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Visit The *EVEN NEWER* Barrow-Downs Photo Page |
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#1 |
Cryptic Aura
Join Date: May 2002
Posts: 5,991
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Ladies and Gentleman of the Gaming Fora, Dwarves and Elves, Hobbits and Orcs, Creatures Fell and Angelic and All Souls in between,
Welcome to the Vineyard Tavern, the second Inn in Rohan devoted to quality improvisational gaming. The Inns are designed to provide gamers the opportunity to explore new characters and try out game ideas either in preparation for developing game proposals or when waiting for new games to appear. The Vineyard Tavern differs from The White Horse Inn in that it is set before the Lord of the Rings and outside Rohan. This setting, we hope, will give gamers a chance to explore facets of Middle-earth beyond Lord of the Rings. It is, however, in all other respects, like The White Horse. The Programme of Entertainments Setting: One year after the defeat of Smaug the Dragon, in the newly built town which replaced Esgaroth, a little northward from where fell the dragon. (See the chapter ?Fire and Water? in The Hobbit) The year: 2942 T.A. (Third Age) (See Appendix B of LOTR) The 'Regulars': Finnian, the Innkeeper (Imladris) Rochadan, the Stablemaster and daughter Sallie (Ealasaide) Ćdhral, serving girl (Nerindel) Kannah, oddjobs (Orual) Bethberry, itinerant healer and guest, Bęthberry The plot so far: rebuilding Lake-town, aiding the dwarves to rebuild Erebor and Bard to restore Dale; learning how dwarves, elves and men can co-exist. The Patrons: Barrow Downs gamers who wish to explore Middle earth before the War of the Ring. You can game at all the Inns--The Green Dragon, The White Horse, and the Vineyard Tavern--but feel free to create new characters for the Vineyard. Last edited by Bęthberry; 07-07-2004 at 08:58 AM. |
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#2 |
Cryptic Aura
Join Date: May 2002
Posts: 5,991
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Anyone whose posts can meet the minimum standard for gaming in The Shire may post in The Vineyard Tavern. Please make sure you are familiar with The Redbook of Westmarch (in The Shire) and The Golden Hall (here in Rohan); these treads provide valuable information about gaming at the Barrow Downs.
No SAVES are allowed in the Inn. The Vineyard Tavern is run as an interactive, improvisational game. You can plan events via PM or email but the main point is to take your cue from the posts which precede yours. Please read them carefully so your posts reflect current events, the time, the weather, and who other characters are and what they are doing. Only the Innkeeper or the Moderator can move the Timeframe forward. Gaming at the Vineyard is open but playing in Rohan games is restricted to gamers who have shown they can can game responsibly and reliably, demonstrating the basic techniques of interactive role playing and writing in clean, clear, correct English. (No chatspeak is allowed.). Please see the next post for the lists of Rohan Game Players and Game Managers. Last edited by Bęthberry; 07-10-2004 at 09:24 PM. |
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#3 |
Cryptic Aura
Join Date: May 2002
Posts: 5,991
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Anyone can game at The Vineyard Tavern as long as their posts meet the minimum standard for writing as described in The Shire.
Rohan is the place where gamers build upon the skills learnt in The Shire and prepare to become fully independent gamers in Gondor. (It is still a moderated forum but gamers are expected to be more independent and responsible ) For that reason, we have two levels of gamers in Rohan, based upon the level of successful gaming experience in The Shire. People who have participated responsibly and reliably in Shire games and who have demonstrated at least the potential for creative, imaginative, excellent writing skills are Rohan Game Players. People who have founded and run a game successfully in The Shire have full status as Game Founder (or Manager) as well as Player. These gamers have proven they can maintain a level of enthusiasm and interest over the duration of a game and can motivate their fellow game participants. Please note that Rohan games are owned by everyone who participates in them. While the Game Founder (or Manager) has an idea of how the game is plotted and structured, all gamers participate in creating the story by writing it. For the full list of Game Founders and Game Players, please read the thread The Golden Hall Last edited by Bęthberry; 09-07-2004 at 09:48 AM. |
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#4 |
Cryptic Aura
Join Date: May 2002
Posts: 5,991
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Finian, still surrounded by lingering morning mists, drew his bow to his ear and aimed the arrow at a shaggy bale of straw. A finger of dawn dropped upon it and it shimmered, transforming into a great golden dragon with translucent wings of aurora beauty. Yellow flames, flecked with orange and streaked with crimson, burst from its fang-ridden mouth, burning the innocent town below, destroying the wooden huts. Pillars of fire erupted from the dried thatch. Children screamed. Women and men dived into the safety of the water. But a lone man -- nay, it was a young boy not yet into full manhood -- stood his ground: he alone dared face the golden wyrm. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled the bow string taut, drawing the arrow to his ear. The dragon soared through the sky as a burning star alight with dawn"s fire, radiant with brilliant liht save for a gaping hole below the heart. The arrow leaped from the bow with a shrill cry and plunged itself into the black hole. With an agonized roar, the dragon toppled from the sky to drop into the lake below. Bubbles rose to the lake"s smooth surface, the agitated water hissed and steamed, and the --
"I would think the innkeeper of the Vineyard Tavern would be behind the bar instead of staring at a bale of straw as if it meant to kill you," said Rochadan, a smile drifting about his face. Finian jerked his head away and blinked at the stable master. Rochadan and his father had been good friends, and since his father had died in Smaug's attack, the stable master had helped him establish a new Vineyard Tavern. The boy stared at the stable master, looking into his rugged face, his deep brown eyes. Then he grinned, and said, "Then the guests are indeed foolish to stir this early about." Rochadan flashed a grin and then said, "Ćdhral was looking for your sister, Ćrosylle. She is not in the Tavern." Blast it. The girl was always disappearing. "I will find her soon," he said, rolling his eyes. Drat. Patrons came first. They always came first in the business, his father had told him. Why did she always have to disappear? Finian was sure it was because she knew he could not drop everything and rush to find her. She liked to be alone, doing her strange antics, thinking her strange thoughts. Still pondering whether he should find her or not, Finian spared a glance at the newly built and refurnished Vineyard Tavern. He ran his fingers through his hair and nodded with a broad smile at the sturdy building. His father had been Innkeeper before him in old Esgaroth but he perished in a spout of Smaug's flame when wyrm had descended onto Lake-Town, leaving him as the new innkeeper and the sole provider for his younger sister, Ćrosylle. Finian shook his head: that had been a fleeting year ago. It had been a busy time, with many maimed and injured. Bęthberry the healer had helped and then, as an old family friend, stayed on to attend to his sister, but the illness was a strange one which seemed beyond healing at times. Yet Bethberry stayed on, becoming a kindly ear for any at the Inn and offering advice and herbal remedies to those who needed it, and becoming a part of the new Vineyard Tavern. The Vineyard Tavern was not large, but neither was it small. The wood was light pine, with a thatch roof. The Tavern's sign, with a cluster of grapes painted on the top left corner and elves rafting upon a river in the bottom right hand corner, dangled from a projecting beam of wood. His father, he hoped, would be proud of him. Forgoing for a small time the search for his sister, Finain, with another small sigh, marched into the inn, and looked about him. Not many people were gathered in the Common Room but that was to be expected. The people were busy planting for the season. Mainly the men were traders dropping by for a pint of ale or a goblet of wine before continuing their trip down the river. Then they would return for a few days, rafts laden with wealth, seeds, produce and news. A strong smell of spice and roasted meat wafted through the common room and Finian, with a smile, dashed to the kitchen and poked his head through the door. Ćdrhal was busy stirring a great iron pot. Ćdrhal towered; her hair a loose braid down her back. She heard his clatter and, turning her head, said, "We are having a bit of eggs and bacon, Finian." "We have not had bacon for a very long time," said Finian with a grin. She merely smiled at him. "We do not have as many hungry guests this morning as we normally do," said Finian -- not like when my father was the innkeeper -- "but we have enough." He nodded his head, a half smile about his lips. Leaving the kitchen, he stationed himself behind the bar, talking to the occasional customer who ordered a frothing mug of ale. The thought of his sister nagged at his mind. He should go out and look for her?but the patrons of the Inn needed to be satisfied first. Last edited by Bęthberry; 07-07-2004 at 09:18 AM. |
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#5 |
Shadow of Tyrn Gorthad
Join Date: Sep 2003
Location: The Fencing Lyst
Posts: 810
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Rochadan
At the hitching post outside the stables, Rochadan bent down over the foreleg of a horse that had just come into his care by way of a newly arrived guest at the Vineyard Tavern. He could tell at a glance that the horse favored the leg and was not surprised to discover some swelling above the fetlock. It was probably just a slight sprain, he decided, but he would have a word with the horse's owner as soon as possible. Both forelegs would benefit from being wrapped at least for a few days. He straightened and patted the animal's neck. Looking across the inn yard, he could see the new innkeeper, Finian, standing with a bow in his hand and a look of cold determination in his eyes as he prepared to put to death a nearby hay bale. Rochadan smiled and walked in the young man's direction.
