneray, gulping again from his mug, nearly downing it. "You're gonna take yourself by carriage to Fanghill. We'll grab ye some goodies for this Burus creature," he continues. "I'll be waitin' for ya on the road. That'll get us the look we need."

Taran sighs. "I've the iron ore in my bag," he says, nodding. "I suppose we'll see what happens - if it *is* just a man, I don't have anything on me worth stealing."

Cyneray turns to Taran, facing him fully. "Give me all your iron," he asks flatly.

Taran raises both eyebrows at that. "...You must either have a great deal of faith in your ability to defend me," he says, "or you don't mind much if I die. Still - after what I've heard, I have little faith in it anyway, I must admit."

Cyneray nods. "Good, good. We'll need to get you some bait," he says, turning away after finishing his ale with a last swig. He rises, but stops to chuckle to himself. "C'mon, finish up lad."

Taran shakes his head. "I'll want a clear head for whatever you've in mind," he says, getting to his feet. "Let's see what we can do."


 * A short time later...

Hedgehem Crossroads 

Tall, slender spires of verdant green harvest pines flank Zahir Road as it straightens from its loops, bends, dips and twists long enough to meet up with Hedgehem Road, at a crossroads village that has helped fuel the legend of the House of Serpents over the centuries.

''The buildings at Hedgehem Crossroads are constructed of smoky gray stone and roofed with shardwood slates, and most of the structures stand one-storey tall - the exception being the Nest, a two-storey tavern and inn catering to the tradesmen and vassals who pass through. Other buildings include Yalkul's Market, the Hedgehem Constabulary, a temple of the Church of True Light, and a smithy.''

Taran is trying - with moderate success - to keep a grip on a squirming piglet wriggling in his arms.

Cyneray stands casually against a barn, calmly smoking from a pipe.

"This is what I could get for bait," says Taran, gripping the little pig with both hands. "What do you make of it?"

Cyneray nods, taking another puff. "Perfect. Noisy too," he says, taking another puff. "Keep it in the carriage with ya. When the beast is upon, toss the little piggsly out," he says, looking at the little creature, before turning and walking slowly away. "We'll need to get another one for breakfast," he mutters over his shoulder.

Taran sighs. "Wish you'd said so before I came back with *this* one," he says. "Well - when shall we begin?"

''Return to Season 5 (2007)