On the Rocks (Pub)

[Burnt Toast]

"Thimble for a name?" They hissed in response to the foolish request. They were rather cranky, having just woken up for the first time...ever.
At least there was... this delicious smelling bean concoction in front of them, and a glass of wine. That was working in the bartender's favour.

But to deny a thimble for their poor figurines, all for the sake of a name?
A name that was demanded, no less.

Naokis murmured in the back of their head: What about my figurines?. The suggestion was quiet, and came out at a bit of a whimper. He still didn't know where he was.

NO. Silendris Slammed a hand down on the counter- (Naokis hissed sharply in pain).
"A... thimble..for..the..figurines..please."

It wasn't really a request. They weren't sure why they were so upset. Naokis stirred again, and howled loudly in their mind. The figurines, the figurines!

Too much noise in here.

They slammed back the cup of wine, and sipped delicately at the coffee, eyeing Frost over the rim of the cup.

[Allacan ob Burzum]

Grobby looked dazed and confused a moment, hesitating in wonder at the sound of the rich, powerful voice that resonated in their direction from Frost. It turned its head a moment to check they had indeed been the intended target, and felt relief to discover no-one else was in their vicinity do the voice must have meant them.

Grobby was delighted, and their ugly, pointed face shifted into a distorted grimace of a smile, sharp teeth erupting in neat lines from behind its thin lips. Someone had acknowledged them without fists and kicks and had offered the possibility to stay; it was most definitely a first. Maybe this terrifying person could be the master they craved. “Grobby will serve” it said enthusiastically at Frost as it rushed towards the bar and the impressive figure behind it, it’s thin clawed hands reaching out to snatch at the air like a babe. It’s voice was like a high-pitched, quavering screech.

Ugly was perhaps an understatement for this creature. It’s thinness and small stature was more akin to humans or perhaps goblins, but there was little else about this creature that could be called human. To call Grobby a particularly ugly goblin would be doing a disservice to the most wretched of that race; it’s face was malformed beyond humanoid recognition; in place of the normally only mildly flat features of a face this beast’s nose erupted from its face in such a manner as to take eyes and mouth with it, creating a wholly pointed aspect to the head. Skeletally, it looked more akin to a warg or wolf than a human, but rather than the richness of beast fur to compliment the shape the few parts of its skin that were not currently doused with mud and mess appeared to be scaled. Thalionwen was right, this creature was sure to be an ugly-crier, if indeed it had the capacity to cry.

As they rushed forward, a figure stepped to intercede, and Grobby instinctively flinched away expecting a blow. A moment later it realised this person (Thalionwen) was holding up two long, worn pieces of material. He shifted uncomfortably, squinting at them suspiciously. As though lacking the intelligence to have an internal, mental monologue, it whispered externally - and audibly to itself.

“What is it? A trick? A test? Grobby not sure, but Grobby wants. Grobby... takes.” His fingers twitched a moment, and then snatched them out of Thalionwen’s hand, one of his long, sharp nails catching at her finger painfully in his enthusiasm. Oblivious, he holds the two stained stockings in his hand, wondering at them. “A message? Yes, a message, but what does it mean. Grobby must know, Grobby must think.” And then it scrunched it’s eyes tightly closed and tensed all the pitifully muscles across its body in the manner of someone battling constipation. “Think” it squeaky voice said to itself through its straining.

OOC; (inspired by Chris Perkin’s wonderful Kobold ‘Spurt’ from Critical Role Campaign 2, episode 50 ‘The Endless Burrows’. If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it! )

[The Good Hunter]

Inadvertently, Frost had offended the creature by asking their name. Quickly, he threw his hands up, and took a step back.

“Easy there, I was just curious about you is all,” he could hear some of Naokis still inside the creature, the frantic mentioning of the figurines and their needs rang an alarm bell in Frost’s head. “I didn’t know that the thimble was for the figurines.” He tossed the thimble gently on the bar counter and it rolled to a stop right in front of what had once been Naokis and now was also Silendra. This was going to be confusing. He reached back and took down the same wine bottle and a carafe of Elf Blood, refilling the creature’s glass and filling a tall flute with the Elf Blood for himself. “There’s your thimble. Better?”

Thalionwen, ever the helpful pest, was talking to his new minion. What in Sauron’s name was she doing? Telling him to be nice to the… very ugly thing, and giving them a sock? What was she doing? Was this some sort of Rohir tradition he had missed out on?

“Thali, what on earth are you doing!? Can’t you see I need the thing to get to work? I don’t you giving it things like that. It’ll just try to eat it and choke on it.” He darted over to where… Grobby? was standing and yanked the stocking away from them before they could do something with it. “Don’t go accepting gifts from pretty but slightly deranged women. Now,” he got a good look at the creature and stared for a heartbeat. Was this a goblin? If it was, it was the strangest goblin he’d ever seen. The snout was all deformed and angular, it looked like someone shrunk a dragon head and threw it on the body of a baby orc. “Now come along. You have work to do.”

[Allacan ob Burzum]

The creature’s painful attempts at analytical thought were thankfully interrupted by Frost before it could do itself the harm of pulling a muscle or bursting a vein. It’s slitted-eyes looked up at him with conscious appreciation of his height and bulk, and once again it’s teeth made another sinister appearance as it grimace-smiled. “They was a message for master! Of course, Grobby must pass messages on. Not for Grobby to know why, just do.”

It followed dutifully after Frost but not before turning to look back at Thalionwen, flickering a forked tongue out momentarily. It blinked at her with its strange eyes and hissed quietly “Message delivered”. As it scurried away, following their new master, it became apparent that there was a strange, apparently malformed lump at the creature’s lower back, a bulging in it’s baggy clothing that made its bottom look bizarrely oversized and... lumpy? And as it scurried, it almost bounced from side to side in a strange manner that drew the eye.

[Moriel]

What… what was that. Írimë eyed the creature (Grobby) through narrowed eyes as she took another swig of the magical bean water, followed by a swig of the whisky. Nevermind that she had already liberally laced the bean water with the whisky, you can never have too much whisky. It was something like a saga, but maybe not a snaga? It was hard to tell sometimes, but the thing was definitely a wretched, servile sort of creature. And it appeared to be offering to serve Frost. Írimë cackled- two employees for the price of one! And- what was Thalionwen doing? Removal of stockings, inside her pub? The destruction of her outhouse was one thing, but this was quite another. Írimë tipped the remaining whisky from the bottle down her throat with a massive rush of fumes, and lurched out of the chair towards the Rohir. The pubmistress seized Thalionwen by one of her now-bare ankles and lifted her foot up high to inspect it, dumping the woman backwards into a nearby chair. “My dear sweet thing, if you’re going to be barefoot in the kitchen here we need to do something about the state of your toenails. Do they even have pedicures in Rohan??”

PUB NOTICE:
This edition of On the Rocks will last 3 pages before it is closed an a new pub thread begins! You monsters have 46 posts remaining to wreak havoc before the much-anticipated pajama party.

[Silky Gooseness]

Silendris now had quite the selection of thimbles, given that the weird lady @Thalionwen had deposited a handful in front of them. A weird choice, but evidently Thalionwen specialised in weird choices, given her current husband (in Mordor, it’s best to specify, given the speed at which spouses perish). Not that Silendris - either aspects of them - were in any position to judge who one decided to share one’s body and/or life with. @Bïfrøst had also obliged on the thimble front. Who knew that so many in Mordor kept emergency sewing equipment on their persons?

At any rate it had worked out to Silendris’ advantage. With a faint smile on their face they arranged the thimbles in size-order in front of their figurine collection and then tapped out droplets of wine into each one before raising their own glass.

“Here’s to us,” they declared, knocking the glass back.

But wait.

The figurines weren’t drinking.

Silendris’ fingers tightened on the edge of the bar. Alcohol... wasted... no!

drink the thimble wine whispered inner voice one.

no don’t! It’s for the figurines! Mopheads drink it! Mop heads mop heads

You dolt; they won’t be drinking anything where they’re going! Now let us drink the wine!

Silendris’ right hand shot up and grasped the wrist of the left, which was attempting to twist the head off one of the figurines...

[The Good Hunter]

Things in On the Rocks were never boring. If everything else in the world was out of whack, Frost knew instinctively he could rely on this place being filled with nonsense and chaos. He would never understand any of it, but he could rely on its existence.

One thing whose existence he was going to have to question was his newest snaga. This Grobby was strange, by any metric. What on earth was it doing? Was it carrying something. “Hey! Grobby what have you got there? You look like you’re trying to steal a baby hobbit! Put it down and come with me. I have work I need you to do. Can you count?”

He regretted asking that question. Of course this thing couldn’t count! No one could look long enough it’s… snout and be able to teach it how to count, or to read. It know it’s own name at least, and that was a benefit.

“Never mind that, come on. You’re going to clean the floors. DEATH was in here recently and we can’t have this place looking like an open grave. Go find a broom and get to sweeping!”

The Númenorean coughed and cleared his throat. He had just realized Thalionwen was barefoot. “Woman! What are you doing?!” He laughed as Írimë very nearly tossed her into a chair to examine her feet. “Yeah, I’m gonna hang out over here while that’s going on.”

The buzzing voice of his new… acquaintance? Silendris caught his attention then. They were arguing with themselves. At least that’s what Frost could gather after a few moments of watching and listening. Perhaps the magic that had mushed and merged them together had not quite fixed all the kinks in the dramatically different and weird personalities. They were fighting themselves over the figurines. That much he could tell. But beyond that, he couldn’t quite tell. Did they want the figurines to drink the wine too? No, apparently one of the personalities suddenly wanted to kill the figurines, trying its best to twist the head off.

What the flying fredegar was Frost supposed to do with a that?

Hang it all! He snatched the figurine that wasn’t in the process of decapitation and dipped the head ito the thimble. There. Would that stop them from fighting… with themself?

[Thalionwen Hunigfolm]

"I will give your strange little monster socks if I want to!" Thali called after Frost as Írimë shoved her into a chair. "Look at the poor thing, everything about it says give me footwear!"

Thalionwen pulled a rude face at Írimë as the barmistress walked away. How dare she insult Thali's feet! Rohir women had working feet, made for hard farm labor, not for mincing about behind a bar whipping anyone who crossed you. But Thali kept her mouth shut this time--personal slights were something she could tolerate in order to maintain decent working relationships. What she could not permit were snide comments about her marriage.

Speaking of which, where was Orco? Thali glanced about herself, while tucking her feet up under her skirts to avoid further judgment. Ah. Írimë had conveniently shoved her into a chair just next to him. Say what you want about that Easterling woman, she had excellent on the fly organizational skills.

"Did you know," Thali said in a whisper to Orco, "that your mother recently implied to me in a letter that you've had prior or possibly ongoing...romantic entanglement...with the pubmistress? Isn't that interesting? Where could she possibly get an idea like that?"

[Rivvy Elf]

Orco paused once he heard about his mother, though his fingers continue to absentmindedly scratch and claw on the surface of the plate, just that he was not picking anything up and eating it. His eyes went in the distance as he muttered, "that old bat."

Then Thalionwen asked Orco about an interesting rumor.

His eyes widened first in surprise at the words "romantic entanglement" and he said immediately, "what?" then the rest of her sentence came in. Orco then smirked, and yelled,

"Hey Írimë! Remember that time we slept togethuh? Me neither." Orco shouted towards the pubmistress.