"I would think the innkeeper of the Vineyard Tavern would be behind the bar instead of staring at a bale of hay as if it meant to kill you," he said pleasantly. Jolted out of his daydream, Finian turned quickly and blinked at the stablemaster. Then he grinned. "Then the guests are indeed foolish to stir this early about." Rochadan laughed. It was indeed early, but the Vineyard's guests had a tendency not only to be up and about at all hours, but to expect food, drink, and service as well. It would do the young innkeeper well to bear that in mind, thought Rochadan, but he did not press the subject. Finian had proven himself quite dedicated over the past year, so a little grumbling from the young fellow was not only acceptable, but understandable. On the other hand, there was something Rochadan had been meaning to tell Finian. He paused to think what it was. He had been so absorbed in finding the cause of the lameness in the guest's horse that he had nearly forgotten the conversation he had had with Ćdhral, one of the serving girls, just a short while earlier. She had been looking for Ćrosylle, Finian's sister, and been unable to find her. The girl had a way of turning up missing from time to time. Usually she could be found again fairly quickly, but, with her odd ways, her wandering off was always troubling. "Ćdhral was looking for your sister, Ćrosylle," he told Finian. "She is not in the Tavern." "I will find her soon," answered Finian and, taking his bow, walked off in the direction of the door to the common room. Rochadan watched him go thinking how much the boy had matured in the year since his father, Aeron, had died. Before the coming of the dragon a year ago, Rochadan would never have believed a happy-go-lucky scamp like Finian capable of running the Vineyard, much less rebuilding it from the ground up. Having seen the innkeeper killed and the inn go up in flames, Rochadan had been certain that he would be out of a job and be forced to take his daughter and move on. To his surprise, when he had returned with the rest of the men from fighting at Bard's side in the Battle of the Five Armies, he found Finian hard at work with plans to rebuild the place. He took heart from Finian's faith and threw himself into the work of rebuilding the inn with a sort of energy that he didn't think he could muster anymore. Between the two of them, they had done an admirable job of it, too. Rochadan was as proud of - and as attached to - the inn as if it were his own. After all, the Vineyard Tavern had been his home for three years now, ever since the death of his wife, Tristana, in childbirth. Prior to her passing, Rochadan had been a long distance messenger, carrying mail and dispatches from Esgaroth to wherever they needed to go throughout Middle Earth. When she had died, leaving him a widower at twenty-six with despair in his heart and a tiny infant on his hands, he had given up his life as a messenger and taken the job as stablemaster at the inn. Looking back, he saw Aeron's offer of the job at such a crucial moment in his life as the one thing that had saved him. Without it, he hated to think what might have become of him or his daughter. After Aeron's death, Rochadan had mourned him as if the innkeeper had been Rochadan's own father, rather than his employer. Now, as the oldest member of the staff aside from the cook, he felt a sense of responsibility toward the young people who now ran the Vineyard. He would do whatever he could to help them make a success of the place. He owed it to Aeron. Returning to the hitching post where he had left the injured horse, he glanced toward the patch of grass just outside the stable door where his three year old daughter sat making mud pies out of a bucket. He had set her down there nearly an hour earlier and was pleased to see that she was still there, singing softly to herself as she carefully garnished each mud pat with grass and bits of loose straw. Keeping one eye on her as he worked, he groomed the injured horse and led him inside to a clean box stall. Coming back out of the stable, Rochadan leaned on the fence just over the little girl, watching her dark head as it bent over her work. "Well, precious Sallie," he said at last. "It's nigh on breakfast time." The little girl sighed without looking up. "It's not pre-shus Sallie," she corrected him patiently. "It's Princess Sallie. Princess Sallie Spitfire...Trouble." Rochadan suppressed a chuckle. "Apologies, my lady." He knelt down in the grass beside her. "But I don't think folks around here will hold with much fire spitting just now, especially not in light of our recent past. What other trouble have you got?" She looked up at her daddy and smiled radiantly. "I made mud pies. For the kitties. They're very hungry." Rochadan smiled in return, but there was a sadness in his eyes. Since Tristana's death, Salaidhwyn, or Sallie as he had called her almost since birth, had been the light of his life. Nonetheless, it pained him sometimes to look at her as the little girl's smile carried within it the image of her mother. And then there was that dragging leg. A breech birth, her left leg had been broken by the midwife during the delivery that Tristana had not survived, and the break had not healed correctly. As a result, Sallie had been left with a severe limp. The healers all said that it would grow less noticeable as the child grew older, but Rochadan worried for her anyway. His smiled fading, he reached out and touched his daughter's cheek. In response, she stood and placed one small, muddy hand on either side of his face. Leaning forward, she gave him a kiss on the mouth. "Don't be sad, Papa," she said softly, her lower lip beginning to tremble. "Don't be sad." Remembering himself, Rochadan let his smile broaden again. He winked at his daughter and let one hand stray very close to the largest mud pie. "Did you save one for me? I'm very hungry, too." The little girl shrieked and caught her father's hand. "No, Papa! Stop!" she giggled as the two of them struggled playfully over the mud pies. Finally, he swept her up into his arms and, settling her on one hip, walked toward the door to the inn's kitchen. While he needed to get some breakfast for Sallie, he also wondered if anyone had managed to find Ćrosylle yet. If not, he would have a look around for her himself. He opened the door to the kitchen, completely forgetting about the muddy handprints that graced both of his cheeks. |
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#6 |
Vice of Twilight
Join Date: Nov 2002
Location: on a mountain
Posts: 1,121
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Cynan Harwell walked slowly and carefully along the road, with his arm about the shoulders of a little boy, perhaps nine years old, who was trying both bravely and vainly to fight away tears. Cynan himself seemed to be like most boys of his age, one-and-ten years. He seemed to conceal an infinite store of energy and mischief, for while he walked with slow deliberate steps a little glint in his grey eyes betrayed his real personality. His hair was a sandy brown and he had a few light freckles on his slightly tanned face. He was just beginning to grow taller, though he did not look any older than his age. Thus far, the normal little boy.
