The Palace Library
Carved from stone like the rest of the castle, the library has many skylights and lanterns for light, and shelf-walls running its long length. Only the first shelf has been filled, and as yet there is only one reading desk and chair, along with a sign that reads 'Do Not Eat The Books Please' attached to the entry arch. A quick inspection might reveal that many of the books, such as 'How To Farm Bogs', are written by the same author: Prince Feezle.

After Hannah's unpleasant declaration that she may have to deal with the Bandit Queen again, the group takes on a more serious tone. They start with the notes left behind by Feezle. Aside from the document about finding the picture from the book, there were some maps. The first shows a little-used route that cuts through the Goblin territories and out into the expanse known as the Wild Lands. Little is known about this area other than there are few, if any settlements and monsters tend to roam freely. The route continues through way may be an old-growth forest and up to the edge of what appear to be mountains. The mountains themselves have huge 'danger' marks all over them. Something about ... snow demon, perhaps? territory.

Minstrel Sam, faced with a singular lack of interesting books to read apart from the one being perused by Explorer Hannah and Sir Tristan, settles for playing light background music, which intensifies into 'suspense' music as they start examining the maps. Especially the danger-marked ones.

"Snow demon territory?" How much time have you spent in the Wild Lands, Lady Hannah?" Tristan asks.

"That's music, is it?" Murky the Toady for Hire asks the minstrel, as if uncertain.

The old fae grins. "It's danger music. For when something dangerous might happen soon. See, this here's romance music..." He plays something full of notes that linger in the air, clear high notes for the female voice, answered by lower notes in a tenor range for the male.

Hannah taps the mountain markings on the map with a finger. "Looks like we're going to have to purchase some snow gear for our trip, if any's to be had in this city," she remarks. Then she considers Tristan's question. "Not very much time. Thomas, Rachel, Simon and I went into the Lands to find the Bandit Queen soon after Thomas' return to Hawksmoor, but we didn't go very far in, I admit."

"Hol' on a tick," Murky says, and digs a finger knuckle-deep into his right ear. After excavating a good sized gob of gunk (which he nonchalantly transfers to his left ear), he says. "Ooo-er, that's better. I can feel da music in my nose, I can."

The hair on the back of Tristan's neck prickles as Sam switches tunes and identifies the themes. He tries to ignore it to concentrate on what Hannah's saying. "Still, that's more experience than I have in those lands."

Tristan turns to the princess. "Your highness, did Prince Feezle have clothing suitable for cold weather, and did he take -- is it missing as well?"

Minstrel Sam switches to an odd kind of music. Da dum! Da dum! Da dum, da dum, da duuuuum! It's a different kind of 'suspense' music, one more suited for an investigator puzzling out a mystery.

The Princess lets out a loud snort as she stirs in the chair she apparently fell asleep in. "No, no, don't clean the fungus out from the rolls ... " she mutters, blinking. "Feezle? Cold weather clothes? Oh, of course he did. Might be missing, we didn't look. His room was too horrible to enter." she says with a small shudder of her ample body. Even after the shudder ends, the fat continues to jiggle for a bit longer.

Murky nudges Sam, and leers at the princess. "Now there's some beauty a man could get lost in, eh?"

Hannah thinks back on her only other experience in hunting the Bandit Queen. "The area we went through was wooded. We never made it to any mountains. What I do recall about the woodland, however, is that it was full of the Queen's illusions, as she had become a witch by then. The holy light of the Grail conquered those shades...but that doesn't mean there aren't any more further in."

"Oh sure, squire!" the goblin replies to Tristan. "Every Turdsday, when it's ladies' night. Finest tavern in Greedle, the Wild Lands!"

"What sorts of illusions, m'lady?" Tristan asks. "Not, I imagine, the same kind that the treacle forest had."

"Are Oozians specially dangerous when they're ill?" Murky whispers aside to Sam. "They're pretty tasty fried up with some shrooms."

"Illusions that hid the trenches in our path," Hannah says slowly, remembering. "Monsters that leapt out at us which had no substance. A thick darkness over everything, making the path hard to follow."

"Oooo-er," Murky agrees, nodding sagely to Sam. "Specially the purple ones, I reckon. M'cousin Blob licked one on a dare and turned into a squirrel."

Tristan nods to Hannah. "The first sounds particularly dangerous. But the same if real monsters are disguised as something harmless. If we can find a goblin who's familiar with the area, hiring him or her as a guide might be useful."

