Oaks Edge Inn [Oaks Edge]

The inn was already bustling with activity and gnomes, half orcs, humans and elves - just to name a few - enjoyed themselves over a drink and a stew. Oaks Edge Inn was a place that celebrated diversity in its own rugged way where you could be excused for being a lot of things and find both companions and adventure.

"What a nice bird, ya have there!" the voice sounded from stomach height as the gnome servant approached her wooden glasses making her eyes look infinitely bigger than they really were. "What could I tempt you with? We have stew left and lots of different flavors of ale, mead, beer, wine... Ya name it!" she said and gave Bria a smile. Apparently birds were not an animal frowned upon in this bar and was Bria to ask, the servant would be able to pick more than one story of far more tiresome animals to have been entered into the Oaks Edge Inn.

If the general noise of Oaks Edge did not deafen the humming of an oncoming alpaca herd, then perhaps the rain would. There were about a dozen or so of the wool-clad creatures being herded towards the town by a lone rider on horseback. It might have proven difficult, but the nordic-warrior behind them had fastened them together via some rope. After securing a dry pen for his steed and livestock at the local stable, the Varan made his way to the tavern: Oaks Edge Inn.

He came through the door covered in a worn, black cloak, which haphazardly served its purpose to keep him dry. He removed the soaked clothing and hung it on a nearby rack to dry. His dark blue eyes scanned the room as he took a few steps into the central hearth and made his way to the bar. "An ale, if you would," he requested. His knotty beard and worn clothing suggested he was road-weary, not unlike the most recent patron: Bria Hornraven, which he noted.

The man wore what seemed to be a sort of shoulder-cape: a dark-blue piece of clothing emblazoned with a white wolf and some foreign letters. On his back was a sword with an ornate handle, and on his belt another sword of common-make and a hatchet, as well as a coinpurse. Aside from his dark blue cloth tunic and trousers, the man wore traveling boots, gloves, and leather armor.

Once he was given his Nuts Ale, the traveling swordsman made his way to Bria's table. "Oi," he greeted the man. "Name's Ralf. Mind if I take a seat?"

"No," Ralf responded tersely. "I am from Asgeir, a land to the far north. Perhaps you have hard of my people, the Varan?" The warrior removed his sword and hatchet from his belt so he could sit down, leaning them against his chair. He began to rummage around in his coinpurse; "you look tired, friend. And hungry." The sellsword withdrew some coins and slid them over towards Bria. "Your first meal is on me."

Ralf took a swig of ale and scanned the inn as if he was looking for someone, or perhaps making sure no one was looking for him. In either case he began to speak to Bria without ever making eye contact. "As tired as you look, I'd reckon you were traveling on the road recently? What's your story, friend?"

There was a serious, even dark undertone to the man's voice...

"It wasn't the mask, friend.... it was your weary face," he muttered. Ralf's previous lack of eye contact was now replaced with a cold stare into Bria's eyes. "And aye, I know how it is. I travel a lot as well... food can be scarce on the road." A tense silence followed as the Varan warrior studied Bria's masked face and seemingly drew conclusions about... something.

Suddenly the tension evaporated as a smile spread across the sellsword's face. At a moment's notice the cold and stern man who made Bria feel unsettled became unexpectedly warm, loose, and lively. "Oi! Bring me and the lad another ale!" he hollered across the bar before downing his Nuts Ale in one go. "My apologies," he continued, now more friendlier, "but you can never be too safe!"

Perhaps this strange alpaca herder was on the run? Maybe he suspected Bria as one of his pursuers? Whatever the case was, the Varan had deduced that the masked traveler would not try to apprehend him. "So, Bria Birdman, who is your sidekick?"

"Alright!" Ralf responded, taking Bria's ale and unnecessarily trying to drink from both cups simultaneously. When he was done drinking - or at least done spilling the contents of the cup - he put slammed them back on the table and wiped his mouth clean of any leftover. "Nice to meet you Sasha," he nodded at the bird. Bria would not sense any direct magical talent within the man, but he would notice something comparable to 'potential energy'. There was a very old, very ancient, and forgotten power inside of this rambunctious figure.