His companion was much different to look at, and it cannot be doubted that he received a few stares as he walked unsteadily down the road. The right side of his face was badly burned, and his right arm fell uselessly at his side. His right leg dragged along behind him and every step seemed to cause him considerable pain. There could be no shadow of a doubt as to where he had received these burns. The left side of his face, however, showed something else. There were some burns but they were faint, not nearly as prominent as those on his right side, and if one took the time to stop staring and then averting their eyes and staring again, but looked at him with a clear steady gaze they might see that his features were fair, and kind, and also contained some nobility, but not in the sense that he was of a high rank. But this, sadly, was only for the keen observer to see, and the casual would be horrified at the burns on his face, and the way he limped, and how his right eye was squinted and narrow, causing it to be of an uneven size with the left eye. The keen observer might also notice with what compassion and tenderness Cynan guided the little burnt fellow, moving especially slow so the burnt would not be injured, and supporting him strongly with his arm yet not causing him any pain by too firm a grip. For Cynan was a compassionate boy at heart, despite his love for causing mischief, and when he had seen the little fellow lying curled up on the street crying he had felt a surge of pity and had taken it upon himself to care for him. Yes, the keen observer would also see that Cynan had known the boy for only ten minutes. A year ago, when the dragon Smaug had descended upon his home and devastated it, Cynan found himself left without a father, and his older sister had died, though his younger two brothers and three sisters had survived. His mother, too, had lived, but she had been sick ever since, weeping in grief, and Cynan had heard whisperings from the neighbors the she was dying of a broken heart. He felt that both were ridiculous... his mother was not, of course, dying, and nobody ever died of a broken heart. And so, ridiculous. Cynan felt comforted when he saw the sign with the words The Vineyard Inn written upon hanging above the door. In the days before Smaug had come Cynan's father had often gone to that same Inn to meet with others and take a mug of ale after a long, weary day. Cynan himself did not know any about the Inn and had never seen the Inn before, but when he saw the name old recollections stirred in him and he remembered how his father had spoken of it. Here he would surely find a chair to set this poor little boy down in, and perhaps a bit of rag to dry his eyes. And when Cynan thought of rags he looked sorrowfully at the ragged clothes the little boy wore. Pushing open the door, he helped the boy up the steps, and the little fellow whimpered softly under his breath. Cynan felt pity overcome him again, and then he pulled a chair out from a table and sat the boy down in it. The latter seemed relieved at this opportunity of rest and ran a dirty sleeve across his eyes, brushing the tears away. Looking up at Cynan, he said solemnly, in a voice full of gratitude, "Thank you sir. Thank you so very much." "It is nothing at all," Cynan said lightly, sitting down himself. "Nothing at all." He did not speak for a moment but looked with friendliness into the younger boy's eyes, and then he leaned forward slightly in a comradely way. "I hope you will not resent my asking the question," he said, "but I should very much like to know how you came to be lying on the road in tears." The boy looked confused for a moment, and then his burnt face cleared a little and he spoke, though very slowly. "Well, sir, my master grew upset with me." "Upset?" "Yes, sir. I had been clumsy and spilled things." Cynan felt a sensation of horror creep over him and though he felt he knew the answer very well, he asked, "What happened then?" "Well, sir, he... he beat me." A shudder went through the boy's body, and the tears filled in his eyes again. "And then he threw me out in the street." "Well!" cried Cynan, indignation burning his voice. "Well! say I again! If the mean fellow threw you out of his place it seems to be a grand thing entirely. More's the pity to him, but you should be glad rid of him." "Oh." The boy shook his head with a sad little smile. "It isn't the first time it has happened. He will want me back as he has oft before." Cynan was startled at this, but he did not lose his power of speech. "Whatever induced you to go to work for such a horrible man?" he questioned, for he was quite certain that the man was horrible. No good man could ever beat a poor, burnt little boy and then throw him out. If the boy was clumsy, was it not natural, as he had only one hand to use and he could not walk well? "I could go nowhere else," the boy said. "When the dragon came a year ago my mother and father were killed and also my brother. I, as you see, was rendered useless by these burns. No one would take me to work because I could not do much." "And so," Cynan said, "the only one who would take you was a wicked man who could not find anyone prior because of his wickedness." "Indeed, sir." "And so you must go back later today?" "Yes, sir." Cynan fell silent and began to ponder this. He found it quite ridiculous that this boy should work for such a man, and he found it outrageous. Yet he himself could do nothing. He had been searching for work himself for the past few weeks. His father had owned a considerable wealth when he was killed, and the family had managed on this money for a year, but Cynan was beginning to see that it would not last forever, and he took it upon himself as the eldest to go find work, as his mother was sick in bed. "Tell me," he said, "why do you work for this man, aside from that he was the only place of work. You have no family to provide for (more's the pity, though), and surely you could find someone who would be willing to take care of you. There are some very kindhearted people hereabouts." "I have found no one," said the boy, "and I also wish to earn as much money as I can. I hardly spend any of it, but beg for my meals in the streets. I want to have a little bit of fortune set aside in the case that I ever find my little sister. She is only six years old, if she is alive, and she became lost when the dragon struck. I have not found her since. I... I want to have some money if I ever find her, so she might have a home and some food." "You," said Cynan with genuine admiration, "are a very good sort of boy. I am most pleased to meet you. Please, won't you tell me your name?" "I am called Andhun," said the boy. Cynan took the boy's good hand in his own and held it in a gentle, friendly clasp. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance," he said, "and I hope we shall be good friends." A little smile flickered on the boy's face and he said, "I should very much like it, sir." "Well then, we shall." And the two settled back in their chairs in comradely silence. |
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#7 |
The Melody of Misery
Join Date: Aug 2002
Location: The Island of Conclusions (You get there by jumping!)...
Posts: 1,147
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Yearning for dark, dreading the dawn...
She walked with no one beside her, no one behind her, and just one companion before her down the roads and paths of Lake-Town. The young woman watched the people of the town rebuilding this and that as she passed by them, but her eyes and face remained emotionless even in the sight of destruction. She was aware of the disaster that had befallen the area a year before, but the lady had seen and heard of stranger occurances in her years of traveling. Her years did not number many, when compared to others, but years feel long when days mean nothing and only the nights matter.
Rolled pieces of parchment protruded from the flap of the pack that she had slung across her back, but she held no other belongings in her hands. Her lone companion ran up ahead, panting cheerfully before the woman. His shaggy, ebony hair gleamed in the bright sunlight and his chocolate brown eyes showed naught but happiness as he led his mistress on. The young lady looked down at her dog, her only companion, and smiled at his lively nature. The woman pushed her own raven hair back behind her ears, the loose curls twisting easily behind and out of her face, curling down to her shoulder blades. The linen skirt she wore tattered at the hem, falling near to the middle of her calves and revealing her black traveling boots. She had rolled up her tunic sleeves earlier that morning, letting her forearms take in the warmth. Her dark skin resembled the color of wet sand, and she basked in the sunlight. “That is well, Grimm,” She murmured to her dog when he came to walk briskly at her side. She scratched behind his pointed ears as she looked back up into the sky. Her eyes squinted in the bright light. “Yes, Grimm, it will be a good night for me tonight. There is not a cloud in the sky, and I will be able to watch. First, we must find a place to stay.” The dark dog barked in reply, running a few feet ahead of the woman. She looked at the roofs of all the houses, eyeing them carefully and taking in all the details. Many were thatched, which brought a smile to her face. Others had not been replaced and were mere holes revealing the insides of the house to the watching sky above. When she saw the sign for the Vineyard Tavern, her eyes quickly darted up to the thatched roof. The slope seemed generous enough and did not rise too terribly high, though it sloped upwards to a point. Nodding, the girl pushed the door open and walked into the tavern. Her animal companion, Grimm, followed behind her, close enough for his wet nose to touch along the hem of her skirt. Sitting down in the first empty seat she found, the girl sighed and pulled her pack off her back. She bent down to where Grimm sat obediently, patting his head reverently. “I hope they allow dogs here,” his owner, the young lady called Kellan, muttered gently to her animal friend. Last edited by Aylwen Dreamsong; 07-07-2004 at 12:50 PM. |
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#8 |
Tears of the Phoenix
Join Date: Jun 2003
Location: Putting dimes in the jukebox baby.
