Having ensured that they couldn't return to the nicer tavern in town for quite some time, Wurzag decided it was time for a visit to an entirely different drinking hole, one far less prone to ejecting its patrons for a little thing like inappropriate spell casting. Unlike the temple, he really did know his way to the bar like the back of his hand and as the unlikely trio approached the establishment the familiar sounds of shouting, out of tune singing and the occasional scream of pain brought a smile to his face.

"Gud place dis," he commented to Taryn as they turned a corner into an even darker alley than the last, "da beer dunt cost so much an dey dunt get all funny when yez punch sumwun fer spillin' yer pint."

There was a crash of breaking glass and a man sailed into the street via a nearby window. He hit the ground, bounced, struck the opposite wall and lay there groaning. Wurzag grinned happily, "see, yez can frow people an everyfing an dey dunt care!"

He paused long enough to check the unfortunate fellows pockets before striding off toward the yellow-lit main doors. Sadly the injured man hadn't had any money, but the half-orc was now one ball of lint richer.

He pushed open the door spilling yellowish luminescence into the alleyway. Several things screeched and scuttled out of the light. Then he stepped inside. "Come on," he shouted back to his companions, "der is a table free over 'ere!"

There was a yelp of protest, a ripping noise, a loud burst of flatulence and then a thump.

"Der is now anyway!"

Taryn spent the entire journey towards the inn with an ever-increasing sense of dread. His new companion was, he had to keep reminding himself, a half-orc and therefore decidedly less sensitive to the finer things in life. However, for all that, Wurzag had proved to be a mine of useful information even in the journey from the temple to here in showing Taryn how he should be gripping the mace correctly.

Right now, he was gripping it.

Correctly or not, he didn't rightly care - but he was certainly gripping it.

He took a few steps backwards until he was level with the elf. For some reason he had a feeling that a show of solidarity might do both of them good around here. Taryn didn't particularly have a problem with the kind of raucous behaviour going on around him and he was certainly not snobbish enough to presume that a well-educated, polite young man like himself shouldn't be seen around here.

He'd spent enough time in the less salubrious places of the world himself. A slightly less than down-the-middle pub wasn't going to shock him.

He felt weary, however. There was an ache in his shoulders from walking in an unfamiliar posture with the mace in tow. He and Wurzag had managed to cobble together a back scabbard using a spare leather belt he'd found in his pack and an almost inordinate amount of leather thonging. It wasn't the idea solution, but would certainly have to do until he could get his hands on a proper weapon holder.

But his shoulders - and to a lesser extent his back as well - were telling the strain.

"Ah," he said, his face totally without expression as Wurzag shouted delight at the fact there was a free table. He turned to the elf slightly. "Joy. A table."

He grinned his infectious grin.

"We'll be right over, Wurzag," he called after the half-orc and very carefully slid the mace into the rigged-up holder on his back. "Don't imagine for one second the patrons of this - ah - fine establishment would take too kindly to a scrawny mage stomping in waving a weapon about," he said, with a wry grin. "Last time I was here, they didn't take too kindly to a scrawny mage stomping in full stop - so I'd best keep my nose as moderately clean as I can imagine."

He followed the half-orc across to the table.

"Well, then lads - looks like we're in for the evening - I know what I'd like to drink, but how about you, Wurzag? Same as before? And Thal - if you've not been to this inn before, I highly recommend a pint of their finest ale and a healthy, healthy dollop of keeping your wits about you."

A sly wink.

"They'll catch you out if you so much as sneeze wrong."

Thal had explored quite a bit of the world, but never had he been someplace like the Drital Qu'ellar Pub (Thank god for forum names on the top of the page). When they first exited the temple grounds and began to make their way along the road, Thal thought that the orc would bring them someplace normal. Silly him for thinking that an Orc and an Elf would have the same idea of "normal."

Presumably, to an Orc, or even a half Orc, normal was bodies flying into walls, chairs splintering on heads, and the occasional drinking of a pint of ale. This theory was proven when they came within sight of the inn. Almost immediately a man was launched through a window and into a nearby wall. There was a sickening crunch as the man hit the ground, moaning loudly.