"You could ask ol' Klug, the town shaman, to make you strong magic ... thingers to fend off illusions. It'll even be half price since this is to save dear Feezle!" the princess squeals. "Just don't make him mad or he'll turn into something really ugly."

The old fae peers at the map. "Snow demons, eh? I'm gonna suggest we bring some in-cen-diaries."

Hannah looks to Murky now. "Do you know of anyone who travels regularly through your territories? Who might be useful as a guide?"

"That would be most appreciated, your highness. Thank you," Tristan says in response to her offer.

"What.. you mean notes by brothers and sisters what have been.. er.. naughty?" Murky whispers to Sam, then nearly jumps when Hannah addresses him. "Oh, you mean a Tomgoblin? Like Rosy Nose the Glammer Girl?"

"Oh, Prince Feezle started them up!" Murky says. "Like, they go out and find stuff. Some of 'em even come back! Once we have enough, Feezle says we'd be able to form a group of 'em called.. uh.. Mud Hens or something."

Sam starts guffawing. "Oh gracious, the Lord Explorer is going to have such the face when I tell him about this."

Tristan smiles, but not too widely. "Prince Feezle is a goblin of many fine ideas. Yes, I do believe one of these Tomgoblins would be helpful to us."

"Well.. this time o' day.. hmm," Murky remarks, rubbing his chins in thought. "Should find her out back of the Tinsel Trough Tavern, doing her rummaging practice."

Hannah tries so very hard to keep a straight face at this description...but not having paid as much attention to her courtly training, she fails miserably. She throws back her head and roars with laughter! "Well," she says finally, wiping her eyes with the edge of one sleeve, "if that isn't one of the best things I've heard all day. Not that it's a bad idea, mind you," she adds quickly, in case the Princess was about to take offense, "it's just...an unusual one for a goblin, yes?"

"No ordinary goblins, that's for sure," Sam agrees. "So then, cold weather gear, a little fire magic, and see if this Rosy Nose knows of any, ah, 'Tomgoblin', that's been to the Wild Lands and lived?"

"Thank you. Would you be good enough to go there and hire her on our behalf, Murky?" Tristan asks.

"Wut, are you trying to say we're too dumb to create a group to rival yours?" the Princess asks, huffs, and crosses her arms. Well, she tries anyway ... the fat gets in the way.

Tristan blinks at the Princess. "Not at all, your highness. After all, we're trying to hire one of them. We'd hardly do that if we thought them inferior, would we?"

"So's she can find you o' course," Murky comments. "She's the best Tomgoblin around. But she at least needs a scent. I mean, she coulda prolly found ol' Feezle if he didn't use that.. that.. I can't say it!"

"No no, not at all, Your Highness," Hannah says quickly, finally schooling her features - but her eyes still sparkle with merriment. "In fact, I think the name for your group may be better than ours. I shall have to inform the Lord Explorer that a very good idea has been taken by your people already." In an undertone to the others, she says, "I shall take great pleasure in telling him, yes indeed..."

"I was thinking you could perhaps just tell her we're at the Palace?" Tristan says. "But, er, I've got a spare handkerchief or something if this is important." He reaches into a pocket to produce one.

"Have you rubbed it on anything stinky?" Murky says, eyeing the clean-looking bit of linen. "Armpits or fork?"

Minstrel Sam blows his nose into a handkerchief of his own, then hands it to Murky. "There ya go. So how do we find this Klug, Your Highness?"

"Right-o, that should do," Murky says, taking the used hanky and bowing before dashing out of the Library and way from all those creepy books.

"I mopped my brow with it, and that's as personal as I'm getting with a handkerchief, sir." Tristan attempts to retain his composure, shaking his head a little and half-smiling.

Hannah bows her head to the Princess, then asks, "What did the Prince use that you find so awful? Do you mean...soap?"

"Right-o, that should do," Murky says, taking the used hankies and bowing before dashing out of the Library and way from all those creepy books.

"He lives on the edge of town. Keeps his smelly stuff from polluting our fine air, of course," the Princess explains. "That and it helps muffle the occasional screams." To Hannah she then nods, answers, "Good gracious yes! Terrible stuff. Horrible! It cures boils. Who wants to cure boils? Really!"

Minstrel Sam scratches behind an ear, then calls after Murky, "And mind ye don't think o' boosting Rosy Nose's pay an' taking a cut, we'll be askin' around town an' checking up on ya!"