Posts: 1,453
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Nerindel's post :
A young woman carefully cracked several large eggs into an iron cooking pot that sat over the log-burning stove in the kitchen of The Vineyard Tavern. The young woman was Ćdhral, the Taverns kitchen assistant. However, at present the inn was short a cook and Ćdhral was forced to assume the position until an adequate replacement could be found, but she never complained in fact she rather quite enjoyed preparing the taverns meals and as yet, there had been no complaints. Her face was red from the heat of the stove but she paid it no heed and carried on diligently, adding milk to the eggs and stirring the pots contents into a scrambled consistency. The smell of sizzling bacon wafted up from the oven, fresh bread and rolls cooled by the open window and now the eggs where almost done, she allow herself a satisfied grin as she removed the eggs from the heat and took the bacon from the oven. Setting the bacon aside, she wiped her brow with the back of her hand, tucked a loose strand of escaped dark hair behind her ear and returned to give the eggs one final stir. A sudden clatter from behind her made her start and she turned her head to see a greasy mop of dark hair poke through the door that connected the kitchen to the common room of the Tavern. It was only Finian the young proprietor of The Vineyard Tavern, “We are having a bit of eggs and bacon this morning, Finian,” she smiled. “We have not had bacon for a very long time” Finian grinned. She smiled back with a slight nod of her head, it had been a long time but the butcher’s young enigmatic son had offered her some at a reasonable price and she knew it would go down well. “We do not have as many hungry guests this morning as we normally do,” Finian said, and although he did not say it, she knew that he was thinking of when his father was alive and the tavern was near bursting at the seams with guests. “But we have enough.” He nodded a half smile about his lips. Ćdhral watched him retreat into the common room, it had been a year since Aeron had been lost in a spout of Dragons fire and the original tavern crushed under the belly of the beast. But even in his grieve Finian had been determined to rebuild the Tavern, though he had not been sure how. But they all helped out where they could. Rochadan like the other able-bodied men of Esgaroth had gone with Bard and the elves to the lonely mountain and left little Sallie in her care, but on his return, he helped Finian to rebuild the Tavern. It had taken them months but she knew that if Aeron were able to see what they had accomplished he would be proud. She just wished that Finian could see it and believe a little in himself. She had to admit that it had been strange at first thinking of Finain as the new innkeeper, he was two years younger than her and like a brother, all the staff where like family to her, even the inn’s server Kannah who’s dry humour was almost always last on her. Finian’s father Aeron had taken her in almost three years ago, when her grandfather a regular of the tavern had passed away leaving her an orphan at the age of sixteen. She was always grateful to Aeron, for the opportunity he had given her and looking up to him as a father. His passing hit her hard, but she had to be strong for the others. Giving Finian the support he looked for, comforting and consoling Ćrosylle and looking after Sallie for Rochadan, Even Kannah had taken strength from her, though she knew her friends pride would never allow her to admit it. But she did not grudge any of them, they where her family and if they needed her to be strong then she would be strong, she had grown a lot in the past year they all had, but with it their bonds of friendship had also grown stronger. “Daydreaming again, now there‘s a surprise!” The Sarcastic remark caught her of guard and she blinked as she snapped out of her thoughts. Kannah walk across the kitchen floor towards her an empty tray in her hands waiting impatiently for it to be filled. Ćdhral merely smiled as she spooned the scrambled eggs on to plates and sided them with bacon, and continued to listen as Kannah went on to describe how one young man had had the audacity to ask her if she was having a nice day. She bit her bottom lip to suppress a laugh as she put the bread and rolls into baskets and heaped the orders carefully upon Kannah’s tray and as soon as she had, Kannah turned and pushed her way back into the common room. She let a quiet laugh escape her lips as she turned back to the stove, Kannah was always amusing company, even if she was a little sarcastic and dry, but Ćdhral never took any of the woman’s biting retorts to heart. It was just the way Kannah was and she had learned to accept that that was just the way it was. The rear door to kitchen opened and in walked the Taverns Stable Master, Rochadan with little Sallie firmly attached to his hip. “Good Morning, Ada!” The little girl smiled brightly. “And good morning to you my lady,” she grinned, wiping her hands on her apron and dipping a playful curtsy, which made the little girl giggle. “Oh my, what have you two been up too?” she laughed seeing the mud that caked Sallie’s hands and the stable master’s face. “Making mud pies for the kitties.” Sallie laughed as she too saw the mud caked to her fathers face. “What!” Rochadan exclaimed defensively now that the two of them were laughing at him. “It seems the princess has bestowed a gift upon you noble knight, in fact two gifts good sir!” she laughed. Taking a cloth from the table and soaking it in the warmed water in the kitchens stone sink and wringing it out she offered it to Rochadan who had now remembered the muddy handprints on his cheeks and was playing along. She listened to father and daughter as they washed for breakfast and she set the table for the Taverns staff, several times Kannah returned to fill her tray, but then was gone again as quickly. They took meals in shifts; so that there was always someone waiting on the Taverns guests, once she had eaten, she would relieve Kannah and Finian so that they could eat. “Did you find Ćrosylle?” Rochadan asked as he and Sallie returned to sit at the table. “No, I had hoped she would return for breakfast, but ….” her dark eyes wandered to the door as if she half expecting the troubled young girl to walk through it as if nothing was wrong. “I will go look for her!” Rochadan said rising from his seat. “Thank you Rochadan, I am worried about her, you know how she can get.” The Stable master nodded his understanding. “I won’t be long, save me some bacon!” he winked to Sallie and lifted a warm roll as went out to look for Ćrosylle. Ćdhral sat down to have some breakfast and to keep Sallie Company until her father returned, hopefully with Ćrosylle in tow. |
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#9 |
Tears of the Phoenix
Join Date: Jun 2003
Location: Putting dimes in the jukebox baby.
Posts: 1,453
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Finian leaned his elbows on the counter, a grin upon his face as he saw three people come in the Tavern. Two boys (it was too bad that they were boys as they probably would not be too interested in the Tavern's ale, the finest there was as his sister exuberantly told all the guests who came into the Tavern) and a woman with a dog.