Thal leaned closer to Taryn and whispered, "This should be interesting." He gave the moaning man a light kick before grabbing a match from his pocket. He lit it and threw it into a barrel, which promptly caught fire, its contents letting off a reeking stench.

"A bar, and a drug trafficking center," Thal remarked sarcastically. "Wonderful!"

No sooner had the scent reached the Elf when a man came bursting out of the bar, hands on his head, screaming in terror at the burning barrel.

"Relax," Thal advised. "The walls next to it are stone. They won't burn or anything."

"I don' care about the blasted walls!" The man screamed. "All I care about is mah barrel of money!"

"I don't believe that was money. It smelled like a peculiar mixture of herbs. It's funny, I didn't expect that when I tossed the match." Thal smiled at the man, knowing what was coming.

"You did WHAT?!" the drug dealer looked like he was about to explode. "I'll throttle ya!"

The man reached for Thal, who sidestepped, grabbed the man's neck, and swept his leg around, knocking the man's own legs out from under him. The dealer hit the ground, hard, cursing the whole time. The dealer got back up and reached for Thal again. This time, the Elf pulled the man's right arm, and wrapped it around the man's neck. Thal held the dealer's arm by its wrist, chocking the man with his own forearm.

"Now, are you going to play nice, or am I gonna have to splat you against the wall?" Thal asked calmly.

"Piss off!" the man spat at Thal.

"Okay then." Thal pulled the man's wrist, spinning him around. The Elf grabbed the man's belt, and the neck of his shirt. He swung him once, twice, and on three, launched him at the other man who was already groaning on the ground.

Turning to Taryn, Thal said, "How's that for a dollop of wits?" With a sneeze, Thal entered the bar, walked over to where the half Orc had just cleared a table, and sat down.

Wurzag threw himself down onto a rickety stool and studied his surroundings with satisfaction. This was the sort of tavern that only ejected you for being too nice, not for flinging people bodily out of the window. A pair of extremely shady looking individuals stood in one corner discussing the legitimacy of a scroll and whether or not it could be used to gain access to a certain ladies inner sanctum. The half-orc wondered if such a magic existed any where in the world, let alone in a scroll.

There was no serving wench in the tavern; not even the roughest lady of the night would care to serve many of the patrons that frequented the bar, so Wurzag waited with the little patience that he possessed for his companions to join him.

When the pair arrived they were both wearing an oddly satisfied look as though he had missed something significant and entertaining.

"Wot I miss?" He grumbled as the pair seated themselves.

While he waited for a reply he fumbled around in his pocket in a quest to discover if he actually had any of his silver left from the previous nights drinking. Happily he had managed to retain two coins through the drunken frivolity and he fully intended to make use of them tonight.

That meant he would have no money in the morning.

Wurzag however, never thought that far ahead.

"So den," he continued, "first ov all, I reckon it's yer round," he said pointing to Taryn, "secund, I'll av an ale an sum of dem long fings made out ov pig."

He paused and counted off against his fingers.

"Ah ... yeah, fird, where we goin den?"

Taryn was positively gleeful as he and Thal entered the inn, having utterly enjoyed the elf's antics outside. "You know," he said, cheerfully as they joined the half-orc, "I think that we are going to have the opportunity to have a lot of entertaining conversations if you decide to come with us."

He was feeling much happier about his personal situation than he had done in months. What had happened at the Temple had been necessary. It had been horrible to live through, but it had been vitally important if he was to stand any chance at all of defeating Suraklin. What he had to do now was try to convey to these two unlikely companions just what it was that needed to be done.

He tried a few choice sentences in his head.

Well, you see, it's like this. There's this lich, see, in this crypt, and he, well IT, really, took part of my soul as a sort of down payment on my promise to return to him. With his soul jar. So he...it...could become all-powerful. But what I'm ACTUALLY planning on doing is smashing him...it...in the face with this rather snacky weapon that the Goddess has given me. But before THAT, we have to find the phylactery which I told him...it...I knew where it was, which of course I don't, because if I'm going to stand any chance at all of beating him...it...then I need to destroy that FIRST, but that's all. Haha. Oh, and I have no choice in the returning to the crypt thing, because I'm permanently bound to the lich and if I don't turn up, he...it...will send gribbly things of gribblyness out to split me down the middle.

He'd have to work harder on that summary.

