of Survival and Extinction [Adventure Thread]

[Fury]

Part 1 - Hallowing Grievances

People, the mind, it was a social thing. There was always the need to interact with one another, to converse and share experiences. Odd thing, the human, they had a way of over selling a story. Funny enough, each time a story was recollected the details changed. A few become a dozen, a dog becomes a stalker wolf, even the tiniest of lizards eventually becomes mythicalized as a dragon. If only, this sort of over ladling was present in generosity. Regardless, there was a rumor flying around the humans. A great beast had been killing warriors and farmers alike. The story goes that it was an 8 legged creature, with each appendage as sharp as a steel spear. Other's claimed it was an enraged bear, damned by a mad wizard. Its club like paws supposedly caving the chests of warriors Armour and all.

Whenever people spoke of this mystery killer there was more the exhilaration of gossip than fear. Why was it, that a man-killing monster of ambiguous entity was entertainment? Probably because the problem seemed distance to the masses. Officially, the beast had killed no less than a handful of people. The threat, seemed unreal and in the boring lives of everyday goers, the amusement of thrill was reason enough to wake up. Yet among the ever-changing details there was one part of the story that all seemed to match up. That someone, was paying good gold for the beast to be killed.



Not every man had the luxury of gossip. A grieving father stood behind the bar at his tavern. Silver stubble poking through his drooping skin. His eyes were red from the night before. In the silence of his empty tavern he cleaned his mugs with a ragged cloth. He looked to the fireplace, his boy should have been kindling the fire but all he saw were the cold black pile of soot. He would bite down, holding it in. The white of his knuckles showed as he twisted the rag... Why live on? The day was still early for drunks, people would have begun to move about outside his tavern. It hadn't snowed in a few days with only little mounds of snow here and there. Regardless the chill was still about but the rising sun would soon deal with it.

[Súl Iolar]

A man with a hooded cloak draped over his shoulders, and a piece of clothing over his mouth and nose, walked slowly through the streets. Súl hated the cold! Even if it wasn't that cold to most people, he didn't like it. He was here for a reason though. He needed some money to support him and his daughter, and he had heard there was a hefty prize to take down a beast said to have kill some folks. As long as this thing wasn't one of the intelligent species on Pyyrai, or wasn't being provoked, he'd be willing to help them out.

The Marksman of Ammos finally made his way to the tavern, entering slowly just in case this was a trap. As he entered, the Súl finally eyed the only man there. An older gentleman by the looks of it. He then walked up up to the poor soul and gently spoke. "Are you the man to talk to about this beast I've heard about?"

[Beowulf]

Let's begin by saying that Beowulf wasn't too keen on the idea of risking death as soon as he begun this mission.

This is so dumb, the Ebony Warrior spoke to himself. I'm totally gonna die and then everyone is gonna laugh at me and stuff but who cares because they'll die someday anyway. The tall man sighed as he walked towards the inn, his twelve fingers drumming at his sides as he thought about what he was getting into. Was this really a good idea? He was desperate for money, and not for himself. Thinking of the tiny, squirming bodies back at home in wooden cribs sparked an eternal flame of determination in the mercenary's soul. He knew he would do anything for the babies. . . Except, um, dying.

Yeaaaahhh, that's totally not a good idea. I can't do that.

The Ebony Warrior stepped out of the cold and into the tavern. He saw a wizened man who seemed to be in mourning, with an archer of sorts before him. He waltzed in just in time to hear the adventurer's question to the innkeeper, and Beowulf didn't bother approaching to ask the same thing. Instead he hung back, peering at the two with concealed eyes underneath his helmet. If the other man was here for the same thing, would that mean they'd have to partner up?

Beowulf wasn't sure how he felt about that idea. He never really partnered up with another mercenary underneath the services of the same patron, so this was certainly new. He was more of one who worked alone. . . But wait, would that mean the pay would be split up? He frowned. That was an idea he didn't feel good about.

