The Restoration of Phandalin

Saria noticed it seemed she wasn't the only one who decided to stand for now. Better not risk one of the chairs to break like the floorboard or even the sign from outside. A lot of work needed to be done in this place and her guess the town too. Those thoughts soon became answered as talk began once more. This time focusing on why everyone was here in the first place.

Once hearing all the different tasks Saria immediately felt dealing with possible bodies would be a wise start. She really rather not wake up to a smell of the dead or well not again anyway. However, Saria's thought paused at a comment that gave her an open opportunity. She winked at the tiefling when the comment about cuddling up was made. "I don't mind helping keep others warm now. I just don't want to be kept awake from snoring haha."

She paused to allow others to continue to speak. More than her own focus seemed to be dealing with the bodies. "Now we could deal with how to bury the bodies once we have secured them out. No telling how many will be fully intact. Aye, perhaps instead of burning them, we can consider burning them to ash? Would that do for a more respectful burial? I don't believe I can offer to bury them by sea." Looking around she wasn't sure who all heard it seemed now the others began to move off on their own ideas of what task should be accomplished first. *Sigh* "Aye that answers that I suppose." She then moves to follow those willing to deal with the bodies, rats, and debris.
 
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“The elf has a good idea there.”

Standing by her lain down gear, Gudren had listened to the discussion flying around the room with increasing despair until Saria had spoken up. One of the party had suggested burying the dead in the crop fields for lord's sake. At least she had a companion who was able to join the dots.

“The wood from the collapsed roof will not be good for much now, and we will need to get rid of it. We also need to get rid of these bodies. Why not erm… cook two geese with one oven?”

As the awkward phrase dropped from her lips, the genasi’s face was bathed in flickering orange light. The flame, smaller and more controlled than the one that had been summoned to save Krisynore’s life, danced in the palm of an upturned hand.

“This way, we do not need to waste time digging. Besides, rotting in the dirt is not something I wish to condemn on anyone if I have the choice. Bandits or not.”

Clenching her hand into a fist, Gudren dismissed the flame. She had never understood outsiders' practice of leaving their dead in the ground. Trapping a soul in darkness for eternity. It seemed a horrible fate to bestow on someone.

The more these uncomfortable thoughts swirled around the artificer’s head, the more she longed for the sun’s kiss on her skin. Wordlessly, and leaving all of her gear save her armour and the few pouches on her belt, the genasi made for the door; falling in behind the two of her companions who had already done like so as she tried to clear her head.​

 
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@Elle Joyner @Falcon @Raven @KatSea

Tobia clapped her hands together joyfully when half of the adventurers announced that they would take care of the creepy crawlies in the cellar. She hoped they wouldn’t get eaten or anything, but they knew the risks. And when they were finished--if they finished, she would have a hearty bowl of gruel waiting for them! She didn’t share that information of course, because she didn’t want them dying hungry and regretful if the rats and bugs ended up defeating them.

“Well, there’s th’ door! Watch’ya step, the stairs leadin’ down can get a little slick what with the leaks an’ all. I’ll be up here, if ya need me jus’ give me a holler! I obviously won’t come down there, but I’ll do my best t’assist ya, from up here.”

The door to the cellar opened with surprising ease considering the slightly damp rotting wood. Unfortunately, as soon as the door swung open, an awful smell of mold and mildew struck the party’s noses ruthlessly. As Tobia warned, the stairs were a little slick with stagnant water. The party descended the winding stone stairs, and droplets of murky water dripped onto their heads. The entirety of the cellar was stone, and large dusty crates were stacked in no particular order around the room. The room was about 45 feet long and 40 feet wide, give or take a little. There were large bookcases on either side of the room and each shelf had assorted dust-covered food items. Vials of murky brown liquid, jars of pickles and eggs, even some containers of peanuts covered in fuzzy black mold. Sitting next to one of the bookcases was a large burlap sack with the words “cornmeal” written on the side. The sack was leaning toward the bookcase but suddenly, it seemed to jolt and shimmy until it fell over, revealing the surprising contents: a shockingly large brown, well-fed rat. The rat sniffed in the direction of the party and cocked it’s head to the side as if it couldn’t quite piece together what these intruders were doing in its home. Then, as if suddenly the pieces clicked, the rat cracked open its mouth and a high pitched screeeeeeeech burst forth. Suddenly, the water dripping on stone was not the only sound in the room. Skittering noises, squeaks, and a bit of squishing melded to form a cacophony of chaos.

