No drink? I'll surely die yah fool of a cunt. What use am I if I'm shakin' like a leaf as we dig in tah them savages!
Bergar sits up on his makeshift cot and holds his aching head.
C'mon then! Just one snort for the laung haul.
Torvog clanks his mace on the cell bars.
You heard the music man Bergar, Yah fat oaf! No drink till we reach Helluland, so shet up!
Melkorka grins as Torvog berates his prisoner. She sneaks up behind him and places her hands gently on his neck. She begins to caress his shoulders and purrs at Torvog's cruelty.
Yesssss jail keeper..... Keep a close eye on this one. If you notice anything out of the ordinary, come to me at once.
The witch turns and snaps at Alrik.
Stay here and question the drunk further my handsome bard... Visit with your friend.... but do not lose sight of your goal. We will all drown if we do not learn how this man survives the coming disaster! Remember, the man behind bars will survive the coming storm and continue on to play his part in the struggle on Helluland. Lucky for you jailer. Your position might just save your life.
Melkorka hisses and scurries out of the room like a beast or some devil.
Torvog rakes his mace across the bars one last time anbd then smiles at Alrik.
What do you say to a game of runes? A silver a toss?
He unstraps his coin bag from his belt and jingles it in front of Alrik's face.
The two friends sit down to a game of runes. They toss some rune covered chips into the air and laugh together as the runes fall where they may. As usual, Alrik takes Torvog's silver and the both men eye Berger suspiciously, uncertain what part this drunken fool would have to play in any epic tale.