Danon released the breath that had caught in his chest as the last of the undead forms was forced into rest.

Not the last, he reminded himself for those which fled still lurk in the mists, watching with unseen eyes.
It was a frightening thought, and a depressing one, but one that mattered little. Now was not a time to dwell on the dead, rather it was time to account for the living. Dropping his mace back into its beltloop at his hip, Danon allowed himself a moment to regain his senses, noting the others were similarly recovering from their fight for survival, sporting minor scratches and bites. All save one. The warrior Ta'Arms remained immobile, unable to act of his own volition; some foul trick of the grave still grasped him. Danon moved to inspect the man's wounds when he noticed the small form huddled near its master, the loyal companion of the warrior which had completely slipped the minds of himself and the others; happily, it appeared to be unharmed.

There were two distinct types of wounds, the first being a raking slash left by the claws or one of the creatures, though it looked more minor than a possible source for Ta'Arms affliction. More troubling was the bite, which appeared to be much deeper into the warriror's flesh, though out here, in the twisted shadows and mist of the evening, his assessment was not the best it could be.

"I can do something for the wound," He spoke aloud, to no one and everyone at the same time, never lifting his gaze from the injury. "but I fear I have not the means help him regain his faculties; his body and his will need to fight free of what holds him."

It saddened him to be saying such a thing, but he just couldn't tell what was wrong. Some of the others had suffered minor injuries, though they were not afflicted. Surely it has something to do with the foul giggling creatures, that menacing laugh now mocking his concerns from his memory. He shuddered despite himself, and looked up first towards Rae, whom he thought might understand his sadness, but then turned to En'A.

"He'll want to make up for this.."

It wasn't an argument in of itself, though Danon was sure the statement was enough that the bladesinger understood. The warrior would want to make up for sitting out a fight, of that Danon had no doubt; it was the man's own duty to act as a protector to his comrades, just as it was Danon's to mend their wounds. What bothered the young priest was how likely it was that he would be repeating what he was a about to do very soon.

Drawing upon the blessings of the Merca, Danon did what he could.

"By the light of the Chancellor, may your wounds be mended, so you may stand, fit and ready, to serve your duty." A flow of divine enery began to pass through Danon, to the warrior, as the Cleric laid his hands upon the wounds to be healed. "Rise again warrior, with honor in your heart and vigiliance in your soul, relieved of the pain which ails you."

He rose then, dusting off this tunic. "I've done what I can," he spoke again to everyone, "now we wait for our friend to win his inner battle."

A few minutes afterwards, the warrior stirred, free from the paralysis that had laid claim to him, and Danon felt another wave a relief come to pass. Their company restored to full strength they were fit to continue on again, toward Crandel and the task which brought them to this road.

((OOC: So CLW on our warrior friend, since he is the most significantly injured and the most likely to dive back into the fray. Danon will then eagerly agree to press on towards Crandel and away from their current location, as he is finding the mists increasingly unsettling. Pursuing the turned enemies into the night seems foolhardy at best.))

11th Sempore (Thirkday), 453 E.R.
Woods near the village of Crandel (west of the Indigo river, near the Sendrian border)
Galardil thoughtfully adjusted the Eye Patch with a Kith-jora Holy Symbol emblazoned upon it, lightly touching the scar above and underneath his right eye from which he could see clearly, then stroked the braid with the Emerald Gem that matched the hue of his eyes.

He quickly assessed his own wounds and those of the others, noting that Danon had chosen to cast Cure Light Wounds upon Ta'Arms.

Adjusting his Khord War Club over his left shoulder, while holding the hilt with his left hand, the Half Syl Cleric of Kith-jora made a quick decision to not expend any of his spells; especially not knowing what may be awaiting the unsuspecting party in the village of Crandel ???

Galardil nodded to the Bladesinger as he spoke aloud for all to hear:

"I have dealt with my fair share of Shamblers in the past, but they do not occur naturally! Some type of Dark Necromacy is responsible for unleashing these monstrositites! No sense stumbling around in the dense woods, especially if a Dark Necromancer has more minions waiting for us in the darkness!"