The two boys looked hot and tired and one of them was helping the other into a chair. Wheeling around into the kitchen he went to one of the many cupboards and rummaged around the bottles. There was some fine wine left but two boys would not be interested in that either he supposed, a bottle of stuff that smelled very nasty (which was probably a bit of Bethberry's medicine), and, oh yes, here it was. Some of last year's cider. He took the bottle, poured the glasses full, and, with the bottle tucked under one arm, he strode towards the boy's table and set the glasses and bottle down. "A bit of cider for you boys," he said. One of them was badly burned. A cripple no doubt. Shame. The boy could have been strong and bold. But he seemed to have a cowering look, a look of fear flitting through his eyes. "Excuse me, sir," said the one who wasn't burned. "I have no money." Finian rolled his eyes and said, "If you don't drink it it will languish in that old cupboard until it will be of no use to anyone. Everybody pretty much orders ale or a bit of wine. In fact, you would be doing me a great favour if you would just finish it for me." He shot a grin at them and then made his way to the table which the woman with the dog sat in the shadows. "What can I do for you miss?" Finian asked. Gesturing towards the dog, he added, "And I am sure that Ćdhral can find some scraps and a bone or two for your dog if you so desire it." |
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#10 |
The Melody of Misery
Join Date: Aug 2002
Location: The Island of Conclusions (You get there by jumping!)...
Posts: 1,147
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Kellan looked down at Grimm, then angled her dark gaze up to the man that had spoken to her. She smiled faintly, and winked at her dog. “Yes. I am sure that Grimm would enjoy some scraps…and perhaps a bowl of water, if it does not trouble you much? We have traveled a long, long way. He is weary.” The man nodded simply at the request.
“Anything for you then, miss?” the Innkeeper inquired, and the young woman thought for a moment. “A cup of steaming water, and that is all. I will have proper payment,” Kellan trailed off, and the man walked away as she searched through her bag for her money. Kellan shuffled the parchments aside, searching valiantly for the last of her coins. Grimm sniffed suspiciously, his black coat twitching along his back and all the way to the tip of his tail, which smacked the ground in rhythmic thumps. Kellan sighed, pulling her papers completely out of her bag and shoving them onto the table and rummaging through her pack again. Finally, she pulled four coins from the bottom of her pack, realizing that she had very little money left. Grimm barked, and Kellan sighed, nodding. “I know, I know, Grimm. We do not have much left. I will find a way though, I always do,” the girl spoke to her dog but did not fret about strange glances, for there were few people in the Inn. Grimm barked again, but Kellan put a finger to her lips, wishing for him to be silent in the enclosed space. The dog quieted, and the girl went back to searching through her bag again. She soon withdrew a small sack, full of some brown powder that resembled desert sand. Smiling, she spoke once more to her companion. "I have not had a chance to use this gift from the east. It will be nice to find out what it tastes like." Kellan murmured, intending to use the powder in her boiling water. Her smile faded, however, and she began to pack her parchments back up into her pack. Then she looked to the windows of the Inn, still pouring hot sunlight onto the wood of the interior. "It is going to be a long day, Grimm. It will be a long wait for you and I." The Innkeeper returned then, setting a mug of boiling, steaming water before Kellan. Then the man crouched down to place a bowl of cool water and a plate of different foods before Grimm. He smiled, rubbing his hand on Grimm’s head between his ears as the dog began to lap up the water. When the Innkeeper stood up, Kellan handed him the four coins. “I hope it is enough, Sir, and thank you.” |
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#11 |
Vice of Twilight
Join Date: Nov 2002
Location: on a mountain
Posts: 1,121
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As the Innkeeper had approached them, Andhun had begun to tremble violently, and when the cider was placed with a little thump before them he jumped and shied back. "A bit of cider for you boys," the Innkeeper said. The fear in Andhun's eyes disappeared and was replaced with one of confusion. And then he smiled and murmured his thanks, yet he looked doubtfully at Cynan. Cynan smiled back at him in an encouraging manner before speaking to the Innkeeper, saying, "Excuse me, sir, I have no money." The Innkeeper laughed and waved this aside, and then moved away.
Andhun seemed to have recovered from his fear and was now sipping his cider slowly, following the Innkeeper with his eyes. Cynan, however, did not touch his own mug. He watched the younger boy with a musing look upon his face, and compared him to an ill-treated dog he had met once, jumping away in terror from even the kindliest caress, and simply because the dog had not known anything better. Yet it was odd that Andhun, who could not have been working for 'the master' very long and who had lived in a loving family, should be like that dog. It was possible, Cynan supposed, that Andhun had forgotten most of his life before, though he remembered vague details, such as his sister. Cynan had met a man who had been burned in the fire and had suffered through a raging fever, and when the fever subsided his memory had also flowed away and he remembered only a little before his burns and the fever. Perhaps Andhun was the same, and the only clear memories he had were the memories of being beaten, and then flung in the streets only to be dragged back again and beaten some more. I pity him, Cynan thought, and his did with all the strength of his boyish heart. I pity him deeply. Look at the circles under his eyes, and the weary expression within them. And see how thin he is; he must be half-starved where he is. And when he does eat it cannot be anything pleasant, judging by the way he delights in a simple mug of cider. It seems that the one thing that keeps him from despairing is the hope of someday seeing his sister again. Poor little fellow, I hope he finds her. Andhun had finished his cider and was turning the mug thoughtfully in his fingers. Cynan beamed another smile at him, saying, "I do hope, Andhun, you enjoyed your cider." When Andhun nodded, he continued on. "We really must thank the Innkeeper. There are not many who would give two dirty, hot boys a mug of cider and ask no payment for it. As I told you, Andhun, there are some very kindhearted people hereabouts." "Yes, sir," said Andhun, and relapsed into silence. Cynan felt mild concern growing in him, but concern was vanquished and utter rebellion came to him when Andhun spoke again. "I thank you for your hospitality, sir, but now I must be returning to the master." "No!" Cynan cried, gently stopping Andhun as he tried to rise. "No, Andhun, don't go yet. Surely your master will not be looking for you already?" "No, sir, but I have learned from past experience that it is better for me if I return before he begins to look." Cynan felt horror within him again, but he did not express and held Andhun down with the same strong yet gentle grip. "Andhun, you cannot leave yet," he said. "You are hungry... you are famished. You must get a square meal. I will have to run home to get some money to pay for it, but you must eat. And I have noticed you have winced whenever your back touches something. It must be sore from your master's hand. I will beg the Innkeeper give some herb to soothe it, if he has any such thing. And then I will take you back myself, if go you must, and beg excuses and pay your master for any trouble I may have caused by detaining you." Andhun was clearly weary, and he did not insist in leaving but sank gratefully against the chair, wincing as Cynan had said when his back touched the firm wood. "I thank you, sir," he murmured. "You are very kind." "Sit here," said Cynan, and hurried to the Innkeeper, who was with a young lady and a dog. Clearing his throat, he interrupted politely but quickly, for he realized that Andhun grew more anxious with every passing moment. "Mr. Innkeeper, sir, I beg your pardon if I interrupt," he said, "but I would very much like to get some breakfast for my friend. I have not with me the money to pay, but while he eats I will run home and fetch it. And, sir," he added, "my friend has a very sore back and, if you have any such thing, would you give him something to soothe it? I am willing to pay for this, as well." |
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#12 |
Shadow of Tyrn Gorthad
Join Date: Sep 2003
Location: The Fencing Lyst
Posts: 810
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Rochadan
Slipping the hot roll into his pocket, Rochadan left the kitchen by the backdoor. There were two things he needed to do before coming back to collect Sallie from the care of Ćdhral and the Cook. The first was to find the owner of the lame horse and have quick word with him about the condition of his mount. The second was to find Ćrosylle. He was sure that Finian would have a better idea of where to find the girl than he would, but an extra pair of eyes looking about could do no harm. He cast a quick glance at the roofs of both the inn and the stable in case Ćrosylle might have chosen one of those as a hiding place again, but, not seeing her, he circled around to the front door of the inn. With a little luck, the owner of the lame horse would be at breakfast. He pushed open the door and stepped into the common room.
