"Well, look at those," Maria exclaimed, her nose crinkling up in an endearing expression of appreciation, "Mighty kind of you, Talca. It's been damn hard to find much in the way of meat these days. Cookie'll be right pleased."

"Saesa amin," the ranger grinned as she took the bundle he'd offered and glided toward the kitchen. As small as they were, there was still much more meat on the rabbits than he'd have been able to eat, himself, and, as he'd found himself without a party to guide, offering them up to the Lute's kitchen was the least he could do. This place and its people had always been good to him, even if he wasn't exactly what might be considered a "regular," and, when he was looking for work, The Bleeding Lute never failed to produce a party in need of a guide. It wasn't home, but it was as close to it as any place outside of the wilds.

In Maria's absence, Talca's gaze swept the place, taking in the varied and various knots of clientele that didn't quite fill the establishment on this early evening,

"Ye'll nae be findin' any deer's healthy enough fer th' takin', there," a dwarven hunter slammed a fist down on the map covered table and groused loudly at one of the humans in his group, "I keep tellin' ye so, an' ye keep failin' ta hear me words! E'en ef ye were ta flush oot a stag, there, lad, ye'd need twicet th' luck an' more ta e'er think aboot getting' et oota there wi' yer own skin intact!"

,a slow tip of wine to his lips brought his eyes to the next group,

"Dajan!" One of the men proclaimed triumphantly as the dice fell in his favor. He offered a taunting grin to one of the others; "That's two you owe us!"

The other man snorted in irritation. "I'll give ya two in blood, Jahn," he growled, fingering the blade at his hip, his eyes glowering in the direction of the bard rather than his celebrating compatriot, "Maybe even four if that FOOKIN' MINSTREL DON'T PLAY SOMETHIN' ELSE!!!"

,The less than veiled threat coaxed a look of concern for the bard's safety out of Talca's features before the disheartened chatter from the tableful of farmers,

"Half the town's already up in arms about it," one of them lamented into his cup, "if the fields don't go fallow on their own, I'm afraid we're like to see ‘em burnt black by a mob before long."

"It's not as if we ain't tryin'," another dejectedly sighed, "We're doin' the same as we've a'ways done, aft'rall. The fields jus' ain't takin'. I dunno what we're to do ‘bout it as ain't already been done."

,Maria's return tore his attentions from the Lute's patronage, then, and, swallowing a mouthful of wine that felt as if had suddenly gone sour on his tongue, Talca set his cup aside and offered the woman a grateful (albeit, somehow saddened) smile when she placed the stew and bread before him. He was about to voice his thanks, in fact, but was cut short by Cookie's rather unexpected appearance. The kitchen door banged open and there he stood, glowering and taciturn; a large, beefy hand stroking the stubble on his iron lantern of a jaw. His black eyes found the Talca's honey colored ones, and he stared hard. As the seconds ticked on, his gaze didn't waver, and Maria shifted uncomfortably behind him.

Talca met the imposing man's gaze evenly if somewhat apprehensively, Had the coneys gone sour, he wondered? Had there been some bit of an arrowhead that he'd missed when dressing them out?

Then, far more delicately that might have been expected by a man of Cookie's size, he reached out and deposited a tiny crock next to the bread Maria had brought. "Thank you," he rumbled.

The pathfinder offered an affable smile and a nod in reply as the big man turned and, en route back to his kitchen, paused just long enough to delicately scrawl out the words ‘Rabit Stu' on the slate hanging behind the bar.

Still smiling, Talca's eyes followed Maria's as they dipped meaningfully to the tiny crock, Honey butter, he realized happily, His smile grew all the more as his gaze lifted and found the barmaid's eyes, again.

"No charge," Maria giggled softly.

"And a personal visit from the man, himself," Talca snickered in reply, offering a wink and dipping a finger into the crock, "All for a couple of wee rabbits." The finger went from the crock and into his mouth, then, and his eyes closed briefly as he savored the sweetness of it. "Mmmm," he nodded appreciatively, pulling a slim bladed knife from his belt to carve off a slice of bread and smear a portion of the butter on it.