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

At this point, Zarâm was thoroughly confused about what was going on with the socks or the strange Grobby character. But, it didn't matter, the food from the weird woman was quite good. And who cared what feet looked like. They were supposed to be gross and stinky. If anything, the Rohir's feet were a bit too clean. But that would all change in good time and being barefoot in a Mordor kitchen would certainly make them dirty in no tie.

As she settled down with her plate of eggs, she watched what was sure to be an entertaining fight as Orco had just accused Írimë of sleeping with him. And there was nothing she liked more than watching a good fight, expect perhaps, being in it.

[Moriel]

Írimë might have been occupied examining the state of Thalionwen’s toenails, but she wasn’t deaf. The Rohir’s whispers were in plenty close proximity for her to overhear them- which was probably her intention in the first place. The content of those whispers, however, was so outrageous that even the unflappable Írimë was shocked. She dropped Thali’s foot completely at Orco’s reply. Now it wasn’t that Írimë wasn’t discerning in her choice of… entertainment, it was just that she happened to cast a wide net as to who was worthy of her discernment! There were, however, notable exceptions. And one of them sat before her, bellowing for the whole pub to head about their supposed liaison. Írimë bared her teeth in what the casual onlooker might have perceived as a grin, but had considerably more hunger behind it- and not any of her usual hungers, either. “Orco,” the pubmistress replied, every letter dripping with the kind of honeyed sweetness that only comes from a baited bear trap, “My dear, dear, disgusting Orco,” as she spoke Írimë passed around Thali’s chair, and towards Orco, “If that had ever happened, I would do my very best to forget it. Melkor only knows what blackmail would have to be held against me for that to happen anyway.” From a tiny frog on her belt, Írimë withdrew a shining silver jam spoon, its edge gleaming brighter than the rest, indicating that it was somewhat sharper than was strictly necessary. “And if you ever mention such a thing again,” she had reached Orco now and bent at the hip, one fist on her waist, the other hand holding the object up in close proximity to his face, “I’ll carve your heart out with a spoon.” And she bopped him on the nose with it.

[Allacan ob Burzum]

As it’s new master berated it for hanging on to the stockings, the strange creature glanced around momentarily; the stockings that must clearly be valuable somehow. Otherwise; why else would Thalionwen insisted on giving them to it, or the new master berate it for holding them in clear sight of the other patrons?

Once safely behind the bar, it stuffed the stockings forcefully into the safest place it knew; straight down its pants to add a new, lumpy bulge at the front between the legs.

It’s satisfaction at thus having safe-guarded the precious items was short-lived, for its Master was now questioning whether it could read. Grobby stared for a moment at Frost. Just... stared. Those weird lizard-like pupils seeming to dilate and contract in the dim light, and it’s breath made strange hissing noises between its teeth as it stared at him blankly.

Thankfully, Master moved on to provide clearer instructions so that even Grobby, with its slow and simple thinking, was able to interpret what was expected of it.

“Broom. Yes, Grobby knows broom. Find a broom and get to sweeping. Broom, broom” and it scurried away on its task.

Its little clawed feet, almost as ugly as its face, made an unpleasant pattering noise on the tavern floor as Grobby hurried back and forth between chairs and tables in a directionless manner, intent on its task and uttering “Broom, Broom” to itself. It was odd, but even given the lack of combustible engines in Middle Earth it still managed somehow a passable impression of a child at play. A very ugly, malformed child, of course.

At last its beady eyes spied what it believed to be a broom handle all the way over on the other side of the room. Rushing forward eagerly, it grasped its little, clawed hands about the wooden shaft and attempted to lift. It did not budge, and so it began tugging and yanking with its meagre little muscles in a vain attempt to shift the wooden pole; which stubbornly refused to be removed. Not that the pole didn’t wish to aid the little creature - this particular length of wood might have been quite agreeable in other circumstances - but on this occasion it refused to move because it was in fact connected in more than one joining to a few other pieces of wood. And all those pieces of wood, when taken on the whole, were constructed not in the shape of a broom, but a chair. A chair in which one Zarâm was currently firmly established.

The creature’s ongoing, futile tugging and the unfortunate manner of its anatomy coupled with the lump of the stockings down its trousers therefore led to a rather miserable misunderstanding; the outward impression to all the rest of the clientele was that the creature called Grobby was actually humping Zarâm’s chair, while Zarâm was in it! All the while continuing to utter in an increasingly strained voice “Broom, Broom”

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

The ensuing threat from Írimë was better than Zarâm could believe. Írimë actually whipped out a very small, very sharp silver spoon and threatened to cut out Orco's heart. Zarâm hoped that this threat included doing so while it was still beating. And then Írimë proceeded to bop Orco on the nose.

Before else could happen, the strange grovely creature (Grobby) that Thali had given her socks to was advancing towards Zarâms chair and saying the words, "Broom, broom," over and over again like it was the only word it know. From the brief bit that Zarâm had seen the creature, she wouldn't be surprised if it's vocabulary was severely limited. But why one earth was it headed towards her? If the creature was asking her where a broom was, she didn't know, and even if she did, she wouldn't answer such a lowly creature. Why Frost had agreed to take it on as a slave was beyond her.

The creature continued to come closer and suddenly it gripped the leg of her chair and began to jerk it. "Cut it out you vermin!" Zarâm scowled, trying to avoid spilling her precious drink. The creature continued to tug and a certain part of its anatomy was getting dangerously close to the chair and to Zarâm herself. Said part of the anatomy soon began to hump the leg of the chair while still saying in a very pitiful voice, "Broom, Broom."

Zarâm looked around, wondering if anybody else was watching, but they were far to interested in the certain commotion going on between Orco and Írimë. Turning back to the creature, she jerked her foot back and kicked Grobby as has hard as she possibly could, (and considering her orcish strength, it was very hard), right in the face.

[Glitterati_Goblin]

Ula Rhianri shouldered the pub door open with a well-seeded sense of malcontent, fostered diligently over the last long weeks since she found herself grasping at the smoking flotsam of what was once a sleek caravel. Mordor, while land of lord and liege in theory, was not a place the corsair had intended to visit in her life. Not least because, as she found, it smelled. There was a difference between the smoke and char of a well-planned raid carried on the fresh breeze of the ocean waters and this stagnant sulfur. If she wanted to die choking on rotten eggs, Ula would’ve shove herself in one of the empty stock barrels when the ship went up instead of putting herself through the ordeal of drifting across the open sea towards the nebulous promise of land. But, she hadn’t gone for the barrel and she had made it to land and this wretched wasteland of foul odors and fouler beasts was her begrudging reward.

The inside of the pub was, unsurprisingly, not a drastic improvement on the general experience.

One loud table in particular was made of an unpleasant band of beings, most generally shaped as they should, but with one small, particularly disgusting participant screaming about brooms and making unsavory hip motions to a chair leg while Grobby’s companion, Zarâm, violently protested.

Reasonably so, Ula decided, stepping cautiously into the main room. She hesitated to stand about drawing attention - something that had never served her well, particularly of late - so instead carefully eased herself into an abandoned chair at a small table, trying not to think about what made the seat sticky.

[The Good Hunter]

Oh no! Frost had turned his back to let his little minion get to work of just one second and now they were... Witch-King’s Balls! Leaving behind Silendris and whatever dilemma they might be having, Frost raced across the pub, dodging Írimë and Orco’s confrontation (he’d have to process that particular piece of information later) he made it to Zarâm’s table just in time to watch Grobby get a switch kick to the face. Frost winced a little as the tiny creature went flying, skittering across the floor like a cockroach. The clicking of the nails across the dirty floor only served to heighten that image.

He squatted down, putting himself at eye level with the adorably disgusting creature. The kick to the face had not quite improved the appearance either. Grobby looked like a gremlin even worse now, the teeth were jutting out at even more extreme angles and the nose was… best not look at the snout too long.

“Grobby, that wasn’t a broom,” Frost tried to sound calm and reassuring but given that he was never a reassuring person he was not sure how he sounded. “Are you okay? That looked like it hurt.” He touched the creatures forehead and dabbed away a trickle of blood with a towel he’d found on the bar’s counter. “Get yourself cleaned up. Go ask Thali over there to help you find a towel. She’s the woman that gave you the sock. Be a good boy now and run off now.”

He stood up and dusted himself off, whipping off whatever weird greasy residue clung to Grobby’s skin.

“I’m sorry about him,” he smiled depreciatingly at Zarâm and combed a hand through his hair “I’m not quite sure… well I’m not quite sure about him. Would you like to come up to the bar?” he nodded behind him. “I can get you a refill, or perhaps you’d like to share an Elf Blood?”

He began moving back to the bar, hoping the orc was following him back, he couldn’t keep patrons waiting too long or they’d start each other. He picked up his flask off the table, barely avoiding the pubmistress smacking Orco with a spoon. He hoisted the flask to his lips and found nothing. She’d drank all his whisky! “If you weren’t my employer I would… oh boy.” He screwed the cap back on and squinted his eyes at her with a half bemused smile. He turned to go and narrowly avoided running into another patron, a new one, someone he didn’t recognize but looked more like a pirate than he did (Ula). “Come on now, I’ve got places to be!”

[Allacan ob Burzum]

There was, it turned out, a somewhat unexpected advantage to having such an ugly, pointed face. Maybe fate had decided that the cards had been stacked just a little too unfairly against this poor creature and had offered it one single ace in the hand, or perhaps the effect of evolution and survival of the fittest had found a small niche for a creature as wretched as this. But whatever it was, Zarâm was perhaps a little disappointed that her foot did not collide quite as squarely with the little creature’s face as she would have liked. Instead, it sort of glanced off the nose a little, lessening the blow, which was probably what saved the creature from sustaining a more serious injury.

Notwithstanding the above, against the meagre grip of its hands on the wooden shaft the blow was still sufficient to send Grobby cartwheeling backwards ankles over face and bouncing in a somewhat awkward motion before coming to rest a decent distance away.

There had been sufficiently heavy thuds and cracks as Grobby had bounced heavily across the floor; solid enough blows to stun a weakling, and yet all evidence suggested that against all expectations the creature’s oddly malformed skill was thick enough to make an Uruk envious. Without the slightest care in the world, the creature merely uttered a surprised “Broom, Broom” before scrambling back to its feet, shaking itself just a little as though being violently thrown across the floor was a perfectly everyday occurrence. It was by no means unharmed; tiny pointed teeth dangled from its bleeding jaw, and it’s nose now had a rather crooked bend to it that might have looked rakish if it weren’t so ugly. It rubbed its nose awkwardly, and smeared a nasty mix of snot and blood across its features. Then it reached it’s now blood-soaked little hands down into its grubby trousers to check all its precious treasures were still in one piece, and sighed a little sigh of relief that they were even as Frost knelt down before it to make eye contact.

It listened to him with rapt attention and clear focus that once again was testament to its thick skull, and then cocked it’s head curiously in complete lack of comprehension. “Be a good...boy...?” it said, nonplussed as to why Frost would be uttering such words in its presence; they clearly weren’t meant for them. Once again, it’s complete lack of internal monologue gave insight into its thinking.

“Grobby not be a good boy. Grobby an ‘it’. A thing. A ‘vile, grotecks piece of verm’n fodder’.” it struggled to get its tongue and broken teeth around the longer words and it sounded like they were being repeated by rote. “Big angry people out there said so.” it said, pointing at the door. “But Grobby get clean. Find towel. Sock lady.” It dashed away again, apparently unperturbed by the physical assault, and the pattering of its little, taloned feet sounded through the room as it scittered over to the stocking lady. “Clean. Clean.” It begged, little grasping hands reaching up towards Thali eagerly.

