The Boar Inn and Mead Hall

Alrik was hard to miss as he crouched to enter the front door of the Boar Inn and Mead Hall, as he'd done many times before. Twelve feet of pale-skinned, white-bearded giant would normally turn a few heads, but Alrik had been to the mead hall enough to make his presence unsurprising for the regulars. Once inside the door, Alrik was more or less able to stand upright, at least closer to the middle of the building as the roof of the mead hall was vaulted high enough to accommodate his height. Alrik made his way passed the few people between him and his preferred seat on the floor next to the hearth, and once there made himself comfortable by sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor with his back against the wall.

The giant reached for a proportionately small bag that hung just to his left, and pulled the bag on its strap around in front of him. Out of the bag, he produced a birch branch and a giant-sized curved pipe. He slipped the end of the branch into the fire, which to his giant hands looked like a long matchstick, and put the pipe between his teeth to clutch while he went digging around in his bag again. The pipe (while it was proportioned perfectly for Alrik) was rather ornate with intricate carvings, and looked somewhat out of place for the giant who otherwise appeared to be of relatively simple means.

It now became clear that Alrik intended to finish off the later hours of the day with a nice smoke, and probably a small (for obvious reasons) drink.

Isgerd didn't take too seriously any of the borders or gateposts that crisscrossed Taingaard and marked the edges of their cities. Ravens rode on the wind and went where they pleased. But today she walked around in human form, peeking curiously at the shops and stalls of the marketplace, before making her way to the Meadhall from which delicious smells of roasting meat and beer issued forth. It wasn't for food and drink that she came here, but rather for a man. More specifically the giant Alrik, who the people of Vikhafen reckoned to be their greatest craftsman.

Isgerd swung the door open and entered the smoky hall where, as usual, quantities of food and drink were being consumed and much talk and laughter could be heard. There were many people, all, no doubt, with interesting stories, and perhaps later she would stop and listen, but for now, the woman made her way to the rather obvious giant. She made no hesitation on seeing him already approached by a man who curiously had both the look of a Taingaarder and yet … not. He had her interest piqued as much as the giant, once he started rattling off an introduction that included several unfamiliar names and places. Uninvited, she sat down on the floor cross-legged right next to Alrik, and facing the Varan.

“Greetings to you, Ralf of Valgard!” she answered, the grin of her white teeth glinting in the firelight. “I am Isgerd, Hraefansdottir, heir to nothing, friend to my friends, slayer of no-one and wielder of wits alone. I came to talk to Alrik Storkin … and....” she looked up and up until she managed to catch Alrik's gaze, “there's no doubt this is he. Honoured to meet you, Master Storkin, but since you were here before me, please go head, Ralf of Valgard. I can wait.” She flicked her long braid back and sat in a listening posture, ready to keep her request to Alrik until after Ralf had finished.

Though Ralf was initially after Alrik, he took an interested in the warrior-lady Isgerd as well; more contacts, potential allies, and additional sources of information were always welcome - and a pretty face never hurt. “Hail and well met, Isgerd, daughter of Hraefan.” The White Wolf exchanged friendly glances between Alrik and Isgerd. “A pleasure, Alrik Storkin. May our meeting end in a boon.”

Ralf took a seat near Alrik and Isgerd. The two were easily dwarfed by the giant, Storkin, but Ralf met the man’s attention with eagerness and curiosity rather than intimidation.

“Please,” he would begin to say towards Isgerd, “take care of your business with Alrik. I am but a foreigner, and my request can wait.”

Many different people and travelers passed through the Boar Inn everyday and having served guests for so many years not much surprised Karl the bartender. The giant? Well no, he had seen taller anyway. The druid was Isgerd, he knew her at least by name as being employed by the Tain and the last one to enter looked like a warrior - possibly from Taingaard but he had features he couldn't quite recowgnize. Even the grey skinned guy with the sullen look sitting in the corner didn't have him batting an eye, nothing special there. However as the small cat in the peculiar clothes walked in, he stood as frozen. 'A cat' this was all his mind could conjure right now, and quite possibly it wasn't even a cat, but one of those swamp witches that had come disguised as an animal to cast a curse on the inn and his family.