"How long has it been like this, lirimaer," he asked, gesturing vaguely around the place with the buttered bread before dipping it into the stew and poking it into his mouth, "I don't seem to recall Lynnbrooke being anywhere near this bad off when last I came through?"

"Since before the first frost of last year,, Nine. Long. Months. . . and truth tell, the harvest before that wasn't strong either."
Finn strides down the creaky wooden stairs from the second floor and makes his way to a vacant spot at the bar next to Talca.

"I thought I smelled something tough and gamey". He says, looking directly at Talca.

Finn gives the Elven-Pathfiner a wry smile and drags a stool over to sit. He reaches a grubby finger over and samples a bit of the creamy contents of the crock.

"Hmmmm,, that's nice."
He glances casually at Maria. "A bowl for me too, , and if there's any cheese left in the cellar I'd take what you've got. I don't expect it to be cheap if there is".
Finn rummages inside his haversack but after a few awkward moments of fumbling he gives up. With a disgruntled sigh he upends the bag and dumps the contents right onto the bar, an eclectic array of garbage to the casual observer.

"Forgot I had that" he says; sniffing an odd looking bit of detritus before returning it to the haversack.

After a few painful moments 12 rusty copper coins and small clay jar of black-round pebbles are separated from the pile.

"I'm clearing off after I eat and I don't expect to be back for,, awhile. So you let me know if you prefer the coin or the pepper-corns here for the food and the room."
He gathers the remaining paraphernalia and sweeps it back into his bag. Despite his efforts a fair bit of granular debris decorate the bar-top.

While Maria makes sense of the transaction, Finn turns back to Talca.

"So tell me is it really rabbit or a couple of oversized weed-rats you dressed in a fancy wrapper? Cause I'll be able to taste the difference, stewed or otherwise,,"
He winks at Talca and then returns his gaze to Maria to settle his bill.

"Since before the first frost of last year," a familiar voice called over the creaking of the stairs, "Nine. Long. Months, and truth tell, the harvest before that wasn't strong, either."

Talca glanced over his shoulder and, grinning a bit, offered a faint up-nod to the approaching druid. There might have been a brief snort of a chuckle, too, when the ranger's eyes panned back around to his meal. He had just scooped spoonful of stew into his mouth when Finn dragged a stool up beside him.

"I thought I smelled something tough and gamey," the druid jabbed from behind a wry grin before reaching a grimy finger over and helping himself to a sampling of the honey butter. "Hmmmm, that's nice."

The pathfinder rolled his eyes and chuffed; "I'm sure it'll be all the nicer for the seasonings you've just added. I'd have lent you my knife, you know?" He eyed Finn sidelong for an instant, the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth stretching a bit wider as he shook his head slowly and spooned up another mouthful of stew.

"A bowl for me too," the bedraggled druid requests with a casual glance in Maria's direction, "and if there's any cheese left in the cellar I'd take what you've got. I don't expect it to be cheap if there is". Finn rummages inside his haversack but after a few awkward moments of fumbling he gives up. With a disgruntled sigh he upends the bag and dumps the contents right onto the bar, an eclectic array of garbage to the casual observer.

"Forgot I had that" he says; sniffing an odd looking bit of detritus before returning it to the haversack.

There was a half-snorting, half-choking sound as Talca tried to laugh and swallow his food all at once. The elf dropped his spoon unceremoniously into the bowl of stew and reached for his wine, pouring a swallow down his throat to soothe the snigger-strewn coughing fit he'd had as a result of forcing food into his gullet around an outburst of tickled laughter. He'd scarcely managed to suppress the chuckle-cough and lift the cup to his lips by the time Finn had separated a handful of crusty coppers and a small jar of what looked to be peppercorns from the chaotic spill of odds and ends on the bar.

"I'm clearing off after I eat and I don't expect to be back for, awhile,"

Talca arched a brow at Finn's declaration that he'd be leaving so soon. When he'd first heard the druid's voice, just moments ago, the ranger had hoped the other man might be around for, at least, a few hours. It had been a long while since last the two had met and the elven pathfinder was sure there were many tales to catch up on. As he was in the middle of washing the roughness of his sudden coughing fit back down into the pit of his stomach, though, he was unable to interject anything else just yet.