As he began making his way down the road towards Crandel, he continued his short, but knowledgeable lecture:

"This was my first time facing any Gigglers! They are Ghouls that are free willed and quite Insane! Hence the Giggling! They are cruel, cunning, fast, strong, tough and dangerous! They obviously can cause Paralysis to an unfortunate victim! Anyone with one eye and half sense can look at Ta'Arms and realize the danger! However, it is rumored that victims slain by Ghouls will rise from the dead as Ghouls! Best we head to Crandel to help the helpless, if there be any danger there!"

(((Although Galardil has started walking down the road towards Crandel, he is going slow enough to allow any party member to overtake him and take point. He is busy watching for any other signs of Shamblers or other Dark Creatures that may be lying in wait to attack the party!)))

Within the serenity of battle trance, En'Aranthea could perceive all around her, but all that mattered was the movement of foes. Thrust and parry, a feint before the killing blow, the bladesinger flowed through combination after combination of the Eighty Nine Steps, a deadly ballet accompanied by her voice and that of her blade.

Ages later, nothing edged in red moved within her vision, and she knew they'd won their lives from the horrid foes before them. She let her song trail away as blade tip lowered, letting the trance fade and weariness rush in. Pride would not let her waver the slightest, as there were miles to go and friends to succor.

She carefully cleaned her sword with a corner of her cloak while looking to see how the others fared, a nod of approval prompted by Danon's comment about Ta'Arms.

"A warrior is pained more by inaction than any wound," she replied, sending her cleaned blade home to its sheath. " Please do what lies within your arts to restore him, I fear we will have more need of his strength ere long.

"How are you all?" she asked, looking around at those she would call "mellon" as they each assessed hurts and put up weapons. "You all fought bravely, I am proud to be in such valiant company, "she bowed her head gracefully.

All confirmed health and readiness to continue as Danon prayed and laid his hands on Ta'Arms. The warrior was soon moving freely again, and Galadril moved to resume their journey to Crandel.

"I have dealt with my fair share of Shamblers in the past, but they do not occur naturally! Some type of Dark Necromacy is responsible for unleashing these monstrosities! No sense stumbling around in the dense woods, especially if a Dark Necromancer has more minions waiting for us in the darkness!"

As the sturdy cleric made his way down the road towards Crandel, he continued, "This was my first time facing any Gigglers! They are Ghouls that are free willed and quite Insane! Hence the Giggling! They are cruel, cunning, fast, strong, tough and dangerous! They obviously can cause Paralysis to an unfortunate victim! Anyone with one eye and half sense can look at Ta'Arms and realize the danger! However, it is rumored that victims slain by Ghouls will rise from the dead as Ghouls! Best we head to Crandel to help the helpless, if there be any danger there!"
En'Aranthea confirmed with a glance that all were preparing to follow, then used her gliding stride to catch up with, and pass, Galadril. "Let me lead, friend, and ‘ware our path. Mine eyes are not strained by the loss of sunlight."

OOC: In other words, we continue 

"I can do something for the wound," He spoke aloud, to no one and everyone at the same time, never lifting his gaze from the injury. "but I fear I have not the means help him regain his faculties; his body and his will need to fight free of what holds him."
‘Do not waist such things on me! Keep them for those who have shown their wealth.' Ta-Arms long to be able to push away the young man of the gods. He could not hands fell upon him and if he could feel anything it was the warmth of healing. He had worth in the eyes of those around him. "Rise again warrior, with honor in your heart and vigiliance in your soul, relieved of the pain which ails you."
The conversation continued around him, ‘They speak of me as if I am still one of them. And oh what an adventure they speak of.' The half-witted man began to yell at himself, ‘Move you fool! No longer are you a pawn! You are a man!' Ta-Arms forces his feet down into the soft mud, he grips his sword as if he will never feel it again. His head looks skyward and his eyes see the trees above him! His arms lift upward and he calls out a might cry. ‘I do no fear death! For now I have meaning!' Ta'Arms stands and wipes the mud from him; he turns and addresses his friends. ‘Thank you, lead and I will fallow.'

Once Ta'Arms is able to move again, the party moves out, with En'Aranthea at point. As the twilights deepens, the oppressive, sticky mist deepens; odd sounds seem to echo through the night.

It takes more than an hour, but suddenly, the wooden palisade seems to materialize directly in front of the companions. A lone guard stands at the gate, torch at the ready. "Right, then!" he calls, hand nervously clenching a spear. "Who goes there? State your business!"

