<Group III - Tournament> @DeezNuts @Keidivh

"Oi there, who do you think you are, cutting the line like that?!?" as they moved towards the organizer a big bald man with a thick Talabeclander accent growled at them which made couple of locals near him grunt in agreement. The man in charge ignored that although he looked at both Kristoff and Pierre and didn't seem to like what he saw there. "This here is a knightly tournament made to honor Lady Marian, which means we ain't gonna accept just about any vagabond that comes knocking from the street. You can join one of the melee wrestling matches, but competing in the main tournament is off limits for the likes of you. So tell me what you decided and quickly, or get lost," he said while two guards who stood behind him placed hands on the pommels of their swords.


<Group I - Diversion> @matt23 @BuriasDempsey @TuskatheDaemonKilla @Maleth

Entering the tavern, they would see that it was somewhat different than what the overall local atmosphere might give. The place was dark, couple of patrons that were sitting in were hunched up together, talking in the hushed voices. All of them were looking quite grim, but not in a way of people causing trouble, but more like they've seen a lot which made them grew a lot wearier for the experience.

As they approached the bar, they would see that wall behind it was adorned with all kinds of trophies - skulls of various Beastmen, crossed swords and rifles, as well as a yellow flag with a snout of an angry wild boar were covering the most of it. The barkeeper himself was a tall broad-shouldered man, with short beard and thick arms covered in military tattoos. He saw them entering the place and waved them over. "Welcome to the "Drunken Hog" newcomers," he spoke with a friendly tone although of a kind that demanded respect, "We don't see many of your kind in these parts. Where do you come from and are you here to join the festivities below?" he asked and poured them a flagon of ale for each, quite enough of it to get the conversation going.


<Group II - Infiltration> @Jorimel @Grall_Stonefist @Skarboy @DeranVendar

Tugg had no problem of walking over to one of the tables and jumping into the food presented before him, while Harold and Fulke followed in his stead and sat down nearby, relaxing a bit and leaving Constantine to worry about the work they had to do here. As for Ogre, he found all kinds of fish on the table and in many various forms - raw fish, dried fish sticks, fish stew and so on - apparently, being located on a river like this made the town's local menu inflated with this sort of food.

But as he started eating he spotted a man watching him from across the table. He was somewhat short with a large belly and like Tugg, he was also eating fish. But in-between his bites he widened his eyes as he saw Tugg and chuckled. "Ho ho, another Ogre! Sweet Shallya, all the cooks won't be able to make food for both of ya if you eat as much as Gog! Dis will be a feast to remember!"

While Tugg was left to ponder on who exactly did this man talked about, Khelandria was silently striding through the crowd, the locals not really paying her that much attention as she initially suspected. Despite them arriving somewhat early, it would seem that all this alcohol made the celebrants rather tipsy and focused on some other things rather than trying to bother her. On the other hand, she overheard many different things, from who was suspected of bringing the cheapest gift to the wedding pair to which cake was the best ending with more of the local gossip which in the end didn't really concern her much.

However she was forced to stop as three elderly gentlemen, by their looks some sort of merchants, beckoned her to join them. "....no, absolutely not!" one of them said and pointed at Khelandria, "Miss, pardon my intrusion, but you look like you are one of those elf-kin from across the seas and me and my colleagues are in a dire need of a fresh opinion on a matter dear to us so would you like to join our discussion?"

"So as I was saying," the other merchant continued, obviously expecting the Witch Elf to join them, "Your idea must go through a proper channels and administration, you cannot just force the guild to accept it...but maybe our new friend would help us with her own view? Basically, this is the problem. Mister Little over here is presenting us with the newest idea of growing crops, more precisely wheat, oats and barley. For centuries, there has been a certain strict process of cultivating those plants and the entire procedure is practiced and it gave results. However our colleague is trying to give us a new way of doing it, by using help of local Wizard's College!"

"Yes, that is true!" First merchant by the name of Little exclaimed, clapping his hands, "With the help of a Wizard, the crops can even double in the size! The plant will be bigger, there will be more of it, it will be more resistant to foul weather and we won't need to use that much fertilizer which means bigger profit for us!"

