As the duo switches into speaking Giant, a loud twang! reverberates across the room. Jhese smiles faintly with a chuckle. "Missed a hand placement there, sorry about that everyone." Damn. He can't eavesdrop in a language he doesn't speak. He only knew a handful of greeting, farewells, and thanks in Giant. But he continued to play his cittern, this time more focused on it as he gazed across the room. Perhaps something else could be learned. He already knew the kobold's name, and that it had a sour reputation with Brod.

Which gave him an idea. Ceasing to play the cittern, he reaches into his person. Grabbing a silver coin from his concealed purse, he called for Brod before tossing him the coin. "I hope this covers any outstanding debt my scaley companion has with your establishment." Tossing him another silver coin, he adds, "And please see to it that Rummble is fed and given refreshment, my good master."

Saying nothing more, he returns his attention to the cittern and waits.

"Sweetheart, a bard and a diviner are two very different things. I'm afraid I don't tell fortunes, but I do tell stories," the half-elf smiles at him sadly. "What I can tell you is that normally, those tarot cards don't have pictures of real people or names of cities on them. Whatever that card is, it's not your average tarot card."

Brod catches the coin Jhese tosses to him like an expert. "Of course," he rolls his eyes. "Why you care, I'll never be able to guess," he grumbles under his breath as he returns to the kitchens to grab Rummble food and drink. A moment later he emerges, carrying a not-quite completely full tankard of ale and some questionable beef stew that he then places in front of Rummble.

Kero sits back in the chair, looking down at the card. "I will keep looking," he says with a note of finality. He folds the card and places it back into his pouch. "I do not have much, but please keep these. Sing a song of the Jotun next, if it pleases you." He would have to find more gold to finance his search, but often times allies are better when their pockets are lined. And he had a feeling this bard was more than she let on to be.

"If you learn anything that may help, remember me." With that, he stands and grabs his glaive. None of the patrons looked to be the divining type, so his interest in the tavern faded. He looks as if he's about to leave the Plastered Dragon, but he stops. He turns back to the bard and asks, "The song you sing... is the place real?"

"Come back human, take your gold," the bard laughed. "The only payment I accept is a story. If you give me a story, I will give you one in return. I can promise you, all tall tales are based in truth, and this one is no different. Would you like to hear a story?"

The goliaths of his tribe would often spend their nights telling the stories of the day. Kero never had stories to tell, but he liked to listen. "I have not led an interesting life," he responds to her, "I do not know any stories. But I will listen if you share one." His eyes stray to the others in the tavern and rest back on the bard at the table. He didn't feel comfortable telling the story of his life, even in a language that most people couldn't speak. But in Kero's mind his story was not all that interesting in the first place. He sits and pulls the two gold coins back towards himself. "Let me buy your drink and food for the night, at the very least," he says... still speaking the tongue of the giants. 

“I do not need food and drink tonight, sweetheart, and I don’t plan on taking a traveler’s last few coins,” She motioned to the table.

“I have a great story to tell, one of a daring group of adventurers,” the woman switched back to common, so that now anyone eavesdropping could also listen. “A beautiful bard, a clever wizard, a noble Paladin, and a quick thief. They made their way out into the woods, the middle of nowhere, in search of a great castle with unimaginable treasure. But they were unprepared, and only the bard was able to escape with her life. The rest of her party fell, their souls added to the castle’s library of forgotten adventurers.”

”Now it’s your turn,” She said in Giant. “Come now, surely a human who knows the tongue of the giants has some interesting tales to tell.”

When the barkeep put the tankard down, Broch'Tur dug a silver coin out of his pouch and dropped it on the counter, then turned his attention to the room. Not far away, a sniveling little kobold begged for food, not unexpected for its miserable kind. Pathetic, he thought with a sneer. The... turtle? was a curiosity. In his travels, Broch had never seen, nor even heard of such a creature. He wondered where it might have come from, and what had brought it to Marie.

The bard seemed to feel her evenings work complete, packing away her instrument, but then another seemed to be preparing to take her place. At least until he cut short with a discordant twang. sigh No music of note tonight then. His eyes fell on the burly human. One, at least, to keep an eye on. He looked like he could be proficient with those weapons, at least. Pondering this, Broch's hand drops to the hilt of the dagger at his belt, absently stroking it.

"Ok," Kero says in common. "High atop Jotun Fjell, far higher than even my stomm is willing to go, there is a Bapart to an unknown god. One of our alder claims to have seen visions of the bapart. There, kalt and ild are forever in battle. They say the ild is unlike any Auril's chosen have ever battled. Deep within the bapart is a woman bathed in ild that commands the bapart's stomm. She is creating an army that will one day slag all that is not born of ild. One day I must return to my stomm to assist in destroying this bapart before they are strong enough to slag the world." 

Kero's tribe, protectors and defenders of the Juton Mountains, have always known this to be true. He wondered if the tribe will ever be strong enough to face this goddess of fire that resides at the top of the mountain. 

"Grrrr. Brod! You know me! I don't keep money for myself!"