His dark eyes scanning the room, he saw that a few new faces had joined the company of guests since the night before, including two young boys and a woman with her dog. His gaze hesitated for an instant over one of the boys, a sad-looking little fellow, his face and body badly disfigured from burns. "The dragon's fire," murmured Rochadan, his heart going out to the boy instantly. He let his gaze shift to the other boy and smiled. A right urchin, that one, he thought, but I'll bet he does a good job of looking out for his friend. Or he will with time," he added, noticing the slight touch of awkwardness about the two that hinted at the newness of their acquaintance. Catching the older boy's eye, he gave him a friendly wink. If they hung about for awhile and seemed willing to work, he might be able to find a few odd jobs for them to do around the stable. For the moment, though, Finian had already set them up with cider, so he left them to drink it, promising himself to keep an eye on them. The younger boy especially looked as though he could use a break in life. Seeing Finian now absorbed in conversation with the woman with the dog, Rochadan went on about his business. He found the owner of the lame horse at a table near the bar, his attention completely focused on the substantial breakfast laid out before him. Rochadan walked over to the table and waited for the man to acknowledge him. When he did, Rochadan nodded politely. "Good morning, sir," he said quietly. "I don't mean to disturb your breakfast -" "Then don't," said the man brusquely. Startled, Rochadan hesitated for an instant, then felt his usually calm temper flare. "It's about your horse," he said sharply. "Useless nag," said the man, and tossed back a swallow of hot coffee. "What about him?" "When I was putting him into the stable I noticed he's developed a sprain in one foreleg. It could use some attention." The man leaned back and gave Rochadan a suspicious stare. "What sort of attention?" "I was thinking he might benefit from having his forelegs wrapped. Just for a few days, to give that sprain time to heal," answered Rochadan, but his mind had already been made up that the horse's injury would be treated properly with the owner's permission or not. "He's not made of wood, you know. If you think he's lame now, keep riding him. You'll see." Horses had been an important part of Rochadan's life almost as long as he could remember. Selfless creatures, they would run for their riders till they dropped if they had to. To see one mistreated made the young stablemaster's blood boil. The man belched and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. Finally, grudgingly, he nodded. "Do what you have to," he grunted, but as Rochadan turned to go, he called after him. "I don't expect to be charged anything extra for it!" Rochadan paused with his hand on the doorknob. "With all due respect," he said calmly. "That's between you and the innkeeper. I'll see to your horse." With that, Rochadan glanced in Finian's direction, only to find him talking with the older of the two young boys that Rochadan had noticed earlier. Seeing the burned boy now alone at his table, Rochadan walked over to him and knelt down so that he was at eye level to the boy. "Hello," he said kindly. "That's good cider, isn't it?" |
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#13 |
Stormdancer of Doom
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Just dropping in
Whistling softly, LinGalad entered the Tavern, ordered a glass of wine, took it to a corner by a window, and stood and watched as he sipped it. Boys, a young lady, a dog, the Innkeeper... He smiled. There was a song waiting to be written. He looked around some more; a pleasant, though mannish place.
He hummed into his wine glass, and wished that he could stay longer; but Loremaster would not be kept waiting. LinGalad drained his glass even as the Innkeeper approached, and introduced himself as Finian. "Well met, good sir, " replied LinGalad with a bow. "Would that I might rest here, and enjoy the wine! You purchase wisely." His eyes twinkled, and he set his glass down. "But alas, duty calls, and I have little time; the King will have his shipments, and he will have them on time. Perhaps I may return again! I know so little of men, and it would be amusing to learn." "Amusing?" replied Finian. "So I am told, " LinGalad replied cheerily, with little tact. "Although that lad there is more worthy of weeping than laughter. Farewell! I will return when I may. May song and mirth fill your hall!" He hummed as he hurried out the door. Last edited by mark12_30; 07-09-2004 at 06:29 AM. |
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#14 |
Vice of Twilight
Join Date: Nov 2002
Location: on a mountain
Posts: 1,121
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Andhun started in the same way he had with Finian the Innkeeper when this new man introduced himself, but question that was asked was friendly, and more than that was spoken in a friendly way. The lad relaxed slightly, but his muscles were still tense as if he were waiting for an unexpected move. He nodded in assent, his voice accompanying his nod by the words, "Yes, sir, it is very good. Do you work here?"
The abrupt change of subject was a little startling to the man, but he recovered himself with grace and ease and said, "Yes, I do work here. I am the stablemaster. My name is Rochadan." He extended his right hand. Andhun looked down at it with understanding but made no move to return the courtesy. Rochadan hesitated in puzzlement, and then, starting, he hastily offered his left hand instead. Andhun smiled at this and shook hands, saying, "Pleased to meet you, sir. My name is Andhun." "Where do you live, Andhun?" Rochadan questioned. He noticed the way Andhun hesitated and seemed slightly embarrassed, as though he would prefer not the answer the question. Andhun was, in all truth, rather ashamed to admit where he lived, for he lived with his master and he knew his master was no good. He was afraid that he would also be considered as 'no good' if Rochadan was familiar with the name of his master, but he answered with honesty. "Sir, I live just a little ways down the road, at the home of the man Harstan. He is my master and I work for him." He did not give Rochadan a chance to speak, for he did not want to focus on the subject of his master. Yet he felt that this man would not think he was 'no good.' This man, Rochadan, seemed to be another of those kindhearted people that were hereabouts. Cynan had not been wrong in what he had said. Still, however, he did not want to speak of his master, and he continued on with great haste. "Tell me, sir, how is the work here? Are the people good and kind?" |
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#15 |
Tears of the Phoenix
Join Date: Jun 2003
Location: Putting dimes in the jukebox baby.
Posts: 1,453
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Finian looked at the coins and returned three of them to the woman with the dog. "It's just water and scraps," he said. Scraps were such nasty stuff anyway. Only fit for animals really. The only time scraps were good was when food was scarce.
