RP:An Elf With A Job

Part of the Home Sweet Home Arc

Location: Frostmaw Tavern

Synopsis: Gilwen traverses the cold of Frostmaw to look for the Berserker Eirik. Her purpose is far from mundane and strikes a bargain with the warrior. Whether either regrets their decision later, is yet to be told.

At Frostmaw Tavern

Slightly chilled, the tavern is still a far warmer location than the outdoors of Frostmaw. If the cold is too much for a visitor, they can take a seat near the tavern's center, a place dominated by a large firepit dug neatly into the earth. A fire is always burning within, fed by large logs and, strangely, scraps of leftovers flung in by passing patrons--to those in the know, this is to feed Aodhan, the fire wyrmling occupant of the pit and keeper of the flames. Aside from the stone and earth of the firepit, the rest of the flooring is of a dark wood, clearly a sturdy material to routinely bears the weight of many Frost Giants, their armor, and their frequent brawls. A similar wood, lighter in color, makes up the raftered ceiling with its steeped roof. Tightly packed stones create the lower half of the walls, the upper planks of wood built close together to keep out the cold. Booths, tables, armchairs, and stools of various sizes can be found throughout the tavern in no particular arrangement. Frost Giant lasses move skillfully among the crowds to serve ale and warm meals, occasionally stopping to regale a newcomer with the stories behind the many trophies hung upon the walls: sabercat fangs, mounted mammoth heads, aged weapons, dented shields, war banners, and a dragon skull hanging central from the ceiling, horns and jaws wrapped in blue chains. A rather bulky and well toned frost giant stands behind the bar. Upon his blinded left eye, a scar travels down and along his jaw. The large bartender, Drargon, simply watches the patrons, awaiting orders... or trouble, considering the massive war-axe resting beside him.

Gilwen ducked into the tavern behind an entering giantess, and the sudden change in temperature had the elf quickly unwrapping the thick, blue dyed, wool scarf from face and neck; the skin of her face that had been exposed to the brutal cold was marked red with chill and windburn. "I certainly don't miss this weather," she muttered before managing to snag the attention of one of the serving girls. The height difference between the two was astounding, and while it would have been helpful had Gilwen stood on a chair to ensure the giant could hear her properly, pride and dignity forbade it, and instead her request for 'something hot and hearty' was practically shouted. Thereafter, she turned toward Drargon, removing from her many layers of wool and fur a sealed note, and the conversation she had then had not been shouted, but was instead conducted in an almost private fashion before the barkeep lifted his attention to the small population of tavern dwellers, looking to see if the subject of their conversation was present.

Eirik sets an empty shot glass down and raises a hand to scratch his scarred, unshaven features. Gods it had been a long day. New recruits, new training regiments, more and more tossed upon his shoulders. How he wished it could be like the days of Frostmaws tournament. A glimmer of a smile tugged at his lips; remembering his semifinalist bout. He had almost made it. Silver eyes twitch from a far-off location, and fix themselves back on the barkeep. "I'll take another," his voice deep and rough, like gravel being crushed beneath a weighted boot. Drargon nods to Gilwens line of questioning, and simply raises a finger, indicating that Eirik is the loner sitting at the bar. Most kept their distance from the man, but he and Drargon had a special relationship. Old warriors code. Truthfully the Northman is a hard man to miss and as usual the Lycan stood ready for games of war. Armored sleeves work their way up both arms and weave into a fur covered leather and steel plate pauldrons. A black leather jerkin adorns his torso, giving way to a plethora of belts, a red sash and black woolen pants. The infamous rune inscribed long sword, Brann Forbruker, lies tied to his left hip via the means of a leather baldric. An ice enchanted tomahawk hangs from the other. For all intents and purposes, Eirik looks rough. Like some foreign invader just waiting for a fight. Though only half of that is true.

Gilwen offered the old warrior a nod of thanks and quickly exchanged with Drargon payment for the warmed apple cider the giantess had settled before her on the bar. Drink now in hand, the bundled elf not only approached Eirik, but settled her tankard beside him, indicating her obvious intent to converse. "I'm told you're Eirik." She stated while working to unfasten the heavy furred cloak and shrug out of the wool-lined leather jacket, draping each over a the barstool beside the one she intended to seat herself in. Underneath the winter wear, the elf wore simple, black leather leggings and a blue silk blouse that hinted at perhaps a lack of time to consider her wardrobe otherwise. "I'm Gilwen Ousseaityrn of the Sage Elves, and I was told you could help me."

Eirik twists his gaze from Drargon, the pointer and affixes his frigid silver eyes upon Gilwen, the stranger. Who was this? What did she want? Did she have work for him? He had to remind himself to slow it down. It isn't often a stranger comes to greet him. A single eyebrow lofts before he responds. "That’s quite the name Gilwen Ousseaityrn of the Sage Elves." The Lycans rough tone of voice and northern accent butcher her last name, but it's obvious he means no disrespect; Just trying it on for size. "And yes, I'm Eirik." The Berserker turns his frame to face the newcomer while his ordered drink is placed upon the table. "I might be able to help you. Depending on the task, and more importantly. The pay." His voice remains loud as though he could care less who hears him discuss business. "Either myself or my clan can take the job." Obviously, he represented both. "So, tell me Gilwen, what exactly do you need?" He falls silent waiting to hear more details.