Once satisfied with the response, he lowers his spear. "Fair enough. Ye may enter the town of Crandel, but cause no trouble." He glances back and up on the palisade. "Let them in, Les."

As the party moves forward, the guard speaks again. "The Nicked Shill be straight ahead - only inn in town. Ye ought to be able to find a bed there."


********************************

The dirt streets of Crandel are quiet. Many of the buildings and homes are dark, but those with lit lanterns or torches shine with an almost otherworldly light against the sticky fog. As you press forward, you come across one lone, well lit building, and as you come closer, you see a wooden signboard bearing the depiction of a worn, damaged copper coin - the Nicked Shill.

The interior of the inn is well lit, and the atmosphere is fairly bustling, if not truly friendly. Several long tables run most of the length of the common room, with benches lining either side. The tables are by and large occupied by folk in plain garb such as you might see on farmers or laborers, and these locals peer at you with less than hospitable expressions; you could swear that conversation dies down upon your entry.

A young, befreckled brunette maid greets you warmly enough, however, and directs you to one of the few open spots - which is in a corner table unoccupied by locals. "Welcome to our inn, travelers," she speaks in an accent very similar to the gate guard's. "Special tonight is pork stew with peppers; we may still have some potatoes. We have strong ale and small beer," and with a measured glance at the sylvari, "and I may be able to scare up some fall wine; mayhap there's some left. We've got good bread and cheese, but it's too early in the season for much in the way of fruits."

After taking your orders, she leaves.

There are two occupants at the end of your table; both are humans in travelers' garb. One is a tall, stubble-faced, sinewy man dressed in leather armor and a brown cloak, wearing a sword at his belt. He sits easily, though you notice his eyes periodically sweep the room.

The other is a blonde woman dressed in form fitting black clothing with a purple cloak. She wears a broad-bladed knife at her belt, as well as some sort of silver pendant at her throat.

The man's eyes narrow at you as you take your seat and his hand subconsciously drifts closer to the handle of his blade, though after a few moments, he gives a curt nod and appears to slightly relax.

The woman, on the other hand, seems to view you with more interest. While she doesn't truly smile, her expression is not unfriendly. Upon closer inspection, you realize that her left cheek bears several silvered scars, one of which begins at the corner of her mouth and ends right next to her blue eye.

The serving wench is reasonably prompt, bringing the food in a timely manner; the fare is simple, but tasty enough. After a time, conversation around the room appears to pick up again.

The woman at your table moves as if to speak a greeting; the man seems about to object, but she silences him with a glare. "Well met, fellow travelers," she speaks politely, her accent leaving no doubt that she is no local. "I do not recall seeing you on the road, so I would think that you did not come from the west. Any news from the road to the east?"

Blair did not sheath his weapon after the fight. His adrenaline was still pumping and his senses felt heightened. Each strange echo, of which there were many, made him jump and turn to face the sound. The others seemed more relaxed but still edgy. Little was said as the group ventured through the fog, or if there was Blair did not hear it. Before long they reached the palisade wall of Crandel. A gruff voice made its way out of the mist surrounding them,

"Right then! Who goes there? State your business!"

Blair was the first to respond. "We are seeking refuge away from the suffocating mist which surrounds us. I fear I would not sleep left outside with the eerie sounds and the power of my imagination. "

"Fair enough. Ye may enter the town of Crandel, but cause no trouble." The guard replied.

As the party got closer Blair asked the guard for the most reputable place to stay in his humble town. He told him there was but one Inn - The Nicked Shill. Typical it's always about the money isn't it. I could do without these distractions. Blair thought to himself, hoping there was no dice being played inside.

The streets were unpaved and made of hard packed earth. The street was clean as were the houses with dim lights which lined the sides of the path. It gave the feel of an honest, humble and hard-working town, no different to many others Blair had been to before. The people were always welcoming and would love to hear tales about the adventurers quests.

The lights of the Inn shined through the fog around them, casting a spooky glow around the building. They could hear the loud conversations of the townsfolk inside before they entered. As the door opened and the mismatched party armed to the teeth and armoured for battle stepped inside the hall went quiet. Loud conversation was swapped for muted mutterings between the working men. Blair and the others were left standing dumbly in the entrance whilst the eyes of the townspeople judged and speculated. Soon they were rescued by a bar maid who greeted them with a smile and showed them to a free table, in a corner away from the rest of the inn's guests.