His attention was diverted by one of the boys who wanted to have breakfast for his friend. Finian went to the kitchen and told Ćdhral to get some food for the boy and to tell Bethberry that one of the boys was ill. He went back to the Tavern room and looked around. Only a few people were mulling about and Finian judged that now would be a good time to look for his sister. He hoped that she had not done anything stupid. She should not be running off, Finian told himself as he strode from the Tavern meandered down the road toward the lake which was the most likely spot to find her. She delighted in water and Finian wondered if she did not wish she had been born a mermaid at times. He smiled to himself. Ćrosylle a mermaid! Then he frowned. In his mind, Ćrosylle was being far too happy now a days -- she had become wild, excitable. He shivered, and then pushed the thought resolutely away. Why should she not be happy? Except the last time she was this happy she believed she could fly like a little bird and had hurled herself from the top of the barn. That was why. She was dangerous when she was happy. He neared the shore of the lake and saw her crouching in the water. Her wet green dress clung to her thin skeletal legs, and her dripping brown hair straggled down her back, like seaweed hanging from an anchor. The water whispered about her ankles, caressing the skin with its chilled touch. Finian sighed as he looked at her. She did not look her fifteen years, but like a mere child. She had not grown as other children did. “Ćrosylle,” Finian shouted, trotting to her. “What are you doing in here?” “The water is beautiful is it not?” she asked. She wringed the water from her skirt, watching the water with dancing eyes. “See the colored bridge that shimmers in the water!” She gasped, and eased herself to her knees. “Do not touch the water,” Finian whispered, crouching beside her, oblivious that his trousers would soon be soaked through, “or else it will vanish amidst the ripples.” “See the fish that dart there!” cried Ćrosylle, the rainbow forgotten. Finian frowned as he watched the mailed fish glint and flash in the sun as they scurried through the water. It did not bode well that she had forgotten the pretty bridge so soon. The entrancing arch had been forgotten for elusive fishes. “Busy creatures are they not?” Finian asked. “I want to fly, Finian!” she cried, standing up and splashing the waters with her feet. “Fly away beyond the mountains!” “Like this?” Finian said, grasping her under her arms and tossing her into the air. She screamed with laughter as he caught her. “This is as close to flying as you will get, little sister.” “Again! Again!” she screamed. After the second toss, she wriggled from her brother’s arms and dropped into the river. “To be able to swim like a fish,” she said. Holding her breath, she ducked under the waters. Her hair, glinting with copper, drifted in the glimmering light of the soft blue water like spun, living gossamer web. Little bubbles floated to the surface, and then Ćrosylle herself smiling and giggling. “Come on, little one,” Finian said, crouching beside her and motioning for her to climb onto his back, “the Tavern awaits us and we must not keep it waiting.” “No, for its feelings would be hurt and we must not let that happen. Some people think that wood has no feelings but I believe otherwise.” Finian sighed, dread beginning to creep into his heart. The day before she had thrown herself from the barn, the plates had had feelings and the reason that one had cracked was because it had been upset that it had not been washed properly. Finian wondered how one was properly to wash a plate. Washing dishes was washing dishes, was it not? A foolish thought whispered that he had best ask Ćdhral the next time he saw her. Then he laughed. The whole thing was utter foolishness…utter foolishness: his thoughts were the fancies of moonstruck sisters. Ćrosylle prattled on, going into detail how the Tavern would feel if it was abandoned by its innkeeper. “You are not going to desert it like…like…the other innkeeper did, will you?” she asked, her voice faltering. Father, you mean . “No…I will make sure it is well cared for and that its feelings are respected,” Finian said. They reached the Tavern and Ćrosylle slid from his back and clattered to the kitchen, screaming something to Ćdhral. Finian smiled and made his way behind the bar, where he drank and served mugs of frothing ale with traders and other various kinds of men. |
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#16 |
Shadow of Tyrn Gorthad
Join Date: Sep 2003
Location: The Fencing Lyst
Posts: 810
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Rochadan
At the mention of the name Harstan, a shadow passed over Rochadan’s features. The man was a scoundrel. Rochadan had had a few brief dealings with him over the years, and always dreaded the next one. Well known in the area of Esgaroth for his skills at treating the ills of animals, Rochadan had been called out from time to time to take a look at one or another of the man’s horses and had always found them hollow-eyed with windgalls and broken knees from hard work and harder riding, their coats rough from years of malnourishment. He always did what he could for the pitiful beasts, but every time he went away in a blind fury of helplessness and frustration that there was nothing he could do to rescue them. As bad as Harstan treated his animals, it was said around town that he treated his apprentices even worse. He only took in the lost boys that had no one else to speak or care for them and worked them within an inch of their lives. Rumor had it that he had even killed one of his clerks years ago before the dragon came. Rochadan raised a hand and pushed his thick, dark brown hair back from his face, taking the moment to study the boy’s disfigured features.
In addition to the damage done by the dragon, he could see the pale scars of more recent burns, newly healed, intermingled with the yellowish smudge of old bruises. Rochadan frowned slightly and cast a quick glance over his shoulder toward Finian, who was, at that moment, hustling off in the direction of the kitchen. It was criminal that this child should have fallen into the hands of a monster like Harstan. It would be equally criminal to send him back. Rochadan decided then and there that he would not have such a thing on his conscience. He would speak to Finian right away about taking Andhun on at the inn at least until they could find him a suitable position elsewhere. If necessary, Rochadan could pay the boy’s wages out of his own pocket. As for the other boy, he seemed to be in much less desperate straits. Rochadan would have to wait and see what to do about that one. “Tell me, sir,” said Andhun, a touch of wistfulness creeping into his voice. “How is the work here? Are the people good and kind?” Rochadan smiled. “Very good and very kind. I scarcely think of it as work.” He took the seat that the older boy had vacated and leaned toward Andhun, a grave look entering his dark eyes. “Tell me, Andhun,” he said gently. “Do you like your Master?” The boy flinched slightly then shook his head. “No,” he whispered so softly that Rochadan could barely hear him over the noise of the common room. “He beats you, doesn’t he?” Andhun bit his lip and nodded. Rochadan nodded his understanding. “You seem like a well-spoken and diligent little fellow,” he said after a moment. “How old are you? Nine? Ten?” “Nine.” “A very good age.” Rochadan smiled and tweaked the boy’s raggedy sleeve. “If I can get the innkeeper to allow it, how would you feel about staying here - at least for a time? I could always use some help around the stables.” |
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#17 |
Shadow of Tyrn Gorthad
Join Date: Sep 2003
Location: The Fencing Lyst
Posts: 810
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Sallie
Sallie watched from her seat at the table as the heavy oaken door swung shut behind the tall figure of her papa as he walked out of the kitchen. She made a little noise in her throat that caused Ćdhral, or Ada, as Sallie called her, to reach out and gently tweak her nose. Sallie giggled but still did not dare tear her eyes away from the door. She hated for her papa to leave her. She was afraid that he might go away again like the time he did after their house burned down and the big, golden dragon fell into the lake. He put on his silver shirt that was made out of the little rings that clinked when he walked and put on his sword. Then he got on his horse, Alydar, and rode away, leaving her behind with Cook and Ada. She cried every night until he came home. Now, every time he walked away, she wondered if he was coming back.
Sallie listened as Cook ticked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Pity, a young man like that raising a little girl on his own,” Cook said, shaking her head. “The child needs a mother. Look at her - mud in her petticoats and straw in her hair. She’ll grow up knowing nothing of cooking or needlework. All she’ll know about is horses and swordplay.” Ćdhral laughed. “Don’t be silly. It’s just a spot of mud.” Sallie had the feeling that Ada was taking the side of her papa, so she smiled hopefully up at her. “Horses and swordplay!” repeated Cook, still shaking her head. Ćdhral opened her mouth to reply, but closed it again as the door flew open and Finian came in. Sallie liked Finian, so she smiled up at him, too, but this time he did not seem to see her. He told Ada and Cook some things to do and walked out again. Sallie watched the door close behind him, then, as Cook and Ada rushed about to do as they had been told, Sallie clambered down out of her chair. She limped to the window with her slow, uneven gait and took hold of the window sill. Stretching up on to her tippy-toes, as tall she could, Sallie could just see out of the bottom pane of glass. She felt very big and old as, just a month ago, she had not been so tall and had needed her papa to hold her up if she wanted to look out. Now she could do it on her own. Peering through the window glass, Sallie could see the stable yard and the stable, but her papa was nowhere to be seen. She stuck out her lower lip in a fierce, bad pout. She couldn’t see Alydar either. Maybe while she was eating her papa had put on his silver shirt and gone. “Papa!” she called out plaintively. “Papa!” Maybe, if he hadn’t gone too far, he would hear her and come back. Behind her, the clatter of the kitchen stopped. Then, there was the gentle touch of hands as Ćdhral picked Sallie up and settled her on one of her slender hips. “It‘s all right, little princess,” the serving girl cooed. “Your papa hasn’t gone far. I’m sure he’ll be back in just a few minutes.” “Promise?” asked Sallie doubtfully, the pout still quivering on her lip. “I promise,” answered Ćdhral. “Now, why don’t you help me over here?” she added, pulling a chair up from the table to the kitchen counter. “Finian says there’s a sick little boy out in the common room who needs some breakfast. You can help me make him up a plate.” |
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#18 |
Cryptic Aura
Join Date: May 2002
Posts: 5,991
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Ćdhral, true to her worth, had indeed gone to tell the Healer of a sick boy in the Tavern. She had found the woman at her desk, pounding and grinding plants in a large marble bowl with a heavy stick. Ćdhral did not know the words for these dishes, just as she did not know many of the words which the Healer used, yet she found that no barrier to understanding the woman. Each word was clearly explained, not too much, not too little.