"Aye, but what of the cost?" the third merchant interjected, "Using magic to grow plants? You know how much magic is reliable and we still don't know how exactly would they implement it which means there are many causes for concern. I can safely bet if anything, using a production process like that will make the end product lot less healthier than it is now and can we really afford the outrage if, Sigmar forbid, the livestock eating that grain starts mutating or worse?!"

"So please Miss, can you tell us about how your kin grow crops, do you use some sort of a technique, magic or something else?"

While they expectantly waited for Khelandria to reply, with the corner of her eye she spotted a man watching her closely from the shadows of a nearby tent. The man was dressed in a plain grey tunic and simple nobleman's trousers although his look was somewhat less noble, with a short goatee and brown hair tied into a ponytail, similarly like the one Constantine wore. If she was to compare the two, her Employer with all the stuff she didn't know about him and his martial prowess looked far less secretive (or dangerous even) and much more aristocratic than this gentleman, who's dark eyes never left Khelandria's form.

@Colapse @DeezNuts
Kristoff's brow furrowed, and accented by the many scars on his face, made him look especially cross. He was not pleased. "You dare to call a Priest of Ulric a vagabond child? I have led Knights of the White Wolf to battle in times past, the greatest knightly order to have ever existed in the Empire, and you say I am not worthy to face these pups? I've seen Ungors with more ferocity than them." He glanced over his shoulder to look at the angry Talabelander, partially directing the insult at him.

"And this man here." He clasped Pierre's shoulder to add emphasis to his point, his dirty hands somewhat smudging his otherwise pristine clothing and armor with his dirty hand. "He is a knight of Brettonia, those louts are said to be the best in the Old World, and here you stand, claiming that we are not worthy? Wasn't long ago I killed a Vampire, and not to long before that I killed a wraith with nothing but my hammer, and you dare assign us to some wrestling match? That will not happen. So would you still deny this servant of Ulric his place? Are the children of Taal truly such cowards?" Kristoff approached the man, his gruff and grizzled face inches away from his own, runic hammer resting on his massive shoulder. He was not one to suffer insult.

OOC: The blood letting may start early here Kristoff is not what you'd call a diplomatic man.

Pierre simply stood by as Kristoff began yelling at the man before them, even directing insults at the large crowd of combatants behind them. Waiting until he was finished Pierre would glance over his shoulder for a moment, scanning the faces of the upset crowd. "Excuse my friend, he simply is infuriated with the fact you deny us entry, though so am I, but I am able to restrain myself. I am Pierre Le Brisson, heir to the earldom of Garben Hold, north of Montfort within the Grey Mountains, I am currently on my Grail Quest, though if you wish for me to return and destroy your life with my vast resources I will do so. Now, what was your name again?" Pierre questioned, his gaze firm on the man before him, as if looking down on a rodent who he was about to crush with his boot.

Pierre may have traveled far from his homeland and changed much, becoming distant from the usual atmosphere of bretonnian nobility. However he was still a knight, and he refused to be talked down to by a commoner, especially one he or Kristoff could swipe away like a fly in combat, and especially one with no manners.

@Colapse
@Keidivh

Tugg was stuffing himself with Fish, witch he had to say, tasted alot better than he expected from the weird looking meat, they didn't have fish in the ogre kingdoms and the first time he really heard of it, was when Constantine told him he did something with it.
It was here inbetween stuffing his face with mouthfuls of fish that someone spoke to him, he said he was an ogre, Gog?
looking a bit more, to the one talking, he looked very small for an ogre, though he had a good gut, at least for one his size,.
Taking something with him to eat on the few steps, Tugg decided to walk closer to the small one, did he mean himself an ogre?.
"you an ogre?" Tugg said pointing at the man as he walked closer, he was currently caught between being truly confused at this world outside the mountains, or laughing hard at such a puny ogre.