The party made their different orders. Blair had the pork and a tankard of ale, he was in the mood for getting drunk. Since the atmosphere seemed less than friendly he guessed that there would be little opportunity for a game of dice, even if there were the betting would be too low for Blair to feel the adrenaline he so craved.

With a quiet tone Blair voiced his concern. "This town is not the usual hearty and welcoming place most of its ilk are like. I am worried that there may be more to find out about the shamblers on the road."

The conversation rose and got louder, slowly, until it regained its former volume before the party had entered. At the opposite end of their long table the party began to notice the shifting stares and uneasy glares which were given from the two strangers sat down there. It was clear they were no farmers or labourers. They wore weapons much like the party's own and the woman wore a mysterious pendant which gave the illusion it was not just a flattering piece of jewellery. When she tilted her head at a particular angle the lights of the lanterns reflected silvery scars on her face, Blair had to stop himself at gasping at the sight of them. The scars marked what would have been an otherwise attractive face, however the scars perhaps added to her attraction, giving a sense of danger and mystery.

The meal was plain and the mead was weak, but Blair enjoyed it all the same. It was better than spending a night in the mist.

At the protests of her companion the mysterious woman approached the party once they had finished eating and the plates were cleared. Usually Blair would rest a hand on his weapons if another traveller approached, in this case he decided not to, her intent seemed innocent and pure.

In an accent not dissimilar to Blair's own she enters a conversation with the party. "Well met, fellow travellers. I do not recall seeing you on the road, so I would think that you did not come from the west. Any news from the east?"

Blair beckoned her closer and showed her a seat. He wanted to talk quietly with her so as not to alert any eavesdroppers.

"It would appear that the unnatural fog which surrounds this place harbours some creatures of the grave. We were attacked a few hours ago by a group of undead monstrosities, led by what can only be described as two giggling aberrations. Fortunately we have with us men of the holy orders who were able to turn the lesser minded creatures. It is a shame that they were once people, but there is no hope for them returning to their former lives. Tell me have you encountered anything similar to the west?"

(OOC: Insert Answer here.)

"Does this village not see strange to you? It is unlike most other villages of its kind, it feels uninviting and wary of outsiders."

(OOC: Hope that the dialogue is okay with everyone. Blair is very trusting and open hearted.)

Out of the gathering dusk and oppressive mist, the wooden palisade gleamed faintly to sylvari eyes - the past lives of the trees reaching out from within wooden beams and the gate. Stone and iron and other elements that had never lived were dark spots within her vision, and En'Aranthea pondered again what it must be like for her human companions at night.

She was more than happy to let Blair respond to the guard, not needing to assert authority where none was required, and nodded her graceful thanks to the guard as he let them in, pressing a coin into hand for a warm drink at the end of his watch. She followed Blair's lead through the town, ice blue eyes taking in everything and ears at the alert for any attack.

It may have been a pleasant enough town by human standards, but she found the lack of trees or even ornamental plants oppressive. Logic and training told her it was the human fear of fire (and a reasonable one, given the general scarcity of magic users among them) more than any desire to destroy life, but even a flowerbox at a window would have lifted her spirits.

The Inn did little to allay her mood - a crude room full of unfriendly faces that stared almost belligerently. The bladesinger mustered a smile for the barmaid and her attempts to offer food and beverage for a discerning palate.

"The wine would be appreciated, miss, else the small beer well watered will do. The potatoes, bread and cheese sound perfect, thank you."

The party found themselves space at a table, the two other occupants also apparent strangers to the town. The man's body language was at ease but vigilant and he'd sat in such a way to have a clear view of the entire room. The woman was not dressed as a farmer's wife nor town servant, instead dressed in tunic and pants for easy movement. Few women who'd not chosen a warrior's life such as Ena and Rae wore a blade so openly, so it was with curiosity that En'Aranthea regarded their meal's companions.

The barmaid returned swiftly with their meals and the Sylvari tore a small piece of bread off the loaf to nibble with a wedge of cheese. The bread was fresh and the cheese had a pleasant sharpness that lifted her spirits a bit.

As they ate their meal, the conversations around them resumed, even if the stares made the spot between En'Aranthea's shoulder blades itch. Blair, among the others, noted the unease, so the bladesinger knew it was more than her discomfort within human towns.