As it stretched towards her, it’s eager cries were interrupted by the sound of material giving way. The already strained trews had been further damaged by the tumble, and now it’s eager stretching pushed the worn, inferior material too far. The large awkward bulge by its backside shifted and peeked through a tear, and then all at once erupted out of the back of its pants. Grobby froze mid-reach, a surprised look on its face, as something sort of... bounced at the edge of its vision. The creature slowly turned its head to better inspect the tip of a long, red-scaled, lizard-like tail that was now held poised just a little off the ground behind it, but even as it turned, the tail turned with it. It followed a few steps, then a few more, and with a squeak that could have been both excitement and frustration, began spinning haphazardly in a desperate (but futile) attempt to catch its own tail. Increasingly in speed, it’s mad spinning veered wildly towards the nearby chairs and tables.

[Thalionwen Hunigfolm]

"Grobby!" Thalionwen said sharply, getting up from her chair and taking a clean(ish) towel from off the bar. "Stop that and let me clean you off at once!"

She seized the writhing minion and did a truly credible job of wiping its face despite the way it squirmed and wriggled.

"You," Thali warned through clenched teeth, "are not the first small wild thing I've had to look after. And you will have a clean face, do you understand? Stop chasing your tail, too--we've all seen one before, and yours is certainly nothing to fuss over. You're making yourself ridiculous. This is what you've been looking for all along."

Reaching behind the bar, she handed the wretched creature a straw broom. "There. That should keep you occupied for awhile. Make sure the floors are pristine, mind. Your fath--I mean Frost, will want to see his face shining in them, so he can be sure nothing has mussed his perfect queue."

Turning her attention back to Írimë and Orco, Thali was just in time to see Írimë bop her husband on the nose with a suspiciously sharp-looking spoon while uttering a truly creative threat.

"Oh, he wasn't the one spreading rumors about you two," Thali said airily. "That would be his mother. An old orc called Leeva, lives down in Umbar? A nastier, more vile-tempered, malicious creature you never laid eyes on. If you want to cut anyone's heart out, it should be hers."

"Sorry, heorte min," she added, turning to Orco. "She may be your mother, but every word of what I said is true."

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

Zarâm reached down to rub her aching foot, having kicked the Grobby creature more or less right on the nose, causing it to cartwheel backwards head over heels. It's appearance wasn't any the worse for now having loose teeth and some blood. Zarâm would go so far as to say it now fit the atmosphere of the pub even better.

Frost quickly went to go and see to the creature, showing a level of care that Zarâm was genuinely surprised to see. He instructed the creature to go to the sock lady to get its face seen to. And then Frost stood up and turned towards Zarâm and apologised for the strange behaviour of the creature. And then Frost asked, "Would you like to come up to the bar? I can get you a refill, or perhaps you’d like to share an Elf Blood?”

This was agreeable recompense in Zarâm's mind. "And Elf blood would be delightful," she replied. As she followed Frost to the bar, she asked, "Where in the name of Sauron's blasted heath did you find that creature? It looks like he crawled out of a pit and was run over by a herd of wargs."

She looked over her shoulder as the Thali wrestled with the Grobby creature in what looked like an attempt to pick it up.

[The Good Hunter]

“I didn’t find him so as he wandered in here I thought he was supposed to be here so I told him to get to work,” Frost said, half bemusedly. “I didn’t really get a good look at him until he came inside and by then,” he shrugged and poured two small glasses of Elf Blood, passing one to Zarâm. He clinked the glasses and took a small sip of his. “He means well, I think, the poor creature has been so mistreated that I don’t even think he knows he’s a boy.”

He took another sip and leaned on the bar’s counter. Frost took a deep breath and felt his spine decompress. It had been a much more stressful day than he had anticipated. He had only come into the bar at all to see about getting a job and relaxing after being away for so long. What he got instead was a goblinoid, lizard-son and a co-parent whose husband was the most obnoxious orc he’d ever seen. It hadn’t been a bad day, not by any stretch of the imagination. He’d seen Sil again and watched her become something completely new and unique. Whatever she had become, he liked them.

Before he had a chance to engage with Zarâm, a far, far more agreeable orc that the one shouting nonsense across the bar, he caught a tiny portion of what Thali had said. He coughed, spray his last sip of Elf Blood against the wall behind the counter. “Excuse me, what? Did you just say I was his father?” Yes he had just admitted to himself that Grobby was his son, but saying something in the privacy of one’s own mind was very different from having it said aloud to a group of eclectic strangers. It was set in stone now. The Ringwraiths might as well shriek it to the four corners of Arda. “I suppose I am,” his face twisted up with a look of resignation. “Didn’t think that was going to happen today.” He took a sip and smiled ruefully at Zarâm.

Something itched at him though. A thought in the back of his mind, a bug that wouldn’t stop biting. He finished off the glass of Elf Blood, refilled Zarâm’s, and went to find Grobby trying to sweep the floors. Perhaps trying was not the right word here but Frost didn’t know what else to call it. In the background now Thali was insisting the rumors of Orco and Írimë (Orco and Írimë!?) had come from his mother, but he couldn’t quite processes that tangled mass of blood knots right now. Right now his… his son, needed a bath. He scooped Grobby and in both arms and cradled him against his chest as he pushed his way into the kitchen.

“Out all of you!” he shouted at the snaga milling about. He peaked his head back, hoping to catch Thali’s eye and motioned her inside. “Alright Grobby, it’s time to have a little talk.”

[Allacan ob Burzum]

Grobby squirmed and wriggled under Thali’s ministrations. It wasn’t exactly like it enjoyed being dirty, but more that it didn’t really notice, but it DID notice when someone was trying to wipe its face down. That said, it was also ill equipped to resist; barely two foot in height and with weedy limbs, its little arms flapped weakly against the much stronger woman and any attempts to run away were met with it being expertly caught.

As Thali successfully cleared muck and grime from across the creature’s face, red scales began to appear. Scales that matched the long tail that had erupted from its trouser-back. With the crooked nose and hint of red scaling now decorating its visage the creature looked almost tolerable. And yet so absurd was the sight of what appeared to be its natural skin under all that caked on mud that it only begged more questions; what exactly was this thing?

Not nearly soon enough, Thali deposited the little creature back on the floor and handed it a broom that was easily three times as tall as it was, if not more. It snatched at the broom handle eagerly and looked wide-eyed up its long shaft, letting out an awed “Broom. Broom.” in reverence to the length of wood that looked over them. Then it squealed in delight and did an odd sort of wriggle. “Make floors clean, Frost’s face in them. Mess his queue.” It re-iterated.

The self-same master was exclaiming loudly over Thali’s declaration of him being their father, but Grobby paid them no heed. The creature was hard at work with the broom. Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say, it was hard at work attempting to broom. The long wooden shaft coupled with its diminished form meant that effort was proving to be a formidable challenge.

The creature initially simply pushed the broom handle away from its body while gripping it still, which only resulted in the bristle-head rotating slowly in place against the floor without shifting along, so that the long handle rotated about it to fall to the floor on the far side with a loud clatter, little Grobby falling unceremoniously after it in a clumsy face-plant. Standing again and repositioning itself over the fallen handle, Grobby laid both hands about the shaft, braced it’s little legs, and lifted with quite some effort. It managed to raise the handle from the floor in a feat that was perhaps the best display of strength it had yet exhibited, which was saying something given this was a simple, everyday broom. However in an equal display of its intelligence, or lack thereof, it had lifted the broom pole directly between its legs to point diagonally into the air, brush head still firmly connected to the floor.

Grobby started backing up eagerly, and with each little step the broom handle became more vertical, right up until the backs of his heels caught against the brush-head behind him. He tumbled backwards, hands still clasping the broom handle, bringing it down on top of him.

It lay there for a bit, on its back, reconsidering the situation. Shifting out from beneath the broom, this time it stood carefully to one side and lifted the handle from there. It took more effort, and the pub was treated to the sounds of it grunting and huffing with the effort, but eventually it has managed to lift the broom handle back vertically without accidentally throwing itself over in the process.

It reached up on its little tippy-toes, clawed arms stretched as high above as it could go (even its tail stretched out stiffly behind it in reflection of the effort) and did it’s best to hold the broom as high as it could like the taller people do. Once it had managed the most vaulted grip possible to it; a miserable three-foot-something, if you were being generous. It then attempted to add it’s weedy muscles into the equation in an attempt to push the broom head forward.

The brush-head did not budge; despite the new angle, the force exhibited upon it was not yet sufficient enough for the thick bristles to shift and slim the surface of the floor. Grobby was still locked in this tense battle of wills when arms wrapped around him and lifted him clean away, his surprised claws losing grip on the shaft altogether so that once again it clattered to the floor.

“Broom, broom!” it exclaimed loudly in protest. “Make floors clean, Frost’s face in them. Mess his queue.” it re-iterated again with increased intensity and objection as it was carried away. The protests only lasted as long as it took for Frost to carry it into a new room, whereupon it’s interest was immediately shifted to watching the snagas dashing away from Frost in fear. It’s eyes followed them, it’s little squeaky, croaky voice sharing exactly what the creature was thinking. “Scared of master. Run away. Not hurt Grobby. Master protect Grobby” and then it did that odd wriggling again but this time also made a noise, much deeper than any noise it had made before, a kind of low gargling noise that finally settled itself into a deep, almost creepy laugh that juxtaposed so poorly with its high-pitched voice that it sounded for a moment like someone much older and more sinister was laughing for it.

[Thalionwen Hunigfolm]

Having caught Frost's eye, Thali ducked back into the kitchen, only to hear a truly sinister noise emanating from the mouth of her darling lizard child.

"Grobby!" she said, shocked at what she'd heard. "You're clearly hysterical! Bath and then bed."

Turning to the sink, Thalionwen scooped an armful of dirty dishes from it and rinsed it (somewhat ineffectually) with a bucket of wash water. Putting in the plug, she added yet more greyish water, but neatly hid the water's murky color with a dollop of lavender-scented bubbles. Where she found a bottle of bubble bath in the kitchen of a pub shall remain one of Middle Earth's great mysteries, going down infamy with such puzzles as "why didn't the eagles fly Frodo to Mordor" and "why doesn't the Lord of the Rings actually mention Arwen's younger sister, Urwen?"

When the bubbles had frothed up enough, filling the Mordorian kitchen with a delicious and truly foreign scent, Thali turned to Frost. "Right, you've let him get quite worked up enough for one evening. Pop him in!"

[The Good Hunter]

Out of thin air apparently, Thali produced some Elven concoction to that produced bubbles out of the dirty grey water. Frost looked her for a moment, amusing perplexion writ over his brows. “You’re a strange one, Thali. But I’m glad you’re here.” He hoisted Grobby out of the crook of his arm and looked at them for a moment. “And you, you little munchkin, have a very creepy laugh. Now it’s time to see what you look like underneath all this grime and soot. Ready?”

He plopped Grobby on the counter and pulled the grime-encrusted, dirty, sticky thing that looked like it had once been a shirt and tossed it on the counter. It clattered like there was something inside it. Frost looked at the shirt then back to Grobby, who looked as though they were able to go feral. “We’ll get you a new shirt, Grobby, don’t you worry.”

It was not until he tried to remove Grobby’s sad excuse for pants that Frost realized he might have made an error trying to wash Grobby. The diminutive creature screeched and cried, clawing at Frost’s arms with child-like atavistisity with dirty claws. Frost howled right back, puffing his cheeks out angrily. “Grobby no! I’m just taking them off so I can give you a bath.”