"Ale, right," he said to Wurzag. He glanced at the elf. "Same for you?"

Before he took the elf's request, he threw a little taster into the mix.

"Essentially, I have to go to the Grasslands. And more specifically to Do'riba. But I - ah - I have to go elsewhere first. Only problem is, I'm not ENTIRELY sure exactly where the elsewhere IS. Drinks."

And with that mysterious description, the young mage disappeared to acquire alcohol.

Entertaining conversations? That was good. This man had a sense of humor that seemed to match his own. He decided that he would have to establish his dominance as the group prankster. He didn't want to besmirch his reputation amongst the people of Arda by being out-funnied by Taryn.

It didn't really matter just then, though. Just then, the Elf was just happy to have companions to travel with. Most of his escapades involved him and an angry group of something trying to kill him. Most recently, a large band of children tied him to a lamppost for stealing their ball. All in all, that had not been his best day. Today was different though. He had a feeling that travelling with these two would not only make him stronger, but he probably wouldn't get into trouble with a group of pre-teens.

Thal snapped out of his reverie when Taryn asked what he wanted to drink.

"Erm... Ale's fine I suppose," Thal said. "I'm not a terribly heavy drinker, so I'm not completely sure what's good around these places."

Thal looked at the man, utterly surprised at the mention of Do'riba. He had never heard of anybody going there and coming back the same as when they left. He once knew a guy, who knew a guy, who's uncle knew a guy, who's grandfather knew a guy, who's son knew two guys, who both knew three guys who went to Do'riba. The three returned a week after departing, skin deathly white, hands and fingers mangled beyong repair, faces torn and skulls showing in parts. Not only that, one was deaf, one was blind, and one was mute. Overall, it was not a fun experience for them.

"Woah woah woah WAIT!" Thal called to Taryn. "Do'riba?! The spooky place where dead people walk and... and... scary things happen? Are you nuts!?"

The half-orc grinned his approval at their choice of destination. There would almost certainly be a fight, possibly even several if he was lucky and he had heard that tombs often held the long lost treasures of ancient times. All in all, the prospect of traveling to Do'riba positively glowed with opportunity for an enterprising half-orc. Of course, there was also the possibility of agonising death and soul shredding madness, but Wurzag had always been one to take the good with the bad.

"Sounds amazin'" he said happily, "der cud be a fite an some guld an undeads ain't all dat 'ard to kills."

He shrugged, "just chops der 'eads off an mash da bits til dey stops movin!"

He rubbed his chin, "jus dunt fink about eatin' 'em after, dey dunt taste too gud," he grimaced, "I shud know."

To be fair, at the point at which he had attempted to eat the zombie he had believed it to be a more mundane corpse. It wasn't until he had taken a bite out of its thigh that it had twitched, groaned and attempted to bite him back. Wurzag wasn't used to his food attempting to eat him in return and had proceeded to mash the festering thing to a bloody pulp.

"But 'ang on, if we gots ta find anuver fing first an ye dunt know where it is, ow we gonna find it, cuz ye dunt know where it is, so ye can't find it," he realised his thought pattern was going in circles.

"So ... yeah ... where you gonna look?"

He was distracted again by the shady dealings in the corner which seemed to be reaching some sort of crisis. It looked as though the seller had finally convinced his would-be buyer of the worth of the scroll, but his potential customer did not seem terribly keen on the price being asked. There was an angry, hushed exchange and hands were on knife hilts.

It never stopped being happy hour at the Drital Qu'ellar.

Taryn returned after a few brief moments with three tankards held in one hand and two pitchers of ale, all of which he plunked down on the table before settling himself down on a stool. The look of boyish exuberance that so characterised him had gone, to be be replaced by something entirely more mature and serious.

"To take some of your questions," he said, sounding for all the world like one of his old teachers at the college, "am I nuts? Yes, Thal, I think I probably am. I went to Do'riba once before and walked out intact." Mostly intact. "Trouble is, I sort of find myself in, well, in a bit of a situation if I'm perfectly honest with you."

He took a long sip of his ale.

"It IS, as you rightly point out, my elven friend, a spooky place where dead people - and things - walk. Some of them may even manage a light jog. I suspect that at a push, they could sprint at top speed if they had something to kill at the end of it. It isn't a pleasant place, but on the whole, the dead stay at rest. It's only when you start interfering with them that things go a tad amiss."