What shall our party do?


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@SilverPaw @Fyrra @Applo

Meanwhile, three adventurers had decided to investigate Tresendar--soon to be Bilthine--manor with a reluctant Krisynore. As they walked through the town toward their destination, the butler was making an impassioned case about why they should not in fact go to the manor right then.

“My lady informed me that the manor is in a sorry state. Even as adventurers, I’m sure you’d feel more comfortable staying at the inn with your peers. Right? Right. Let’s turn around and join your friends in vanquishing vermin, eh? Well, I won’t be joining, because I’m not a fighter really--and we’re here. Curses.” For a brief second the butler’s ramrod posture eased, allowing a slight curve in her spine indicating her defeat, but that disappeared just as quickly.

From the front, the manor looked alright actually. The front doors were intact, the lawn needed a bit of taming, but for the most part it was fine. But as the group approached the door, they noticed something wrapped around--neigh, gripping the handle. It was a hand. A heavily decayed, skin literally hanging from the bone, hand.

Krisynore felt her stomach roil, do a front flip, a backflip, then a somersault out of her mouth in the form of a stream of watery vomit. “That’s a hand! A hand!” She croaked. She was not sleeping here. She was going back to that inn, dead body stench be damned! She spat out the remaining dredges of vomit, then pointed an accusatory finger at the door.

“Another reason why we should return to the inn, and deal with the manor at a later date!”

But of course, her protests fell on deaf ears. The three adventurers approached the door and tried to pull it open.
 
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@SilverPaw @Fyrra @Applo

Using her mace, Vanvyre yanked the severed hand from the door handle and Gudren took the opportunity to yank on the door handle, but to no avail. The door wouldn’t budge even as she tugged it with all her might. Vanvyre grabbed the handle next and slowly the door creaked open while chafing against the other door and emitting a horrible dry screeching noise. Ishte yanked the door open the rest of the way with surprising ease. Maybe it was their tiefling strength, maybe it was misophonia. Regardless, the door to the manor was now open.

In its prime, Tresendar manor was probably spectacular--breathtaking even. Now, however, the manor was a godsawful mess. A powerful nauseating stench emanated from pretty much every nook and cranny of the room. Bodies and skeletons littered the once impeccably polished stone floor, and a thick layer of dust had collected everywhere. A carpet runner which probably used to be red, but was currently a washed-out pink led from the foyer and extended to the back of the manor. Two curving staircases led to the second floor which split into two halls. On the wall between the hallways was a massive family portrait with the faces of each member cut out. Bright red paint formed an obnoxious X over the entirety of the painting, marring it horribly. A massive three-tiered chandelier with 35 candles hung from the high vaulted ceiling above the foyer. A decapitated orc head was stuck onto one of the candle holders. A female halfling’s body lay to the left of the carpet runner. Her right eye was gone, and a long black centipede skittered out of the socket and into the folds of her tattered red cloak. A little ways away from her were two orcs lying atop each other skewered by a javelin. On the right side of the carpet runner, further back was a headless body, covered in squirming cockroaches that were making a meal of the decaying flesh.

For the most part, despite the shocking number of dead mutilated bodies and the stench, the manor was in good condition structurally. Ah, the superiority of noble dwellings.


What will the party do?
 
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“No worries, if it’s too bad we don’t have to settle in right away,” Vanvyre reassured Krisynore. The butler was probably embarrassed at its state, which wasn’t a good sign, but for all Van knew, the elf may very well be exaggerating.

Turned out…she really wasn’t. “Huh,” Vanvyre stared at the rotting arm clinging to the handle. “That’s something,” she mused. “Mm, it is a hand,” she murmured absent-mindedly as she approached the manor’s door. Taking ahold of the mace which had been hanging from her belt, Van casually lifted the weapon into the air, then swung down at the hand, promptly removing it from the door. If the handle was dented as a result, that was a mere unfortunate side-effect.

After Gudren had her attempt at the door, and Van’s mace was back on her belt, the warlock cracked her knuckles – mostly for show – and tried to open it as well. It was quite hefty, possibly rusted or bolted from the inside. Still, it was budging, if slowly, and gratingly. Vanvyre gritted her teeth and grimaced, taking a brief reprieve to wipe the sweat from her brow. The one who provided full respite from that terrible noise was the tiefling, however, who managed to yank the gate aside easily. “Nice work,” Van whistled admiringly.

