Wolf's Head Tavern

The common room of the 'Wolf' is a welcoming place, for a tavern. Walls of grey stone and ancient wooden floors are stained with the passage of time, but clean and well cared for. A long oaken bar takes up most of one wall, the kitchen door behind it. Also behind the bar are several small casks of wine, ale and the infamous apple brandy Sophia sells here. Two thick-paned windows look out onto the yard. At the very back of the room, next to the fireplace, is a staircase leading into the upper story.

Sounds of drinking, conversation, and often music fill the air. The taproom is filled with its nightly gathering of townsfolk, farmfolk, lodgers and occasionally nobles. Drink flows and tongues wag, and presiding over it all is the immensely fat figure of Sophia, the barkeep, and as far back as all but the oldest granthers can recall, the innkeeper at the Wolf.

Through the window, you can see that it's fair and mild, with a few clouds in the sky.

------

The taproom contains it's usual evening collection of townsfolk, and a few others. Serving girls rush here and there filling orders and behind the bar sits Sophia. The fat barkeep is perched on her usual stool, an immense tankard of ale at her elbow, and talking with a few of those at the bar. Her watchful eyes keep tabs on the serving girls, and on the patrons as she gossips.

Collins sits at the side of the bar enjoying a mug of cider and looking about the bar.

The door swings open, and a tall-ish figure walks in, clad in a weatherstained, green travelling cloak, looking around. He's not looking his best, being overly unshaven and rather dirty by his standards...but Sir Thatamus doesn't seem to mind, inhaling the heady odours of the tavern and smiling.

Moments later, stepping lightly and cautiously into the tavern, comes a young woman, about twenty years of age. She looks about hesitantly, about as skittish as a young doe finding herself suddenly in a populated area. Papusza is her name, though few know even that much about her; a few may have heard unsubstantiated rumours of her presence, and less even may have glimpsed her wandering through town. She lingers nervously in the doorway for several moments, before finally stepping further into the room.

Daeron enters from the courtyard of the tavern. He nods a smile at the folks he knows.

Collins sips the last of her cider. "'Phia, I believes me mug is empty. Anythin' we could be doing 'bout tha?" SHe winks to Sophia and gives a wide grin.

From her stool behind the bar, the innkeeper calls out a greeting to the weather beaten knight. "God gi ye good e'en, Thatamus, how ye been keepin?" As she speaks she takes up the young Scotswoman's mug and a few others, rising to pour out the dregs and refill them. An appraising glance falls on the rather brightly dressed woman who's just entered and then travels to the priest. "And yerself, yer Grace? Ain't been after seein much o ye." She returns with the drinks, setting them on the bar and settles herself back onto her stool, the wood creaking in protest.

Daeron grins and steps up to the bar. "Ah, the Lady Sophia. Tis a glorious thing to bask in your loveliness once again. And, do you suppose, that I might be able to enhance that gloriousnes with a glass of wine?

As he rubs his rather bristly chin, Thatamus glances at Sophia and smiles a little, "Good evening," he says, politely as he can, "Well...I've been as busy as I've ever been," he chuckles, slightly, heading towards the bar as he does so, and glancing around at the assorted patrons, "Quite the varied crowd..." he murmurs to himself.

Collins look at the patrons that have entered the bar. "Good evenin to ye both. Milord Daeron and Thatamus." She lifts her mugs in a mock toast to them.

After lingering a moment longer, Papusza finally starts her way towards the bad, head bowed slightly to curtain her face with her dark curls. She silently comes up on the bar, leaning gently upon it with her elbows, and waiting patiently to be acknowledged.

With a grin, Sophia waves over a serving girl and instructs her to bring wine for the bishop, then turns to the dark woman standing silently at the bar. "Good e'en to ye, Mistress. What can I be after gettin for ye?"

Thatamus stops on his way to the bar, to bow politely at Collins as she addressed him, "M'lady, it is a pleasure to see you again," says he, just politely. Taking a seat, he glances around at the other patrons and patiently waits.