",So you let me know if you prefer the coin or the peppercorns, here, for the food and the room."

While Maria tries to make sense of the options which Finn had just presented for settling his bill, the druid's gaze turns back to Talca. "So, tell me," he asked with a wink, "is it really rabbit or a couple of oversized weed-rats you dressed in a fancy wrapper? Cause I'll be able to taste the difference, stewed or otherwise."

"They're truly rabbits," Talca snickered, thumbing a stray drop of wine from his lips, "unless the weed-rats hereabouts have grown long ears and fluffy tails since last I was in." He set the cup aside, then, and turned a bit on his stool toward the druid. "Of course," he added with a shrug and a broad grin, "It would be my luck that Cookie would ladle you out a bowl with both of the cottontails arseholes in it and you'd swear it was rat, anyway," The elf inclined his head toward Finn's proffered payment, then, ", and he may just do it on purpose for that.

It's good to see you, again, Finn," the ranger continued, extending a hand in greeting, "It's been far too long."

((OOC: Assuming Finn doesn't leave Talca hanging, A friendly "clasping of forearms" and such,))

Letting go of the other man's arm and turning back to his meal again, Talca waves a dismissive hand at the stack of coppers in front of Finn and, before taking his spoon up again, he slid one of the newly acquired foreign silvers over to his old friend. "Your meal and your room; courtesy of those atani who needed no guide, only information," the elf grins. "So, mellonamin," he continued, lifting a spoonful of stew to his lips, "where are you bound that you'd be leaving so soon?"

Finn gives the slope-eared giggler Talca a firm Handclasp.


"Only you could sour a hungry mans appetite,, but I'll not turn down a free supper

Finn gathers up the rusty coins and retrieves a small mortar and pestle from within his haversack.

Pouring some of the peppercorns from the jar into the pestle, he absently grinds the spice as he continues speaking to Talca
"I just come from a consult with the healer upstairs in her library. She and I have been studying the blight that has descended here with grave interest. She and I have a hunch on what might be causing it, but it demands further investigation,,"

He pauses grinding and sprinkles a healthy pinch into Talca's stew.


"I expect to be gone,, well; a week anyway,, I've some hard climbs and some rough living ahead of me. But then you know that, climbing the Hogbacks and spurs to the north of the Wood here. And I don't expect to find much on the trail,, This blight has been affecting more than just Lynnbrooke and the surrounding,, word is they're suffering from it down south, and north in the upcountry as well."
Finn casts a glance upstairs toward the library Lynnbrooke's healer haunts.


"Worse; if'n what Runi thinks is half true, this is only the beginning of the troubles"
Finn puts down the mortar and reaches for a discarded mug on the bar. It's empty,,

He looks at Maria and turns the mug over, shaking it above the bar.

"It appears to be broke, do you have a way to fix it m'dear?, "
His stomach, lean even for his stature, growls loudly.

", And how's that Stu Coming?"

The door to the Bleeding Lute suddenly burst inwards causing some of the patrons to jump and move a hand towards their weapons as they thought something might be attacking them. The doorway was obscured by a swirl of dust on the wind for a couple moments and then, as the dust settled, the patrons eyes dropped lower and lower until they fell upon the diminutive hooded figure standing in the doorway. It was no more than 3' high and not an inch more; it carried a short 4' staff bound on both ends with leather in intricate weaving. The figure took in the room with a glance and then, as it stepped inside, the door started to swing back shut and crashed into the figure knocking it to the floor.

The small person stood up, the jarring hit dislodging the hood from it's head to reveal a round face framed by black curls and dark brown eyes scanned the room and the Halfling woman smiled sheepishly as she grabbed the door and closed it tight before turning back to the room and approached the bar looking more towards the floor perhaps in embarrassment at having her entrance, which was supposed to be grand and menacing, spoiled by a simple door.