The warrior seemed to flex his muscles when Bria mentioned him looking strong. "Aye, I do like animals. Petting them, hunting them, killing them, eating them, you name it. I mostly like wolves because... well," he pretended to stretch, smirking as he continued, "I am... The White Wolf you know."

"Ooooh..." Ralf seemed to collect himself as he prepared to tell Bria his story. "I am Ralf Valgard, of House Valgard, Heir to the Throne of Valland, son of Volrun Valgard: the Hero of Gripclaw Pass, and Aesa Jojora the One-Handed, Grandson of Tarro Valgard of the Thundering Three and Lysa Valgard, Commander of the Wolfguard, Marshal of Valland's Warband, Slayer of Mariah, and Smuggler of Alpacas. These are my titles, Bria Birdman, and they are titles that I take great pride in. The only title which I cannot take great pride in.... is that of The White Wolf.

"Some time ago I heard tales of a terrible beast stalking the snow-laden forests of... a snowy forest. And so, being a slayer of terrible beasts, I decided to find this creature and put an end to his blood frenzy. So I traveled to this place and sought refuge at an inn. I inquired about the monster but the folk did not have much to say. When I awoke the next morning, everyone had been tore apart and their intestines strewn across the small village. But what I did learn was that the White Wolf had been there, for I found his tracks all over the place, starting and ending at my bed.

"Leaving the mystery of the massacre behind me, I made my way into Snow-Laden Forest. After finding nary a trace of the White Wolf, I made camp, only to wake up the next morning to another massacre. A lumberjack was tore apart in a similar manner to those back in the village, and his body some how ended up near me in the middle of the night. And worse yet... werewolf tracks that began and ended at my own cot!

"It was not until I almost engaged in shameful acts of sex to some soiled doves that I morphed into the White Wolf and discovered that it was I! Aye! The White Wolf and I are the same! But with this knowledge came a new perspective... for if I know I am the White Wolf, then I could control the White Wolf. And that is why I drink myself to sleep every night... for the Drunk Wolf shan't cause as much harm to my friends that the White Wolf can."

Ralf shook his head in sorrow. "But the scariest part? I never figured out what happened to the villagers, nor the lumberjack. I can only imagine what horrible creature slaughtered those poor, innocent folk. It is fortunate that I am the White Wolf, for while I cannot remember what I did as the White Wolf, I know that I tried to fight that horrible creature in my beast form and save those poor souls. One of these days... I will avenge those good people. I will become the White Wolf and I will slay that horrible creature that maimed and butchered the good folk of Snow-Laden Forest."

"The Varan rarely ask for help, for we are the help," Ralf stated proudly. And then, ironically enough, he began, "but... if you're looking for work... I may have something for you. Not that I need help, because I don't," he said, folding his arms. "But before you go anywhere with me, why don't you tell me about yourself? You can start with that burn of yours."

"The Allies who gathered at Gripclaw Pass did not tell each other much about themselves, and they were betrayed by one of their own. I simply don't want to make the same mistake" Ralf allowed some time to let that sink in. He had just told the man much about himself, and expected something similar in return, but received scant details. Still, even Ralf knew the value of discretion, and would not push Bria for any more information that he did not want to give out. "Very well," he concluded, "I'm sure we can learn more about each other out on the road, no?" What Bria did reveal did strike Ralf's interest, and he would be eager to here more about it in the future.

"When the storm clears up I need help moving a herd of alpacas. There's a ship down south that will pay good money for them, and I would be willing to split the profit... say 65/35?" He leaned in over the table, "there may.... be some danger involved. Nothing a couple of friends can't handle."

"Word of advice, friend," Ralf began, "always barter for a better price." He winked. "I'll pay you forty percent, and I keep sixty-percent. A trader always asks for more than they really want, just to have the room to negotiate, yeah? Now! Drink up and fill that belly of yours, for we will get a few hours of sleep and head out first thing in the morning!"

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