Baldur is handed two steaming mugs of Witch Piss.
Naimar sees Baldur and decides to keep him and “His Brother” company.
Hrothgar’s all in favour of an ale or two, but no more, and is never off duty when it comes to watching Cyrus’s back, which means he is not always the most scintillating taproom company.
Denemont will buy himself a mug of beer, then retire to a quiet table in the rear where he can observe the goings-on and eavesdrop on the other patrons.
With Hrothgar and Naimar both downstairs (even if only temporarily in the former’s case) a large patron, a giant of a man emboldened by drink, stumbles to the bar and announces to the pair, “Why if it ain’t a pair o’ farfolk pixies stumbled into tha Pissin’ Witch,” in reference to their red hair. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say we’re bein’ invaded. An’ such fine armor you wear. I hope ye thanked the Bunes ye likely pilfered 'em from.”
Choke rolls his eyes at the exchange and announces he’s retiring for sleep before heading upstairs. Cutter watches from the far end of the bar, a smirk visible beneath his tangled beard.
“I hope ye don’t get any funny ideas 'bout the women 'ere. If ye find ye can’t contain yerselves there’s some ginger ponies in yonder stable.” The peasant’s friends, at first nervous about the exchange, now burst into laughter.
Most of the people here are farmers and miners. Talk is centered on several new shafts that have been opened beneath Ironhall castle at the suggestion of a mountainfolk earthtalker[sup]1[/sup].
1 - Earthtalking is a type of dowsing practiced by the northern tribes.
To Naimar: “Thou must not mind his manners, friend. Belike his father were his brother, else his sister were his mother; 'tis the common way hereabouts, and makes for dull-witted children - moreover they be most peculiarly short in the pizzle, and must flap their lips extra to hide it.”
Hrothgar drains his ale-jack and, locking his gaze on the large peasant, turns his vessel face-down on the table in the universal gesture.
Baldur is amused by the exchange going on near him, but decides to ignore any further developments. He orders another beer for Naimar and two more for himself. He takes those two and brings them upstairs and finds Cyrus. When he does, he offers him a beer and says, “I apologize for brother’s harsh words earlier. While he’s always been one to say his mind, it’s unlike him to so casually offend one’s honor. I fear this journey is bringing out the worst in him. In any case, I hope this incident won’t unduly darken what has been years of friendship.”
Cyrus, to Baldur - “I just don’t see where this is going. The betrayals and counter-betrayals and intrigue are lost on me. I hope you know what you’re doing, letting Wilfred walk freely among us. But as always, I’ll speak my mind, but defer to your judgment.”
Cyrus accepts Baldur’s beer offering, and drinks at a casual pace. “To Godreck,” Cyrus toasts. “Rest in peace.”
Naimar finishes off his beer and takes the one Baldur offers him with a thanks. “I always find it sad when someone who’s whole life is so insignificant that they have to start fights with random strangers, who are in every way their better, just to feel a moment of self worth. I pity you with every once of my being.”
The massive peasant glowers back at Hrothgar, his calloused fingers curling into fists. With a surprising amount of speed he suddenly rushes forward, both hands outstretched for Hrothgar’s face. Red-beard quickly throws himself back from the bar, empty ale jack in hand, with which he delivers a heavy blow across the back of the peasant’s head. There’s a sickening crunch* and the man crumples against the counter, hands scrambling wildly for a grip, before he slips to the floor. He remains conscious but dazed. Checking his ale jack Hrothgar sees its base bears a small smear of blood though it is otherwise undamaged.
Cutter is already on his feet and moving towards the stunned crowd, visibly eager to get in some violence of his own.*
So are you all decided that this is what you’re doing?
I don’t know, should we be? .
Just kidding. I’m pretty sure we are. Except for we don’t know who is sending the letter or how. Oops.
You should probably get on that. 
To which Baldur responds with a brief yet warm “Thank you cousin.”
“To Father, and to Uncle Godwin.” he replies. After a few moments of silence, he takes his leave and goes over to Henry.
“Young-brother, I’ve been thinking. Who will send the letter and how?”
Cyrus answers, “I know that question was not meant for me, but I think the peasant girl should send it. We don’t want to give a hostile impression, and her pretty face might get her an audience with Ironhall, where anyone else in this miserable group would be turned away. Also, I’m certain Wilfred is watching us, but he might have a lazier eye turned on the peasants.”
:Sohan, who has been rather quiet, speaks up to the group:
“I agree. Tell me what you need me to do and I’ll do it.”
“Well said. I’m sure brother thinks so too.” Baldur looks down and checks his pocket to see a sleeping Týr. “I mean, no sense waking him for something he by and large agreed upon already.”
“Henry will write the letter. You use your, erm…charms, to get an audience with Ironhall, and deliver the message to him. Answer any questions he has as truthfully as you can, and make it clear that Wilfred is with us, and watching our every move. Also, make sure he understands that the Baroness Shedlund herself sanctioned this deception against him, but avoid giving away that we know about the artifact.”
Fine. I’m educated enough that if you like, I can help construct the letter itself as well.