The woman waited politely until they'd sated the first hunger. When their pace had slowed and food was more toyed with than consumed, she spoke up. "Well met, fellow travellers. I do not recall seeing you on the road, so I would think that you did not come from the west. Any news from the east?"

"It would appear that the unnatural fog which surrounds this place harbours some creatures of the grave. We were attacked a few hours ago by a group of undead monstrosities, led by what can only be described as two giggling aberrations. Fortunately we have with us men of the holy orders who were able to turn the lesser minded creatures. It is a shame that they were once people, but there is no hope for them returning to their former lives. Tell me have you encountered anything similar to the west?" Blair continued as their spokesperson, but En'Aranthea set aside her wine goblet and leaned forward enough to show she was part of the conversation.

(OOC: Insert Answer here.)

"Does this village not see strange to you? It is unlike most other villages of its kind, it feels uninviting and wary of outsiders." Blair continued.

Ta-Arms walked with his new friends, Dog at his side, sniffing the air and from time to time pausing to scan the darkness. Yet when Ta-Arms would look up in a startled way Dog would simply nose his hand or lean on his leg and Ta-Arms would feel a bit more at ease and continue on.

Once past the guard and in the small town they made their way to The Nicked Shill. Others made small chat about how strange and silent this town seemed to be. Ta-Arms had only seen army camps, towns under siege, getting ready to flee from an oncoming army. When they reached the Nicked Shill Ta-Arms and the Dog moved to the side of the door and was about to sit outside and wait until one of the others held the door open for him. He sheepishly smiled and patted the side of his leg. Dog moved in close and seemed to get lost in the shuffle of people.

They were seated and Dog moved under Ta-Arms chair or as much as his size would let him and did not move. Ta-Arms could do little more than smile from time to time and simply say, ‘Yes, please.' From time to time he would slip a morsel or two down to Dog.

All seemed calm until one of the strangers from the other end of the table slid down and spoke, "Well met, fellow travellers. I do not recall seeing you on the road, so I would think that you did not come from the west. Any news from the east?"

Dog lifted his head at the sound of a strange voice and gave a sniff and his tale thumped the floor twice before Ta-Arms simple said, ‘Leave it.' Ta-Arms and Dog sat silently hoping no one would notice him or the dog and make them leave.

As Blair moves closer, the pair leans in obligingly. They listen to the descriptions given by Blair and En'Arenthea without comment. The woman gives the briefest of sideways glances at her companion, whose mouth tightens into ever so slight of a frown, before she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and answers.

"Indeed," she speaks, "we encountered no such monsters to the west. Though," she admits, "we did hear odd footfalls more than once - not the normal sounds of the road, you understand."

Blair submits his question and offers his opinion.

"Does this village not seem strange to you? It is unlike most other villages of its kind, it feels uninviting and wary of outsiders."

The man seems content to allow the woman to do the talking, and she obliges. "I do not know that I would call it 'strange', sir," she replies. "It is a foul night, what with this almost... evil fog hanging close by. And then, a troupe of armed strangers emerges from it? No," she pauses for a moment, "I don't find it so unusual. At least they did let us in."

11th Sempore (Thirkday), 453 E.R.
The Nicked Shill
Village of Crandel
Galardil had been content to tend to his wounds with his healing herbs and let the others do the talking, while he enjoyed a warm meal and satisfying drink.

"Indeed," she speaks, "we encountered no such monsters to the west. Though," she admits, "we did hear odd footfalls more than once - not the normal sounds of the road, you understand."

Blair submits his question and offers his opinion.

"Does this village not seem strange to you? It is unlike most other villages of its kind, it feels uninviting and wary of outsiders."

The man seems content to allow the woman to do the talking, and she obliges. "I do not know that I would call it 'strange', sir," she replies. "It is a foul night, what with this almost... evil fog hanging close by. And then, a troupe of armed strangers emerges from it? No," she pauses for a moment, "I don't find it so unusual. At least they did let us in."
Galardil had many questions, plus suspicions, as the Half Syl (of Elf Lineage) Cleric of Kith-jora stared into his bowl, while thoughtfully sipping his drink.

The contents of the bowl shimmered before his eyes, as the effects of the 'Glittery Gold' slowly caressed the thought patterns of his past encounters!

