Warm Mead

Oslo enters the lobby of The Safe Place having just dried the underwater temple off of him. Two brushes with death in one day was a little too much to ask. What he needed was some good mead. A mug of mead, a warm fire, and some warm company. He also needed rest, and plenty of it – but a man needs his priorities, and mead definitely came first.

A few coppers for a mug was a happy price to pay. The fire hosted more people than he’d have liked, so Oslo stayed at the counter. From there he watched the people and the happy chaos of conversation – it was a full night, even for the Haven. Oslo watched it all as he sipped on his mead. The halfling wasn’t feeling exactly somber, but he certainly wasn’t boisterous. Not tonight.

At least, not like Grond was.

If the sheer presence of the dwarf hadn’t drawn everyone’s attention, then his voice certainly did. The tavern damn near explodes as the patrons egg him on, and Oslo just smiles when he hears the dwarf’s recounting of their tale. Before long the dwarf claims a table, and Oslo takes another sip. Warm mead and warm company, right?

A few more coppers remain a happy price to pay, and the halfling invites himself to Grond’s table – mead in one hand and ale in the other. The two had broken bread over bloodshed, and that alone was camaraderie enough. Oslo takes a seat and slides the ale over, exchanging a cursory nod with the dwarf. Just as Oslo lifts his mug to his mouth he stops short, casting a curious glance at the dwarf’s fare. His eyes narrow, then he turns knowingly to the dwarf.

“What are you eating there, Grond? Or… do I even want to know?”


Valarian Valarian

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