As she got to one of the few open bar stools, she slipped a drawstring haversack from her back and set it on the floor at her feet, then whipped off her hooded cloak and draped it over her sack. The hooded cloak gone, the rest of her outfit could be seen; her small lithe form was adorned in a set of light leather that looked half armor and half clothing. Many pockets, slits and other openings appeared in the clothing to allow for many places to store items. The outfit looked functional and comfortable, and yet this comfort might have been offset by the sheer number of small blades that seems to be attached to the armor on almost every appendage. Several long daggers rested on a belt at her waist, and other small blades from 3" to 9" in length were sheathed into scabbards that appeared woven into the garment. The small knives were attached to every arm and leg as well as all over the torso.

The Halfling woman sprung easily atop the tall bar stool and reaching into one of the many small openings in her clothing, she withdrew a silver piece and set it on the scarred bar counter. "Wine," she said in a small, yet strong sounding voice, "if you got any. If not, whatever is good."

As she waited for her drink, she turned her head to scan the room, and slowly observed the other patrons. Her inquiring eyes stopped on several different groups as she studied those that seemed to be other than simple farmers and townsfolk. When her drink came, whatever it was, she took a hardy swig as if she hadn't have any to drink for awhile. She winced at the taste, then smirked slightly and took another smaller swig.

(OOC: A simple intro. Any are welcome to interact, if they will. )

Stirring the pepper into his stew, Talca listened with interest as Finn related some small details about his consultations with Lynnbrooke's resident healer and the general direction in which those discussions had now pointed the druid's steps. He interjected very little as Finn spoke, only nodding his concurrence with the red-haired man's estimation of the tough trail ahead of him and arching a curious brow as the man sketched out the extent of the blight.

"Worse;" Finn added, setting aside mortar and pestle and reaching for a discarded mug on the bartop, "if'n what Runi thinks is half true, this is only the beginning of the troubles."

Talca swallowed his most recent mouthful of stew and washed it down with another splash of wine as the druid called on Maria to "fix" the empty mug and inquired about his order. "Surely you're not planning on going alone," the pathfinder queried, setting his own cup aside. That question was supposed to have been followed by an immediate offer to join Finn on his expedition, The offer was forestalled, though, as, just as the ranger had opened his mouth to speak it, the Lute's door burst open with a suddenness that drew more than just Talca's gaze.

In the doorway, amidst the swirling of dust that blew in from the road, stood a diminutive figure; cloaked and hooded but obviously scanning the room from the depths of that cowl, Attempting to be ominous, I suppose, Talca mused, his fingers drifting slowly away from the hilt of the machete they'd found when the door boomed open, Unfortunately for the tiny visitor, though, the portentous entrance was spoiled by the Inn's door swinging back towards its jamb and sending it, arse first, to the floor. Talca only managed to half-suppress a laugh at the little creature's predicament, and only because he'd allowed his hand to move completely away from the machete and take up his cup again; his chuckles disappearing somewhat into the dregs of his wine as the humiliated Halfling got to her feet and regarded the room once more with a sheepish little smile.

"Mind your belongings, my friend," the pathfinder whisperingly snickered to Finn as the dark-haired Halfling woman padded across the floor toward the bar, "If this one doesn't try to pilfer from them, she's just as likely to fall into them, eh?" Talca watched her, his expression a mixture of amusement and passing interest, as the tiny woman situated her gear at the foot of the barstool she'd selected and, once done, sprang easily onto the seat.

"Wine," she said in a small, yet strong sounding voice, "if you got any. If not, whatever is good."

As Maria had slipped into the kitchen to fetch Finn's stew, the Lute's skittish barmaid, Sarah scampered over to tend to the new arrival. "Welcome to The Bleeding Lute," the fair-skinned wisp of a woman chirped, her lively eyes taking in the flash of silver even as they took in the halfling's face, "Grog's what we've got the most of, at the moment, I'm afraid, but, for silver I'm sure we can find some wine for you." Sarah's fingers claimed the silver from the bartop and secreted away in her apron as she moved a few steps away and poured a cupful of the dwindling wine stock.