Galardil of the Herbal Haze was now reliving his past via a subliminal time stream, staring into the Hillside Waters of the Amban Aluir for the past two months, his twin brother Ralesorn having failed to rendezvous for the celebration of their 75th birthday together in the Southern Kingdom of Maelamin near the Amban Aluir (Hillside Waters); yet all that his companions who were gathered around the table at The Nicked Shill saw was Galardil staring at his bowl with a faraway look of uncertainty.

Ralesorn had failed to arrive for the celebration and Galardil spent the next two months staring into the Hillside Waters, pondering about what may have happened to his brother?

What mysterious dealings had led to the disappearance of his Druid brother?

So the Cleric of Kith-jora began to search throughout the lands for his lost brother, having come into the company of a Human Fighter, a Human Bard Bounty Hunter, a Human Cleric of Merca, a Sylvari Paladin of Falloes, a Sylvari Mage and a Sylvari Bladesinger.

He has been adventuring with them in hopes of their finding his brother Ralesorn alive; hence, they have become his extended family for now!

Now to the casual Gaper or the most intent Lurker, it appeared that Galardil was lost in thought, gazing into the depths of his bowl, oblivious to the conversation round about him at The Nicked Shill table.

Galardil ached to ask the woman and her companion if they had heard of or seen anyone fitting the description of his Druid Half Syl twin brother Ralesorn, but something was reaching out to his perceptions, so the Cleric of Kith-jora yielded to the soothing embrace of the 'Glittery Gold' and flowed with the peaceful embrace of the shrooms.

His mind wandered to a distant time and place where Galardil and Ralesorn had been avenging the death of their father, as they waged one of their personal crusades against some rather brutal Orcs.

They made the acquaintance of another Kith-jora Cleric by name of 'Loco' Fungi Hammer who introduced Galardil to the consumption of 'Glittery Gold' mushrooms to enhance his visions and perceptions with many rather interesting insights.

'Glittery Gold' 'Loco's hallucinogenic shrooms are called 'Glittery Gold' that have long purple stems that branch out into 5 tendrils with glittery gold specks on the small bulbous ends (about an inch in length and 1/4 inch stem and tendrils) and they obviously affect all 5 physical senses and more!

'Loco' has plenty of these in a bag in his Dwarven War Tunic to keep his mind and senses occupied.

Galardil aids 'Loco' in tracking and rescuing some young Khord children from the clutches of a vile gang of Goblin Raiders and is persuaded to help escort them back to Khord country, where the Half Syl is awarded an Emerald gem to braid in his blonde hair as he is unable to grow a beard ala Khord

'Loco' gifts him with a Khord War Club and persuades him to explore the 'Caves of Madness' where he spends the next 3 years with 'Loco' zoned out on 'Glittery Gold' and the occasional pipe full of Syl Spore Stems in his finely crafted smoking pipe he had acquired in his travels among the Humans.

Galardil accompanied 'Loco' on a journey to replenish the Khord with plenty of Syl Spore Stems and was gifted with a generous supply of 'Glittery Gold' before they parted company on friendly terms.

He then sought out and spent some time with his brother Ralesorn, who by now had some mysterious dealings to attend to, so they decided they would meet again to celebrate their 75th birthday together in the Southern Kingdom of Maelamin near the Amban Aluir (Hillside Waters)

His brother failed to arrive for the celebration and Galardil spent the next two months staring into the Hillside Waters and pondering about what may have happened to his brother?

So the Cleric of Kith-jora began to search throughout the lands for his lost brother, having come into the company of a Human Fighter, a Human Bard Bounty Hunter, a Human Cleric of Merca, a Sylvari Paladin of Falloes, a Sylvari Mage and a Sylvari Bladesinger.

He has been adventuring with them in hopes of their finding his brother Ralesorn alive; hence, they have become his extended family for now!

Looping Thoughts
Galardil vaguely realized that his thoughts were lazily looping in a repeated circle of past puzzlements and ponderings in regards to his brother.

This was but one of the many effects of the 'Glittery Gold' shrooms that the Half Syl Cleric of Kith-jora had become accustomed to, having mixed a generous portion with the nutritious contents of his bowl, once he and his companions had been seated and served.