Unfortunately, the insides were truly uninhabitable. Sure, it was large, but the stench threatened to make her vomit – and after the elf had already done so, Vanvyre didn’t want to add to it and embarrass herself as well. To ward the scent of death off, she clasped a hand over her mouth and nose. “That is a lot of bodies,” she muttered dryly, voice slightly muffled. “Doesn’t solve our overcrowded problem, huh?” She sighed, the breath warming her palm, and making the air she was breathing in muggy as well as horrifically unpleasant.

“So…shall we head elsewhere? Because I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t think the few of us can clear all these bodies and clear off the blood by evening,” she said, turning to her companions, gaze searching and mildly pleading. Vanvyre didn’t particularly care to prove the elf true – that it had been a mistake to come here – but she wasn’t a fan of futile endeavors really. Perhaps it would be best to return to the rest of their companions, so that they’d at least get a roof over their head for helping get the inn in order. Or the tavern, some alcohol would do wonders. Though if she were overruled by all the others, Van supposed she might suck it up and stay here to do some grunt work.
 
Ishte, surprised to be joined by not just one, but three others in their scouting errand, took the time to listen. Someone had suggested burning instead of a burial for the bisected brigands, and the tiefling admittedly found the notion preferable, but they didn't want to be the one to suggest such a thing. Still, they could only smirk in response to the manor sounding promising. That Krisynore should argue that the manor be left alone was curious, but not unexpected: everyone else present had been hired to clean up the hamlet, not the manor itself, and since the manor would have been the primary target in a proper raid, it stood to reason that it would be in the worst shape.

Yet the mention of slaying vermin made the horned person wince, visibly. "Of course I would prefer the inn over a manor. I should find more comfort in a stable, or even a tree, but that is not why we are here." Or, at the very least, it was not why the tiefling chose this destination, but calling attention to Vanvyre's comment in front of the butler supervising them would do neither of them any favors. In any case, wandering up to the manor's front door to find a severed hand gripping the handle should have been less surprising than it was. Unsure of what to think of it, Ishte spaced out a moment, pondering their options.

The sound of the door opening brought Ishte back to reality, its unpleasant screech one to be met with an annoyed grunt. The moment Vanvyre's hands left the handle, Ishte reached for it and planted a foot into the ground, using it as leverage to put their weight and strength into a sudden yank, forcing the door wide open. The reward of a positively delightful stench emanating from within churned their stomach, but not enough to stop the tiefling from walking inside to at least have a look around.

"Ewwwww," came the complaint from seeing all the bodies. However long they were here, Ishte still couldn't fathom why nobody had at least bothered to bring the bodies outside, here or at the inn, or elsewhere in Phandalin. A quick glance at the portraits brought up another observation, but nothing seemingly important at the moment. "Looks like the local family wasn't very popular."

Rejoining Gudren, Vanvyre, and Krisynore, Ishte wiped their face with their glove.

"Right. We need the wagon for these.... poor souls. I was going to have a look around for any spare tools, in case we could avoid bothering the villagers for their own shovels and such, but this is alarming. And unpleasant." And on top of it all, something just didn't feel right. "We should let the others know of our need for a bigger funeral pyre, but if none of you want to start here...." They trailed off, looking back toward the stairs. "...You don't believe anyone might have been trapped in here, do you?"

They faced into the building proper, calling out into the halls. "Hello! Is anyone here among the living?!"

Ishte might not be satisfied without at least a visual on the rooms before leaving.
 

“Anyone trapped in there, I think they won’t be answering you.”

Gudren stared through the doorway into the stinking interior beyond. No sane creature would have stayed in the building by choice and anything that had been trapped in this hall of death for any time would not be sane. For her part, with what she now knew awaited her inside, Gudren had no particular desire to explore the manor. Cramped and decrepit as the inn was, it was by far the better place to lodge for the time being. This oversized mausoleum could be investigated properly another day.

“Parlay with the dead if you want,”

A hand landed lightly on Ishte’s shoulder and squeezed it for a heartbeat.

“I will deal with the living though. Miss Pook mentioned a tavern; said it was the only hot spot in town, whatever that means. They might have a wagon or other supplies it would be useful for us to use. I will see if they are agreeable to lending them to us.

Releasing her grip on the tiefling’s shoulder, Gudren spun on her heel and started heading back towards town. The genasi was almost certain she knew which building to head for. There had only been one building they had passed on their journey up to the manor that had looked like it could be a functional tavern. It had stood out just by dint of not looking like it should have fallen down six months ago.