"Ahhh..." Karl went and looked around the room and then on Muffinton. "Ra-rabbit yes. Milk? Why yes of course!" he said as his heart pounded and he left the counter for a while to go into the back room. 'Alright calm down Karl, it is probably no swamp witch, the town is well protected by our shamans! No go and serve it its milks and rabbit!' he thought determined and came back out with a forced smile.

"Here you go mister!" he said nervously as Muffinton got a full pint of milk and half a rabbit served to him. Better not to make it too little. Whatever Muffinton had actually paid he cared little about and just hoped the little creature was appeased as he could still not shake the thought of it being a witch.

Alrik smiled, seeing immediately that Isgerd was not taken in by his humble title. "Very perceptive, young druid." he said as he took the pipe she had mentioned from his mouth. He held it between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, turning the pipe to face himself and then Ralf and Isgerd. The meerschaum was aged to a slightly off-white color from years of heat and tobacco use, and on the front of the pipe rested a finely detailed visage of an aging man. "This was one of the first pipes I made for myself, I fancied it a sort of self portrait." Alrik put the pipe back in his mouth and added, "At the time I thought it looked a little too old to be me."

When Isgerd spoke of the small figures, Alrik nodded and took his in turn to examine it. He held the small stone carving close to his eye. "I am familiar with such game, though I have not heard its name spoken in many years. If memory serves you'd need 24 warriors from one clan, and an opposing clan with but 12 warriors, and of course a king. But - " He handed the small agate figure back to Isgerd, and took the one of jasper to examine. "It would be a hard task indeed to match the crystal there. The grain of the stone, color, clarity, tiny faults in the formation of the striations, even the tools the original craftsman used; these must all be replicated to complete this set again." Alrik gave the jade figure a smell, and wiped a tiny bit of dirt from it. "Had you asked me only a few dozen years ago, I would have made replacements for you in just a day or so and declared the set 'complete' once more - happy to have restored such treasure in my own mind, and ready to count my own hands among the masters of old that made them first."

Alrik returned Isgerd's red figure to her, and once again took up the metal tin he'd taken from his bag. He popped the top off of it, and gave its contents a deep inhale. From the tin he took a hard puck of compressed tobacco, and reached to his side for a well worn, but still cared for knife. The knife's overall length would have been easily measured from a normal human's elbow up to the tip of their middle finger, but in the giant's hand it seemed well proportioned. He spoke about the figures again as he used the blade to shave off a bit of the plug tobacco into the upturned lid of the tin.

"If you would like, I will gladly make you an entirely new set of figures, but I hesitate to insult the craftsman that carved those you have there so beautifully by trying to replicate their work." He put his knife back, and took a bit of the tobacco between his fingers to loosen it up as he continued. "Completely free of charge, if you are willing to wait for me to carve them at my leisure." The giant looked down with an easy gaze at Isgerd. If she wanted, she would have no problem finding another craftsman to make perfectly passable replacements for the set that no one would look at twice if they were simply playing with them. There was little room for doubt that the druid likely knew this, but Alrik was banking on the idea that she would also be willing to accept an heirloom-quality set made entirely by his own master hand.

Isgerd watched Alrik closely as he examined the figures, excited as to what his response would be. “I can get you stone just like it!” she responded, “tools might be harder to find but … if you told me what they were… “ Her voice trailed off to silence and her eyes hardened as she realised that he was about to refuse her request. She took a breath and huffed it out through her nose. “I can get a new set anywhere,” she replied. “I don’t want a new set – I want this set – but complete. You’re the only craftsman around who can do it! I know you can, and it would be no insult to the original, at all. Don’t you think the craftsman who made this would rather it was complete? That people could play the game he put so much effort and skill into making again? Would he want to think of his work lost and scattered? I don’t want you to copy the men, each one is different, so you can make them how you wish but… can’t you see this as – a gift to the master of your profession from so long ago. To let his game be seen, played, admired, its purpose fulfilled.“ After this impassioned plea, she sighed, her hands rested on her knees balled into loose fists. “I really, really, really need this. You can name your price…. Anything, Alrik Storkin.”

