Frozen Sick (2) BE7

The older female gnome also finishes up her meal and begins to layer back up for a return to the great outdoors.  Very few patrons remain.  A young male half elf now stands behind the bar, busily wiping the smooth wood to a shine.  He is whistling an off key tune as he works, content to hold down the fort until the funeral service ends 

Quote from Began772003 >>

Snow gently falls from the sky and wind bites your cheeks as you stand in the graveyard of Palebank Village, a fishing outpost of Uthodurn that is home to several hundred dwarves and elves. The sun is low in the sky, sinking behind the fresh grave of Urgon Wenth, an old dwarf who caught a curse or disease that turned him into an ice statue. The folk of the village have gathered to pay their final respects to Urgon’s frozen remains.

 ***Unless anyone has additional business at the inn, I suppose we can move things along to the funeral.  Feel free to retcon anything you wanted to do before leaving.***

Although Gal is disappointed that she didn’t get a story from the man that looks like a soldier, she begrudgingly stands up and follows him and the elf Torwyn out of the door but does not follow too closely behind.

While walk towards the group of dwarves huddling around for what looks like a funeral service, Gal takes this opportunity to use the snow to wipe down her bloody cloak and boots because she’s still leaving bloody prints in the snow. 

When Gal gets close enough to see the group and the body in the center, she pauses, takes a knee, and says a very short prayer. 

“May their soul find peace in Valhalla.”

She then slowly stands up and joins Cato and Tory.

Cato trudges through the snow following Torwyn, wondering to himself what a dwarven funeral is going to look like. At least there will be plenty of ale. He hears the elf Gal follow him out of the inn. He smiles to himself, knowing one such as her would not leave until she got a story from him, and one never knows, a ranger could prove useful.

Torwynn’s steps slowed as the gathering came into view, her earlier grin fading into something quieter—but no less alive.

Her gaze drifted over the dwarves, then to the body at the center, curiosity catching first, judgment second.

“…well,” she murmured softly, almost to herself, “that’s not how a night usually ends.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying the scene—not prying, not pushing, just… taking it in. The shape of it. The feeling of it.

When Gal knelt beside the fallen and offered her prayer, Torwynn stilled for a moment. One hand came to rest lightly against her lute, her fingers brushing the strings—not playing, just feeling the familiar comfort of it.

After a beat, a quiet, absent chord slipped out. Soft. Thoughtful. Gone as quickly as it came.

“Seems a bit unfair,” she said under her breath, eyes still on the circle, “for a story to stop before anyone gets to hear it.”

Her gaze flicked to Cato briefly, a hint of her usual spark returning.

“Though I suppose some people would call that a warning,” she added, a faint smirk tugging at one corner of her mouth.

She stepped a little closer—not enough to intrude, just enough to catch a word if one was spoken. Snow crunched lightly beneath her boots as she shifted her weight, attention wandering from face to face, detail to detail.

Not searching.

Just noticing.

“Still,” she went on quietly, almost musing, “I’ve never been very good at walking away from unanswered questions.”

Her fingers tapped once, lightly, against the body of her lute.

Then, softer—more to herself than anyone else:

“Or unfinished songs.”

Torwynn let the moment sit after that, unhurried, her presence easy at the edge of the gathering—watching, listening, and waiting to see what the night chose to reveal next.

Several of the dwarves standing nearby offer Gal a nod of approval.  "Sure'n Moradin's gotta fine seat ready fer good Urgon," she overhears one say.  

Several of the bearded folk speak in a group slightly removed from the viewing.  You can't hear their words, but you do catch the tune that Torwynn was playing in the tavern.  It was obvious that they were at the Jolly Dwarf when she performed earlier, and enjoyed the show thoroughly. 

A gruff voice speaks softly from behind you. “Thank you for attending Urgon’s service.” You turn and meet the gaze of Elro Aldataur, a weathered elf, retired ranger, and the leader of the village. “I’m sorry to speak of dark tidings under such circumstances, but I believe that Palebank Village might be in danger, and I’m hoping you can help us.”  

Torwynn’s attention drifted briefly at the sound of her own tune carried low among the dwarves, a flicker of amusement touching her expression.

“Careful,” she murmured under her breath, just loud enough for the others, “another night and they’ll claim it as their own.”

Her fingers brushed her lute, but she left the music unplayed this time, letting the moment remain as it was.

At the voice behind her, she turned smoothly, dark hair shifting over her shoulder as her bright eyes settled on the older elf. She took him in with a quick, practiced glance—weathered, steady, the sort who didn’t waste words.

“Torwynn Quostrin,” she said with an easy dip of her head, a hint of a smile lingering.

Her gaze flicked once toward the gathered dwarves, then back to him as he spoke of danger. One brow arched slightly—not alarmed, but intrigued.

“Danger does have a way of finding the right audience,” she said lightly. “Though I’ll admit, I was expecting something a bit less… solemn for the evening.”

She shifted her weight, resting a hand against her lute, then glanced sideways toward Cato and Gal, her expression turning a touch more playful.

“But,” she added, “I’ve been wrong before. Occasionally.”

A small pause, then she gestured loosely between the three of them.

“I’m not the only one you’re asking, though,” she continued. “And I’ve found better stories tend to start when more than one person says yes.”

Her eyes moved between Cato and Gal now, inviting rather than pressing, a spark of curiosity returning.

“What do you think?” she asked, tone light but genuine. “Feel like stepping into someone else’s trouble tonight… or shall we pretend we didn’t hear him and go find stronger drinks?”

A faint grin tugged at her lips.

“Fair warning—I’m terrible at the second option.”

Elro looks at Tori with a nod of appreciation.  "Join me for a meal at the Jolly Dwarf and I will tell you more.  Your friends are welcome as well.  The service will conclude shortly, and we can be off."  

He moves off, slowly making his way through the crowd.  He stops frequently to offer condolences to the many friends of Urgon.