She hadn't gone more than a few steps before she stopped and once more electricity flew from snapping fingers.

“Girl, you ought to come with me. I do not require your help, but your mistress may prefer it if the first time her subjects meet with us, you are there; might she not.”​

 
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Two large rats flanked the one which had fallen out of the moldy sack, and two spiders crawled up the cold stone walls to lurk on the ceiling above the party. The rats were the size of cats but not nearly as graceful or appealing. Their fur was muddy brown and growing in patches on their skin which was slick with water. They bared razor-sharp yellow fangs and growled with high pitched sounds. The rat who had fallen from the sack seemed to assume command, as it stood in front of the other two. The spiders that skittered across the ceiling were large brown arachnids with spindly legs. Their chelicerae rubbed together as their numerous shiny black eyes gazed at the party.

Without warning, the lead rat surged forward with its teeth bared. It launched itself into the air and sank it’s disgusting, yellow teeth into Ox’s thigh. The dwarf tried to retaliate and swing her ax at the rat, but the horrid creature deftly jumped back avoiding a certainly fatal blow. The rat on the leader’s left darted forward skirting around the dwarven woman in an attempt to chomp on Solomon, but it failed to see the small puddle of water in front of it and slipped just past and into Saria’s path. Foregoing her rapier, Saria sneered down at the rat then raised her booted foot and slammed it down onto the vermin, but she failed to realize that the rat was made of tougher stuff than regular rats. It took the boot to the back with ease, and craned its neck back to stare at the pirate as if to say, ‘is that all you got?’ If rats could spit, this one certainly would have, right on Saria’s boot. The third rat, infuriated by Saria’s attempt to crush its comrade lunges forward driving its fangs into Saria’s shin.

The spiders decide to join the fray, and the smaller one drops from its perch on the ceiling in an attempt to gain purchase on Markael’s head but it misses. Clacking its chelicerae together furiously, the spider scrambles back up the wall. Ever the wise one, Markael moves to the middle of the group and whispers a prayer in celestial, blessing his companions. The party experiences a collective moment of reprieve as the feeling of warm cloaks drape over their shoulders.

Solomon uses his rapier and sickle to slash and hack at the rat that Saria stomped on. The blades tear through the rat’s flesh and it squeals a high-pitched shriek of agony. Blood splatters across the floor, and the rat staggers on its paws, then falls on its side not quite dead but close. The spider on the ceiling drops onto Solomon’s shoulder and bites into the flesh. Normally, spiders poison their enemies but for some reason, this one forgot and retreated to its ceiling perch after doing minimal damage.

The lead rat, eager to do as much damage as was done to its friend, goes for Ox again but this time the barbarian is ready and seething with rage. She uses her ax to cleave the rat in half, thus sending it to rat Valhalla. Ox stoops down for a second and scoops the rat halves into her bag. The half-dead rat released a squeak of outrage and mourning for its fallen leader and lunged desperately at Saria, finding purchase on her leg once more. Its victory is short-lived however as Saria impales it with her rapier.
Attempting to redeem itself after its failed attack, the smaller spider bites Ox but also fails to remember its poisonous capabilities and retreats after barely breaking the barbarian’s skin. Markael emerges from the center of the group and crushes the last rat with his mace. Blood and viscera coat the stone floor, as he drives the mace into the rat with surprising force. In a surprising flourish, Solomon skewers both spiders, thus ending the battle.

The cellar is clear of vermin and covered in blood and rodent guts. Huzzah! The party survived their first battle. The door to the cellar creaks open and Tobia’s booming voice floods in. “Y’all alright? I got m’ battle ax down from th’ wall just’n case. I don’t hear any frenzied eaten’ sounds, so I’m guessin’ y’all’re good! I made some soup--well, it’s mostly taters, pepper, water, n’ salt, but it’s hearty ‘enough if you want it. I’ll take care of th’ mess.”

As soon as Ishte got the door open, Krisynore doubled over to retch as the putrid smell assaulted her sinuses. Yup, this settled it. She was sleeping at the inn. She’d be damned if she would set a foot in that mess! Even as the Ishte called out to any inhabitants, Krisynore stayed outside, far from the entrance with her hand over her nose. Hopefully, no one would respond to the tiefling and they could return to the rest of the party and--

Krisynore gasped in outrage as Gudren--a mere commoner--snapped her fingers at her as if she were a commoner!