Unfortunately Grobby did not seem to like the idea of bath, now that they were naked (though still so caked in whatever that they still looked clothed), anymore than they did when they were fully clothed. Grobby howled. They jumped, trying to make it to the floor but Frost caught them after just two steps and brought them back. Grobby was breathing rapidly, their tiny chest heaving as their eyes darted back and forth.

“Easy there, easy.” He wrapped both hand around Grobby’s middle and lifted them back up to the tub. “It’s just a bath Grobby, it’s okay. I promise.” Grobby hissed and scratched, their dirty claws grabbing onto Frost’s arm like a vice. Slowly, Frost lowered the little lizard baby into the warm soapy, bubbly water.

“See? Not so bad. I’m right here and your momma is here too. Your clothes are right over there too. Everything is okay. There we go, there we go.” He cupped his hands and began to pour water over Grobby’s oddly shaped head. “How does that feel Grobby? Better?” He grabbed a brush from the counter by the sink, picked… something out of the bristle and began scrubbing the top of Grobby’s head

“You know when I was younger, when my mother used to bathe me in a little copper tub, she used to sing to me.

I have child, its name is rage
It used it be anger, but things have changed
I have a son, its name is blood
Cut me fear now, cut me god

“I still haven’t figured out what it means,” he said continued to scrub away the dirt. “My mother sang all sorts of strange songs in her day.”

Slowly, inexorably, the dirt began to fall off the little creature, revealing a still ugly but quite adorable thing shivering in the water. Grobby’s scales looked to be a shade of red; his claws, once scrubbed free of dirt, did not look so decrepit and gnarly.

“Tell me little one, who treated you so badly before? Who made you feel like you weren’t good? I’m going to find them and I’m going to hurt them the way they hurt you. And you can come a long and help pick out parts to give your mother for her special hospital. What do you say Grobby?”

OOC: Lyrics come from "Cut Me" by Zeal & Ardor

[Allacan ob Burzum]

Despite only being blessed with the minimal strength required to propel its weedy body, the creature Grobby had all the same managed a rather impressed assault on Frost with its surprisingly sharp claws. He was marked as one who had attempted to bath a feral cat, which was an apt metaphor given that Grobby’s initial reaction to the sink filled with water had been an impressive impression of any such wild feline.

As Thali emptied the bubble bath into the water however, Grobby was suddenly distracted from their utter terror of water by an even more overpowering fascination with the bubbles. They grasped at them with their clawed hands, cooing and oohing in surprise at the weightlessly soft feel of them.

Frost was trying to smooth its defensiveness, but Grobby continued to rebel at his ministrations and attempts to clean away the muck from the creature. With great effort scales were revealed, shining and surprisingly soft to the touch, and a number of questionable lumps of an unsavoury sort not worth considering too closely fell away, giving the creature an altogether more smooth and less malformed appearance.

A word that Frost said caught at Grobby’s ears and drew it’s attention, but in the suddenly vaulted position it’s eyes fell on the face of Thali and it’s little face suddenly filled with wonder.

Through the haze of bright pink bubbles, steam softening the light across her face and Frost’s gentle crooning as a lovely ambient melody, Grobby stared adoringly at Thali and uttered in a breathless, disbelieving voice. “Momma?!”

Ever oblivious to the admiration of others, Thali interrupted the moment by throwing a teatowel over the creature’s head and, lifting it out of the now much less liquid bath, began scrubbing it dry. It struggled and writhed out from under her ministrations and as soon as it was clear, quickly retrieved its pile of possessions as though they were the world’s greatest treasures.

As Frost addressed Grobby, they paused to stare up at him, the tea towel still drooped over their head and the grubby rags and lumps of their belongings cuddled possessively to their chest, only mildly tarnishing its otherwise polished scales. The creature gave a little, almost sad sigh and reached up to take Frost by the hand and led both he and Thali almost ceremoniously out of the kitchen door, across the tavern floor and out of the tavern entrance into the street.

It turned left and led them only a short distance down the road before stopping and pointing. Following the direction of its finger, Thali and Frost saw a small store selling roasted bat-kebabs, exotic looking fruit that looked like it might bite you back, and on the very back shelf, behind a sign that said ‘Giant lizard eggs; great for omelettes and perfect for scrambling’ were two, large, dull grey eggs. Beside them was a conspicuously empty spot that may have, until recently, housed a third egg.

Even as the two of them were processing this information Grobby had been sorting through its jumble of belongings. It attempted to pull the two long stockings onto each of its little feet; they ruffled awkwardly around its tiny knees and tore and caught terribly on its little clawed feet so that the last of its length hung limp across the ground. It then produced a porcelain-like, sharp edged grey bowl which it lifted up and placed over its head like a helmet. Only once it rested awkwardly on the tea-towel on the head did they see that the same full, grey colour of the eggs adoring its outer surface, and it’s jagged edge was reminiscent of a cracked shell.

Grobby blinked up at them, before lifting up both arms like a scarecrow. With the right it reached out and curved in the claws as though to encapsulate the egg-seller’s stall. With the left it stretched in an attempt to encapsulate the tavern, and both the two people against the backdrop of a deep ditch of dumped refuse, stinking muck and a few scraps of abandoned clothing were captured between both outstretched arms and firmly in the centre of the tableau. Answering one of the first questions Frost had ever put to it at the same time as the new query dancing across both of their faces, it said proudly ”Grobby count this old”. It bared it’s teeth in a grimace-smile and wagged its tail quickly from side to side.

[Thalionwen Hunigfolm]

Thalionwen stared at the ramshackle commissary in consternation, Grobby's small clawed hand held firmly in her own.

"Giant lizard eggs; great for omelettes and perfect for scrambling..." she read under her breath before turning to Frost with a wild look in her eyes.

"Frost, those are his siblings on the shelf," Thali hissed. "But I don't think I can deal with more than one surprise lizard baby, and I've already got two more children back in Rohan. We can't just leave them there to be eaten, though."

Guiltily, she thought of the large batch of eggs she'd cooked earlier that evening. But those had been ordinary in size, and showed no sign of containing scaly infants.

"How much for the lizard eggs?" Thali asked the shopkeeper decidedly. When he named an exorbitant price, she fished through her pockets and pulled out the very last of her coin.

"I'll have to give you the rest in installments," she said, and when the shopkeeper opened his mouth to argue, Thali raised a warning finger. "No. I won't hear it. I work next door at On the Rocks. Irime can answer for me, and if you think I'm slacking on payments, you can come find me yourself."

A moment later, she was forced to extricate herself from Grobby's tight grip in order to juggle two sizable grey eggs.

"Maybe someone else at the pub wants a lizard baby?" Thali said to Frost, a little desperately. "We could put the eggs up for adoption. You can clear a spot for them on the bar, and I'll make a sign. You, um. Might have to help me with the spelling, though."

"Grobby," she said, turning to her scaly child. "You did very well showing Momma and Pop-pop where you came from! What a clever, clever boy! I have some toffees in my bag, and when we get back inside the pub, you can have one for being such a good lizard. But after that it'll be time to clean your teeth and get to bed--it's getting very late for little reptiles."

[Burnt Toast]

The battle between Silendris and... Silendris wasn't dying down. Now Frost had reached over and pulled the figurine from both of their hands and dunked it into the wine.

They sat, staring, a bit dumbfounded for a few moments.

Smack him! Do something. Anything. Move! they hissed to themselves. But they didn't move. Rude. This body was not particularly responsive. Their left hand twitched a bit, and then settled. They had a whole pile full of thimbles from Thalionwen, and a figurine dunked in wine. What now?

Mmm, tasty wine for the mop heads sang a voice in their head.

Tasty, tasty mop head wine,
tasty tasty for to dine,
drink it, sipping, drink it up;
drink it FROM THE THIMBLE CUP!**

The last part came out of them. Erupted, more like, before they had time to react. Their left hand shot up, and clamped itself over their mouth.

"HUSH, you." They tried to focus on what was going on around them; Frost appeared to be fighting with a stinky little creature. There was something about socks, too, but their head was too full of fights about thimbles and wine.

This was too much. They took a nearby cup of something and slammed it back, and then wistfully looked at their empty glasses. There was nothing else nearby to grab.

Except... Several thimbles were still full.

They glanced down at them, and a voice inside them grumbled. They glanced quickly away. It would have to be quick.

Figurines can't drink, love.

Yes. They. CAN. But before further argument could be had, their left hand shot out and swiftly slammed down the thimbles of drink. Unfortunately, they had to move so swiftly that they were forced to swallow the thimbles as well. As soon as their mouth closed around the thimbles and liquid, their right hand caught them heavily across the face. Pain shot across it.

That was for the mop heads! Mop heads get the drink! The voice screeched. Why did you HIT us?

Irritating. I didn't hit us. YOU hit us.

This was starting to get confusing.


OOC: **Lyrics did not come from "Cut Me" by Zeal & Ardor

[The Good Hunter]

Frost followed wordlessly as Grobby took him and Thali out of the bar and across the street. What followed nearly broke Frost’s icy heart (no pun intended of course). Lizard eggs for omelets? Something seethed inside Frost, something he had previously not been aware existed. Was it a paternal instinct? Was he capable of something like that? It was a strange feeling. A mix of powerlessness, rage, and the desire to keep little Grobby from any sort of danger. He wasn’t sure what to do with this feeling, he wanted to go slaughter the lot of them, but beyond that he was utterly flummoxed. Is that normal? Do fathers normally go into a murderous rage when the lives of their children were put in danger? His own certainly never did, and when he was up north with the Snowmen, it was the mothers that went feral when something stepped between them and their children.

Thali, for her part, seemed to have a good notion, one Frost hadn’t even considered. There were two other eggs there, waiting. He nodded his approval as Thali went to buy the eggs from the dirty, pinched face bastard. Frost watched them haggle, fearing that she might not be able to persuade the man to give her the eggs. He crouched down to Grobby’s level and stroked their eggshell helmet. He could see how frightened they were and that made him want to take action all the more. Raging bells were playing in Frost’s head, a dangerous sign that blocked out all the cold logic and reason he liked to cling to. “Don’t worry little one, we’ll take care of this.”

Thali returned, eggs in tow. “Good,” he nodded to her and stood back up. “Now you go with Momma while Pop-pop goes and talks to the mean old man. “Thank you, Thali. I’ll see you back inside in a moment.”

He waited for them to leave, then took out an iron spike from a sheath on his hip. Casually, he strolled up to the egg-seller and looked around at his other wares, feigning interest until the man engaged him. He twirled the stake in his fingers, letting it whirl between his ring and middle finger. He tapped the stake one the wooden counter and reversed the process, letting the stake weave through his fingers backwards.

“What can I ‘elp you with sah? I jus’ sold my las’ lizard eggs but we still got lots of special eggs ‘ere that might catch your fancy.”

“Actually,” the Númenórean said, leaning over the counter “I’d love to know where you got those eggs and why you thought it was a good idea to sell them.”

He laughed, greasy skin shimmering in the dying light of evening. “Oh, well that’s a secret I can’t reveal to you! Can’t have me cash cow taken from me can I? I have mouths to feed at home.”

Frost nodded sagely. “You look like a family man. Though I think your family, if they’re even real, would do much better in this blasted moor without someone like you hanging over them.” Frost didn’t wait for the man to reply, he jammed the iron stake through the soft flesh under his chin, forcing the spike through the egg-seller’s mouth and into his brain. He didn’t even know he was dead before he fell to the counter. Frost yanked the stake out and wiped the gore off on his pant leg. He leaned over the counter and picked up a box that jingled with coinage. He opened it and emptied the contents on the counter. There were various different denominations, shapes, and sizes. He picked out all the pieces with horses on them, assuming those to be the coins Thali had passed to the man in order to save Grobby’s siblings. He stuffed the coins in his pocket, sheathed the stake, and walked back into the pub.