Collins looks at the new arrival. She wrinkles an eyebrow and looks at the many rings and jewelry adorning her fingers. Her interest is deffinatly peaked. She turns to Thatamus, "Aye, and the pleasure be mine as well, sir."

Papusza lifts her head, shaking her hair back out of her face now. "I would be thanking you for some ale," she orders in a quiet voice, one carrying a strange accent, almost a melange of Western European inflections.

Daeron smiles as the girl helping behind the bar hands him a glass of bright red wine. "Ah, thank ye lass." He takes a seat on a barstool, which gives him a good view of the whole room, and the entrance, and is close enough to Sophia so that he can chat with her without having to disturb the other patrons.

Thatamus glances at Papusza, unable to keep from hearing that accent and quirking an eyebrow, "I thought I was well-travelled..." he murmurs to himself, once more, stroking his chin, "but I can't say I've come across that one,"

The serving girl turns to the rather odd newcomer and nods then looks at Thatamus with a slightly flirtatious smile and asks what he'd like.

A rather frail looking woman descends the stairs, grey eyes looking over the room, with a murmured comment to a serving wench and a nod to the barkeep, she takes up residence at a corner table near the hearth, pulling her lute onto her lap and beginnig to fidle with the instrument. SOme might recognise the minstrel as Heather, rarely seen, but usually welcom in the Wolf's Head.

Collins still sits in her place and watches the young girl, intrigued. She sips her cider and quietly listens...

As though seeming to feel the many curious looks upon her, Papusza's head once again falls forward, and her face withdraws behind a curtain of her hair. She slides delicately onto a stool and tries in vain to blend in with the background.

Perhaps fortunately for the strange-accented one, the request from the serving wench distracts him, "Just a mug of ale, thanks," he says to her...requesting no more than a drink and his tone of voice saying he certainly wouldn't want any more that was offered. He is, after all...as the small Cross of St. George over a white dragon sewn onto his beat-up travelling cloak would hint...a knight.

A nod to the minstrel and Sophia turns to the retiring woman on the other side of the bar with a smile as the girl brings her ale and Thatamus' drink. "Well then Mistress, we ain't seen more'n a bit o ye in town. I done heard tell ye be livin right agin tha forest, tis a true tale?"

A few sweet clear notes can be quietly heard from the direction of the hearth as the minstrel tunes her instrument, her eyes fixing on the barkeep at her words to the dark haired woman.

Collins feels her ears immediatly perk up at the mention of the forest. She blurts out before she even has time to think about her words. "The forest, ye say?"

Papusza's eyes slowly sweep upwards, and she studies the barkeep for a moment, before nodding her head a bit. "I-I would be there, yes. The - edge of it, I am having my camp - home set up," she stammers in a quiet reply, a blush hidden mostly by her dark complexion. She glances sidelong at Collins, offering another slight nod, before she returns to staring mutely at the bar.

Thatamus glances at the minstrel, quirking a slight eyebrow but his stubble-covered face breaks into a smile. "Oh, good," says he, taking his drink as it arrives, "some entertainment!" he glances back at Papusza's end of the bar, blinking again upon hearing that accent...again.

Collins stands and come over to the bejeweled one. She sits near to her and asks, "Have ye ever seen them?"

Sitting at the hearth, the minstrel begins to play, a soft, almost tuneless series of notes that nevertheless evokes a feelig of rootless travel, of wandering, never settling, her eyes remaining on the bar and those gathered there.

Sophia looks over at the yong Scotwoman, "Collins, lass, be lettin tha woman breathe while she drinks?"

Papusza rests an elbow upon the bar, and idly starts running her thumb over her scar. She looks curiously to Collins, raising her eyebrows slightly. "Them?" she repeats, appearing a bit puzzled. Realization dawns slightly on her face, and she shakes her head. She offers Sophia a grateful smile, opening her mouth as if to say something, when her attention is drawn pointedly to the minstrel, her expression going somewhat strange.