[Svadilfare]

The Pride of Kryo walked along the slowly wakening streets of [insert name of village/city here]. A light snow fell from the sky, the air was cold--not quite as cold as that in Kryo, but to the man's liking. In his travels across Pyrria, Svadilfare had heard stories of a mysterious beast that preyed on farmers and warriors. It had only killed a few so far, but enough that someone put a price on its head. The amount of coin was considerable--almost as much as had been offered to the Kryoan when he was hired to assassinate Solomon Wyrmfire.

While Svadilfare mostly did assassin work these days, he was still a warrior, the best there was. True, he was slightly hoping for an army, but a beast slaying was welcome; he just wanted a break from assassinations.

Somewhere a baker was preparing a batch of fresh bread. Even in the cold the warm scent floated on the air. It reminded Svad that he hadn't eaten yet today. Children could be heard giggling in the distance, without sympathy for the drunk and weary. Eventually Svad spotted the tavern in which he was to meet the client. He stepped inside and looked around. Not surprisingly given the time of day, the place was void of customers. The tavern owner stood wearily behind the bar, a marksman was speaking with him or just waiting for a drink. And--Svadilfare's old 'friend'--Beowulf. So the ebony-clad warrior was here, too. The last Svad had heard, Beowulf had fathered two children. Perhaps he needed the coin for them.

The Kryoan closed the door behind him, aware that he was letting the biting morning air in. He walked toward the bar and slid a coin to the old man. "A hot meal if you have anything leftover from your dinner. A cup of mead will suffice if not." Svadilfare then turned his attention to the other two. He gave a small nod to Beowulf. "I don't believe I know you," he said to the marksman. "I'm Svadilfare. I come from Kryo. What about you?"

[Súl Iolar]

Súl looked behind him to see the two new men that walked in. From the looks of them, they were probably after the same prize he was. The marksman already figured numbers would be a good thing, and wouldn't mind working with others, as long as they were mature. One of the pair asked Súl his name, and introduced himself.

Svadilfare? The archer had heard of him. He then let his Irish tongue speak to the man."The Legend of Kryo himself. Pleasure to make your meet you. Name Súl Iolar, and I live in Ammos." The marksman then laid his eyes one the heavily armored one. Svadilfare seemed to know him. "Who's your friend?" He kept his eyes on the one in armor. Súl didn't like not seeing any of the man's face. I was just a bit unsettling to someone use to seeing another man's expressions. Without seeing them, it was hard to tell what was on the armored one's mind.

[Fury]

With a thud and a creak the Tavern doors swung open. Immediately the rascals of winter slipped through. The old man shivered, baring the early guests as ill omen. There were reasons few that they sought him early, usually it was harassment from local guards. However the doors swung twice more, with each entry the morning chill taking a bite at the heels. First entered a rag of an archer, second a behemoth of a rook and lastly someone that looked more from these parts. The old man stared from behind his bar, wondering if misfortune had besieged him. Ha, better axe than noose. At least, he would join his kin in the old manner.

"What can I do for kinder?"
He spoke to the last to enter. Referring to the pelt clad assassin. If he was about to be robbed and killed he would at least die to a kinsmen than an outsider. His left hand reached under, twiddling at a short kitchen knife. He was no fighter, but he'd go down fighting.

"A hot meal if you have anything leftover from your dinner. A cup of mead will suffice if not."

The whites of his knuckles returned color. So, they were traveling guests. Strangers to one another. He would live another day. Strange, though he was relieved there was a sadness he felt. With a grunt he hoisted up a cast iron pot. Shaking as he did, he move towards the fireplace, his body crooked to the side as he tried to counter balance the pot.

"Cold be it now, but rabbit stew is what I have for hot food. I will bring out bread and Ale so long if you wish." He'd start a fire letting it heat the stew. The assassin seemed to know the castle, while the ranger knew the first by reputation. He soon returned with cold bread, some aged cheese a pitcher of ale and 3 mugs.