“I was able to talk the price down a bit after you left,” he said to Thali in the kitchen as she tried to brush Grobby’s sharp teeth. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the coins. “Even managed to make him give back your money. Don’t either of you two worry. The egg-seller won’t be a problem again.”

[Rivvy Elf]

Orco gave a bemused look at Írimë, not at all amused that she just poked his nose with a pointy utensil,

"Watch yaself, ya might hurt somebody with dat," Orco responded to Írimë as he took a step backwards and raised his hands to indicate that he meant no harm.

"As my wife says, if ya want to blame anyone, blame my mother. Quite a manipulative bat, she is," Orco added, nodding with a smile at Thalionwen, "She's still my ma though, and I'm her only son. Has to count fer somethin'."

~~~

If one did not know Orco, they would assume that he would be indifferent to the creature known as Grobby. On the contrary, not only was he not apathetic, he was giving warm looks, grinning, chuckling, and nodding politely at Grobby. So it was that when Frost took the creature into the kitchens, Orco frowned and fidgeted in disappointment, as he focused his eyes on the bar table. Then when Thalionwen entered the kitchens, Orco frowned again, scratching his head. After a minute or two, Orco got up from the table, placing enough coins to cover himself and Thalionwen's gratuity in case her work was not enough to cover her expenses.

"I'll be back. But just in case, the money's on the table," Orco said to Írimë. He then walked up and exited the pub.

~~~

Even though Orco was big, he knew how to be stealthy with his feet as his large feet had enough surface area to spread his weight evenly on the ground without having a big sound if he was careful enough. That was key in waste management, to not disturb sleeping folk when he collected trash and bodies. So it was that he tailed Frost and Thalionwen from a distance.

He saw her dealings with the egg seller, and through most of the interaction, Orco's brow furrowed in confusion as he had no idea what was going on. Then he looked at Grobby, then at the Egg Seller and then realization dawned. His mouth bared into a scowl, and he clenched his fists. He looked to the left and right, and was tempted to crack his knuckles but chose not to.

Instead he exhaled loudly and announced his presence to Thalionwen, "Hey hon'! Why don't you take Grobby back to the pub? I'll carry those eggs for ya."

~~~

Once he dropped off the eggs at a safe spot dictated by Thalionwen he returned to the egg-seller, finding him on the counter with tongue hanging out and wet spots in both front and back of his pants. Snarling, Orco, with unusual athleticism, deftly leaped over the counter, and grabbed the egg-seller by his neck. The blank eyes staring back at Orco's then the head dangled to the side.

With both hands, veins appeared on Orco's fingers as with great strength he grunted and held the seller by the throat with one hand, and with the other began pounding the seller's face in repeatedly. Blood scattered everywhere, throughout the counter and onto Orco's face as blow by blow began cratering the face inwards into a bloody unrecognizable shape. After Orco's fist was painted with blood, he cast the corpse and threw it to the ground "face" first.

He then promptly grabbed all the coins on the counter, stuffing the now bloody coins in his pocket. While still frowning, his breathing was back to normal, and he took out a custom-made pipe. placing it into his mouth.

"Yer not even worth the harvesting. You piece of [redacted]" Orco said, lighting his pipe as he puffed out some smoke, "Yer store needs to burn too."

~~~

Orco walked out of the store, as it began blazing with fire, fueled by the fat of the animals the store owner slaughtered. He puffed and blew out smoke again, a grim smile appearing on his face as he laughed, coughing out a bit of smoke as he did so.

[Allacan ob Burzum]

Grobby had been cowering behind Frost, entirely bewildered as to why anyone would willingly go anywhere near the nasty trader and a little afraid they were going to force it to go back. After Thali returned, somehow miraculously juggling two Grobby-sized eggs, Frost told them to go with her back to the pub and strode with determination back towards the merchant.

It didn’t want to leave Frost to face the trader alone, but it also didn’t want to go back to the place of surprised shouting and thrown furniture and being thwacked with a broom. “Broom, Broom” it muttered to itself as it did an awkward little shuffling dance on the spot with agitation and worry. Eventually Orco arrived to take the eggs from Thali and she determinedly led Grobby back to the tavern. Even the promised toffees was not enough to distract Grobby from its concern for Frost and it lingered just inside the door as Thali went to establish the other eggs neatly on display, it’s little clawed hands holding tightly to the door-frame as it peered down the street to where Frost had disappeared from sight into the shop. It was growing increasingly agitated, doing its strange running on-the-spot dance, and eventually worry overcame terror and it dived out the door, little clawed feet sprinting towards the store moments before Frost emerged unscathed.

It did not check its speed, but barrelled into him at full pelt, but with only the meagre force of its fragile weight and weedy muscles so that the tall man barely budged with the blow. As Frost lifted it from the ground it wrapped its little arms around his neck in a tight hug and let him carry it away from the shop again.

It watched the store over Frost’s shoulder and wriggled again in consternation as Orco entered it in turn, giving Frost reason to pause a while to check the creature was alright. His hesitation was long enough for the creature to see Orco emerge a few moments later covered in blood and gore as smoke started to swirl out the shop windows behind him. Grobby’s eyes widened at the first sight of flames beginning to overcome the little store. As Frost crossed the threshold back into the tavern, carrying the creature in his arms, it rubbed its little hands together in delight and once again erupted into a deep, rumbling, creepy laugh.

OOC; By my count we have 23 posts remaining after mine.

[Thalionwen Hunigfolm]

There was already an empty space on the bar Thalionwen had in mind for Grobby's egg siblings. But as she re-entered On the Rocks with a large grey orb under each arm, the pub's newest patron caught her eye.

The pirate girl, Ula, sitting in the corner. No one had offered her a thing to eat or drink yet. And Zaram appeared to still be waiting for the elf's blood Frost had promised. Heaving a sigh, Thalionwen went over to the pirate girl's table.

"Hello," she said, smiling brightly. "I'm Thalionwen. I work in the kitchen here. What can I get you, then? You look half-starved. I managed to find a loaf of bread back there after a bit of digging, and there are elf's ears, which taste more or less like bacon. Think I had a few eggs left too--not these ones, though, these are special. They might be duds or they might end up as lizard creatures. You could take one home, if you promise to see if it'll hatch instead of eating it straightaway. Oh hang on, what's all this?"

She glanced up at Frost, who'd walked back in while clutching a cackling Grobby.

"He should be in bed," Thali told Frost firmly. "Can't you take him in back and put him in a crate or something? I'm sure he'd like that--I liked a nice cozy space when I was a little one. And once you've done it, poor Zaram over there's still waiting for a drink."

Hard on Frost's heels came Orco, smelling of smoke and spattered with blood. Well, that was hardly surprising in Mordor of an evening. After looking him up and down critically to assure herself that none of the blood was, in fact, Orco's, Thali dug through her pocket and pulled out a large white handkerchief.

"You've got blood on your face, heorte min," she murmured to her husband, slipping the handkerchief into his large, familiar hand as he walked past. "Best not to let it dry."

At last, she turned back to Ula. "I'm sorry, where were we? You were going to order something to eat and drink, yes?"

[Moriel]

The bopping of Orco’s nose did not perhaps produce quite the effect Írimë had been hoping for, but she would settle for Orco’s contrition and the name of the one who had actually been spreading such obscene rumors. What was one old orc lady more or less, she considered, filing the name ‘Leeva’ away in her mind. Things had been happening in her kitchen that gave rise to noises the Pubmistress didn’t particularly care to think about, followed by an exeunt of the creature Grobby (now startlingly clean) and its …parents…? The lizard creature had rapidly created a plot entirely too confusing to follow up on in detail, so Írimë skipped ahead to the present, where Thalionwen had returned and set two enormous grey eggs on the bar. But before Írimë could investigate, she overheard Thali suggesting that Frost put Grobby to bed ‘in the back’. In a swift swirl of skirts she intercepted the Númenorean, raising one finger to press into Frost’s chest, and arching a perfectly shaped brow at him. “So long as that.. lizard-child-thing.. doesn’t make a wreck of my stores, or eat the entire contents of the kitchen, or otherwise make a mess in my pub, you can find a crate and some sacks and put it down for a nap,” she dropped her gaze to Grobby, pursing her lips and wondering just how much language the thing actually understood. “You got that? Broom broom?”

[The Good Hunter]

If there was a reliable way to tell time in Mordor (hint: there’s not), Frost could have realized it was starting to get late in the day. He was tired, having been on his feet all day, but contributed that to the fact that he had just killed a man and left his body to rot. Too late, he realized he could have made more of a show of the man. He could have ripped the jaw open and used bits around the stall to give him sharp teeth and a tail. Frost could have made an example out of him by transforming him into a kobold. Oh well, there might be another chance later, going back to the shop would likely seem suspicion and he had other concerns right now.

He carried Grobby inside, who was cackling like a madman (literally a man rather than the kobold they were). The first time he’d heard that it had unnerved him, now though it felt almost comforting. He scratched just above Grobby’s eye and pointed to where Thali had put the other two eggs. “See that? Momma’s gonna take care of those eggs and we might get to see if you have any siblings. Would you like that Grobby?”

He nodded to Thali’s proposition a bedtime for Grobby. “Aye, I can get him to bed. Would you like to take a nap, lagartito? We can find you some nice hay to sleep on instead of nasty rocks and dirt, much more comfortable.”

He turned to go, nodded that yes he’d make sure Zarâm had her refill, and saw Orco come in after him. When had he left? Why was he covered in blood and smelling of smoke? Something dawned on Frost in that moment that he was not sure how to process. Had Orco just done something with the body he’d purposefully left to rot? That… made no sense to Frost at the time but he was sure Orco had some sort of reason for it. In that moment, though, Orco was his wife’s problem, not his.

He shifted Grobby in his arms to push through the doors but Írimë stopped him, with a finger to his chest. “I promise,” he deftly lifted the finger pointing at his chest with his free hand and put it to his lips, “I will make sure that Grobby does no harm to the pub. They’re still learning so cut us a little slack. And Grobby is a kobold, darling, not a lizard child thing.” He winked and bowed, making sure to keep Grobby tight against his chest.

He pushed through the kitchen and into the pantry where he found an empty wooden crate with some sacks and a bundle of hay. Gingerly, he lowered Grobby inside the box. Stooping over, he tried to tuck the kobold in underneath some dubious smelling sacks with a rather suspicious green stain. He then sat next to the box, putting his back against the wall and his right hand around the lip of the box. “Tell me, would you like a story to help you fall asleep?”

[Allacan ob Burzum]

Grobby, a very young kobold, they/they (or one day he/him, if someone can maintain its focus long enough to explain gender to it)

Grobby, it would appear, was not a particularly over-protective sibling to the two large eggs Thali deposited on the bar. Either that, or it was entirely trusting of the idea that Thali was perfectly capable of caring for the unhatched eggs and had little to no concern for their well-being, for it barely gave them a second glance as Frost carried the little creature back in the bar, and paid no need whatsoever as Thali tried to pawn one of the eggs off on the newcomer Ula.

