Ulgar sniffed the barrel he had uncorked, his nostrils flaring appreciatively. With a grunt of approval, he pulled the pewter flagon from his belt, filled it, and dropped some silver into the till under the counter of the Waterhorse. Alla was busy directing some pikemen in the removal of the large spriggan corpse from the common area. Although she frowned at her commander’s actions, she said nothing.
“Cheerful Delver Stout,” Ulgar read aloud from the brewery stamp on the side of the cask. “Not bad.” He drained his flagon and poured a second, belying the faint praise, then tossed a couple more coins into the till.
“The brewery is here in town,” piped up Neddar from the doorway. He looked a little green around the gills; the smells of rotting food and rotting spriggan were offending his delicate gnomish nose. “Founded and created right here in Varnhold.”
“Dwarven brew?” asked Ulgar.
“The founder of the brewery is a dwarf, but I think the rest of the staff are human,” replied Neddar. “’Scuse me.” The bard ducked outside in search of more pleasant olfactory sensations. Ulgar frowned at the idea that a dwarf was sharing brewing secrets with humans, but did not share his thoughts, to his sergeant’s relief.
The party had spread out through the town. In various places, people were taking charge of carting spriggan bodies to a spot chosen well outside the town limits and burying them in a mass grave, along with the animal remains they had found. One crew fished a dead spriggan from the well asElder Rastilov prepared a prayer to purify the water source. The work of clearing out the town was conducted in relative quiet, as the lack of people—or even their remains—unsettled everyone. Jasquan Balmot, a new recruit to Ursundova’s army, had been given the task of assessing potential temporary living quarters and assigning people to them. He wandered from place to place with a small notebook, writing down the state of each building, taking stock of belongings and goods in each while making note of the number that could comfortably bunk there.
In a hut built into the side of the hill, Adeptus Yermolov absently petted a contented calico cat and thumbed through a book. He had refused a room in the bloodstained fort above him, opting for privacy.
Meanwhile, in the fort amidst infantrymen busy with cleanup, Galina Maximov counted what little was left of the kitchen stock with an air of annoyance, making lists of what would need to be replaced to feed the small Ursundovan force that had come to occupy the town.
((NB: This necessarily takes place a couple of days after the game starts back up, based on the presumption that you all sent messages home, as per the brief forum conversation. Someone needs to give me the details contained in those messages.))