A hooded visage sat in the corner occasionally squinting in the direction of the odd group.
"Ta-fl... Al-rik... " he formed the words with his lips silently as if training himself in the pronunciation of the words. It had been a long, long time since he had had any meaningful conversation with other 'people' and last time he had, the accent had been vastly different. Some of the words were hard to understand, but the word "tafl" meant table and as he remembered it was some kind of game. He slightly raised his head to see the figures a little better in a bit to confirm what he thought to remember.

"Hmm no..." he muttered to himself, not quite willing to approach the group yet, though the most perceptive among the group may have already noticed the prying eyes from the stranger although Atraedor tried to conceal his interest to the best of his skills. Maybe they could help? maybe they couldn't, this was the question that seemed to bother Atraedor. He had been eyeing many strangers today, but somehow this seemed like the most approachable bunch - the ones least likely to plunge a sword in Atraedor's chest. 'Better slightly defensive than slightly dead' he thought to himself and pulled the hood a little more in front of his head to cover his face.

Isgerd jumped up and hugged the giant, not managing to fit her arms anywhere near around his bulk. “Thank you, thank you! You won't regret it!” She was giddily pleased to see the turnaround in Alrik's answer. She became a bit more sober again when he mentioned a complication, and stood beside him listening. “Do not worry about that. Wherever you go Master Storkin, you will find it hard to shake me off. I'll find you as I found those tafl-men, and as I'll find the stone to make them. Like as not, if this is a scheme of the Tain, I'll be accompanying your party anyway. And if that isn't the case, if you need me, just ask.” Erik Haldar would understand her absence, if a debt needed to be paid. “I am a Wayfinder, Master Storkin. You may call upon my services if ever you need me.” From her braid she plucked a black raven feather and held it out for Alrik to take. It was a token of her favour but more than that, her connection to it would make finding Alrik easier when she needed to meet with him again. She was extremely pleased that Alrik had agreed to her request, and that his complication was hardly an inconvenience to her, nor even much of a challenge.

“Ah! You know tafl?” she turned to Ralf, smiling. “Please, lets not wait until this set is complete – Master Storkin will take his time in completing it. I'll ask the innkeeper, they will have a set we can use, providing you don't mind the stains of blood and mead on the board. You can tell me of your homeland while we play. And I'll fetch us some ale too!” Isgerd nodded to them both and skipped off towards the bar to fetch some of the huge mugs of ale that they served here. She ordered the three from the barkeep, and was about to ask him for a tafl board, when she looked over a few stools down and saw a small pussy-cat nibbling on some meat. Rabbit, from the scent of it.

Isgerd leaned her elbow on the bar, and putting her head in her hand watched him for a moment. “You're no skin-changer!” she exclaimed as it dawned on her that no shape shifter of a druid would choose to eat in a mead hall while still in such an awkward form. “You definitely don't seem to be from around here, Master Cat.” Isgerd pointed out. The cat looked so adorable and furry, the hat was not something she had seen before but it suited him just so. “If you wish conversation after your meal, come and join us,” she added with a wink, as the barkeep brought her the ales and the talf board. She took her drinks back to the giant and the Varan. “Are there talking cats in your country?” she asked Ralf as she sat back down.

"... or the spurned who make a run from the supposed liberators?" Atraedor went as he in curiosity had stepped up behind Ralf. Atreador's voice was still rusty, he hadn't used it in a long time and would likely come across as a somewhat of a mysterious stranger - which indeed he was. However he started to feel his hunger and he owned nothing but the cloak he wore.

"Can I sit here and watch you play?" he asked a little nervous about their answers. All kinds of problems could arise of this, but he had already waited all day long and none had offered him anything. For his hunger and thirst however he would not ask for anything yet before he knew what kind of reception he would get.