“My name is Krisynore, not girl. Furthermore, I’m hardly a child! I am 127 years old! I have never been so insulted in all my years!” She wanted to go on and tear the genasi a new one, but...She was right. She needed to accompany her to the tavern as a representative of Lady Bilthine. Krisynore sucked her teeth and scuffed her shoe in the dirt. She hated when other people were right.

She glanced over her shoulder at Ishte who was still waiting for a reply from whoever--if there was anyone even--inside the manor. They seemed intent on verifying if there were survivors, so she shifted her gaze to Vanvyre.

“Will you be joining us?” She hoped the half-elf picked up on her silent “please.” So far, the warlock was Krisynore’s favorite of the bunch. She enjoyed her company more than the others by a mile. She would definitely say nothing but good things about her to Lady Bilthine later.

As the elf reluctantly hurried to catch up with Gudren, Ishte peered into the manor calling out to any survivors. A moment of silence stretched after their call and just when it seemed like no one would respond, a deep low moan echoed through the halls, so soft it may have been the wind.


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The Sleeping Giant tavern sat at the bottom of the slope leading to Tresendar manor. Unlike the majority of the buildings in Phandalin, the tavern wasn’t a complete disaster. Some of the windows were boarded up, but it had all four walls and a completely intact roof. The front of the tavern had large barn doors that had been clearly added on recently. The doors were propped open with empty ale barrels, and the sound of someone singing a bawdy song. Inside the tavern, there were only three long tables with wooden benches to match. The bar sat in the back, manned by two dwarven women. A halfling bard with a flower crown stood on the bar, singing a jaunty tune and tap dancing. Two of the tables were unoccupied, but the middle one was occupied by a shockingly large man with a hefty crossbow leaning against his seat, and a red-headed woman with a purple bandana tied in her hair. The two were sitting on opposite ends, but the red-headed woman gazing at the man who was staring blankly into his mug of ale.


 
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Markael hated battle. He always had. He was a pacifist at heart and had never made any secret about that fact regardless of other's wishes, Though he could and would make an exception for a being that attacked someone else first.... Defense of a life was a bit different than violent action, although if he could talk things down he would certainly try.

Unfortunately rats and spiders can not be talked down, and were in some cultures considered a dietary requirement. That put this situation in a different category altogether.

He did find the experience a bit draining, but he still had a little left in him. Enough that he was able to Lay a Hand on Saria's shoulder and give her back a little health (1hp). In a pinch he might have one more burst in him, but Markael sincerely hoped they were dome with fighting for the day.

The appearance of their Hosts head at the top of the stairs and her offer of soup certainly gave him hope of that.

"If you would like, My Lady, I can see if I can forage some wild roots or herbs that might make an addition to your pot. Since there are so many mouths to feed.... of course," here his eyes darted to Ox, "I think a few of us would not wholly object to roasted rodent if you want us to bring them up for you...."

It would not be the first time Markael himself had eaten such. He had spent a large part of his life in either partial or total seclusion. One ate what one could get in those circumstances.
 
Ishte closed their eyes, listening for any sort of response to their call. The tiefling needed only a moment for feedback to reach their ears, and a moment longer after Gudren's statement of the obvious: it's true, nobody left here would be in good shape, physically or mentally, but that didn't mean they shouldn't do a sweep of the building to confirm such an assumption. People in the most dire circumstances were the most in need of a rescue, but these corpses had been left here for long enough to decompose, and anyone trapped inside all this time must have either met their end from hunger or thirst, if not something far worse than the anything tiefling might be prepared for.

Gudren's hand brought Ishte from their distracted pondering, at which point the tiefling turned to face her. The genasi's touch brought with it warmth: a strange sensation, but a welcome one with the chill and stench of death in the air. Their gaze drifted from Gudren, to Vanvyre, to Krisynore, the three of them charming in their own way, but also friendly. Possibly the friendliest travelers the tiefling had ever met, if one looked past the bickering between two of them. One couldn't help but smile for a moment.

"For certain. I'll join you soon."

There needn't be much more said. As the trio trotted to back to town, Ishte called out into the manor again, just to be sure nobody was there. And waited. And sure enough, only the airflow from the manor's open door answered back, carrying with it.... the sound of a groan. The tiefling frowned: somebody was definitely inside this manor, and it would be irresponsible not to investigate, but in the midst of the piles upon piles of rotting bodies? That somebody wouldn't be the most welcoming of company. Again, there needn't be much said.