It looked curiously around at the pub’s interior, feeling warm and fuzzy to find itself once again free and clear of the nasty exotic food shop and back in the building it clearly had designated to itself as ”home”. It said the word aloud to itself, quietly, in a characteristic display of its lack of internal monologue that only served to demonstrate how little structured thought this young creature had, before yawning widely. As it did so, it displayed a lethal array of row upon row of sharp teeth all along the inside of its long snout, a couple already shifting frontward to jostle competitively over the empty forward positions so recently made vacant by Zarâm’s boot.

Írimë came over and pointed a finger into Frost’s chest, initially paying no mind to Grobby. Just as she dropped her gaze down to glare at the little creature, Grobby instinctively reacted in a surprisingly disarming manner.

It’s little clawed hand closed around around Írimë’s outstretched finger only moments after Frost had kissed it, the tiny limb small enough by comparison that all its little claws could encircle her single digit at once in a visual display of its vulnerable youth. It held her finger not tightly, or aggressively, but in a firm display of trust and affection, akin to a newborn babe gripping the fingers of its parents. The creature looked up at Írimë with eyes that widened in adoration as she said the creature’s two favourite words "Broom, Broom." It’s fanged jaw opening into a small, contented smile.

“You pretty” it said, struggling to express the emotions that tumbled through its infantile mind. “Grobby like you... Grobby want to make you smile” it said endearingly.

Moments later, it was whisked away by Frost into the pantry, giving Írimë little time to react to its declaration. It swiftly found itself deposited in a padded crate. It inspected the contents curiously, lifting up the stained sacking to sniff at the green stain and lick it a little. Then it circled round a few times, as if trying to find just the right position, before at last it stopped in a relaxed standing position and half closed it’s eyes.

Frost was likely already celebrating his success when his satisfaction was rudely interrupted by the sound of pressured liquid escaping onto matting as Grobby began emptying its bladder into the obviously-meant-to-be-a-litter-tray and totally-not-a-bed-box.

[The Good Hunter]

It took Frost a moment to realize what was happening. Naturally, he had thought he’d done a good job of getting his kobold child to sleep. He allowed himself a few moments of blissful unawareness as a reward. He was very tired at this point in the day (was it evening yet?) and a few moments of meditative calm were just what he needed. Unfortunately, Grobby had other plans for the two of them. It was not the sound of the loosening bladder that shook the calm, collected, and orderly thoughts from Frost’s mind, rather it was the little sigh of relief. A moment later, he wished it had been the sound of water suddenly pouring out from where water had no business being.

Something wet touched his pants.

With a speed and agility that can only be attributed to new parent, Frost leapt up, grabbing the little kobold with two hands as soon as they were done and deposited them on the floor, well away form the liquid.

“I should have known you weren’t innately potty trained,” he said with a mixed of bemusement and annoyance.

With an increasing level of frustration and panic (if Írimë saw this they’d both likely be dead) Frost searched the back of the kitchen for a mop and a bucket. He found something that could qualify as a mop, it certainly wasn’t a coat rack, stashed away in a closet and a dirty wooden bucket. He poured some of Grobby’s left over bathwater into the bucket and hurried cleaned the spot where the liquid was spreading.

Having cleaned up the accident (though Frost had more and a suspicion it was on purpose), Frost found the backdoor (because every pub clearly needs a secondary escape route) and tossed the dirty water out. Coming back to the scene of the crime, he also hoisted up the box of hay and sackcloth and held it out at arm’s length before tossing it wholly out the door.

“We are NOT going to tell Momma about this,” Frost said, squatting down next to Grobby. “Or the other lady. She’d be very unhappy with the both of us if she found out, she might even eat us if she's angry enough. So, this leaves us a puzzle, doesn’t it mijx. Where would you like to take a nap?”

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

What had started out as an ordinary day in On the Rocks had turned into a completely unusual day. While bar fights, drunken trolls, and the like were all part of what one would expect, baby kobold's were certainly not an expected thing in the pub. As Zarâm watched Frost and Thali go bathe the infant, Frost's subsequent exit of the pub and return with a look of triumph (which clearly meant he had murdered someone) and Orco's further exit and return smelling of smoke, all made this one of the more unusual days Zarâm had experienced, at least, unusual for Mordor.

She drained the last of her Elf Blood that Frost had poured for her after the unfortunate incident with Grobby and went back into the kitchens where a rather harried Frost was attempting to clean up something from the floor.

Once he had returned from depositing the dirty water out the back door, Zarâm looked at him and shook her head with a laugh. "If you value all your apendenages, you better make sure Írimë doesn't know about this. She is a stickler for clean kitchens."

[Allacan ob Burzum]

Grobby, a very young kobold, they/they (or one day he/him, if someone can maintain its focus long enough to explain gender to it)

As it’s bladder emptied, the little creature heaved a sigh of relief and bared the tips of its pointy teeth in a small smile. Moments later, however, Frost was lifting it hurriedly out of the box before it had a chance to properly perform the customary roll around in the mess it had made, designed to ensure it was properly scented with its own marking, so every other kobold it met in dark places would know who it was and not mistake it for a flower due to the bubbly water Thali had recently washed it in.

“I should have known you weren’t innately potty trained.” Frost was saying, and it peered between him and the box in confusion, blinking. “Not... potty?” it queried, leaning over the side of the box to sniff at its contents inquisitively. It had smelt vile and stinky enough to be a potty even before Grobby had made his liquid amendment, but now it most definitely stank of toilet. “Potty” it declared, with increased confidence. Even kobold’s knew you didn’t sleep where you peed, or at the very least Grobby’s ancestors had known that, thus he had inherited that wisdom through his genetic racial memory. So it was that Grobby was a little sad and disappointed that Pop-pop seemed to disapprove of behaviour that was, in its opinion, quite sensible and in fact very hygienic, given the lack of other options so far provided to it in the tavern.

Frost was distracted, hurriedly attempting to clean away where some of the liquid had escaped through the straw and wooden-sides of the box, so Grobby muttered a sad little “Broom, Broom” to itself and wandered a short way away, it’s little feet making tiny pat-pat noises on the kitchen floor. If Frost had been paying less heed to his task and more to the little kobold child, he would have heard when the pattering stopped, and was momentarily replaced with a shuffling, straining sound, then a tiny clink or glass against glass. And then silence.

By the time Zarâm appeared in the kitchen doorway and Frost finished his cleaning, turning to discover the once-occupied space he was speaking to was distinctly lacking in one small lizard-person, Grobby was nowhere to be seen.

(Spoiler on Grobby’s location is below in white text, so you can read it and respond after having written something of your PCs trying to search a few places first; I dare you not to cheat!)

(In the muffled quiet behind the kitchen oven, cosy and dark and warm in as good an imitation of his egg as could be wished for, Grobby yawned. He had accessed this little spot by scrabbling under the tiny gap beneath the wooden kitchen cabinet - which sat flush to the oven - and the floor. Unconsidered by Grobby, this gap had unwittingly served the effect of stopping anyone else from following immediately after, for every other current pub resident’s head was too large to fit through such a gap as the little kobold child had managed to wriggle its little form through. Which meant they would have to reach him via alternative means.

The cupboard itself had been tightly packed with stacks of plates and trays of glasses. With surprising dexterity, Grobby had squeezed himself carefully along the back wall behind all of these without disturbing them, vaguely conscious that they would serve as a noisy alarm should anyone try to assault them in their chosen resting place, to then force itself through a loose piece of wooden panelling into the warm, darkly-lit gap behind the heavy, cast-iron oven that in truth would be more appropriately described as an aga.

Tucked away in as safe and cosy as spot as it could manage, most likely unintentionally foiling any attempts by Thali or Frost to remove it for the night from the building it had imprinted upon as ‘home’, unless of course they wished to have the heavy aga dragged out of its position, or to empty an entire cupboard of plates and glasses to wrestle a tired, grumpy kobold child from its cosy nest. Thus sequestered, Grobby curled itself into a foetal position, re-adjusted its egg-shell hat so as to cover its eyes, cuddled the tea-towel to it’s chest like a comfort-blanket, tucked the tip of its tail into its mouth to suckle like a pacifier, and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. After a few minutes, in would start to snore gently, and it would possibly be only then that the searchers would discover its location.)

[The Good Hunter]

Caring for a kobold, especially after not knowing kobolds even existed a few hours before, is a very difficult task, and he was not doing very well. Despite his best efforts to make sure Grobby was safe, happy, and content, Frost seemed to do everything wrong. He had met with failure in his life, as often as the next person, but for some reason he could not comprehend, this particular failure hit hard in his stomach. He thought he was talking to Grobby, trying to connect with the kobold in a way that he would have liked as a child, but as it turns out, he was talking to empty air. Grobby had vanished. Panic seized through him, his chest tightened and his breath shortened. Before this morning, Frost had never had any sort of paternal feelings, but now it seemed he was going to have an overabundance of them. He began searching frantically for the kobold, looking behind the sink, under the turnips, and in the top shelves where Thali had placed the “coffee beans” but his search was fruitless.

Enter Zarâm. Had the orc appeared at any other moment, Frost would have dropped whatever it was he had been doing, and taken up a conversation with her. He enjoyed her company, much more than the other orc currently spread out in the pub’s dining room. However, in his panic over the kobold, he didn’t even register that there was someone else in the room. When she spoke, he jumped, startled.

“Âsh! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” He spat the words angrily out before he could stop them. He hadn’t meant them to sound so venomous. He rubbed his temples and sighed heavily. “Sorry, you… caught me at a bad moment. I apologize. I can’t seem to find Grobby. They… well you clearly know already,” he tried to smile but something in him just couldn’t. He waved absently at the floor and groaned. “I was cleaning it up and I turn around, and their gone. I think, I’m in over my head with Grobby. I’m not a very good Pop-Pop it would seem.” Suddenly, as if he hadn’t realized he was spilling his thoughts out into the air, he quieted. There was the tiniest clinking of glass, barely above the sound of a whisper.

Frost’s eyes narrowed and looked at the cabinet down by the oven. He pursed his lips and sighed. Consternation and befuddlement playing over his expressions. He waited, then heard the clinking again. There was definitely something in there. A moment later, he heard… was that a snore? So that’s where Grobby had gone to, they must be sleeping. He bent down and for half a second was about to open the cupboard and pull the kobold out when, no. No, he wouldn’t do that. If that’s were Grobby wanted to be, then Frost was going to let them.

He stood back up and faced Zarâm. Were her eyes always blue? Had he just missed that? He shook his head to clear his thoughts and his hand grazed something hard on his side. Confused, he patted his side down to find. Oh! He was holding a dagger. A candle flame burst open in his mind. That’s right! He was going to pass something along to Zarâm! How could he have forgotten? A particularly loud snore from the cupboard reminded him how.

“I very nearly forgot!” A smile, one half sagging with exhaustion, finally reached his eyes. “I have something for you to fence for me.” He pulled the dagger out, a small curved thing with a bone handle inlayed with silver filigree about a foot in length. “I found this on my most recent trip up north. A ceremonial dagger from the Rhudaur region, I found while, uh, exploring a dolmen,” the Númenórean placed the dagger in Zarâm’s hand. “I think it will fetch a good price on the market, especially with your negotiating skills.”

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

When Zarâm commented about what Írimë would think about the mess on the floor, she had not expected Frost to snap at her the way he did. Apparently he was hunting for Grobby. "How could such a small creature get lost so quickly?" Zarâm wondered, though she had to laugh with Frost referred to himself as a "pop-pop." It was extremely difficult to imagine the Númenórean in any sort of a fatherly role. She shook her head. Once again the strange Thali woman was proving herself as a great bringer of change and mischief to the Black Lands.