"Svadilfare, I've heard of your name... What brings you here?"

[Beowulf]

Just as he thought that his luck couldn't be worse, Beowulf heard the door open and close again. Groaning inwardly, he twisted his head to the man who entered and instantly stiffened.

Svadilfare.

Him, of all people. Why did he have to be here?! Under his helmet, Beowulf narrowed his eyes ominously, staring down the shorter man as he passed. He was happy that his helmet covered his face so nobody could see what he was feeling. On his face was a look of pure jealousy and disgust, directed solely to Svadilfare. Beowulf wanted him to go away, and he held back a scoff when the Pride of Kryo gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

He was, however, happy that Svadilfare did the talking to the archer who came before him. Just because Beowulf acted aloof didn't mean he was uncaring. He was genuinely curious about who this archer was, and soon he found out via dialogue between him and Svadilfare-- Súl Iolar. His name sounded familiar as well, which the Ebony Warrior didn't fancy. He was an envious man, and very ambitious at that. He wanted to be the best. However, at the ripe age of 22, being the best wasn't expected, especially when he had only 5 or 4 years of experience. That certainly wasn't enough to be an expert. Thus, it angered Beowulf that two well-known people were before him. Beowulf did not have much renown out of his home, and it made him frustrated that these two had something that he didn't.

"We're not friends," the Ebony Warrior said coldly, although he kept his voice in control. "Just acquaintances." He didn't look at Svadilfare, as his pale eyes were fixed on the Marksman of Ammos. He didn't want to look at the oh-so-AMAZING Pride of Kryo. "I'm Beowulf Zhada."

His irises then shifted to the innkeeper, watching and listening as he spoke to Svadilfare. He had nothing else to say, as he were only here to get his prize. And maybe die trying to take down this beast. Who knows.

[Súl Iolar]

Súl watch the man addressed Svadilfare. It was odd. He had seemed worried before, but now he was at least slightly calmer. He had to admit that he the man behind the bar Wars interesting. Then he turned his attention to the warrior, Beowulf.

So he wasn't a friend of Svadilfare, but he knew the man. He wasn't a small fellow either, and the armor the warrior was wearing only added to his impressiveness. Súl could tell from his voice there was some worry. The man probably didn't think he'd get the job, or enough pay, with two longer working mercenaries here. The archer gave the man a nod and extended his hand. "Pleasure to meet some new blood in our trade. I think I've heard your name a time or two."

Then the barkeep came around with some food, he guessed for Svadilfare, some mugs, and some ale. The marksman looked at the man, not quite sure how to respond. He didn't drink. Period. Most thought he was strange for avoiding it, but Súl had his reasons. He wasn't a brawler. He couldn't risk his aim or his thinking because he wanted to drink. The archer pulled the cloth down that covered his nose and mouth, smiling at the bartender. "Sorry to say this, sir, but I avoid drinks like ale. Prefer to keep my reflexes and wits sharp."

[Svadilfare]

Svadilfare helped the old man carry the pot to the hearth. After he sat back down, he slid three more coins to him. "For the bread, cheese and ale." Svadilfare poured himself a mug of ale and took a sip; almost immediately it warmed him, numbed the pain in his right hand. He looked at the archer. "Sul Iolar. Nice to meet you. Hello, Beowulf. How have you been?" he asked without looking at the armor-clad man.

[Beowulf]

Súl Iolar heard Beowulf's name before? Really? That almost made Beowulf brighten up. Almost.

Beowulf merely tilted his head in surprise down at the smaller man. Did Beowulf please a patron so much that they told others of his services? He was not aware of this, and it pleased him. Not only did it give the Ebony Warrior a bit of renown, but it also had the possibility to draw in more business. With that came money. In the past he only used his money to get the equipment you see him use now, plus more services to get it upgraded. However, now that Beowulf had two daughters, he used all his money on them, providing them warmth and the milk of a goat for food. Beowulf had no regrets.