As the little woman waited for her drink, she turned her head to scan the room, and slowly observed the other patrons. Her inquiring eyes stopped on several different groups as she studied those that seemed to be other than simple farmers and townsfolk. When her drink came, whatever it was, she took a hardy swig as if she hadn't had any to drink for a while. She winced at the taste, then smirked slightly and took another smaller swig.

Talca had offered the little newcomer an affable smile and a nod of greeting when her eyes had passed his but, until she winced at the potency of the wine she'd just gulped, the pathfinder didn't give up much else. Taking note of that grimace, though, and the faint smirk and smaller swallow that followed, Talca chuckled softly; "That's a much better drinking pace, aier (little one). No sense in choking yourself to a stop on the first, aye?" He flicked the woman a playful wink, then, and regarded Finn once more,

"As I was saying," the elf circled back to the thoughts he'd had prior to the halfling's arrival, "If you're set on such a trip, Finn, I'd be happy to come along,"

As the little woman waited for her drink, she turned her head to scan the room, and slowly observed the other patrons. Her inquiring eyes stopped on several different groups as she studied those that seemed to be other than simple farmers and townsfolk. When her drink came, whatever it was, she took a hardy swig as if she hadn't had any to drink for a while. She winced at the taste, then smirked slightly and took another smaller swig.

Talca had offered the little newcomer an affable smile and a nod of greeting when her eyes had passed his but, until she winced at the potency of the wine she'd just gulped, the pathfinder didn't give up much else. Taking note of that grimace, though, and the faint smirk and smaller swallow that followed, Talca chuckled softly; "That's a much better drinking pace, aier (little one). No sense in choking yourself to a stop on the first, aye?" He flicked the woman a playful wink, then, and regarded Finn once more,

"As I was saying," the elf circled back to the thoughts he'd had prior to the halfling's arrival, "If you're set on such a trip, Finn, I'd be happy to come along,"

Hearing someone speak she turned her head swiftly in that direction, her raven locks bouncing as she sought out the speaker. She saw the Elf she had spotted early who was seated nearby at the bar with another man who is rather shabbily dressed and has a rather wild looking appearance.

While not proficient with the Elvin language, she knew enough to recognize the 'slight' that the elf had used in referring to her. "little one", indeed. But what else was she to expect from elves. But then again, he had chuckled rather than sneered; it was said in an almost friendly matter rather than to be meant as demeaning. She would refer judgement until she knew more.

"Aye," she said as the elf turned back and said something to the shabby man, "best to consider me size when dealing with drinkin. I'm not a Giant like ye self, eh? " She offered up a sly grin to show she was returning the 'slight'. Her eyes took in the look of the two men near her; it was hard to discern anything of the shabby one, other than he appeared to like to roll around in dirt and such. Her eyes delved more on the tall elf; her gaze noticing his weapons, and other interesting facts. Locations of items, any pouches, valuable looking items, etc. that were visible.

As she looked at the elf, his last words to his companion finally sank in... "If you're set on such a trip, Finn, I'd be happy to come along,"

"You two Giants planning a trip?" she asked raising an eyebrow; her tone was interested and eager.

"Mind your belongings, my friend", Talca whispered to Finn
"If this one doesn't try to pilfer from them, she's just as likely to fall into them, eh?"

Finn glanced at the tiny woman who had just tumbled into the bar, and sprung up like cat onto the stool three seats down.

With narry a word, all the other patrons at the bar suddenly felt a powerful urge to visit the out-house.

Now only Finn, Talca, and the rambunctious walking knife drawer remained.

This ones trouble Finn thought.

"As I was saying" saidTalca "If you're set on such a trip, Finn, I'd be happy to come along,"

Finn shot him a look. "...And what makes you reckon I want you to come?"

"You two Giants planning a trip?" piped up the halfling; her tone was interested and eager.

"Mind your own business, Peck"; Finn barked while still looking at Talca.

Finn leans in close to Talca and whispers; "I didn't tell yah to have yah come. This isn't a merry walk through the trees. I told yah so that if anything happened someone other than Runi and I might know about it, someone who might be able to find me,, or what's left,... and carry on so that people don't starve,, or worse".

Finn leans back and lets his words hang between them.