Drifting back to the reality of conversation between his companion Blair and the woman who merely responded to the rhetoric with her subtly seductive: "I do not know that I would call it 'strange', sir," she replies. "It is a foul night, what with this almost... evil fog hanging close by. And then, a troupe of armed strangers emerges from it? No," she pauses for a moment, "I don't find it so unusual. At least they did let us in."
Galardil allowed his enhanced senses to reach out into the crowded atmosphere of The Nicked Shill and beyond to the evil fog that was seeking to strangle the Crandel village and its populace!

He almost absently left off from stroking the Emerald Gem in the braid of his blonde hair, his right hand gently and unobtrusively floating to the eye patch covering his right eye, his fingertips tracing the outline of the Kith-jora emblem stitched upon his black eye patch.

There be too many unusual things this night, Galardil thought to himself as his fingers played upon the green and gold stitchings of a smooth stone disk portraying a maple tree upon his Holy Symbol, as deftly as a Bard would play upon a Flute. Too many unusual things this day and not quite usual this night ... no matter what tale the woman weaves to my companions!!
Galardil began humming to himself softly, then muttering a mixture of his known languages: Apononese, Sylvari, Khord and Goblinoid, as he allowed the sweet embrace of the 'Glittery Gold' to flow out over the uneasy atmosphere seemingly pervading the inn, calling upon Kith-jora to aid him!

"Who ... or What ... has Let Us In ... the Inn ... ?????"

(((Galardil casts Detect Magic as far and as wide as his 'Glittery Gold' enhanced senses will allow him to do so!)))

The sudden emergence of the palisade and its watchman swept over Danon like a wave of relief. A living soul; a being not bred of darkness, but rather one that was on vigil against the terrors of the surrounding mists, or any danger that lurked outside the walls of Crandel. Even as Blair explained to the guard their purpose, Danon could feel the tension in his muscles relaxing, the forced alertness of his mind begin to ease. Safety had been found admist the most foul of nights, and the young cleric's anxieties of a town overrun by undead monstrosities were put to bed. So too, he hoped, would he find sleep. As the company wound through the quiet, darkened streets of Crandel, the illuminated form of the Nicked Shill was like a beacon against the oppressing mists; this would be home for the night.

Danon was not surprised by the death of conversation brought on by their arrival; the hour was late, and the sudden appearance of the weary companions was surely a testament to trouble afoot, whether the townsfolk knew of the surrounding dangers or not. When the barmaid offered a warmer reception, and a promise of food and drink, the priest allowed himself to relax further. There was certainly a concern regarding their presence, but they were not unwelcome.

As the companions moved toward the indicated table in the tavern's corner, Danon noted the two other travels, a man and a woman, seated at the tables end. The man seemed uneasy at first, but relaxed, most likely a reflex brought about by the sudden tension in the room; the woman seemed more comfortable with their presence.

With the events of the night still weighing upon his being, Danon found that he had not regained much of his appetite. Instead he sought to dull his senses a bit further with a stong ale, accompanied only by a loaf of bread to steady his stomach.

As conversation beings to spark up Danon listens intently, eyeing the speaker, the blonde woman, over tankard. Her eyes seems to shine in the tavern light, and Danon only vaguely hears Blaire begin recounting the events of their travels.

The man seems content to allow the woman to do the talking, and she obliges. "I do not know that I would call it 'strange', sir," she replies. "It is a foul night, what with this almost... evil fog hanging close by. And then, a troupe of armed strangers emerges from it? No," she pauses for a moment, "I don't find it so unusual. At least they did let us in."

Perhaps it was the ale, the comfortable air surrounding the woman's gaze, or the general wish to not recount the roads perils that urged Danon to speak. Perhaps it was all of these things.

"Indeed, considering the events of the night it seems perfectly reasonable," he interjected, cutting off any response Blair was preparing. His gaze flickered to his companion, then back to the woman, "while we all appreciate your concerns friend, we must be repectful of the hospitality of our hosts. Blindly extending suspicions towards those who offer both food and shelter is a disheartening action, for they have opened up their home to us. Nay, we need show graditute for their kindness." Danon knew he was rambling, but couldn't hold his tounge, his temples stinging slightly from the drink. Instead he found himself smiling sincerely at the blonde woman who had engaged them in conversation "Furthermore, I fear I'm being terribly rude; Well met, I am Danon, humble servant of Merca, a pleasure to share this evening meal with you."