As Tuska entered the umie drinking place he sat down at the bar and admired the trophies for a few seconds before the umie with that owned the place started talking. "Nah wez ere ta knick some git's boat." Tuska said before he drank the contents of his cup or tankard or what ever da zog umies call da fings dat dey drink from. The Orc clearly had no regard for secrecy for their mission and figured if this git right here was in league with the other git he might bring in even more tough gits to fight which was a win in his twisted logic. After all why fight some tough gits when you can fight loads of tough gits and if he wasn't satisfied by the fighting he might go out and go into the party to since there must be even tougher gits in there since their boss was there. Then agian the idea of being on a boat with loads of loud shooty things was a tempting idea and the boss did say that was what he was supposed to do. Tuska continued to weight the possibilities of the future for quite some time as he continued to drink and generally ignore everyone around him as he felt his thoughts were far more important than whatever they're talking about.

(OOC Orc logic nuff said)

Sitting down on one of the stools that creaked as it struggled to hold the weight it was probably not meant to, just before Xiuhcoatl was about to speak, Tuska decided to blurt out what they were about to do. While rather bit frustrated that ork couldn't keep his gob shut, the general vaguness of his statement could work in the lizardman's favor. "Or to put it in a better way, we're taking back a boat for a shipyard. He stopped paying out his payments a couple of months ago, so they want it back and hired us. Though we would appreciate it if this stayed between us sir." The Saurian said respectfully, using the term he had heard soldiers use when addressing superiors on the field. He hope the bartender would leave it at that and not delve any further than that, he knew he wasn't really good at lying any longer than a few lines. "All of those your trophies?" he inquired as he pointed at the rack of skulls behind the bartender, both genuine and trying to shift the conversation to something else before started downing the drink. Perhaps he would need to be drunk just to get through the waiting...

Having their cover pretty much ruined by the Orc, Alozia sighed loudly as she planted her face into her palm, wondering how the heck she was lumped with such a dim-witted creature that she would guess mentioned what they were doing for the sake of a better fight, when fighting was something they didn't want?
At least the Lizardman provided a plausible reason for them to be here and still have it in the open that they were stealing a ship.

Pulling up a stool next to their Lizardman but not yet taking a drink, the Druchii would be more busy taking a look at the clientele to see who among them would be likely to risk getting their Ork's attention. Needless to say, it felt to Alozia that the idea of a pleasurable whiling away of time before nightfall was flittering away from her due to the problem of having to effectively babysit one of their own just to avoid creating too much trouble and getting too much attention drawn to themselves.

Khelandria had not expected a farmers' dispute. Of all the things she might have expected, this was not on the list. She accordingly looked a little puzzled. She approached the group, and sat down on one of the wooden stools. Keeping an awareness, always, of that lurking figure. Naggaroth raises no complacent children.

"I am afraid that I cannot offer you much of use, alas," she said, friendly enough in her tone though still somewhat confused. "I am a warrior; I do not work with the growing of crops, or magic. I have heard, however, that the fields of Saphery are all tilled by magic." She knew it as all Druchii knew it: the land denied to Malekith, the fertile fields and warm, sunny vales all his by right and yet kept from their people by ancient injustice. Khelandria had been raised knowing the tales, impossibly distant to one as young as she but still carried as an ancestral burden by the eldest of Elves.

"Elsewhere the bounty of the land is such that the trees and plants need no farming to bear. The land is not tilled. The fields of wild grasses give up their grain, and the fruit fairly falls from the trees into the hand. I wish I could tell you the secret of how it is done, but I can offer only the rites of the Everqueen as an explanation. She is blessed by the Goddess Isha. Her secrets are not mine to understand."

A bountiful land, a faerie Queen: it sounded like a legend. Only in this case, it was all she knew as the truth.

"But do you not have a Lady of your own? Would she not hear your prayers, to make the land fertile?" Khelandria had heard vaguely of the Bretonnian Lady, but she did not really know how she fitted into their pantheon. Perhaps she was their Isha, or their Lileath?