He took another pull of his ale and turned to Wurzag.

"Good point, Wurzag, eloquently made," he said, with an absolutely dead pan expression. "I know what it is that I'm looking for, I'm just at a bit of a loss as to where I might find it. But I thought I might go home first. Back to my family's farm. I thought it was time I went through my mother's papers. When my mother died, my father put all her stuff in the attic and hasn't even so much as looked at it since her death. I think I might find a hint or two somewhere in there."

He sighed.

"The farm is just outside the village of Estolad," he explained. "Just my father, my sister and her husband there now. It's not a difficult journey by any means, but there are things on the road that oughtn't be there and I would certainly appreciate a little - shall we say - more physical approach to dealing with would-be muggers and bandits. I am, I assure you, more than capable of holding my own in a fist fight. But I am just one. If I were to travel with you two - and I would add that I think Wurzag possibly counts as two in his own right, there might be less trouble."

A much longer pause, a much deeper swig of beer.

"Truth of the matter is, my friends, I am presently in the dreadfully unfortunate situation of being soul-bound to a lich."

Thal quietly sipped his drink and looked around the bar cautiously. He noticed some sort of deal going down in a corner. He was tempted throw a chair at them, but he decided against it. Illegal dealers usually had plenty of security around them, and the Elf was not particularly in the mood to get into a barfight. Last barfight he was in, he ended up on the other side of a broken window. Not a good memory.

Returning his attention to the two at the table, Thal listened as each of his new companions spoke. Wurzag appeared to have used some sort of roundabout orc logic to figure out what Taryn had said. Thal smiled into his ale, which caused some to spill out the side and onto the floor. The Elf took a look at the spilled ale, but before he could make a move to clean it up, somebody (obviously a drunken idiot) leapt out of his seat and began to lick it up. Thal personally didn't think the drinks here were that good, but to each his own.

Finally, the Elf spoke up. "So... you know what you're looking for, but you're not sure where it is... and you think your house may hold answers?" The Elf was actually a bit confused.

"If you had the whereabouts to a... whatever it is you're looking for if you're house all these years, why did you never find it before?" Then, realizing one important detail that had been left out, the Elf said. "What exactly is it that we will be looking for?"

The Elf fell silent then, considering the prospect of Taryn's soul belonging to a lich. He wondered how that could have possibly happened, but he didn't say anything. He would find out when Taryn was ready to tell him.

Wurzag blinked and tried to wrap his brain around what he was being told. To assist in the task he took a long gulp of ale. This aided his thought process considerably and went a long way toward improving the evening. There were still no pig or pig related products in evidence however and Wurzag suspected that the mage had forgotten the food part of the deal. Sadly, it had been the part that the half-orc had been looking forward too the most. There were more pressing matters at hand however.

Slightly more pressing.

Well, other matters anyway. It was a rare day when there was something more pressing than food.

"So ... you reckon dis fing wot you dunt know wot it is, is akshully in yer 'ouse," he scratched his head and groaned, "but den 'ow duz yer know it mite be in yer 'ouse if yer dunt know wot it is?"

Another gulp of ale further lubricated the gears, at least a little.

"It cud be anyfing! 'Ow big is yer 'ouse?!"

He struck upon a sudden idea that might negate the need to travel to a backwater village altogether and get straight on with the fighting.

"It cud be in yer pocket rite now!!" He nodded sagely and giving Thal a sly wink.

The final part of Taryns explanation foxed him completely.

"Yooz dun wot?"

The word had sounded a bit like lick only with more spittle. Wurzag tried it out for size.

With spittle.

"Lisssssssssshhh!" There was a spray of foamy orc spit that rained down upon a passing halfling.

"Wot dat den? An ow duz yer ged it? Der iz a gud apffecary I know, cud clearz it rite up!"

The exchange in the corner abruptly became a tugging match between the two participants as each strove to wrest control of the coveted scroll from the other. The contest became more urgent momentarily as the pair fell to the floor in their quest for supremacy. Then there was a tearing sound, as if very old parchment was being split down the middle. It was followed almost immediately by a yellow-green flash of arcane energy and then a bemused silence. A pair of plump chickens strutted out from beneath the now empty clothes of the men and began curiously pecking around the floor.