((OOC:EDIT: fixed some minor grammatical/spelling errors))

Galardil employs his mushrooms and enters his altered mental state. His unfocused stare earns an arched eyebrow from the man at the table, though he says nothing about it.

Meanwhile, the priest reaches out with his spell to detect magic. There is little to report; then inn itself seems quite devoid of magic, though two nearby items do resonate slightly. One is a knife on the leather-wearing man's belt - it bears a slight reading of alteration magic, similar to that often seen to enhance the cutting abilities of magical weapons.

The second belongs to the woman at your table; her pendant also bears a minor magical signature, though the exact nature of it is not apparent, as the vibration is quite weak.

When Danon speaks his piece, the woman shifts in her seat, and her body language changes. "A servant of the Justicar, then?" she asks. "How fascinating. Which faction do you identify with, if you don't mind my asking?" she leans forward in interest, briefly placing her hand on top of the priest's.

A frown from her companion draws a glare from the woman. "Ah, but forgive me," she adds, sitting up straight, "I am Davena, and my bodyguard here is Garn. Alas, Garn does not share my interest in the spiritual realm; what he finds tedious, I find fascinating." Davena brushes a golden lock back behind her ear, and fixes her gaze on Danon directly, all but ignoring the rest of you.

"So tell me, brother Danon... how long have you been in Merca's service?" she asks.

Meanwhile, the conversation level in the common room seems to have returned to more of a normal level; the locals barely seem to remember that you are there, now. The serving wench returns to check for any additional requests, notices Danon and Davena in deep conversation, and gives a sly smile and a wink as she leaves.

Danon could not help but smile and as the woman began her multitude of questions, noticing her eyes sparkle with interest, but her motions hinting toward something more. He found it charming when she caught herself and proceeded with introductions rather than let him answer the first questions.

"Fascinating" he murmmered, echoing Davena's words, his gaze fixing solely upon hers. Certainly fascinating described Davena as well.

The young priest's fascination only grew as Davena settled into her next question.

"So tell me, brother Danon... how long have you been in Merca's service?" she asks.

"For most of my life, I suppose..." he chuckles softly, shaking his head before pausing a moment to choose his next words,"...though perhaps such personal questions are best saved for a more... private conversation." he offers with sly smile.

((OOC: EDIT: minor spelling issues))

Ta-Arms had finished his bowl, a loaf of bread, and his tankard. The big man felt small in his place out of the way. He half listened as Galardil began to mumble to himself in hush whispers and quiet tones. Ta-Arms noted that Danon had not touched his bowl and as he leans in slightly to listen in on the conversation, ‘Well he is not going to eat it,' Ta-Arms whispers as he pulls the bowl closer.

When the serving wench stops by Ta-Arms motions for a second tankard and gives a smile. One by one Ta-Arms slides as many of the bowls he can manage to slip away without causing anyone distraction and finishes off the leftovers. He then places them on the floor and dog does the washing up. When the serving lady brings back his tankard, the bowls are stacked neatly on the corner of the table.

Now sipping his tankard, he contently watches the goings on.

11th Sempore (Thirkday), 453 E.R.
The Nicked Shill
Village of Crandel
Galardil employs his mushrooms and enters his altered mental state. His unfocused stare earns an arched eyebrow from the man at the table, though he says nothing about it.

Meanwhile, the priest reaches out with his spell to detect magic. There is little to report; then inn itself seems quite devoid of magic, though two nearby items do resonate slightly. One is a knife on the leather-wearing man's belt - it bears a slight reading of alteration magic, similar to that often seen to enhance the cutting abilities of magical weapons.

The second belongs to the woman at your table; her pendant also bears a minor magical signature, though the exact nature of it is not apparent, as the vibration is quite weak.
Galardil reached for his mug of ale, raised it high, looked in the direction of the man at the end of the table, then nodded a somewhat friendly greeting, before quaffing his beverage.

He waited for the serving girl to bring him a refill, relaxing and enjoying the comfort of the 'Glittery Gold' as his thoughts absorbed the colorful images of the sights and sounds of The Nicked Shill.

Yet the Half Syl Cleric of Kith-jora was ever vigilant and ready to respond to any change in the mood of the crowd, or from anything sinister lurking in the fog outside!