"I'm fine." Silver irises flicked over so the Ebony Warrior could look at Svadilfare with a mere glance without Beowulf moving his head. His answer was true, though short and sharp. . . He had been doing very well recently. He had gotten used to living with babies, and he had met Molpadia, an assassin from the Gynaikes. How Beowulf came across such a beautiful creature was one of nature's greatest mysteries.

[Fury]

The 3 men would be given space. A time for them to talk to one another, whether they chose formalities or kinship was up to them. The old man saw to his business, taking the coins with a calloused hand. He moved from table to table going about his business. While he swiped the dust from the tavern, his mind was thinking the whole time. What the marksman had said before. He's brow furrowed, deep in thought. Hands moving across his various tavern duties. Years of routine had turned him into a machine. He checked his barrels, cleared the floor of crumbs and dust, restocked his counters with relatively fresh fruit, he made sure his mugs had no mold and that his utensils were without rust. The air in the Tavern would warmed up by the fire and with it the smell of stew.

He ladled a wooden bowl full of the stuff, tender rabbit boiled with carrots, potatoes and cabbage. It was, his late wife's recipe. With some salt, oregano and sage, the stew was hearty for any weary traveler. Carefully as his old hands could, he placed it in front of Svadilfare. The thick stew was filled to the brim with contents, and some of it spilled over the side. The man grunted, wiping it away with a clean cloth. "Marksman..." He would call out, sitting at the head of the table. "You speak of a beast..." A dry spell came over his mouth, making his throat coarse. "...ugh.." He took to drinking his own ware, grabbing the mug the man had refused. He would take long gulps, needing the dutch courage to say what he had.

"There is no money," that he had no idea about. Never had he offered money or reward for a job, "But there is a beast... One I'd give everything to see dead." His nostrils flared, his grievance morphing into anger. He took another big gulp, the brown ale spilling over his chin. "I have no large sums of money, But I will provide horse and rations for your journey. If you kill the damned beast..." he snarled the last word, "You can drink and eat free for the rest of your life and any gold that I have on me right now." He slammed down the coins the warrior had given him earlier. "I don't got much but a fistful of gold and a bag full of silver odd bits." That was all the man had to offer. He finished his drink and his chest heaved up and down like a buck ready to charge.

[Súl Iolar]

Súl gave the man a surprise look not at the fact that there wasn't really pay, but that he would give everything he had to see it killed. The marksman eyed the barkeep, then looked over at the other two men, trying to see what they thought. He the spoke with his distinct, Irish voice. "I don't know about these chaps, but I'm not one to take everything a man has. I'll take the job for the room and food, but none of your cash. You need it more than I."

The Dragon Tongue then looked at Svadilfare and Beowulf, again trying to see what they thought. "You two better know I'm not planning on facing this thing alone. Would either of you be willing to work with me?" He figured it'd be best to not face an unknown, dangerous creature on his own, and hoped at least one of the warriors there would help.

[Svadilfare]

Svadilfare thanked the old man for the bowl of stew and removed a wooden spoon from his satchel. He lifted an overflowing spoonful of rabbit and vegetables to his mouth and blew gently on the steam that rose from it. When it was cool enough not to burn his tongue, he tipped the contents of the spoon into his mouth, chewed a bit, and swallowed. The heat of the stew traveled down his throat and into his stomach, warming him. He tore a chunk of bread from the loaf and dipped it into the stew before eating it. Svadilfare intended to go back home after this job, but with stew as good as this, the Kryoan might just stick around for a day or two.

Then the old innkeeper revealed that he was the one looking for the beast to be killed. Svadilfare looked up from his bowl and at the man. He listened as the man declared he'd give them every bit of gold and silver he own to see the beast dead. The warrior/assassin shook his head. "I will take no coin from you, especially not the very coin I just gave you. Room and food will suffice. I will aid you in this job," he said to the marksman. "And you really must try this stew. It's delicious, tastes almost like..." he paused, stopping himself from saying 'wife'. He ate another piece of bread dipped in stew and chewed slowly, as if he were trying to remember what it was the food reminded him of. "...Like my children made it." he said finally.