"We should pay him a visit, in any case. It sounds like getting Murky to do it on our behalf would be difficult. I'm not sure what to do about the matter of clothing, though," Tristan says.

Hannah looks a bit taken aback by this. "Errr...yes, of course. Who would want to cure boils?" Then she asks the others, "Should we allow Rosy to have some practice at tracking us by our scents and go to the shaman first? We could also ask him about finding warmer clothing."

The walk across town is ... interesting to say the least. Not only do they have to fend of street hawkers peddling their goods, but they have to fend off no less than four marriage proposals. Two of which were to Tristan .... unfortunately the ones proposing were male goblins. It took a bit of explaining that no, Tristan is not a girl. When they were finally convinced, they usually lumbered away looking dejected. But at long last! (Well, short last, really, the walk was less than fifteen minutes), they're standing outside the door of a largish wooden building. It smells ... disturbingly clean and a bit floral.

Tristan fails to look properly disturbed by the smell. He looks relieved, actually. He knocks on the door.

Minstrel Sam whispers to Sir Tristan, "Methinks you may want to purchase a bouquet from the shaman."

"Hmm?" Tristan glances at Sam. "I was thinking a bath more in order. Obviously I'm in need of one."

"Oh, like the one Murky had, to clear away people who wanted to get a little too familiar with us," the old fae says with a grin.

"Yeah yeah, I'm coming," a grouchy voice answers. Footsteps follow, then the door swings open. The shaman is an older goblin for certain; scraggly gray hair, stooped over, and wearing a pointy hat. That's it, just a pointy hat. He's completely nude otherwise. He peers at the strange people standing outside his door. As his gaze crosses over each one, he grunts. Well, except for Sam. The older fey gets told, "Gah, you're already dead, you walking handbag. Nothing I can do for you. Not even my miracle cream can work a miracle that strong."

Hannah hides a smile while patting Sam consolingly on the shoulder. "Are you Klug, the town shaman?"

"No, I'm Petunia, the exotic dancer," the old goblin snaps as he rolls his eyes. "Of course I'm the shaman. Why do you think I have this pointy hat?"

"Er ... we're here to procure weapons, sir," Tristan says. "Incendiary devices that might be useful in fighting off winter monsters."

Hannah blinks...and then grins. "Of course, I should have recognized your badge of office," she says soothingly. She makes her introductions to the goblin, once Tristan has made their request.

"Probably not. But the Princess did refer us to you. What sort of paperwork did you need?" Tristan asks.

Minstrel Sam eyes the shaman thoughtfully, then rummages around in his pouch of greezeballs. "Paperwork, eh? Are we talkin' the of-fic-shul kinda paperwork or the sort of thing a couple fellas can work out between them?"

"Good! I hate bloody paperwork. Waste of time," the goblin cackles and rubs his hands together. "So, you want fireballs? Bombs? Flamethrowers? 'fraid were all out of phoenixes. Last one exploded this morning. Ruined my chamber pot, damn bird."

"Flamethrowers?" Tristan looks intrigued. "Would you mind explaining how the different devices work?"

Sam grins. "Well, something that makes snow demons run away. We don't need to kill them, just get frighten 'em off, methinks."

"I'd be open to having one of each type of device," Hannah says grimly. "It's good to frighten them off when you can - but some monsters are hard to scare."

"Well, fireballs, kid are ... balls made of fire. They burn stuff! Bombs are things that go boom a bit after you light them. Some a little booms, some are big booms," the old goblin explains to Tristan as is he's a small child. "A flamethrower is ... well, take yer old friend here. They're a big leathery bag full of alcohol. A lit wick is at the spitty end. You squeeze it and fwoosh!" He gestures wildly for emphasis. "And ya say you need this for snow demons? What kind of snow demons?"

Tristan glances to Hannah. "I don't think we know. We're going to the Wild Lands."

Hannah thinks for a moment, then asks Tristan, "Do you still have that bit of fur we found with the Prince's papers? If so, could you please show it to the esteemed shaman? Perhaps he can identify it."

"Ah! Good thinking, m'lady." Tristan produces the fur and offers it to the naked shaman.

"OooooOooo," goes Klug as he takes the fur. He even eats a tuft and looks thoughtful. "In, in, we'll see what this little fur can tell us, eh?" he adds, waving for the group to follow him inside.

"Well, at least we seem to be getting somewhere," Hannah says in a low voice to the others, once they're asked inside. She does boggle a bit when the goblin eats some of the fur, though.