Thatamus glances back at the minstrel...he might dislocate a vertebrae if he keeps turning his head this quickly. This time, however, he holds his gaze upon her, having a sip of ale and nodding to the tune...well, pseudo-tune...smiling a little bit.

Collins tears her attention away and loos to Sophia and nods. "Ach... I'm so sorry. It's jest been one a them thins that I been intrested in... Ye know?" She looks back to Papusza. "I be truly sorry."

The maunderings of the lute form themselves into a tune, at firs a bit morose but becoming sprightlier on each refrain, a dance tune perhaps, but not one familiar to most inhabitants of Pilton, nor of England for that matter, it is foreign, strange but pretty.

A glance at the minstrel, a slight shake of her head and a long drink of ale occupy the barkeep, her hand going to shove back an errant lock of hair. "Aye, Collins, an I been tellin ye for as long that tha Wychwood ani't fer tha likes o yerself."

Daeron's eyebrow rises at this. "The Wychwood? Now what would a good girl like yourself want with a place like that Miss Collins?"

Still seeming a bit distracted by the music, Papusza looks again the Collins, smiling shyly. "It is - of no worry," she replies distantly. "I am - not minding." And with that, her gaze falls once more upon the minstrel, and a look, almost of longing - remembrance, sits heavily upon her features.

Thatamus tries his best to recognize the tune being played, but simply cannot succeed. Shaking his head, he sighs at himself with a grin, "Here I am...a world-weary traveller of all the world worth visiting, and yet I've encountered a mystery accent and a mystery tune in one hour,"

Collins nods again. "Aye. I knows. But there be somethin' there that intrests me so much. Ach. I donna what... But there be somethin'." She shrugs and leaves the bar to go closer to the music.

A thunderclap, loud even over the bustle of the tavern, rattles the windows, soon followed by a lashing of wind and rain as a sudden storm assaults the island.

Daeron looks around in surprise. "Where'd this come from? Was a beautiful day outside!"

Collins starts as the thunder claps overhead. "Wha' in bloody hell was tha'?"

Sophia starts, looking at the windows. "Mary mother o' God! T'wasn't a cloud in tha sky as last I saw."

Sophia has reconnected.

Sophia starts, looking at the windows. "Mary mother o' God! T'wasn't a cloud in tha sky as last I saw." <re>

Thatamus winces, slightly, glancing out the windows. The 'Bad Feeling About This' alarm...signified by the rampant twitching of one eyebrow...goes off inside Sir Thatamus, "As long as bunch of Frenchmen don't attack..." he mutters to himself.

Papusza blinks, drawn from her reverie by the sudden noise and the startled reactions. She, too, looks to the windows, peering curiously outside.

Collins goes to the window to look out. "I donna understan it. Wha' happaned."

The minstrel continues to play as if not even noticing the storm without, her music simply changing some to blend with the new sounds, slowing again and wandering, becoming less sprightly and slower, almost despondent.

The door to the courtyard flies open and a rather bedraggled and completely soaked figure hurries in, struggling to close it again against the fury of the wind and the rain blowing through the door. Getting the door closed the newcomer turns towards the bar and takes a few steps in that direction before collapsing in an apparently lifeless heap on the floor.

Sophia sputters, having been in the midst of taking a drink and begins the somewhat laborious process of rising from her stool behind the bar.

The arrival of a ragged figure into the tavern sort of catches Thatamus off guard. Leaping off his stool, he rushes towards the new arrival, placing a hand on his neck to check if he's alive...pretty well the only bit of medicine he knows off-hand. Most of his attention is focused on the door, making sure no less welcome visitors arrive.

Papusza spins about on her stool, watching anxiously as the newcomer enters and collapses. After a brief hesitation, she slips from her seat, and moves deftly to join Thatamus at the side of the person. "For - is he being alive?" she asks, dropping into a crouch.

Collins is almost hit by the door. She stares at the lifeless form, back to the bar, and back to form on the floor. She tries but can't form a single word. All she can do is stand, wondering what to do next. She finally eeks out the words to Thatamus and Papuza, "He okay?"