Svadilfare looked over his shoulder at Beowulf. "Surely you and I can be civil long enough to complete this job?"

[Beowulf]

Like most of the time, Beowulf was glad that his shadowy helm covered his face and expressions. This was so because he didn't want the other two men to see him frown. Beowulf came here to make money, not to risk his life to take down a creature out of the kindness of his heart. Kindness is nice and all, but it doesn't fill bellies. He works for money, not to get killed. By the heavens, if Beowulf wasn't near these two men, he would demand a pay. . .

The only problem was that Beowulf fell too easily to peer pressure. Now that Sul and Svadilfare dismissed the promise of coin, Beowulf would feel heartless if he just said that he would take the money. Plus, Svadilfare was right there. As much as rivals the two were, Beowulf still didn't want to make himself seem evil in front of the Pride of Kryo. Who knows? Maybe the Ebony Warrior can impress him. . .

"I am perfectly civil," Beowulf grunted in reply to Svadilfare. He then took off his helmet to reveal dark brown hair and silver eyes. The man exhaled, glancing at the innkeeper. "No need for the money," he spoke reluctantly. "I will be fine." Maybe he will regret that when his two baby girls were crying from hunger.

[Fury]

The man smiled, but his eyes told not of delight but something that hinted madness. For the first time in his life his heart sprouted revenge. If these warriors could kill the blasted monster he'd want nothing more in life. He could picture it now, the satisfaction of watching the beast suffer. The beast with its...What did the beast look like? The man came back to his senses, realizing he had been staring and grinning to himself. He blinked wiping away his mouth of the ale.

"I know little of this monster save for where it lives. South of here, a days Journey, deep into the swampy woods. If you start now you will arrive at night. Start a little later and you will probably arrive in the morning. Food, and bedding I can pack enough for 5 days in case you don't find him."

His eyes darted left and right, trying to remember something. It didn't help anyone if they didn't know what they were hunting. There was something though. She had gotten the tavern riled up that night. She had been saying stuff about the beast. Talking about a monster she had encountered on her travels. The reason why her son... her son had left.

"There was a lass, she was passing through, she encountered the beast, if you ask her she will know more. I don't know if she's still around, Red hair, Blue eyes. She fancies hunting so if she's not in a nearby home she will be out in the local fields, no more than an hours walk East."

[Svadilfare]

The Kryoan nodded slowly as he listened to the old man. He considered their options, leave now and arrive at night, or later and arrive in the morning. Since they would have to track down someone who actually knew something about the creature they'd just been hired to kill, it would make more sense for the trio to set out later. "We'll leave tomorrow... if you two don't have a problem with it. We can spend the rest of this day learning what we can about the beast and gathering provisions."

He finished off his stew and bread, leaving only the cheese, which he didn't care for. And then he looked at the other two men. Beowulf was like Svad, a warrior and best suited for close quarters. The marksman, on the other hand, was more suited for distance. Svadilfare balanced the group by also being an assassin, perfect for stealth. Together, they could take down an animal by working like a wolf pack.

Turning his thoughts back to the matter at hand, Svadilfare replied to the tavern owner, "A day's worth of food will be enough. We'll be more than capable of replenishing it if we need to. I have some food with me already, anyway."

[Súl Iolar]

The marksman took Svad's advice, and placed some coins down for the soup. The man then listened to the innkeeper tell them what he knew about the creature. Súl could tell he wanted revenge, yet he had never seen the creature that he wanted dead. He thought about what would cause a man to have such a want for revenge. Then he heard the man mention a woman, who could shed light on the creature. It would be a good idea to talk to her.

Then he turned to Svad, who said they should leave in the morning. He thought it was a good idea. Súl would like to see his target. "No arguments here." Then he noted them only needing a day's worth of food. All the marksman did at this was nod.

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