Escaping the Cold (Open)

[Skeet]

Gorm tread through the thick layer of snow that covered the ground, leaving a trail behind him that quickly filled with snow again. He shivered and pulled his bear fur cloak closer toward his body in an attempt to trap some amount of warmth. He stopped to look ahead, squinting through the heavy snowfall, and sighed in relief when he saw a village in the distance. This meant warm food and a hot bath, two things Gorm very much wished for at this particular moment. He trudged along, hoping he wouldn't freeze to death before reaching the village.

This was one of the worst snowstorms Gorm had had to endure, and it caught him by surprise when he had been travelling back to town after taking care of a group of bandits that had made camp nearby and were harassing travelers making there way out of town. He had been following the main road back, but must have gotten lost when the snowstorm hit and began to cover the road. He still held the bloodied cloak of one of the bandits, proof of his success in dealing with the rabble, but it now looked like he wouldn't make it back to collect his pay.

At last, Gorm reached the village, and not a moment too soon! As he expected, no one was outside, forcing him to look for some sort of pub or tavern without directions. He squinted through the snow and spotted a sign reading The White Stag. "Th-that's g-gotta be it," he shivered under his breath. He began walking toward the establishment, which was surprisingly big for the size of the village. Gorm guessed that they must have travelers come through often. When he had reached the entrance, he shoved the door open and stepped inside. A large fire was roaring in the hearth, providing ample heat to warm the entire establishment, which was almost bursting with the amount of patrons that had come in to wait out the storm. He struggled to close the door against the strong wind, but finally got it to stay. He hurried to the fireplace to thaw out his beard, which was now coated with frost and covered in icicles.

[echtronis]

So tough, these northerners were; not just in hardy endurance and constitution oh no no no! But like month old dried jerky pressed with sawdust when it came to manners, at least, such was the perceptions of the diminutive Mori. He could hardly get a word in with the huddled tallfolk finding refuge in the warm halls of The White Stag, let along ply and inquire their current ambitions. It was all fish to them! Pickled fish mostly, what with the especial bitterness of the season, and while the little halfling was hardly adverse to a good pickled anything, it made for difficult intrigue to find others for his little wagon. So many, too many, abandoned in the village prior. "Fie-diddy-doo! What of a bit of chill!" He would mutter to himself, alone at his table with his delicate, almost pristinely unchipped tea set, slurping out of his large, steaming cup. A miserable sight, to see a cross hobbit surrounded by a throng who wouldn't share in his tea.

But then, in that twist of fate that seemed to flicker about those of his small, hairyfooted kind, opportunity would shove the door of the inn open, and this time, Mori could not see anyone over the crowd to view who would enter. This struck the small fellow with a tingling of curiosity, and made a bit of an effort to tilt and turn and twist his bemuttonchop'd head to get a better look, spying the entrance of a... of a dwarf!

Armed, and armored? Mori thought to himself. Ice in the beard, bloodied cloak? Not TALL?! He had pursed his lips in consideration, and then with a snap of his fingers, dedicated to chance again. He set his cup down and quickly began pouring from his quaint kettle into his cup and then into an empty one awaiting, thusfar fruitlessly, for an unexpected guest. Then, he hopped off the large chair, and reaches for the cups, walking in a careful dance around and between the large roaming legs of northeners to make his way to the hearth.

Would if that Gorm's eyes were not completely solidified from the blizzard, the dwarf would no doubt see the presence of small, hairyfooted fellow, couldn't even be four feet in height, approach with a warm smile with a sympathetic, bushy, brow, weilding dual, steaming, tea cups. He was draped in, well, several cloaks, and underneath were a jerkin that seemed to be riddled, absolutely astoundingly riddled, with metal buttons, that seemed to appear as if they were stitched in for protection rather than fashion. Muttonchops sprang wildly from the frame of his otherwise shaven or hairless face, and his hat was old and beaten with an extravagant red feather springing from its wide-brimmed circumference.

"Hoy hoy and good tidings, my frozen friend! You have the look as if you've seen the bitter worst of this bitter weather! Please, I am Mori, Mori Nettleknot, at your service- a friend of Brandobi, at your service, my fellow! Would you take tea to help with the cold?" He said, jutting a teacup out to the large dwarf.

[Skeet]

It was not long after Gorm had reached the fireplace that he was approached by a curious creature. Its stature resembled that of a man, though it was half the size. Even Gorm looked down upon him! The dwarf watched as the creature offered him tea in a tiny cup. He was wary at first, but eventually reached out a large, gloved hand and took the cup, bringing it to his lips. Gorm made an effort to be careful with the teacup, as he feared he would be able to crush it with minimal effort.

"Thank ye much, kind, er..." Gorm wasn't quite sure what to call the strange creature, and finally settled on, "Thank ye, kind sir." He took another sip before approaching a dusty old chair that sat nearby, waiting to be used. He took his sword in its sheath and placed them beside the chair. Then, he removed his large fur cloak and set it on the back of the chair, before finally sitting down. As for the bloody cloak he was holding onto, he threw it into the fire. It appeared that the storm would keep him from travelling far for a while, and he didn't feel like carrying it around for that long. Besides, the sight of bloody clothes was bound to attract unwanted attention.

"I hope ye don't mind me askin'," the dwarf started, not sure how to put it into words without coming across as rude, "but what are ye, exactly?" In all his years wandering the world beyond the mountain, he had never encountered such a creature, and was filled with curiosity. Where had it come from? And were there more? Gorm took one last sip from the tiny cup before placing it next to him. At once, he removed a large oak pipe from his pocket, filled it and lit it with a match that he afterward flicked into the fireplace.