The minstrel does not move from her place at the hearth as the music she produces slowly dies, giving way to the excited chatter of patrons, some of whom attempt to crowd around and ask question, but most of whom simply hang back and look somewhat fearful.

The figure on the floor stirs, the tattered cloak falling away from its face to reveal a thin, androgynous face. The whisper of a voice is equally sexless and mutters incoherently about demon creatures. One arm rises towards the knight who has reached out, revealing not a hand, but a bleeding stump.

The blood drains from Sophia's face and she crosses herself at the sight of the handless arm. She murmurs what sounds like a prayer, a litany of the names of saints. She drops back onto her stool and inexplicably looks towards the minstrel girl pleadingly.

Thatamus blinks. Glancing at the stump, he is not disturbed...more worried. "Well...he's alive for now..." he says, voice a little too quiet, "Demon creatures...I do not like the sound of that. At least my instincts about bad things are still good...is somebody here a healer?" This he calls out loudly, looking around the tavern and instinctively placing his right hand into his cloak...judging by the hint of scabbard that can be seen through said cloak, probably on the hilt of his broadsword.

With another loud thunderclap, the fury of the storm continues to vent itself against the tavern.

"Chorro," Papusza mutters under her breath, staring at the stump for several moments. At Thatamus' words, she looks up, nodding her head meekly. "I am knowing - of some things..." she murmurs in reply, glancing about uncertainly for a moment. "I could be helping, but I will be needing ... things."

Collins ducks the thunderclap as if it had collapsed right over her head. She turns back to the trio on the floor. She struggles to speak over her fear. "Ach... Um... What would ye be needin', miss?" She starts for the bar, and the kitchen behind.

The music begins again, the minstrel still not moving from her seat, nor speaking a word. The tune this time seems calming, comforting and while not loud, somehow seems to drown out the sounds of the storm, or at least push it from the minds of those in earshot.

The figure on the floor's arm drops back to the floor, a small whimper of pain escaping its lips. "Evil...never hunt evil...it lives among us..."

Regaining some of her composure, Sophia manages to rise once more and make her way towards the huddle on the floor. She seems not too interested in helping the strange woman who says she is a healer, but in clearing the other patrons away, "Step back, ye fools an let those as has some sense do what they can. Go now, back ta yer seats, ye blitherin idjits." She shoos away several patrons who have been hovering uselessly at the edges.

Thatamus straightens himself up, "If you need something from outside," he says to Papusza, "I'd be the most logical one to get it," he heads towards the door, slowly and suspiciously, hand still resting on his blade. The use of stabbing a demon has not yet occured to him, but you never know.

Papusza nods her head slightly, studying the most visible of wounds for a moment, before casting another glance about the room. "I am not having of my things," she explains, looking a bit frustrated. "Have anyone perhaps of something for a ..." She makes some undeterminable actions with her hands for a moment, searching for the word. "A - poultice? And I will be needing of an ointment, perhaps. Have there knapweed perhaps?"

Collins stops and thinks for a moment. She stands and looks helpless as she doesn't know where to get any of what Papusza asks for. She plops down on a barstool and just watches the goings-on.

And the music continues, weaving calm and quiet, somehow seeming to settle the hearts and minds of most of the room. The figure on the floor twitches but does not move, seeming for a moment to have lapsed into unconsciousness, then opening its eyes and stating quite clearly, "It lives on yonder hill you know, evil." The eyes close and unconsciousness does indeed overcome the poor soul, breathing shallow but regular.

Sophia turns and barks some orders at Collins, telling her to fetch the large basket from her rooms beyond the kitchen, "Tis a midwife's kit an be havin tha herbs and sich as ye needs, Mistress. An Mary be bringin a basin o hot water, girl." She looks at the pale figure then backs off several paces, glaring at he few who try to come closer.