Wurzag was an opportunist. He saw an opportunity and seized it with both hands. On this occasion it was an opportunity for dinner in the shape of a chicken. In one deft motion he swept the closest bird into his grasp, on to the table and the broke its neck. The creature flapped about weakly for a minute and then lay still. Absently he began to pluck it.

"Wot woz we sayin'?"

Then a person of questionable gender arrived carrying a platter of steaming sausages. It would seem that Taryn had not forgotten the food after all.

"You still want this," the person said in a voice like crushed gravel.

"Yeah," Wurzag nodded happily, "puts 'em down der, shud never pass up free food."

Taryn shifted his gaze from Wurzag to Thal and back again. He briefly shifted his gaze to the sudden creation (and swift demise) of a couple of chickens, having been attracted by the magical flare. He was, after all, a scholar at heart.

His two companions asked their questions and he sat quietly and listened to what they had to say, or in Wurzag's case, what they had to spray.

He made a mental note to encourage use of the phrase 'nasty undead bugger' as opposed to 'lich'. Clearly it wasn't a word that agreed with the half-orc's palate. He waited for the bar...person...to set down the plate of sausages and a second plate with still-warm bread before he spoke again.

"I shall try to keep my explanation as succinct as possible," he said, then checked himself. "That means 'brief', Wurzag." Mental note: keep it simple, stupid.

Taryn tore off a handful of bread and chewed on it for a few moments, realising as he did so that he'd neglected to eat for a little while. It was something that happened occasionally: he would get so caught up in what he was doing that tiny matters like proper eating or, in some instances, sleeping, would go out the window.

"Seven years ago," he said, "I broke all the rules of my college and travelled to Do'riba because I was too nosy for my own good. I met there a lic...a nasty undead bugger who goes by the name of Suraklin." How to put this in words that the half-orc could relate to?

"He's as hard as fecking nails, Wurzag."

Yes, that worked.

"So anyway, to cut a really long and probably quite boring story short, I told a few...rather large, honking lies to get out of a potentially life-removing situation and as a result, he demanded I bring his soul back to him. A lic...a nasty undead bugger like him has had their soul removed by black magic and it's kept in a jar. Now, it turns out that my great-great uncle stole Suraklin's jar from him. And it further turns out that my family have never mentioned much about my uncle. And so I'm going to seek my mother's papers out to find out if there might be any clues in there."

He took a breath.

"I visited the temple because I need the means to destroy the lich," he said, forgetting in his moment of anxiety to use the alternative description. "I'm not a fighter and there's a pretty good chance that I'm going to die doing it. I need to take tough guys like you along with me to back me up so I can at least take a shot." He pulled Suraklin's Bane from the makeshift holder on his back.

"This weapon connects with Suraklin's head, it'll all be over. Poof. Bye-bye Suraklin. Assuming I haven't died in the process, I get to spend the rest of my life with my slightly tarnished soul and not be bothered by thoughts of what Suraklin is doing. If I don't kill him, he will firstly take the rest of my soul and turn me into one of his undead minions and then he'll likely put in a bid for world domination. And it'll be all my fault."

He set down the bread which was largely uneaten. He'd lost his appetite.

"So I guess I understand if you boys don't want to come along with me. But if you do, and if I beat the lich and die in the process, I'd kind of like someone to bring me home. You know?"

Thal had to muster all of his self esteem not to chuckle at the orc's logic and reasoning. It actually made sense to the Elf, which was somewhat of a scary prospect. It was also a good thing that he understood the orc's way of thinking. If they were all to travel together, they would need to get to know each other to the point of almost being able to read one another's thoughts. But they would worry about that later. Right now there were two problems: Thal's rumbling stomach, and the mini-brawl going on in the corner.

The Elf turned to his two new companions as a plate of sausage was placed on the table. He let the Wurzag dig in first. It was obvious that the half-Orc was ravinous, and Thal didn't want to have his arm mistaken for a piece of sausage. After seeing that the Orc didn't immediately attack the plate, Thal grabbed a piece of sausage and made to take a bite when the argument in the corner began to escalate. Thal had had enough of their crap tonight already. He decided that he was done tolerating them.