"That's a much better drinking pace, aier. No sense in choking yourself to a stop on the first one, eh?" Talca flicked the woman a playful wink, then, and started to turn toward Finn once more,

"Aye," he heard the Halfling lass quip in reply as he turned, "best to consider me size when dealin' with drinkin'. I'm not a Giant like ye self, eh?"

The elf chuckled aloud at that and offered another quick grin over his shoulder before refocusing on Finn. "As I was saying," he offered, "If you're set on such a trip, Finn, I'd be happy to come along,"

"And what makes you reckon I want you to come," Finn asked pointedly.

The look on the druid's face stilled Talca's tongue as much as the words had and, in that instant, all the elf could manage was a vaguely wide-eyed look in return as he raised a apologetically placating hand,

"You two Giants plannin' a trip?" The Halfling piped up, then; her tone interested and eager.

"Mind your own business, Peck," Finn barked at the woman without taking his stern-eyed gaze from Talca's.

,The pathfinder's brows crept slightly higher up his forehead at Finn's admonition of the Halfling. As the druid leaned in closer, Talca briefly met the tiny woman's eyes, offered a vaguely apologetic shrug, and mouthed the words ‘I suppose not.' That was it, though; Finn had begun whispering in low tones and, so, had claimed the elf's full attentions again.

"I didn't tell yah to have yah come. This isn't a merry walk through the trees," the druid hissed. "I told yah so that if anything happened, someone other than Runi and I might know about it, someone who might be able to find me, or what's left, and carry on so that people don't starve, or worse."

Finn pulled back, then, letting those words hang between them.

For a long moment, Talca was content to let them hang there as he weighed the gravity of those words the auburn-haired man had spoken, and how he'd spoken them. "Very well, my friend," he said softly at the end of that moment, "I hadn't intended to assume..."

"You two Giants planning a trip?" piped up the halfling; her tone was interested and eager.

"Mind your own business, Peck", the shabby one barked while still looking at Elf.

The small woman's brown eyes flashed with what might have been anger, but only for an instant, and the dagger that had slipped from her sleeve, seemingly of it's own accord, slid back from whence it came. It happened so quickly that no one probably noticed it unless they had been looking directly at her during that particular moment.

The Elf briefly met the tiny woman's eyes, offered a vaguely apologetic shrug, and mouthed the words ‘I suppose not.'

He would see a small grin came to her lips before he turned back to his companion. A sparkle came to her eyes as she turned her head to the one that called her a Peck and a look of mock surprise came to her face.

"By the Gods.. it's speaks," she said in an astonishing tone, "Tell me Sir Elf, how did you teach your pet bear to speak? It's a true miracle!"

She chuckled and lifted her wine glass and took a sip; enjoying it much more now that she wasn't trying to down the whole glass in one gulp. Her gaze still rested on the two men sitting a couple stools down the bar.

"You two Giants planning a trip?"

"Mind your own business, Peck!"

Talca's gaze flicked to the Halfling for an instant and, he was pretty sure, he saw a flash of anger in the stranger's eyes at Finn's use of the slur. It was just that, though, a flash, gone as soon as it had appeared. The elf briefly met the tiny woman's eyes, offered a vaguely apologetic shrug, and mouthed the words ‘I suppose not.'

Before his eyes diverted back to Finn, Talca saw that spark of anger flicker out in the little woman's eyes and rekindle itself as a mischievous sparkle. A slight grin played on her lips, too, just before her features sculpted themselves into an expression of mock surprise.

"By the Gods, it speaks!" the little Halfling quipped with feigned astonishment. "Tell me, Sir Elf, how did you teach your pet bear to speak? It's a true miracle!"

It was a retort worthy of earning a chuckle, to be sure. Given the gravity of the suddenly stern druid's words, though, Talca managed not to laugh at the barb. Instead, his amusement was displayed by only the slightest of smirks tugging at one corner of his mouth,

"By the Gods, it speaks!" the little Halfling quipped with feigned astonishment. "Tell me, Sir Elf, how did you teach your pet bear to speak? It's a true miracle!"