Thatamus does not move closer, for his part. Rather, he continues to stand by the door, a quiet sentinel, old knowledge from his adventuring days coming back to him, "Best not rush out..." he says to himself, "demons hate light. I think that's them that hate light. I am terribly out of practice,"

Papusza looks up at Sophia, offering a curt nod. "I am to be thanking you," she says, turning her attention back to the person. "I can be using cloth, quickly," she decides, moving in to take another, closer look at the injury. "Anything - rag or ... coat."

Collins nods acknowledgement to Sophia and runs to the kitchen. She returns quickly with a large basket with several towels and sets it down next to Papusza. She looks at the man on the floor and says, "Anythin else ye be needin, miss, ye let me know." She steps back a couple steps and watches, gnawing on a thumbnail slightly.

The slender girl with the lute continues to play, those storm grey eyes now closed, the tune emerging from her instrument now calming, now eerie, sometimes verging into the downright ominous as the wounded one speaks. She seems to be oblivious to the goings on only a few feet away.

The figure on the floor does not move at all for a long moment then once again speaks, barely above a breath, almost not even a whisper, "True evil, demons and their masters, keep...." the voice then trails off, a preternatural stillness falling over the limp body, the skin going waxy pale.

Sophia turns, seeing the things brought and moves to preparing hot cider with brandy added, knowing that at least some present may well be needing such and soon.

Still standing by the door, Thatamus switches his attention from the entrance that he guards to the man on who's behalf he is keeping an eye on things. He doesn't hear his words...but sees his lips move. And doubts that he likes what they said.

Papusza glances now to the basket set beside her, pulling out a towel and quickly wrapping it tightly around the wound, trying to apply pressure to as much of it as she can. "You will hold this, please?" she asks, looking up at Collins, then nodding at the make-shift bandage. Holding it as best she can with one hand, she starts trying to riffle through the basket with her free hand, quickly looking over her options at hand.

Collins stands dumbstruck. She jumps as she hears a voice speak and as the words burst into her brain, she then reaches down both her hands to where Papusza indicates. "Aye. Yessum." Hardly believing her eyes, she watches intently.

Grey eyes open and fix on the scene, the music slowly coming to an end, the sound and fury of the storm again clearly heard.

One last deafening thunderclap shakes the very walls, rattling the windows and even the heavy wooden door. The lashing of the rain and wind die as suddenly as they started. The pale figure on the floor gives a last gasp and a shudder then simply vanishes away, as if it had never been.

Sophia gasps and again crosses herself. She mutters a prayer and tosses back a swig of the brandy with which she's been doctoring a few steaming mugs of cider as the room erupts in a clamour of rapid conversation and several of the patrons make their way quickly towards the door. She looks frantically around the room, her eyes lingering on this or that person then returning to those still near the spot where the handless body once was.

Thatamus shakes his head, and throws his hands, in a rather dismayed fashion, into the air, "I give up!" he cries, stalking away from the door. "I'm a knight...how am I supposed to stop something like that?" He seems rather dismayed...well, with himself, really.

Papusza is just reaching forward to feel for a pulse as the body suddenly is no longer there. She falls forward, catching herself, then jumping to her feet. "I am - not doing that!" she exclaims, looking about and shaking her head wildly, lest there be any suspicion that she somehow caused her patient to disappear.

Collins falls into the floor as her hands go through the empty air. She struggles to sit and then scrambles so that her back is against the bar and keeps looking at her empty hands. Her brain simply cannot comprehend what has happened. She sits, shaking her head in complete disbelief, looking about to all around the bar. She stammers to talk... But all she can do is look at her somewhat cold hands.

Heather sits silently watchin that which has occurred in the middle of the room for a long moment then simply stands and makes her way back toward the stairs, never having said a word.

Sophia continues to alternate between swearing and murmuring prayers of some sort as she sets those mugs, steaming cider liberally laced with brandy on the bar and sinks back down onto her stool, visibly shaken.

Thatamus pauses, frowning slightly as his brain starts to talk to him, "Something weird..." he murmurs to himself, "Something weird about that, aside from all the devilmongry and the whole disappearing thing," he frowns. Thinking is not a knight's strong spot and he knows it, but he's hardly dumb. He's going to figure it out, or fail trying.