"Shut up!" Thal yelled, tossing his sausage at the two arguing across the bar. The large hunk of meat hit one of them squarely on the forehead. Both of them instantly fell silent, obviously not wanting to challenge the Elf after the display he put on outside the bar a few minutes ago.

Turning back to the table, Thal grabbed a piece of sausage and began to eat it, listening to Taryn. The elf listened with his full attention on the young mage as he gave them a brief overview of their mission, and the reason for it. He instantly picked up on the choice of vocabulary Taryn was using, and made a mental note himself to keep it simple while talking to Wurzag. The Orc was obviously intelligent, just not book smart.

"Well," Thal said once Taryn was finished. "I'm in. I don't have anything better to do, and despite the impending doom sloshed throughout the entire mission, it could even turn out to be an enjoyable experience."

"So," Wurzag replied at last, brandishing a section of sausage, "wot yer sayin ezenshuly is dat wez got to go an find, den smash dis jar fing to let out iz joojoo and den go to da bad lands and bust iz 'ead."

He chomped down the remaining meat and continued to pluck feathers from the chicken. A small pile of soft down had already formed around the base of the table and the second chicken had begun, somewhat bizarrely to forage amongst the remnants of its counterpart. The survival instinct in once-human chickens was clearly not well developed.

"An yooz reckon dis undead fella iz well 'ard." Wurzag rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "dat means it will be a feckin' awesome fight. If yooz is gonna be doin' all da lissssh bashin' will 'e av any mates 'angin' about fer us to duff up or are we just sposed to sit around and watch?"

The last of the feathers drifted lazily to the ground and Wurzag held up the badly plucked poultry for examination. To his expert orcy eye it would suffice. Three swift tugs removed the head and feet and without further ado he bit into the warm, pink flesh of the still-attached leg. A thin stream of chicken blood spilled on to the already stained table.

"S'not bad," the half-orc commented through the meat, "bit stringy, but den it ain't completely chicken is it?" He chuckled at his cleverness and consumed another few chunks.

"An," he added waving a bloody hunk of meat absently at Thal, "I've always thought dat certain doom wud keep fings interestin'," he grinned, "yer cud do wiv a few scars, da scars makes da man, or fer you, da elf!"

Having consumed as much of the exterior chicken as he was able he began to contemplate the thorny problem of the bony carcass. With a pang of regret he realised that his sword was still in his cell at the battle arena and yet here was a situation where an unsubtle, bladed instrument was required.

"Er, as wun of yooz got a knife?"

A faint tic, barely perceptible, but definitely there, started up under Taryn's right eye and he reached down to his boot, taking a fine, ornately worked dagger, which he handed to Wurzag without so much as a word. He seemed to relax totally at the news that these two were going to accompany him.

In truth, he had steeled himself for the likelihood that they would refuse. After all, inviting some comparative strangers to come on a lich-bashing mission was hardly de rigeur and Taryn had been more than a little anxious.

It seemed, however, that honesty had been the best policy. He had told them the position regarding his link to Suraklin: the fact that he was soul bound meant that whether he liked it or not, he would have to return to the lich's side anyway. Now that he had company, in the form of the elf and half-orc - and hope, in the form of Suraklin's Bane, he began to believe, for the first time in seven years that there might just be a chance for him to come out of this situation in one piece.

He let out a huge sigh of relief.

"I'm really grateful," he said, running his hands through his hair and looking from the one to the other. "Of course, the next matter that I have to cover with you, and possibly the one that might make you reconsider, is that of...shall we say, compensation? I'm not a particularly rich man, I'm afraid - I've barely been making ends meet as it is. But how would it be if I were to pay for all meals and provisions on the journey and that any saleable goods we acquire throughout the expedition you two split between you? I would love to turn to you both right now and say 'here is twenty gold apiece, let's go' - but I cannot."

He looked faintly ashamed.

"If I had the money, I would most definitely be making such a generous offer. But I speak truth. Money is a rare commodity and I cannot stump up such cash." He reached for another hunk of the bread and looked at his two companions. "That's honesty for you. No money, no guarantee that things will work out our way and no promises. And yes, Wurzag, I suspect very much that you will have more to do than stand around watching me bash a lich. I highly suspect that he's not going to take to the idea of me destroying him very kindly, in all honesty."