Finn ignores the Halfling jibe and holds Talca's gaze for a few moments longer before letting out a gruff noise and turning away.

Maria returns with the bowl of stew, fresh from the pot, and sets it in front of Finn. He dumps pepper from the mortar into his bowl and stirs the food aggressively with his spoon.

"Gods-dammit..."; he curses under his breath.
"I didn't mean any-ting by it" casting a sideways glance at Talca
Finn spoons up a heaping portion of the steaming vitals onto his spoon.

"I just didn't want anyone else to get unnecessarily hurt,..." He crams the spoon of food into his mouth and immediately sloughs it back into the bowl,,

"Ow-ow-ow-ow thas haut,..." Finn reaches for his mug and immediately finds it is still empty.

"GUAS-DAMMET"

With a lurch he reaches for Talca's wine cup, but in the process of grabbing it, loses control of it and the precious liquid spills over the bar, a few insulting drops speckling Finn adding to his injury.

With an exasperated shout the druid stands up, knocking over his stool. Fuming he grabs his mug and strides over to where Sarah, a barmaid, is holding a clay pitcher.

"May I please have some of that"; he growls. Nervously Sarah complies; but to no avail.

The pitcher is empty.

The female Halfling noticed the slight upturning of the Elf's lips as it looked like he so wanted to laugh, but restrained himself probably for his friend's sake. She raised an eyebrow when the 'bear' went on talking to the Elf and ignored her jab back at him. She smiled and gave a single nod; she admired his forbearance in letting the 'slight' go unanswered. She wondered though at his initial jab at her; if he was a strong man, she didn't think he would have made such a gesture. She shrugged and went back to her drink; who could tell with bears.

Ow-ow-ow-ow thas haut,..." the bear cries aloud after taking a spoon of his stew. She watches as he goes through a comic routine of trying to douse the apparent fire in his mouth, with first his own mug, but finding it empty.

"GUAS-DAMMET"

He then grabs at his Elf friend's mug, but only manages to tip it over and spill it all over the bar and himself. He lurches to his feet then, knocking his stool to the floor, and grabs his mug before stalking over to the barmaid who is holding a pitcher in her hand.

"May I please have some of that", he growls at her, she looks at him strangely before upending the pitcher over his mug, and seeing nothing flow from the empty pitcher.

The Halfling can't contain it any longer, and a giggle escapes her lips and then it becomes an outright laugh at the comical scene being played out in front of her. She turns to look at the Elf and says to him between chuckles, "He can talk... but apparently.. he needs work on how .. ta eat and drink. Ya need ta work on that.. Sir Elf."

High pitched chittering echos in the room,,

"He can talk... but apparently.. he needs work on how .. ta eat and drink. Ya need ta work on that.. Sir Elf."

The diminutive Rogue's words are interspersed by manic fits of giggles.

Finn grabs the pitcher from Sarah and slings it across the room. It shatters on the floor near the end of the bar.

The Bard in the corner ends his song on a sour note. A symphony of scraping furniture, clanking crockery, and bodily functions comes to an abrupt halt.

All settles into an uncomfortable silence.


From the kitchen a mumbling voice sings with tone-deaf precision to itself.

♫ grum-dee-bum, fiddle-dee-doo, I am making rabit stu,, Fiddle-dee-dee, Fiddle-dum-doo, You eat it up and then you poo,... ♫


A nervous laughter spreads around inn. Soon after the ambient clamor of the common room returns to normal.

Finn; flummoxed, frustrated and fatigued, strides over to his stool, rights it, sits down and carefully begins blowing on his stew.

Maria begins wiping up the spilled wine. She gives Finn disapproving look as she pours Talca a fresh cup.

", sorry,," Finn replies to the unspoken rebuke.

"You get one." Maria states flatly before refilling the Halflings cup and then helping Sara collect the remaining shards of the pitcher with her broom.

Finn eats his food quietly, and after a bit seems to regain some composure. He turns to Talca and says sheepishly;

"Perhaps It would be a good idea if,, you came along with me ,, to watch each others back's,..."

Finn ignores the Halfling jibe and holds Talca's gaze for a few moments longer before letting out a gruff noise and turning away.