Once outside, Ishte shut the front door, and trailed back toward the tavern with a long shiver and a groan of disgust at the lingering stench clogging their nose. Fresh air was such a welcome relief that the tiefling took their time catching up, arriving at The Sleeping Giant a few minutes later than the others. Thankfully, the building was far from crowded: finding the companions took no effort at all.
 

“Mm, well, I’d prefer to handle this with more people than just the two of us,” is all Vanvyre said to the tiefling before waving a goodbye to her. She then dashed towards the retreating pair of Kris and Gudren. “He-ey,” she called, grinning. “Yeah, I’m joining you. The tavern sounds like the next best bet,” she cheerfully proclaimed, perkily walking next to the others. She’d noticed the cute elf was eager to have her along, and was pleased at the developments. It took but a few minutes for the group to arrive at the tavern.

The third time, was apparently, actually the charm. From the propped open doorway, Gudren stared into the tavern. For the first time since she had arrived in the village, the building was more than a mild gust of wind away from being a pile of rubble. A smile crept across her lips. Finally things were going in the right direction.

“Come,” Gudren clicked her fingers once more. “let us meet the people of this town properly.”

“Oooh,” Vanvyre sighed appreciatively. “Now this is what I’m talking about!” she clapped her hands once, smiling widely at the nicest and most populated building (populated with the living that was!) she’d seen so far. The warlock preceded the pair into the inn, silently agreeing with Gudren’s suggestion, and moving to do just so.

“Hello, everyone,” Van greeted in a semi-loud shout. “We’re two of the recently hired town janitors, at your service!” she introduced on behalf of herself as well as Gudren. “All are of you residents, then?” she glanced curiously from the red-head to the giant man, who might as well be adventurers with how odd they were. She proceeded towards the bar, waving at the halfling as she passed, and perched herself at one of the stools. “An ale in exchange for listening to your troubles?” she asked winsomely, winking cheekily at the dwarven pair. “Of course, we promise to resolve some of them, too,” she added slyly.

Behind the half-elf, Gudren rolled her eyes and reached into the pouch at her waist. When the genasi’s fingers became visible once more, a golden coin was held aloft between them for the inn-keepers to see.

“And perhaps you might be able to help us locate some tools? A wagon maybe. Me and my companions are far from the brawniest of our group, but there is much to do and it would be quicker done if we were properly equipped. Also, I’ll have tea, or granatus or coriander water if you have any.”

Sitting down on the stool next to Vanvyre, Gudren placed the coin delicately on the bar before turning to look at the room's other occupants.

“Our friend here is called Krisy.” A hand stretched towards where the elven girl was hovering. “She is our employer’s serving girl. If you have any problems, night or day, you should talk to her.”​

A collaboration with @SilverPaw
 
Battles were easily the most enjoyable and exhilarating things one could experience in life. As they had all stepped down into the dingy, dusty cellar she had nearly longed for the impending sense of doom and danger and as the universe delivered with no small degree pf aplomb, Ox's wild soul soared.

Now, as the fight came to it's natural conclusion and the mad, reckless fury she felt within subsided to a pounding din at the back of her skull, it was all she could do not to smash open barrels and chunks of stone, to spark to life another savage onslaught. Breath still heaving through grit teeth, she bent to scoop the remains of the rat carcasses into her sack when from the corner of her quivering intellect she heard one of the others pipe up, the regard roast rodent.

Seemed wholly unnecessary, but then whatever she lacked in class and general culinary savoir faire, Ox could recognize not everyone might be keen on the taste of raw, plump flesh between their teeth. Not generally one to waste good food on the time consuming process of cooking she could nevertheless hardly deny their aid had made quick work of the rats, and while they hardly seemed seasoned, towering warriors as she, they had, by natural standards of the ordinary and lacking, impressed. That, and feasts of celebrating were a part of her own culture she found she missed, quite deeply.

With a nod, she pulled two of the corpses free and flung them up the steps to land at the feet of the innkeeper, before looking about at the others, "You fought bravely, though you are frail. It would be my honor as a warrior and a Goliath proud to share a meal with you!"

But her newfound sense of general camaraderie wasn't quite enough to keep her from subtly bending to pluck up the spider bodies as well and, with the crunch of hardened carapace, take one down in three swift, greedy bites, pocketing the other for a snack.