Frost stopped talking for a second and even Zarâm quieted her breathing. It sounded like a faint snore was coming from deep inside a cupboard. "Looks like he's found a napping room," muttered Zarâm in amusement. She was wondering if kicking the small creature had been the right call, but it would have to learn Mordorian manners at some point or other.

A moment later, Frost crossed the kitchens and stood close to where she was in the entryway, starting deep into her eyes. It was rather disconcerting and Zarâm quickly blinked to try and break the eye contact. Frost's blue eyes could pierce the blackest of hearts and that was saying something in Mordor. Eye contact broken, Frost pulled a dagger out, from where on his person, Zarâm had absolutely no idea, and handed it to her.

It was fancy ceremonial dagger, which by its making and bone handle was obviously from the Rhudaur region. He instructed her that it needed to be fenced. Zarâm was curious about the reasoning for it, but one thing she had learned over the years of being involved in the smuggling ring was to never ask questions about how items were procured. Asking questions tended to get oneself killed. He commented on her negotiating skills, and Zarâm grinned wickedly, "Yes, it will be a useful item for the market. If I can sell glittery wolf collars, I can sell a dagger."

[The Good Hunter]

“Glittery wolf collars?” Frost said with a smirk. “Now who it the Black Lands would be buying glittery wolf collars? You haven’t been talking to Nessila have you?” He laughed heartily for a second then the realization that it might be true shocked him back into reality. “You haven’t been have you?” He watched the orc’s blue eyes (how had he noticed them before?) intently for a few moments then shrugged it off with a grin. “Fah! Even if you were, you had better be overcharging for them!”

As if that was all that needed to be said, he motioned them out of the kitchen, giving the cupboard a final, unusually wistful look. Grobby would be fine. And if not, they’d come screeching like the floating hells back into the common room.

“It’s strangely quiet in there,” he said to Zarâm, waggling his brows. “What do you say throwing the place into chaos before Írimë closes up?”

As the pair reached the common room, Frost was hit by a wave of beer, blood, and coffee (that’s what it was called wright). It was a weird, if not utterly unpleasant odor, heady and spicy with notes of “well this is Mordor, don’t ask questions”. What had been going on in here since they left? Silendris (Frost hadn’t heard the name but after some thought believed that would be the most logical name for the new Sil/Naokis entity) was still at the bar playing with the figurines. He wondered languidly if he should check on them, feeling a sudden wave of lethargy. Perhaps it was something from beyond the fourth wall that made everything in the pub seem frozen in time. It was time to liven things up!

“Free Elf Blood to whoever can eat the most spiders!”

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

Zarâm

"I have not seen Nessila in a long time," laughed Zarâm. "No, someone came by asking if I had something of the elven variety for a wolf-pup to wear. I know to stay far away from her and her foo. Glitter and foo are two different things." She slipped the dagger into her pocket. "I'll be sure to get a good price for this," she assured Frost.

As they left the kitchen, Frost said, jokingly or serious, Zarâm wasn't entirely certain, that they should throw the place into chaos before it closed up for the night.

Zarâm looked around. The pub had indeed gotten strangely gentile over the last few hours. "I guess you experienced pub fights and fatherhood today," she joked. "And yes, for a place that is usually full of brawls, there hasn't been much action lately, or at least action that doesn't involve your child. And I do think I can still smell of a bit of lavender on you."

In the common room, it was evident that not much had happened while the pair were in the kitchen. Sildneris was still playing with the odd little figurines on the counter and somehow both Írimë and Orco were still alive and hadn't yet tried to kill each other after the jam spoon incident. And when Frost mentioned a spider eating contest, Zarâm laughed out loud. "And where do you think you'll find spiders? Írimë does keep a rather clean pub for the middle of Mordor."

[Moriel]

Írimë did not know what was going on inside her kitchen. She did not particularly want to know what was going on inside her kitchen. She did not want to know about the noises or the smells or anything else that might be happening in there and she was pretty sure she might have to commit murder before the night was out, but what was new about that, really. She moseyed back behind the bar, pondering the concept of how something like Grobby could be so disgusting and so cute at the same time. Írimë poured herself a glass of Silmaril Wine- it was time for something more relaxing after all the chaos of the night so far. As she sipped however, leaning on the bar and studying the antics of Silendris and their figurines, a shout in the voice of her pretty new bartender interrupted the moment of serenity.

“Free Elf Blood to whoever can eat the most spiders!”

“Free?!” Írimë screeched, jerking around to face Frost, “You’ve worked here all of ten seconds and you’re already offering things for free. Well excuse me your Royal Frostiness, but that is not. how. things. work. here!” the Pubmistress downed the rest of her wine in one gulp. “Oh you’d be surprised,” she commented to Zarâm, “I wage war against the little monsters daily. Somehow they get up this far and then decide that my pub is the best place to take up residence! It’s appalling!” Írimë narrowed her eyes, looking consideringly at Frost for a moment. “Oh.. very well, but make it the cheap stuff. And at least take some bets on who’s going to win and skim for the house. And if your little kobold friend wins, it gets nothing, the spiders are reward enough for that one!”

[The Good Hunter]

Frost

Fatherhood!? Frost looked at the blue eyed orc again with a sudden feeling of utter confusion and panic. Why was she talking about fatherhood to oh! Suddenly, as if struck by a bolt of lightning, Frost understood was Zarâm meant. Still, he looked at her blue eyes suspiciously. “Ah, yes. It’s been a rather interesting day all around I think. I never know what in the flying hells is going to come around when I walk through those doors. Perhaps one of the Georges will come down from the rafters and try to eat one of the patrons, that could be fun to watch.”

He smirked as his announcement caused a (minor) stir, mostly from the pubmistress herself. She’d helped herself to some wine and had been busy congratulating herself on an other successful night when he had decided things weren’t quite done. Naturally, her reaction was justified, but it still made Frost laugh. “Even in the cleanest place in Mordor, spiders lurk. And this is the funniest way to get rid of them.”

He grinned at Írimë, or rather, he smirked and, walking back behind the bar leaned over it languidly. “As you wish, thurpar-gru (BS: “whip woman"). I would never seem to overrule you, not in your own establishment at least. I’m far too smart for that. Care for another cup full?”

Without waiting on an answer, Frost poured her another cup and filled his own sad, empty cup with Elf Blood (the good kind) and then brought out a bowl and a box of cereal. All the Elf Blood was going to go straight to his head if he didn't eat something. At a loss for what sort of liquid to pour over the cereal, he shrugged and grabbed Thali's coffee, now cold, and poured it into the bowl. It was going to be awful, but needs must and there were no caffeine cheerios around.

Illska the Crebain

He'd waited outside long enough. Night would be falling soon and he was very hungry. He crowed loudly and angrily, his screeching voice echoing violently off the rocks. There was a rumble somewhere far up the peaks. If he could smile, or If he was in a good mood, he would have found this occasion to be one worth smiling over. He shook his onyx feathers out, ruffling them to make himself appear even larger than he already was. He had always been the biggest. From his nestling days when he stole food from his siblings and watched them starve, to his days as the leader of their murder when he dominated twice a hundred fellow crebain. Now though, those days were past. He was old and tired, his murder was gone, torn to shreds by eagles and arrows. He was all that was left.

With nothing better to do, he flew here, to the fabled Black Lands, and had found it entirely wanting. It was a husk of a country, used up and left to wither. It was a corpse that didn’t know it was already dead. Still, he found his amusements and distractions where he could. He found this pub to be particularly so. Chaos and madness every night. He would watch from the shadows and wait until someone left, then he’d attack and peck their eyes out, that juiciest and most deliciously jellied organ.

Tonight , he was impatient. It had been a very long hot day and he was in no mood to wait. He squawked again, cawing his rapacious hunger and rage.

In he flew, using his size to force his way through the heavy closed doors. Once inside, he grabbed at a tiny eight legged insect and devoured it. He could barely taste it he was so hungry. He flew up to the bar's countertop and loudly announced his presence.

[Moriel]

“Alwaysssss,” Írimë confirmed, as Frost refilled her glass. He really was very useful. And attractive. And full of clever nicknames it seemed. The Pubmistress lowered one hooded eyelid at him as she sipped her recharged goblet, “Wouldn’t you like to know all the things my whip can do.” But before they could explore this topic further, or before Írimë could comment on her new bartender’s extremely strange (even for On the Rocks) choice of food, a loud bang interrupted proceedings. If anyone had been listening (which seems unlikely), they might have heard the caws that preceded the bang, and the entrance of the enormous crow- though not just a crow, a craban, larger and more intelligent than your standard crow, and correspondingly a greater nuisance. Crebain weren’t the usual intruders in her pub, but Írimë had become familiar with this one after he started hanging around. “You!” she snapped as the bird (Illska) flapped his way across the room, tossing down a spider, and cawing loudly. She seized from behind the bar another tool of her trade, useful for dealing with close-quarters irritants: a stiff riding crop. Írimë was prepared to slap the bird right out of the air with it, but fortunately he landed on the bar’s obsidian top rather than continuing towards her face. “Now listen here,” she said to the raven, putting her fists on her hips, and leaning forward slightly- though not too close, it wouldn’t do to put her eyes right up to his beak- “I appreciate you for eating the spiders, but I do not appreciate you pecking out my customers’ eyes after hours! How are they supposed to find their way back? Not that some of them don’t deserve it, but that’s my call, not yours.” Írimë narrowed her eyes at the craban. “You can stay, and if you keep eating spiders I might even give you a hobbit eyeball to chew on, but you’d best behave yourself, or I’ll feed you to the Georges.” She flicked the riding crop up to gesture at the rafters of the pub. At the sound of their name, there was the faint, soft sound of claws on wood from above, and three of seven pairs of glowing red eyes looked down on Illska, hungrily.

[The Good Hunter]

Illska the Craban

He squawked angrily at the woman. He could understand her, but she could not understand him. It was a pity she had not the ear for the tongue of beasts, he had a string of curses vile enough to sour goatmilk. He would have to make due with his raucous voice. The riding crop she produced was indeed a dangerous weapon, but he was large enough (and angry enough) that if it came to it he could deal with. He knew the pubmistress by more than just her visage (and a nice visage it was, for a human) but her voice too. He had crept outside the establishment long enough to immediately recognize her dulcet, angry tones. He cawed at her, welcoming the challenge of the riding crop. Would she really try to use it in such tight proximity. He was close to the other human thing, would she risk his safety? If he could laugh, he would. Of course she would. If she marred his face the so be it, the thing could use a mark or two. Illska cawed and ruffled his feathers at the human. Something about the human irked him. He hated most humans, but there were specific one’s he wanted to eat, and right away, he could tell this one was one of them. He hopped back and forth on his black feet, talons clicking menacingly on the onyx bar top.

Illska turned back to the woman. Behave himself? Behave himself? How dare she so much as suggest such a vile thing. He was no human’s pet and he would not obey her! He squawked and fluttered his wings out, increasing his size dramatically. He hopped closer to her, his black eyes never leaving hers as he nabbed a spider about to crawl up her arm. He cawed and the song of his wrath echoed into rafters. Yes… yes he saw those red eyes. They gave him pause but not much else. He knew this was their territory, he’d had encounters with the feral monstrosities before, never more than one or two a time though. Illska was no fool though, he would not face them in here, where his flight advantage would count for naught. No, best to play it smart and let the human think it was playing nice. He was hungry and if the woman needed to think he was docile, so be it.

He threw a look at the orc (Zarâm) and cawed. He’d never seen her before. Her blue eyes looked particularly tasty. His feathers puffed in a display of aggression. A spider, suspended on its silky web, dropped down from the rafters and hung near her face.