She glanced at the watching figure, sure that he did not have her best interests at heart. But she remained friendly to the merchants. All they wanted to do was talk, after all, and it passed the time. At least ... probably all.

<Group III - Tournament> @DeezNuts @Keidivh

"Greatest knightly order in the Empire? Some of us would beg to differ," a deep voice came from behind and both the organizer's and nearby people's eyes widened as two figures approached the table. As Kristoff and Pierre turned around they would see that the man who spoke was not some lowly commoner but an imposing figure armed in beautifully-ornamented suit of golden plate armor. He was taller than Kristoff and had a long white beard while a helm with a skull in its center and green laurels around encircled his face, the face of a man who conquered all before him and had demanded respect through the martial prowess which was evidently supreme as his movement, despite his form, was fluid and agile.

There was some sort of a key around his neck and on his waist two mercenaries could see a mighty longsword that even holstered radiated with power coming from ancient dwarf runes of vengeance and retribution. The man behind him was not so imposing and looked far less deadly although his black and gold armor with a mane of a leopard covering his shoulders gave Kristoff enough hints to guess that this man was a member of another knightly order - the Knights Panther.

"Sergeant Blackburn, apologize immediately to this Wolf Priest, such blatant disrespect of a Ulric's servant is unacceptable," the first man spoke, his expression stern and his voice leaving no room for argument, "And enlist him and his comrade to the main tournament at once." Sergeant (the organizer) uttered a "Sorry" and was about to say something else but the warrior's look silenced him instantly and he started writing down names Pierre gave them earlier.

"Good," the warrior said and turned to Kristoff, "Now you will have the opportunity to prove your words. Good luck," and with that, he marched away, followed by the Knight Panther who curtly nodded to both the Wolf Priest and the Bretonnian knight as he passed them.

Once the two warriors were out of sight, the Sergeant wiped off sweat from his forehead while the nearby locals looked way more scared than they did before the ordeal. "Ehh..my lords, the tournament will start in an hour. The battles will be fought one on one and on foot with only melee weapons. You can get some refreshments in the tent over there while you wait to be summoned. Best of luck!" it was definitely a great change in behavior which left both Kristoff and Pierre wondering just who that warrior was to create such dismay around these locals.


OOC I finished this part of the post but the sleep slowly got to me, so I decided to drop it now and not wait till tomorrow when the other part will be done hope you don't mind.

Pierre would look on as the massive knight who approached belittled the man who had refused them entry, even getting him to sign their names down. Behind him was a much less imposing figure, but one that Pierre thought held just as much potential in combat. After all, Pierre knew for a fact he and Kristoff were likely of very similar ability even though the wolf priest was quite a bit larger. Size meant nothing to Pierre, but he was no fool, the weapon on the large knight alone likely gave him quite the advantage even if he ended up being a poor fighter.

Nodding to the man at the desk Pierre would look to Kristoff "Shall we refresh ourselves before combat? I'm sure they'll have some kind of ale in that tent strong enough to get your blood flowing" Pierre spoke in his usual thick brettonian accent. Making his way to the tent the man had pointed them to Pierre would immediately fill himself a small cup of ale and drink. Emptying the cup in one short fluid motion he would unsheath his sword slowly before thrusting it into the ground.

Kneeling in front of his blade Roland would lightly grip the hilt with both hands as he bowed his head. "I set down my lance, symbol of the duty...I spurn those whom I love, I relinquish all, and take up the tools of my quest...No obstacle shall stand before me...No plea for help shall find me wanting....No moon will look upon me twice lest I be judged idle...I will give my body, heart and soul to the Lady whom I seek...". Pierre would continue, even going so far as to recite several chapters of holy text he had poured over in his younger years and memorized carefully before he set out on his Grail Quest. It was this long drawn out prayer that Pierre would speak as he waited for his name to be called.
@Keidivh
@Colapse

OOC: Praying to gain the blessing of the lady of the lake, makes the knight give off a faint golden glow and gives him a ward save so long as he does not refuse a challenge or flee from combat. Thats right, you aren't the only one who can get blessings from your god Kristoff