Tristan complies, leading the way for a change, mostly to block Hannah from view of the shaman. And vice versa.

The inside of the wooden building is rather unremarkable, save for lots of dried herbs and flowers hanging from the ceiling. In the far left corner is a rather blackened and cracked chamber pot. Probably the victim of a fly by exploding phoenix. The shaman hobbles over to the table and tosses the remaining fur into a mortar. Whistling to himself he picks up bits of this and that, then tosses it in the mortar and starts grinding away. "The mortar the merrier, eh?" cackles the old goblin.

The sight of the dried flowers makes Tristan smile again. "No eye of newt for a goblin shaman," he murmurs to Hannah and Sam.

"So it would seem," Hannah says in return, in an undertone. Then she gives the minstrel a steely eye and says, only half-jokingly, "Don't you start! The shaman's puns are quite enough, thank you."

Sam holds up his hands in mock-surrender. "Aye aye, milady," he says with a grin.

The hair and herbs are reduced to a fine powder in the mortar. The shaman wiggles his fingers, then makes a dramatic motion to roll up his sleeves. Well, it would be dramatic if he had any currently. He coughs, then comments, "Now would you all be quiet, this is very delicate magic, ya know."

Hannah obligingly goes silent and looks at the shaman's preparations with interest.

The shaman raises his hands high. "Ibby, jeebie, floop fwap, fooo!" he cackles as his feet go into a strange and furious dance. The dance is, thankfully, short as it was a bit disturbing to watch bits of goblin anatomy bounce around. A crackling roll of his wrists and two small, blue, fireballs burst to life in his palms. "Ha!" he declares, tossing both of them into the mortar. The contents disappear in a burst of white smoke!

Tristan hopes the shaman learns something useful from the fur sample, because it doesn't look like they'll get the chance to ask anyone else about it.

The smoke billows outward, but the movement is unnatural. It twists and rolls as if it's somehow alive. It shifts and twists before the group, forming ... a face? Another moment and it's confirmed, it's forming a face ... only one that is distinctly feline. Its smokey eyes snap open and sapphire blue, intelligent, eyes look at Hannah and the others. Its lips draw back into a menacing, and very toothy snarl. The shaman is hiding under his table now.

Reflexively, Tristan puts a hand to the hilt of his sword. "Sir, is it supposed to do that?" he asks, though the fact that the shaman's hiding is not reassuring.

" ... and you're an exotic dancer?" Tristan murmurs. He glances at the feline face, judging the size the head and trying to estimate the size its body would be.

Hannah is at once unnerved and fascinated by the smoke-creature, especially by the hidden thoughts behind the eyes. "Weapons may not be our best option when confronting this creature," she murmurs. "Not that we won't need any for what else we may find in the mountains, however." Almost involuntarily, the girl reaches a hand out to the creature, palm facing upwards, just to see what will happen.

If the size is accurate ... and bipedal, it would have to stand eight to ten feet tall. As Hannah reaches towards it, the feline face surges forward, jaws open side as it it's about to devour Hannah ... only it dissipates into nothingness a few inches from the woman.

Tristan's sword is in his hand when the snow cat's seeming vanishes as it reaches Hannah's hand. A little wary and on edge, he slides it back into its sheath.

"Looks pretty dangerous," Minstrel Sam allows, blanching just a little at the almost-attack.

"The fur must have come from the mountains," the Shaman remarks as he extracts himself from his hiding place. "Nasty beasts, those. Tall, strong, territorial, and smart. Rumor has it some even mastered the art of glamour."

"Enhanced by its intelligence, I would imagine," Hannah responds. Then, to the shaman, she asks, "Does the creature have a name? Beyond snow-cat, that is," Hannah adds to the minstrel.

"Ah. Speaking of which, sir, have you aught that would help us to see past glamours?" Tristan asks.

Minstrel Sam frowns thoughtfully. "I've seen the like before, but ol' Tom refused to tell me anything about 'em. Let's call 'em snow demons, it's as likely as anything else."

Hannah also frowns at the mention of 'territorial.' That's never a good word, for fae or beasts, she thinks. Good to know, however.

"They were shifty sorts o' creatures," Sam reminisces. "I only got to see 'em at a great distance, but what I saw was they could do both. Four feet to run, two to fight."

