Weary Tankard - Interior

"What are you wearing Enelye?" said under her breath as she sat down.

Hrothgar told her the story of Apollonius, and his generosity and Hrothgar's good fortune.

"Well I spoke to Lord Northewode. Gruff fellow. Not full of meeriment or life at all it seems. Somber and sullen. He was very interested in our daggers and where they came from. He was also puzzled by the ease at which we found them. Most of those kind of relics were discovered and melted down or destroyed generations ago." Enelye paused, "I think he wants to make sure the evils that parts of his ancestors wrought are not coming back to haunt him in the present. The books and the mysterious scrawl were all very disturbing to him. He said to raze the tower if we needed to, he didn't care. But as Lord, he insisted on updates when we come back and forth on anything related to the Northewode legends and name. I kept the books to see if it would help us."

Another pause...

"He was an adventurer you know. Pretty good at it as well. Most of Harm was built out of his coffers. Appollonius was one of his travelling mates. He talked a bit about that as well. He is maimed now, and old, but would have been quite sight in his day."

"So I assume you want to go back. I would like to as well. We had better see if we can find another sellsword to help us."

Enelye scanned to tavern. It was time for the midday meal and the tavern had become quite full as  they had talked. Merchants, tradesmen, craftsmen, and some travellers crowded the tables. Several potential people stood out as neither farmers or merchants. A littleling woman in the corner who was deftly drank flaggons of beer and ate massive amounts of pie at the same time, a very trim and clean man in travelling clothes, who was trying very hard to seduce the serving girl, a massive man, soft around the middle, in a very worn padded jerkin, hungrily scrafing stew, with a large dirk prominently laying on the table next to him, and finally, a foppish sort of man in a slashed and embroidered black leather jerkin with a soft cap with a long white-tipped blue feather coming out of it sat impassively as another man he was sitting with droned on with big grand gestures.

"Any of those look good to you?", she said to Hrothgar.

Hrothgar, what do you want to do?

Rufus

"She was in here last night talking to a somber gent. Haven't seen her but the other one lit outta here after the Captain of the Guard smacked him in the face." Rufus chuckled," I reckon the other one and the elf got into some places they shouldn'ta. They went west onto the Marches. Came back with some treasure, but also got a boastful, pain in the neck, killed. So I reckon the Baron wanted to hear their story." Rufus , casually cleaned the bar. "So, you be buying anything, or maybe some lodging? I'm all talked out."

Hrothgar looked around and saw several people already enjoying the Tankards sweet ales and dark draughts.

Weary Tankard part Deux

Hrothgar strode into the Weary Tankard, his face concealed under the hood and cape. The barman looked at him strangely. Hrothgars face was not his own, an amalgom of everyman. It was a little unsettling to look at because of its plastic nature. And futher, it was a nice day out and the cape made him look suspicious. But some folks preferred to be anonymous these days.

"Name's Rufus, get you somethin?" said the barman to Hrothgar.