Gilwen had always hated the height of things in Frostmaw, especially considering she was considered short from her own people. However, she managed to seat herself in barstool she had chosen with little difficulty. "I am planning a small... excursion, I guess you might call it." Her voice, unlike his own, was far more reserved, clearly not wishing to broadcast her intentions to the entire tavern. "It is not without its dangers, and quite frankly, the dangers are considerable. Death is a possibility." During the short description, her gaze had been settled on the warm amber liquid that filled her tankard, but her vision returned to him to impress the importance of her mission. "It is no secret that Sage is dying. I'm told a curse was put on it, but nothing me or my people have been able to do has stopped it from spreading. Soon there will be no forest left. Our homelands will be gone. I -have- to find something to combat it. Name the price and a trustworthy individual."

Eirik listened intently to her words and mulled over individuals he knew. Its true that something has been infecting the sage. Seen some of it for himself. But to remove a curse? The Lycan was no paladin, nor a priest, healer or druid. His skill lied in fantastic barbarism. If there was a target given, he'd chop it down. "I do not know anyone who can lift that curse." His loud demeaner quieted down to match her own. This is probably a sensitive subject for her. "And I can't just run in there swiping my sword into the air." Eirik did not mean to sound disrespectful. "I can work with you, and fight things that come along for you, but as for fixing the curse? It's not something within my realm of possibilities. If instead the curse is, let's say for the sake of argument, brought on by a monster?" He pauses for effect, "I can help kill it." What he was getting at, is her request is far too broad of a spectrum for him. "Do you know what's causing the curse?" As for it possibly costing him his life? Meant little.

Gilwen simply shook her head, "I wouldn't need your help lifting the curse, so to speak. It's not brought on by a creature, and it isn't something death would solve." She took a hearty swig of her cider before turning to examine the faces in the tavern. How quickly this could turn belly up if her plans were whispered into the wrong ears. "I have to get into Trist'oth," she murmured, her features touched with a hint of nervousness, "And I need help doing it if I mean to get in and out alive."

Eirik sat there for a moment, before the hints of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth; revealing a row of near perfect ivory white teeth. The Northman took note of her hesitation to speak about this topic in the open air before the public eye. His shot glass is grabbed and downed. "I see." Coin is produced and placed on the counter. Far more than what is needed to pay for the drinks. "Drargon, I have need of a room. And privacy." Reluctantly Eirik stands, snags a key from the barkeep and turns on foot. "If you'd rather discuss this in private, follow me." He was sure that she would, given where the topic went. Eirik rounds the corner and heads up the staircase in the back. Eventually he would climb into a room and wait for Gilwen to follow in kind. Assuming that she enters the room, he would shut the door and lock it behind her. "So you need fighting help to get into Trist'oth. That I can do." She had finally narrowed the conversation to something he could handle. "Why Trist'oth?"

Gilwen took up her tankard and finished the contents the moment Eirik accepted the key from Drargon. Gathering up her discarded cloak and jacket, she followed after the lycan quickly, her strides much quicker simply to keep up. She was quite small after all. As soon as they entered the room, she dumped her winter wear off on the small table that provided the room a chance for a private dining experience to any renting occupants. "I need to get into the D'Artes house. I have reason to believe that former Archmage Tiphareth was the cause of the curse. Even if I'm mistaken in that, his house library is reputed to be quiet substantial." In truth, she had been gifted a vision by the Ascendi Lauria, but she had been reluctant to divulge that information to the rest of the small council, and they were extremely religious people. To divulge that information to a stranger, one who might be willing to risk life or limb to help her cause, could spell disaster for her recruitment process. "This wouldn't just be a in and out quickly thing either. I need help to locate a new entrance into the Underdark and map out the way to Trist'oth and the D'Artes house before going in with a small team."

Eirik remained stoic as she divulged the rest of her plan. House D'Artes? If he knew one thing, it was this: The Drow would put up a good fight. He liked this plan of hers, though some might call him mad. In truth parts of him were. It had been a while since Eirik had taken on a job for personal gain. His clan would probably love to deal with this contract, but he had a feeling that would run too high of a cost. Instead the foreigner thinks momentarily how best to seal the deal with Gilwen. "I'll do it." Silver eyes look to make direct eye contact with her. "Personally. My payment? If you happen to stumble upon or know anyone seeking a skilled fighter, you send them my way. After this job is done of course." That's a cheap price, isn't it? He couldn't be serious, could he? "And if you're worried about me backing out, understand that my word is my bond. I'll walk through the very fires of the afterlife to complete a task I've accepted." His tone of voice, his demeanor, all elude to the truth of his statement. The pride of a mercenary for hire. Truthfully the best payment for Eirik is a cause worthy of glory. He always seeks to find something that will fill the pages of history with his name. The Lycan unlocks the door for her, to allow her to leave at any moment. "Do we have a deal?" If she didn't like his price, she could leave, and he would forget about this conversation entirely. A calloused hand extends for a formal shake to complete the deal and it would wait there until she accepted it or not. "I need no further information, the rest of what you do down there, is totally up to you."

Gilwen merely blinked at the payment requested. She had budgeted thousands of gold for hiring people for this mission, and he merely wanted work referrals? No, that wouldn't stand; he would receive monetary compensation for his efforts, especially considering the danger she was asking him to walk into for her. But, she wouldn't argue with him about that now, she'd save that discussion until after they had returned from Trist'oth. Again, she moved to gather up her heavy clothing once again, this time though, she shrugged on the jacket and cloak, drawing up the furred hood in preparation of the climate. "We have a deal Eirik. I'll send word of when I expect to move." She sealed the deal by taking his hand and shaking it firmly. "Thank you." With that, the elf left the room and tavern.

Eirik says as she wanders through the door. "My clan is stationed near the Xalious tree. Send word for me there." He would hear no argument over his chosen form of payment.