"I'm sure they have many names and yer old one is right, snow demon is as good as any," the Shaman remarks as he tries to tidy up his worktable. "We called them the eiskatze. When I was a kid tried to build a stronghold in some mountains where those things took residence. They seemed to come out of nowhere. Slaughtered about ninety percent of us before we were able to withdraw," he remarks and actually shudders.

"Ugh." Tristan shakes his head. "I'm liking the idea of that flamethrower you described better."

The goblin taps his chin for a moment, thinking. "So, you want a glamour breaker, eh?" he asks Tristan, "Expensive thing t' make. It'll cost you some blood. Need it to enchant a lens; only the blood of a glamour wielder can craft devices to cut through it."

"Yes," Hannah agrees with Tristan. "In fact, all three weapons sound useful in their own ways."

"I've shed blood for a worthy cause in the past, sir. I do not object to doing so again," Tristan answers. "What else would you require? How long does it take?"

The minstrel whispers to Hannah, "I admit, I'm not sure I like the idea o' carrying around fireballs. At least not if they're always on fire."

"Hour or so; I have the other materials I need,"" the old goblin notes, "Though I'd recommend not even going near those creatures."

"We may not have a choice in the matter, sir," Hannah says seriously. "Also, these fireballs you describe - we would have to do something to them to make them catch fire, yes? They wouldn't be ablaze when we were carrying them, would they?"

"I daresay we'll have need of it whether we encounter the eiskatze or not," Tirstan says. "I shall be glad to pay for it."

Tristan blanches a little just at Hannah's suggestion of already-burning fireballs being carried about as weapons.

"Don't be silly, child. You couldn't carry around a ball that's always blazin' away, now could you? You light em just before you throw em!" The old goblin mutters. "Well, cept back when I was a kid we had to carry already lit fireballs ten miles to the battle, uphill both ways. Not only that, but they had melted our flesh by the... er, well, back to business." He brings up a thin and sharp looking knife. Waggling it at Tristan, he says, "Hand over yer hand!"

Minstrel Sam scratches behind an ear. "Let's stick with the flamethrower an' bombs, those I'm pretty sure we can work, eh, milady? Not so sure about lightin' a fireball an' throwing it without gettin' a bit scorched."

The goblin grips Tristan's arm with calloused fingers. The knife is thankfully sharp, so the small cut doesn't hurt much. The goblin holds the dripping wound over his mortar, collecting maybe a quarter of a cup of blood. Once he's satisfied he has enough, the goblin slaps a wet piece of moss over the wound, grunting, "Just hold pressure on it for a bit."

"Very well. I certainly don't wish for any of us to lose limbs to the weapons we're supposed to using on our enemies," the girl says.

Tristan grimaces a bit at the cut, and nods to the goblin. "Thank you," he says again, holding his right hand over the moss to hold it firmly against the cut.

"Now, all of you ... shoo! I need to work in quiet for a bit. I'll be done in an hour. You can wait outside if you want, just ... be quiet!" the crotchety old goblin remarks as he putters about gathering up more stuff.

"Thank you as well, Sir Tristan," Hannah says quietly as she heads for the door, "for offering your blood for this."

Outside, Tristan looks to Hannah and ducks his head a bit. "You're welcome, m'lady. It's no trouble."

"He's not much like other goblins," Sam observes. "Didn't even look when I had the pouch o' greezeballs open."

Hannah smiles a little at the knight and murmurs next, "By the way, please remind me to ask the shaman if he has any fresh flowers he will sell us. Can't have a goblin eloping away with you, now can I?"

Tristan smiles wryly at Hannah, combing his hair back from his face. "I can't imagine what I must look like that I appeal to goblin tastes," he murmurs in reply. "Nightmarish, I can only conclude. You must be brave indeed to put up with me."

"Hey!" comes a cry from a nearby tree. "Hey! Hey!" It comes from a goblin-like creature perched on a low, thick branch. It's wearing a surprisingly clean white blouse with a leather vest festooned with numerous bulging pockets, and matching shorts. Hairy hands and feet clutch the wood with small claws, and shaggy (if short) tail wags back and forth behind it. The face has some goblin features, but seems more like.. a terrier. "I found you!" it yaps. "Hey!" It's doglike nose is indeed 'rosy' - or at least pink.

"That must be Rosy Nose," the old minstrel speculates, waving up to the Tomgoblin. "Hey to you too!"

The creature drops to the ground, lands on all fours, and quickly rushes up to Sam. "Hey!" she yaps, and Sam finds out the nose is indeed cold and wet when Rosy presses it to his neck. Then she pulls out the minstrel's hanky from one of her pockets. "I found you!"