Things were starting to move around the tavern while Rummble peddled. The bard had ceased her playing and sat down for the night. She was now accompanied by some humanoid, couldn't see what kind exactly. Who cares. They spoke in a way the kobold didn't understand so, he wasn't too intrigued. What Rumble was more intrigued was this man kept dropping coin on the table. Maybe he had more?

A hobgoblin was in, now. Rummble did not like him outright. He had a certain.. look in his eye. Like everything was beneath him. Oooh, if he makes any wrong move, Rummble will be on him! Rummble wasn't afraid!

While Rummble was keeping a steely eye on the man, a small person came near and asked him a question. It was about his name. He glanced at her for a moment. "What kind of a- Oy! That's my name!" He points a sharply nailed thumb at himself as he says so. "I don't go around asking 'why you so small?'" After that he smiles a wide, lizard's smile. "Ayy, I'm small, too!' Looking at her for more attention now, he adds, "Your armor is, too. Where do you get it?"

In mid-conversation with the small humanoid, Brod brought him half a glass of ail. And some soup! "See, Brod? Was that so hard?" He gives the man a knowing stink-eye for a couple seconds. Now, actually seated, he takes his fill from the soup and drink. Not as good as some grubs out there, but hot food is hot food.

A second sharp twang! reverberated across the tavern as Jhese saw the tortle making its way towards him and the fire. Why is it coming back... "Sorry, everyone. I'm off my game tonight." The tortle sat by the fire, sticking its long neck out and arching it down to... warm its head? Jhese could only guess at its actions. He tried to focus on his masterwork cittern and playing it more gracefully, but he could feel the tortle's gaze from behind his back. It's probably creepily smiling at me too.

Realizing that he could no longer put off the inevitable, he turned around to face the tortle directly with a pleasant smile. "You are a charming creature, you know that? It's delightful to watch your calculated movements." he spoke in Common. "I'm Jhese. Jhese Surion. I'm not from these parts... can you tell me about them?" He scooted his chair closer, angling it so his frontside faced both the fire and tortle.

Nononononono. The tortle inched closer and closer to him. Too close... too close. Breathe. Breeeeaaathe. He took a deep breath, restoring his nearly fractured smile whole as the tortle rested its head on his shoulder. By the Nine Hells, why is this happening to me. He looked at his hand and at the warm tortle's head. Keep your composure. Keep the facade.

Jhese's reached out and lightly stroked the top of the tortle's head. "There there... rest easy. I'm sure you've had a rough day and deserve some peace and quiet." Repositioning his cittern, Jhese began playing a melancholy, slow tune, and began singing. His voice reminded those who heard of a creek running through the forest, as birds chirped and smaller wildlife scampered across the dirt and grass [Sylvan].

Aranala looked down to her armor and then back to Rummble. "I...had it made back home?" she said cautiously. "Is it that weird to have armor that fits me?" She'd honestly not run into many folk except those who were larger than her, so she couldn't quite say if seeing a halfling in armor befitting their size was normal although Aranala highly doubted it wasn't. "Aranala," she said after a second.

Manners, her auntie told her, were important and Aranala should not forget them for the thousandth time. Manners, Aranal thought, were useless.

"Hmm," the kobold thought to himself. I am small, too, and I wear leather. "I guess not." He scratched his scaled head. "Sometimes, I speak without thinking. I am Rummble. Rummble Steelskin!" He leaned his neck a little forward and smiled widely as he pressed his open hands into his chest. He pushed his now empty tankard and bowl forward on the bar table. "Thanks, Brod, " he waved his little finger in the air rapidly. "I can always count on you!" Realizing that the halfling had meant to strike conversation with him, Rummble briefly was overcome with embarrassment. "Where's home for you?"

"Far enough away," Aranala waved her hand dismissively, although it then reached up to clasp at the river stone that hung over her breast. "It doesn't matter. Home is...not open to me, right now." Aranala frowned. "Why are you here, Rummble?" Aranala looked at the crowd, and then at the barkeep. "Aren't kobolds disliked?"

"Hmph." Rummble knew that feeling. That home was far. "Phlegh!" The kobold shook his head with a snort. What was he thinking? That place wasn't home! All those good-for-nothings.. Klaena! The conversation had struck a soft spot in that armor, though, Rummble saw. Aranala was holding something to her small chest. "Ayy, you're mistaking me for some other kobold! I'm Rummble! Weyotipre! Different!" He nudged the halfling's shoulder plate with his little fist. "I've got a good thing going with Brod. Me thinks he has a soft spot for me. Why are you here?"

Aranala let go of the river stone and side-eyed Rummble as she took a sip of her drink. Whoa, Aranala thought dazedly. That was some pretty strong stuff. She looked at Rummble again. Kobold, weren't kobolds disliked? How was he different?

"How's'a differn?" Aranala asked, then blinked, then laughed loudly. For some reason the question of why she was here was uproariously funny. Why was she here? She didn't know! "No's why! Jes'a place?"