[echtronis]

The hair at the sides of Mori's face took an upward point in delight as the dwarf seemed receptive to company, and eagerly handed over the steaming cup. "There there, that'll drop the ice from the beard then." The small fellow then took a comfortable stand by the hearth, watching the bloodied garment being tossed in. "I've never been good at getting stains out either; that's a sorcery I believe only my Auntie Thelni knows, I reckon."

After a moment of simply enjoying the tea, Mori turned his head to Gorm when the dwarf had asked a minding of asking of the question of the nature of Mori which Mori was not to mind the asking of. "Why, a Friend of Brandobi, sir! A traveler I am, daresay an adventurer if there are ventures advantageous to catch my eye or ear. It either seemed lost upon the buttoned-up bumpkin that Gorm was inquiring more of Mori's natural nature, or that he was simply enjoying the playing of words. "And what of you, sir? Are you of similar cut in cloth or mail? And what does one call you? And would you like cake with your tea? Or brandy?"

[Skeet]

"Right..." Gorm didn't know what this creature's being a friend of one Brandobi had anything to do with anything, but that was beside the point. This was obviously not the answer the dwarf had been looking for, but Gorm, not wanting to be rude, decided against inquiring any further. The creature, who called himself Mori, had also mentioned himself being some sort of adventurer, though to what extent, Gorm did not know.

"Name's Gorm. I'm somethin' of an adventurer meself. More of a sellsword, really." He sighed and watched as the remains of the cloak he had plundered became slowly engulfed by the glowing embers. He sucked on the end of his pipe and puffed out a small ring of smoke that drifted toward the fireplace before disappearing completely. "Cake and brandy will do me fine." Gorm didn't realize just how hungry he was until Mori had mentioned cake.

The dwarf turned to look out a window and found that the storm had not let up in the least bit. He reached in his pocket and withdrew a small pouch containing gold and silver coins, earned throughout the years for his services. He judged he would have enough to stay a maximum of three, possibly four nights. I just hope the storm settles before then, Gorm thought to himself, blowing out another ring of smoke.

[echtronis]

Mori just smiled. One of his teeth seemed to be made of wood. "Of course! Merry, merry, merry-merry met, Mister Gorm. I'll be back before you can untwirl a pig's tail in your noggin' there now." And he was off, bare feet slapping against the heavy lengths of lumber recently polished by the proprietor, which was stained by his father before him, which was cut by his mother before him, of which wood whom would be felled by her second cousin, also a lumbering sort - common in these parts. Mori would go on about the place and its quaint history as he's learned it, but only over the course of retrieving his things from his original table (already threatened to be overtaken by the bustling crowd in the inn for the blustering blizzard), and over and onto, set up really, once again on the small table near the hearth between the two short fellows. The kettle was really quite nice, perhaps only had broken twice.

More tea, and brandy, was poured, and a cake was produced with mild apology from Mori for its shape made irregular by its packing in travel. Though the seedy outerness of the cake was a bit dry, it retained a delightful spongy moistness within, elements of nutmeg and hazelnut. The seeds were drenched in honey reapplied from a small bauble in one of Mori's many small purses dangling from the belt that stretched around his potbelly. It went surprisingly well with the brandy.

Mori seemed to talk quite a bit, but was ever sure to give his "Please"s and "Thank you"s and "No after you"s. He would bend the ear a bit on his travels from a wagon train that would move to impossible places, and how his curious friend, Brandobi, would teach him a few tricks of getting into strange places himself (Which, he adds, is how he wound up here. "Just a week and a half ago I thought I would be cooked alive under the Moraki sun" he said.), but always in the direction of another "find" he would say.

When the cake had but a quarter left of it, he patted his belly. "And anyway, that's how that serpentine priest was sorted out. I wager he was just self conscious about the lack of venom in his fangs, but once he saw his peculiarly scaly minotaur had rammed its head through two or three too many of their rather impressive works of stone, by the Matron's Cornucopia was he more than amicable to accept the tribute from Essyrn, and lucky that, what with my good associate Miss Godwyn of Connlaoth moments from ritual sacrifice." He set his brandy down, and eyed the dwarf. "Shame she didn't have the heart to join me in my current travels. Especially since they've brought me here, and what for, I reckon, but to trade a bowl to a Lady of Stone. A few of the tall fellows around here have helped me figure a reasonable idea of where to find her temple," He waggled some fingers rather nonchalantly to the icy window "somewhere out buried in those hoarfrostey mountains." He took a moment to decide between another sip of tea or another bite of cake. He chose both. "Are you familiar with ancient petrified women, Mister Gorm? I wouldn't mind the company of the adventurous sort. The profits are typically rich in these matters of spelunking forgotten hovels in hills, but they're usually full of dreadfully ill-mannered squatters."

He looked back to the windows. "If this storm ever passes, of course."

[Skeet]

Gorm just sat there, listening to Mori go on about some escapade or other, trying his best not to fall asleep. It had been a long day for the dwarf, and the pleasant warmth of the fire was making him a bit drowsy. He continued to smoke his pipe, occasionally blowing out a ring or two, before Mori asked him about joining him on some adventure or other. Gorm, admittedly, had not heard everything Mori had said, as he had begun to drown him out, lost in his own thoughts. However, he did hear bits and pieces here and there, something about petrified women, profits, spelunking, and ill-mannered squatters. Gorm quickly sat up and turned to look at Mori.

"What are ye talkin' about? What about petrified women?" Gorm tried, and failed, to make sense of the few words he had heard. However, it was clear that Mori had just asked him to join him on an adventure, and a potentially profitable one, at that. This was just what Gorm needed, especially after his failure to collect his payment for his last job. The dwarf looked out the window and remembered the storm. He sat back in his chair and sighed. He was up for an adventure, alright, but wasn't sure if he was prepared to trudge through the blizzard again, and risk getting lost again.