The young mage smiled, but it was slightly sickly.

The Elf recoiled a bit as Wurzag waved a sausage at him, talking about scars and impending doom.

"I prefer to keep my face blemish free..." the Elf mumbled.

Thal then laughed at Taryn's apologetic monologue. Compensation? The Elf didn't remember a time in his life when he was actually payed to do something. One more money-less adventure wouldn't kill him. He hoped.

"Don't worry about money," Thal said to the young mage. "I'm sure smelly over here and I can get along fine without an extra twenty coins in our pockets. If you want to pay for meals and such, I won't object. But I'm in till the end of this little quest."

Thal wasn't sure why he agreed to go on his suicide mission. It seemed utterly stupid to help somebody he hardly knew kill a powerful "undead bugger." Something told him that he should help, though. Perhaps it was his conscience? Nah, he had never listened to that annoying little voice before. Why start now? It was something else. Thal was sure he would figure it out along the way somewhere.

"So," the Elf spoke up. "When do we leave?"

((OOC: Sorry, missed the new posts... and on top of that, i just made a crap post...))

Wurzag accepted the knife with a grin and began the messy process of carcass destruction. There was a great deal of gristle, bone breaking and giblets involved and though the overall result left a rather unpleasant mess on the table; gristle, broken bones and giblets was a fairly standard night in the Drital Qu'ellar. Finally, the half-orc looked pleased with his blade-work and proceeded to devour the last edible and probably a few inedible chunks of chicken.

He rocked back in the chair sated, at least temporarily.

Then Taryn started on about paying people for accompanying him on his mission of almost certain doom. Wurzag frowned and tried to wrap his mind around why a friend would want to pay him for the opportunity to meet new and interesting people and kill them. Usually Wurzag didn't even need an invitation to participate in such merriment. Sure, he'd never really had a friend before, never mind more than one.

The last person or indeed creature he had considered close enough to warrant the status of friend had been a one-eyed ferret that had mysteriously wandered into his cell one night. The half-orc had tried to eat the creature and the ferret had bitten him on the face in return. He'd named it Blinkin' and trained it to attack anything shorter than a human on sight. Sadly, Blinkin' had met an untimely end when he had attacked the dwarven gladiator aptly named 'Spiky' Nashrock.

Then Wurzag had eaten him. He figured it was probably what Blinkin' would have wanted.

"Well Taryn, me ole ... er ... new mate, I ain't innit fer da money," he grinned as if he had just revealed a great orcish secret. Then his grin faltered, "well, not totally anywayz, least, I ain't innit fer YOUR money."

He rocked back on the chair again.

"Yooz already sed der iz gonna be a scrap an probbly some guld," he shrugged, "dat'll do me juz fine I reckon."

He glanced at Thal.

"Certainty ov deaf, small chance ov success, what're we waitin' fer?"

Taryn was surprised - pleasantly so - at the response from his companions in relation to the subject of money. It was a thorny one indeed: he had figured that both of them, experienced as they obviously were, would be like most mercenaries and insist upon the proper remuneration for their services.

"That's...terrific," he said, eventually, feeling some of the tension flow out of the knotted muscles across his shoulders. "Really. I really appreciate that." He pushed his hair out of his eyes and relaxed back in the chair, a faint grin on his face.

"Do you know," he said, softly, "you're the first people outside of the College who I've ever told about the situation? If I'm honest, I've been a bit of an idiot and just tried to ignore the facts for the past - ah - seven years. Figured if I didn't think about it, the problem would just, y'know. Go away. Unfortunately that was a bad plan."

He exhaled.

"As to when we leave, well, I have to pay a visit to the Temple of Balance - but no disrespect, that one I will make alone. It's a moderately safe trip out there and it won't hurt me to stand up for myself a bit. I'd suggest that it won't take me more than a couple of days - time enough for the pair of you to get any weapons fixed, armour purchased, rations bought...all the other things that probably happen before a big trip - and this will be a big trip."

He reached forward for his tankard and raised it in toast.

"To friendship," he said. "And to kicking the backside of a pretty bad guy so far around the Land of the Dead he won't know what's hit him."

What was this new feeling?

It was hope.