Papusza slowly makes her way back to the bar as well, walking backwards and regarding all of those in the room with a mixture of suspicion and worry. She bumps into a stool and sinks onto it, now avidly watching the spot where the body had once been. "Weird, yes," she agrees in a distant voice.

Collins still sits on the floor, almost curled up in a little ball. She mutters to herself many things, none intelligible. She shakes her head and takes her hands and places them on her head. She buries it into her knees...

Sophia shoves a mug of hot cider across the bar at anyone who wants it, dumping some more of the brandy into her own and taking a long drink as her eyes once again move over the rapidly emptying room, most of the patrons clearly disturbed and fleeing to their homes.

William walks into the tavern and, seeing general disorder he does not understand, produces a dagger from his hip and quietly waits, randomly looking behind him from time to time. His eyes are slits.

Thatamus decides that it is time for him, too, to go, "I need a quieter place than this to think," he declares, standing. Unlike some of the other patrons, he doesn't seem alarmed in the least...disturbed, sure. But not really frightened or worried...he's said it many times that, as far as he's concerned, he's already dead. A bit more death doesn't seem to bother him, "I need to think, and I need to think in peace," With that, he strides quickly out of the tavern, recklessly into the night.

Thatamus pushes open the heavy wooden door and slips out into the courtyard.

[... got disconnected and couldn’t get back on for a while ...]

Collins laughs. "Ah, yes. Be prepared. You be doin' tha!" She waves a bit and continues giggling to herself, wildly.

[... and again ...]

Collins is at the bar drinking quite seriously.

Papusza has been staring silently at the spot where the body disappeared, now more contemplatively than before. She finally tears herself away from her daydreams and looks about with the half-startled look of someone who's just now remembered where they are.

Collins drinks a large draw from her mug.

Collins she looks over to Papusza. She laughs a bit... "What th hell was tha? Do you know? I donna know? Do you?" She stares at a hand.

Papusza's eyes widen slightly, as she offers a gentle shrug of her shoulders. "I am not knowing of such things before, no," she replies, shaking her head slowly.

Collins goes back to looking at her hands. "I reached out, just like ye told me. I held the bandage, and... and..." She becomes at a loss for words.

Papusza nods her head solemnly, knowingly. "Yes, it was not to be expected that it would - do that ..." she murmurs quietly, shaking her head again. "That is not - of my usual way."

Collins raises an eyebrow, "What be yer usual way?"

Papusza looks slightly confused for a moment. "I - fix. No one ... is not there, afterwards. Not from where I am, no."

Collins nods. "Now from where I be from, either. " She thinks for a moment. "Iffin ye donna mind, where ye be from?"

Papusza considers this, then offers a shrug. "I am from most everywhere but here," she answers, cryptically. "And never I have seen one just - go. But - here, things are not the same. Perhaps this is a usual way for here."

Collins shakes her head violently. "Na that I ever be seein'." She shrugs her shoulders. "Na tha I ever be seein anythin like tha... " She looks at her hands once more. "Or been feelin', either. It was so cold." She turns her hands back and forth. "Like sum kinda mist floatin' through me fingers."

"It is - strange," Papusza agrees with a slow nod. "And I am still hoping he is all right - if he still is, at all. Or, perhaps, she. I did not see well enough."

Collins nods slowly. "Well... " She ponders a thought for a moment. "I be sure tha he, or she, would ha been greatful fer what ye was doing fer them. But as it be fer now, I really believes I must be turnin' in. Got to put some sleep 'tween me an this nigh'"

Papusza offers a smile, nodding her head. "I would like to have helped, but - such things were not to be, I am thinking." She downs the last of her drink. "Have a good sleep, then. I will be seeing you around, I am sure."

Collins smiles, the first one of the night. "Aye. I do hope ta be seein ye round." She stands and ventures to the stairs.

Papusza rises from her own stool, and heads for the door, casting one curious look back at the room, before venturing out into the air.