Distracted, Hannah now peers up at the terrier-like creature calling down to them. When she realizes who it must be, she waves, as well. "You did, indeed! Well met, Rosy!" Then she says, "Perhaps we should all talk beneath that tree, so our shouts won't annoy Klug?"

"Greetings, m'lady. A little farther from the house, if you please," Tristan says to Rosy, as he head further away from the shaman's residence. "The shaman requested peace to work in."

Rosy spins around, abandoning Sam to go look at Hannah and Tristan. She seems to walk with a crouch. The Tomgoblin (or more likely a 'doglin') produces Tristan's hanky, and then leans down and.. sniffs the knight's crotch! "Hey!" she says, in hushed exclamation. "I found you! And you are a guy! Murky owes me a Greezeball!"

Minstrel Sam observes this bemusedly, then gives Hannah a 'whatever will we do?' look.

Tristan's right hand twitches around the moss he's holding to his arm. "Yes. Yes, I am," he says, with some effort at control. "Thank you for coming, miss. Have you explored the Wild Lands?"

"Yah! Yah!" Rosy yaps, nodding and wagging her tail. "All over! And under! And in lots of holes! And once I found this big bird nest with eggs the size of my head!"

"Excellent." Tristan manages some enthusiasm despite the prospect of future indignities from travelling with this personage. "We're going that way, in search of Prince Feezle and the Bandit Queen. We'd like to retain your services in our journey, as we've limited experience in the Wild Lands ourselves."

Minstrel Sam checks, "We're talking about the mountains off that way..." He points them out on the map. "Not about the tavern. Right?"

Hannah shakes her head a little at the terrier's enthusiam - and the ease at which she's distracted. "More to the point, Rosy, do you know the goblin territories and the Wild Lands well enough to lead us through them?"

Rosy points with both hands into the woods, and asks, "Go now? Yeah? It's this way!"

"We're not leaving for a little while yet," Tristan says. "But soon. We need some supplies first. Cloaks and the like, I believe. Is it cold in the mountains this time of year?"

"Cold, yeah! Wet! Mebbe, dunno!" the Tomgoblin replies, in rapid fire yapping. "Cuz.. never been this time of year before, right? All new! All fast now!"

The old bard scratches behind an ear, then stows his handkerchief away. "So ya happen to know where we can buy cloaks, warm clothes for the snow, that sorta thing, Rosy?"

"So, prolly wet! Fast wet instead of slow wet! Rivers of wet!" Rosy then spins and grabs onto Sam's shoulders, looking into his face with big brown eyes. "Warm clothes! Yah! Yah! Made of fur! Scratch my ears!"

Minstrel Sam grins, "You drive a hard bargain, Miss Nose." He scratches obligingly.

Tristan tries not to smile too widely, but the tomgoblin has a peculiar sort of charm.

The doglin makes a stuttering sound and rolls her eyes at the ear scratching, and seems to actually.. calm down a bit. "Ah.. thanks. That helps. I know a guy who makes ratskin cloaks for cold weather. I bring him lots of skins."

Hannah looks impressed that the ear-scratching seemed to work like magic on Rosy. "Once we finish our business with the shaman, that's where we will need to go next. We have no cold-weather supplies at present. Then later, perhaps, you could meet us at the palace so we could begin our journey?"

"I like to chase rats," Rosy Nose (the Glammer Girl) says proudly. "His name is Ffferdinard the Furrrrrier. Don't mention the pickled eyeballs when we see him. He's touchy about them."

"We've got an hour." Tristan looks to Hannah, then Rosy. "If that's enough time to find him and make inquiries?"

The Tomgoblin produces some sort of knotted string from another pocket. "Hey! I can measure you! And go have the stuff made for you to pick up! How's that? I left Murky back at the stable. He's too slow to follow me. I can make him get the stuff you need!"

Hannah looks to Sam now. "You're the one in charge of the purse-strings," she teases. "Whatcha think?"

"Oh, and you like spicy stuff right?" Rosy asks, sounding conspiratorial. "Spicy jerky is best, right? Can't tell what it came from, 'cuz of the spice."

"Ferdinand gets payment on pick-up," Sam intones. "And what do we owe you, Rosy?"

The Tomgoblin blinks right back. "Writing?" she guesses, unsure of what other bizarre uses foreigners might have for paper and ink.

