“We will bring him with us for now.”

"You are busy. You have places to be. I'll just bribe whoever you turn me over to. It isn't worth the bother. Look, I'll give you these papers I have with me, holdings worth 10,000 pieces of gold if they bear my signet. They're yours, final offer."

"If you bribe your way out of this we will hunt you down and we wont be arresting you a second time. Understood?" Rip says this in a distinct we will kill you tone

Quote from Gimpster >>

"If you bribe your way out of this we will hunt you down and we wont be arresting you a second time. Understood?" Rip says this in a distinct we will kill you tone

 "So you'll murder me then? I'm supposed to believe that you'll kill me while you're unwilling to accept my offer payment on some kind of principle?"

“NO.” Crownsguard is quite firm in that statement, “We are not judge, jury, nor executioner. This would be against my prime directive. I will not take part in, nor allow such actions. Rip, I will ignore your stated murderous intent based on prior good favor. I do not suggest pressing my good will or you will be arrested as well for conspiracy. As for you,” Crownsguard looks to the man, “You will keep your money and live with the knowledge that your wealth can not restore what you have stolen and destroyed. Justice will be rightly dispensed. Do not assume that all bend so easily to material wealth.”

Lezryk Daerivoss rolls his eyes. 

"Where are you taking me, then?" He asks.

"To fulfill your greatest wish of course. We are looking for giants."

"Or we can leave him with his brothers," Ink grimly intones. "Maybe let them talk to him."

Although he looks a little apprehensive at the mention of more giants, Lezryk doesn't resist any more for the time being, and his thoroughbred horse allows itself to be tethered or ridden.

"So... Onward?" 

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At some point in the journey, Ink will ask him for further lore regarding the necromancer of Noaners Hold that he and his brother had previously mentioned.

Lezryk remains tight-lipped for most of the journey. He obviously doesn't want to cooperate with his captors.

You don't run into anyone else on the road before nightfall, but you do pass several lonely homesteads.

Up ahead there is a wayside inn, probably the only chance for a comfy bed and a bath for the evening.

Assuming no objections, Flint heads for the inn's stables to take care of Boris, Lezryk's horse and the cart.

Thanking Flint for dealing with the animals and cart, and leaving Lezryk in the capable hands of the others, Ink pulls away from the group and makes his way inside the inn, teleporting Quill to her pocket dimension so that she may rest. (Does the inn have a name?)

Ink tries to wipe his face the best he can as he walks in suddenly aware of his appearance and carefully reviews the establishment, its entrances and exits, its layout and its patrons and staff.

He coughs a bit of leftover ash and smoke. 

The inn is tended by an elf stable hand and an older human couple who seem to be the proprietors. The older gentleman walks with a cane and wears a large grin on his wrinkled face, and his wife of similar age seems to have a perma-scowl and speaks harshly. 

The interior smells of foreign cooking and old carpets, but is quite clean and hospitable, with one large oaken table (lined with stools) in the middle of the common area and many comfy spots to sit. 

A covered pot and a roasting pan are hung over the lively fire, giving off the wonderful smell. 

The decor inside is well-worn, and it is readily apparent that there are jobs that need doing—the windows are dirty, the floor is missing bits of plank in some places, many of the comfy chairs need new skins. 

The elderly man greets you at the front where he is slowly sweeping the front porch. He stands aside and smiles as he allows you to enter. When you do enter, the elderly, plump, frowning woman looks at you with an intense sharpness and says, "How many with you? Staying for beds or just a meal? Any children or pets?"

The elf stable hand is quiet but helpful, readily hooking up feeding sacks and tending to the horses expertly. 

“Hello. I am Crownsguard, Knight of the Order of the Gauntlet. My five companions require food and refuge. We have no children or pets. Any assistance would be greatly appreciated. Thank you for your compliance.”

Ink looks up at Crownsguard, then to the elderly woman, "Yes, as he said, rooms and meals, please. There's also a cart and a couple horses being stabled."

Marav sends Steele of to fly a bit and hunt. "Keep your eyes open and let me know if there is any danger, my friend." He turns to the innkeeper. "Two items, any place for us to clean up, and is their any local constabulary around here. One above reproach."

The old man smiles sadly at Marav. "A constable? Nothing like that south of the River Rauvin. Just traveling do-gooders like yourselves, the occasional mercenary that works for room and board, and otherwise we fend for ourselves. Our son is out hunting now, and he helps. But here between Yartar and Everlund we ain't claimed by either city; it's too bad that they let politics and trade disputes get in the way of doing what's right."

Ink replies, "Would you expand on that last bit? Regarding "politics and trade disputes get in the way of doing what's right?"