Maria returns with the bowl of stew, fresh from the pot, and sets it in front of Finn. He dumps pepper from the mortar into his bowl and stirs the food aggressively with his spoon.

"Gods-dammit..."; he curses under his breath. "I didn't mean any-ting by it" casting a sideways glance at Talca,
The pathfinder offers a scant nod and a dismissive smile at this. "Sinta'amin," he replies as Finn spoons up a heaping portion of the steaming vitals onto his spoon.

"I just didn't want anyone else to get unnecessarily hurt,"

Talca, having just swallowed another mouthful of his own repast, was about to acknowledge his friend's concern but,

"Ow-ow-ow-ow! Tha's haut, GUAS-DAMMET!!!"

Scalding his tongue on the hot stew, just then, was only the launching point for a series of unfortunate foibles for the druid. In his search for some relief for his burning mouth, Finn inadvertently spilt the remains of Talca's wine, knocked over his own stool, and, at the end, sought out Sara and her pitcher for some reprieve only to be denied, once more. The Halfling down the bar, of course, had let out a little giggle at the episode's start but, as poor Finn's misfortune grew, it didn't take her long to break into a full-fledged belly laugh,

"He can talk," the little rogue tittered, her laughter interrupting and punctuating her words, "but apparently, he needs work on how, ta eat and drink. Ya need to work on that, Sir Elf."

Had the situation been slightly different, Talca, too, might have joined the little woman in her enjoyment of Finn's plight. Given the druid's dour demeanor leading up to the incident, though, the elf shot the Halfling a warning glance, "Please, aier;" he implored softly with a slow shake of his head.

As if to illustrate the severity of the warning as well as to punctuate it, Finn, in his fit of irritation and anger, snatched the pitcher from Sara's hands and threw it across the room where it shattered to bits at the end of the bar. A tremulous note from a mis-plucked string on the bard's lute fades quickly into the sudden, uncomfortable silence that had fallen over the place and, for a long moment, nervous eyes were uncertain as exactly where to look, at least until Cookie's discordant singing wafted into the common room and disrupted the tight hush,

♫ grum-dee-bum, fiddle-dee-doo, I am making rabit stu,, Fiddle-dee-dee, Fiddle-dum-doo, You eat it up and then you poo,... ♫

Hilarity tickles deep within the Pathfinder's chest, at this, and, while a tight smirk keeps it at bay for an instant, his laughter escapes with a snort and a chuckle. It's not long, then, until the Inn's ambient din rises back to its normal level and attentions are given back to concerns beyond a flummoxed Finn.

As Maria begins to mop up Talca's spilled wine, the disconcerted druid finds his way back to the bar, rights his stool, and hangs his head over the bowl of stew that awaits him, "Sorry," Finn's offers in response to ‘The Look' that the brunette bartender shoots him, Maria's stern expression doesn't soften much as she refills the pathfinder's cup. "You get one," she states flatly before moving along to fill the halfling's glass and then assist poor Sara in clearing the shards of crockery from the floor.

Following a sip from his newly replenished cup, Talca claps a friendly and reassuring hand on Finn's shoulder but, otherwise, lets the druid stew over his stew and regain his composure.

"Perhaps, it would be a good idea if," a more sheepish Finn offers after a few moments, ",you came along with me, to watch each other's backs,"

Talca offers an easy smile and a nod in return. "Perhaps so," he grins, lifting his cup for another sampling of the wine, "It's certainly not the worst idea you've ever had.

Perhaps, too," the elf suggests, then, "We should rethink the bit about leaving after you've eaten. It seems, my friend, that you could stand a rest before the road. I, myself, could use at least one more drink and, maybe, a few hours to tend to other concerns, see to some provisioning aside from all of the Lute's cheese and the like?... Daybreak is a better time to set off on the path you're planning, anyway, mellon,"

Talca takes another pull of his wine as Finn mulls over his words and, over the rim of his cup, spies the Halfling woman pretending not to listen in. He offers the little lady a smile and gestures vaguely at the druid. "Patience," he says with a wink, "The secret of all good bear tamers."