"We do have paper and ink." With a look to Sam, Tristan adds with a grin, "And our friend bard might have brandy, but I don't know if you can get him to part with it."

Rosy grins and the tail starts wagging. "Ah, good! One sheet per day and night, okay? I gotta write everything that happens and my journal is nearly full now."

The bard nods. "All right, Miss Nose." He pauses. "Any good stories in that journal?"

"Oh yeah," Rosy claims, patting a pocket over her heart. "Lord Eoin taught me to write you know, because I was his favorite bitch! He let me sleep at his feet sometimes!"

Sam's eyebrows shoot upward. "It's a deal if you share some of the good stories with me, miss. Just the ones you want to share, I won't ask for the ones you don't like!"

Hannah also feels compelled to ask, although her voice is uncertain, "Does it...bother you he is gone from Mirari now?"

Rosy stretches out her measuring string, and approaches Hannah first. "Hey! He was nice when he was around. Goblins are okay though! Did you get to meet the Lord before he went into Historie, like a King?"

The knight looks at the ground. "I met him," he says, quietly. For a moment it looks like he might say more, but he doesn't.

The minstrel shakes his head, "Heard stories from Tom, 'course, but I didn't personally meet him."

"Hah! But I got to sleep at his feet sometimes!" Rosy points out. "And he gave me scraps from dinner too! And petted me! But he wouldn't throw the stick or play. Still, he was a good master!"

Hannah puts her hand lightly on the knight's arm before allowing Rosy to take her measurements. "I did not, but many of my friends did. Unfortunately, he was not as kind to them as he was to you."

"And I cannot believe that I am using the word 'kind' in reference to the Destroyer," she mutters.

The dog-goblin-girl measures Hannah quickly and efficiently. "Hey, sometimes you gotta break a few eggs to save the world, or something. I don't think too hard about it. I miss the big bed and the fireplace though."

"Ahhh, who doesn't miss a nice big bed and a fireplace?" Sam says nostalgically.

"People who have them?" Rosy suggests to Sam, and then beckons Tristan to kneel down a bit. The Tomgoblin is even shorter than Sam.

Hannah simply nods in response, and gives Rosy a weak smile, but her eyes look troubled.

Rosy measures Tristan's shoulders and arms, and says, "It's nice here in Greedle though. The fortress didn't have any trees! And the rats.. wow.. I mean, they're the size of pigs out here! And everything smells! There's always something new to find and places to explore! And nobody sniffs your butt without asking first!"

The last comment, and Sam's retort, makes Tristan laugh aloud. "It is always good to ask permission for such things first," he agrees diplomatically.

"I sniffed from the front!" Rosy argues, making a note of Tristan's measurements on a scrap of paper. "That's entirely different!"

The Nose has an easier time with Sam, since he's not so different in height. "You smell nice; like old boots," she compliments the man.

It looks as if Hannah wants to ask why this is different...but she remains silent, not wishing to elicit a response that might offend anyone.

Tristan gives Sam a sympathetic look. "At least she didn't offer to marry you," he murmurs to the minstrel.

"Okay, got it! Got it good!" Rosy notes, tucking the bit of paper and the string into different pockets. She pulls something like a hardtack biscuit from another, bites off a bit, and put the rest back for later. "Are you his old pet?" she has to ask Sam. "Because I'm pretty sure I could beat you at.. um.. anything!"

Sam laughs, "Nah, I'm his pest. He sent me to accompany the Explorer Hannah to get rid of me for a while so he can get a little business done in Mirari without, ahem, musical accompaniment."

"He could be...whether he likes it or not," Hannah says thoughtfully. She winks at the minstrel.

"See you at the castle! I'll make Murky pay for the stuff and you can pay him back, right? Right! That's easiest," the scout claims, and then she's off - shimmying up a tree like a squirrel and vanishing. Apparently Tomgoblins aren't keen on using paths if they don't have to.

"I think Miss Nose deserves rather better than that," Tristan says to Sam and Hannah, perhaps a little too seriously.

"And I suppose that's all we can do for now," Hannah muses, staring after Rosy. "Shall we sit under the tree while we wait for the shaman to finish his work?"

Rowan says, "She's cute. Yes, and dressed well! That makes sense, Eoin was a classy kind of villain. >:)"

Tristan watches where the tomgoblin ran off, then nods to Hannah. "As you say, m'lady." He sits beneath the tree and stares off into space again, lost in his own thoughts.