“KRAA!””

He burst forth, his wings roaring to vibrant oblivion life as he raced toward the orc. Within an inch of her face he veered to the left and snatched the spider in a razor like beak. He cawed, laughing if he could as he landed on and empty table behind her.

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

Apparently Frost's comment about the free Elf Blood had angered or frustrated the pubmistress, neither of them an action someone would actually want to do. And then Frost mentioned the George's in the rafters. Zarâm groaned. If anything could make this day more strange, it would be those red-eyed creatures. She glanced up warially, hoping that they wouldn't actually appear. She didn't know if she could take any more unusual experiences (though the category was very flexible) in On the Rocks today. But strange was still to happen as Frost prepared himself a bowl of cereal (what was that doing in the pub?) and ate it along with some Elf Blood. "Why are using wonderful Elf Blood for such a lowly purpose?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

But before Frost could answer, a Craban flew into the pub and helped itself to one of the aforementioned spiders. As she helped herself to some more Elf Blood, the Craban (who apparently was called Illska) decided it like to hunt the spiders that apparently did frequent the pub. Zarâm was about to take a long swig of her Elf Blood, when she noticed a spider out of the corner of her eye. Before she had a chance to swat it away, her vision was suddenly filled by the swift and sudden approach of Illska! "AHHH!" cried Zarâm, her arms going up to shield her face. Unfortunately, the hand at the end of one of those arms held a mostly full glass of Elf Blood, which, when she moved into the protective stance, flew out of her hand and sloshed all over Írimë. A few seconds later, she heard a cawing behind her. She slowly took her hands down from her face and sighed in relief when she realised she still had both her eyes. Turning towards the Craban, she said, "Now what was that all about?"

[Moriel]

“Yeah yeah yeah save it for someone who cares,” Írimë said boredly, waving the riding crop in front of her as Illska puffed himself up and pouted in as pouty of a way as crebain can. In a move that was a bit unexpected, the craban suddenly threw himself off the bar and back into the air- of course! A spider had chosen that moment to drop itself down from the rafters, a tasty morsel for the carbon just waiting in the air. Unfortunately (as it turned out), that spider was hovering right in front of Zarâm’s face, and as Illska swooped, Zarâm screamed and threw up her arms. Írimë couldn’t blame her for that, it wasn’t every day an absolutely massive raven made a dive for your eyes, but she could blame the orc-woman for FLINGING her glass of elf blood into the air! The Pubmistress shrieked and flailed with the crop, but it was too late- the bright spray of blood splashed all over her face and down her front, staining her garments with its coppery viscousness. Írimë froze, blood dripping from her hair and nose. Slowly she reached up and wiped the blood from her eyes, before opening them and rotating on the spot to look at Frost, the riding crop quivering in her hand.

“Somehow, this is all your fault.”

[The Good Hunter]

Frost (minding his own goddamned business)

Frost, hungry and dehydrated, was simply enjoying his midnight (or close enough) snack when, as it does, chaos erupted. A raven, or was it a craban, Frost couldn’t tell, despite having a crow motif on his trousers and tunic, (he was no ornithologist) flew into the pub and squawked angrily at him. He pulled back, grabbing the small bowl and spoon, and waved a hand at it. He knew given the size of the monster, it would do no good but he was too hungry and too invested in eating the cereal topped with cold coffee to really give an effort in showing it away. He did squint though when the creature puffed out it’s wings and cawed angrily, specifically at him.

Írimë brought out a riding crop (wasn’t she a bundle of surprises, he’d have to ask her about that later) and threatened the bird, apparently they were well acquainted and well animositized toward one another. Frost, thinking himself wise for the moment, stood back and let events unfold. He had announced a spider eating contest and apparently this creature was intelligent enough to understand, or the timing was utter coincidental, and began eating the eight legged bugs with gusto. He caught sight of a red light up in the pub rafters. It only lasted for a second but an involuntarily chill ran down the Umbarian’s spine. If those red, iridescent eyes belong to who he though they did, they would wreck his perfectly good evening more than it already had been.

Unfortunately for everyone but the creban (or raven), the antics of the evening were not over. No. No matter how close to closing they were, things were apparently not going to just slow down and peter out. Maybe he shouldn’t have initiated chaos this late. It was ruining his cereal. The bird screeched, the sound echoing harshly in his ears, then dived at Zarâm. Before he could react, the bird at the orc’s face then rapidly changed its flight at the last possible moment to avoid her face. That was not the worst of it though. Oh no, very, very far from the worst. In a reasonable effort to defend herself from the vicious, conniving bird, Zarâm threw her hands in front of her face. This was a very wise, prudent reaction to a massive bundle of black feathers and hate flying toward you. However, what was not very wise about the orc’s reaction was failing to recall she had a nigh full glass of Elf Blood in her hand. Frost watching in horrible slow motion as the blood roared out of the cup like the angry sea in the midst of a storm. Had it merely splattered on the floor, the damage could have been mitigated. Fate, however, was a fickle mistress. The blood did not go on the floor, not directly at least, it landed smack into the pubmistress, coating her in a thick sanguine sheen of death and horror. Frost watched the moment unfold with growing horror, seeing the blood flying from the cup and knowing exactly where it would land but being powerless to stop it.

Then, to top the moment off, she turned to him (to him!) and blamed him for the mess. He chewed the bite of cereal he had put in his mouth just as the torrents of blood started flying abut the pub and considered his next words with great care. If he said the wrong thing that ride crop was going to end up in a place he wasn’t in the mood for. She wasn’t wrong, if you tracked the blame back far enough, though he was not convinced his announcement of a spider eating contest had fully been to blame for the nasty birds appearance. He was, however, not about to tell that to her in her current state. Instead, he put down the bowl of cereal, grabbed a washcloth that was miraculously free of grim and soot and bodily fluids, wet it some alcohol, and held it out to Írimë. His chances with the woman seemed to fluctuate on a moment to moment basis, he rather hoped he’d end the night on a good note. “If it’s my fault,” he said in a low, sultry tone, “then will you allow me to at least clean it off? It’s a pity Grobby’s already gone to bed, he’d have a fun with this. That bird. I think I’ve seen him before. Can’t the Georges take care of it? I thought I saw one a moment ago. What about the hobbit eye balls for the Bloody Mordor?”


Illska the Craban

If he could laugh, he would have. He made up for it by opening his mouth and crowing loudly, ruffling his pinions while strutting around on his table (it was his now). The craban cawed and cawed, hoping from one foot to the other in a manner that might be mistaken for comical. The orc had reacted just in the way he wanted. He watched from behind her as she shrieked and tossed the glass full of blood in an effort to defend herself. Clearly she as not in the Black Host, he thought. The blood, that tasty, tasty blood poured all over the pubmistress. It improved her look, he liked humans when they were covered in blood.

“KRAAW! KRAWW! BRAWWK! The storm is coming!”

Yes, that’s right. He could speak! He squinted at that the odd group of people gathered around the bar, glaring at them. The pubmistress was covered in blood. He puffed out his chest and strutted across the table then glided to the other end of the bar, hearing a scratching in the rafters above him. He cawed angrily, challenging whatever it was up there. He still had a good line of sight on the blood covered pubmistress. He wished he could laugh, he’d heard drunken humans and orcs laugh before when they came out of the pub. Normally, he would take their eyes for daring to show such merriment in his sight, but right now he wished he could. Instead, he gargled, a horrid sound like talons scraping on glass, like bones creaking to the point of breaking.

“KRAAAH! He’s watching you all!”

[Moriel]

Írimë reached out as if to take the damp cloth from Frost’s hand, but her hand closed instead on his wrist as it came up from below his arm. The aroma of the alcohol wafting up from the cloth (had he covered it in pure Nazgûl Essence? That’d be coming out of his pay) mixed with the scent of blood that covered herself, and Írimë licked her lips- such a familiar scent in her domain. With a twist of her waist and the surprising strength of her slender arm, she drew Frost closer (not that he made much effort to resist), and raised the riding crop in her free hand to trace its end down the sharp angles of his cheekbones as she spoke. “Well, at least you have a sense of manners… and certain cleaning duties are part of your job description after all.” Before she could elaborate on exactly what these duties might entail, the Pubmistress was interrupted by the craban, strutting and shrieking, deigning to speak now in words they could all understand. exclaiming about something- or someone- called the storm. “The storm can bloody well wait his turn,” she hissed at Illska, before turning back to Frost, and her mewl became a croon, the blood that lingered in her hair dripping down to her eyelids and newly cleaned lips. “And if he wants to watch, he’ll have to pay up.”

[The Good Hunter]

Being no stranger to the more exotic implements of (how to put this delicately) intimacy, Frost didn’t flinch when Írimë traced the riding crop over his cheek bones. He had actually expected her to be somewhat more forceful with it. Not that he was complaining at all. A smirk formed at the corners of his lips and his eyebrow raised accordingly.

“Manners are my forte. My good manners are superb, my… bad manners are even better.” He raised his thumb to the corner of the pubmistress’ mouth, wiped away a spot of blood she’d missed, and licked the spoils off his thumb, all without breaking eye contact with her, his intensely blue eyes staring into her deep brown ones. “There are hints of gold in your left eye? Did you know that? How your eyes must shimmer in the starlight.”

Before he could continue, the bird (Âsh damn that bird!) began squawking again. He knew some birds (be they sentient or not) could speak, and he was also aware of their tendency to ruin moments. Írimë, however, had the perfect retort and soon Frost forget there was a bird in the pub at all.

Blood often played a role in some of intimate games he played and as he looked at her, he cocked his head to the side. She looked quite fetching. The deep red accentuated the paleness of her skin and the poutiness of her lips. He wrapped and arm around her waist and, leaning in close, whispered. “I know places people would pay good coin to watch the two of us.” Before she had a chance to respond, he kissed her hard and full on the lips, tasting both her and the blood.

[Moriel]

The tip of Írimë’s tongue slipped out to touch Frost’s thumb as he wiped a bit of blood from her face. His flattery was superb, she would give him that- perhaps it would be his key to getting to see just how her eyes did sparkle in the umber light of Orodruin’s fires, or the starry night beside the sea of Núrn, or perhaps on the roof of his own manse. What an attractive prospect. Speaking of attractive- his arm curled around her waist, titillatingly strong, and one of her hands gripped the front of his shirt, as if to rip it off then and there. His reply about payment in exchange for the show they could offer was met with a husky laugh, which quickly became a purr as his arm tightened and pulled her into a hard and greedy kiss. Írimë responded in kind, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning into his torso. Intuitive man that he was, Frost answered her unspoken demand, leaning back to lift her as she raised her feet from the ground, wrapping her legs around his waist, her hands transferring to his thick black hair, and his to her back. Neither of them was a stranger to this kind of activity, but even the best eventually require air, and when they broke apart, the elf-blood covering Írimë now smeared over Frost’s chest and face, and she threw her head back with a throaty laugh.

It was this action that made her realize that there were, in fact, still patrons in the pub. Írimë looked around at their faces, disheveled and nonplussed, though completely unembarrassed.

“Well, what are you all still doing here?” the Pubmistress asked, and gestured around at them with the riding crop she still held, whipping it through the air with suggestive snaps. “It’s closing time! Get out!”

---------

And so, as all patrons scuttle for the door, another evening of drinking and debauchery ends at On the Rocks! Well, maybe the debauchery doesn’t end, but we all know interesting things tend to happen offstage. Join us in the new thread for On the Rocks - Pajama Party Edition!


THREAD CLOSED