"The bowl is a mortar," the woman said, "and this is a pestle. It is a heavy object, for it helps to turn leaves into a fine powder." She stopped and stretched her fingers, for they were stiff from the incessant pounding. "And you have come to relieve me of my task?" "Yes, mistress, for Finian told me to tell you we have a very sick boy in the Tavern. He is ugly with burns; his skin rippled red like roast mutton. " "Well, burns heal poorly if the body is not covered in salve; that is no fault of the boy." "Yes, ma'am, but will you come?" The woman nodded and rose, wrapping a large brown shawl around her shoulders, the fringes of which gently swayed back and forth over her hips as she walked. "Can he eat?" she inquired of the girl. "Barely, he has sipped some cider." The woman made a noncommital shake of her head and peered into the hall while Ćdhral disappeared into the kitchen. Finian then met her glance and told her what he could of the lad. The boy was slumped into a chair, gingerishly leaning against the back and talking with Rochadan. She smiled to herself, for she knew Rochadan well and could imagine what the man might be attempting. "There are stories of ill treatment, of beatings. You know what we hear of Harstan." "Aye. And if we wish to find the boy other employ, that man will demand recompense for the loss of his labour." Finian sighed. "First, find out how hurt the boy is, Bethberry. Then we shall see what plans we need to put into effect." "He looks starved. I doubt he can for the moment eat much. Let me bring him some thin gruel." From Cook Bethberry got a tray with a bowl and the gruel, mixed in with some sugar and cream, but not too richly. And then she approached the lad. "Rochadan, I'll wager you are making a proposition here," she said with a lilt to her voice. He smiled at her. "Bethberry, meet young Andhun here. He's going to help me in the stable." "Is he now? Don't be hasty, for perhaps he has someone else he needs to help first." The lad looked up at her, the black rings around his eyes appearing even more quizzical than they had at first. "Who would you send me out to work with, lady? I must get back to master." "Nay, none other than yourself, lad. Here, tell me if Cook has made this well. And by name I am called Bethberry." His one arm hung by his side but with his other he slowly scooped up the gruel, panting between sips. While he ate, Bethberry looked over the many miserable signs of torment and pain on his small frame. Yet in her face she held a warm smile, so that her very look seemed to banish worry and concern from his heart. When he was finished the meagre breakfast, she sat back to let him talk. She would win his trust before she attempted to see to his wounds. |
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#19 |
Vice of Twilight
Join Date: Nov 2002
Location: on a mountain
Posts: 1,121
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"I thank you, ma'am," said Andhun as he set his breakfast aside. He studied her face carefully, and found warmth and compassion in it. Not pity, but compassion. Andhun was not wholly opposed to pity, but he felt he did not need it. The weak ones had ever been the ones who wanted pity, wallowing to make themselves seem worthy of pity, trying their utmost to gain it. His master was like that. He forever complained of the boys who worked for him, saying they were lazy and slow, and making it seem as though he were the one with the miserable existence rather than they. And always, always, whenever someone came to the master's home they would pity him and believe he was right, and often he, Andhun, or one of the other boys would merit an extra kick as the visitors passed by.
He passed his gaze on to Rochadan and smiled, just a little hesitatingly, for he still was not absolutely certain that Rochadan was indeed a friend. "And, sir, I thank you for your offer," he said, "and I would express how much my delight would be to work for you in the stables, but I fear I cannot. I must return to my master, for soon he will be looking for me. I feel I should leave even at this very moment, but I wait because Mister Cynan is not come back yet and I think I should wait for him to bid him goodbye, and thank him for his kindness." "Can you not leave your master to work here?" Rochadan questioned. "I wish it were so, sir, for I would dearly love to work here. You are all so kind..." He faltered in his speech, and felt he was speaking too warmly to them. He recalled an occasion when a young woman had come to his master's house, only three months ago, and she had been very kind to him, unlike other guests, and he had thanked her for it, and, feeling that he should make some attempt to be kind to her as she had been to him, he chanced to compliment her upon her fair face within his master's hearing. The young woman had seemed pleased at his compliment, and the master had restrained himself, but as soon as she was out the door he had sprang forward like a wild beast pouncing upon his victim. A shudder went through Andhun's body as he recalled this. He had been beaten so badly that he thought he surely must die of pain, and all the while the master had shouted into his face that he had no business speaking to the guests, let alone say anything friendly to them. He closed his eyes and could feel keenly in his mind every pain he had endured then, and he swayed in his chair. A strong, gentle hand fell on his shoulder, so gentle that it did hurt the sores upon his back, and so strong that he was kept from falling over, and he opened his eyes. Rochadan held him steady in his chair and smiled gravely into his eyes. The stablemaster, however, wisely made no reference to Andhun's temporary faintness but continued the conversation in a level tone. "Tell me, Andhun, why you cannot leave your master." "Because," said Andhun, wincing upon the reflection of what he was going to say, "the master owns me." "Owns you?" Rochadan's brow furrowed. "Surely he is no relation to you?" "No, he is not, but when he took me in nearly a year ago he gave me a paper that said I would serve him until he chose to release me from that service, and made me sign it at the bottom, though I am not good at writing." He started and suddenly stared into Rochadan's face wildly. "Oh, sir, my master will surely never release me, and what will I do for my poor little sister when I find her? What will I do for her? Will she also have to live with my master?" He looked in a panicked way from face to face, and then his pale face became grave and he closed his eyes as if weary, and put his head against the back of his chair, just barely wincing when the burns on his face met with the hard wood. |
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#20 |
Speaker of the Dead
Join Date: Oct 2002
Location: Superbia
Posts: 868
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Introducing Kannah
Bells jangling and thick layers of cheap, rustling fabric created an orchestral noise that warned all in the area of her coming. Kannah hiked up her skirts and stormed towards the door, where, unknowingly, a young man was about to face her wrath.
"Turn yourself around this instant, young master!" she shouted, and everyone in the common room except the object of her attention turned. The young man himself froze, and Kannah was fairly sure she heard him muttering prayers under his breath. Well, wise enough, she figured--he'd be getting the rough side of her tongue. Kannah was twenty-two years old, and much fiercer than she looked. Her pretty, almond-shaped brown eyes and small stature belied her hot temper and sharp wit. She had a long, regal nose, and a full-lipped mouth that would have been pretty if she ever used it for smiling. Her dark complexion and long, raven hair told of her southern heritage, though she was a native of Dale. She draped herself in layers of fabric in rich jewel tones...but the fabric was always very cheap. For all of her show, Kannah was not a wealthy person, though she tried to pass as one. "I believe you underpaid," she said harshly, gripping the young man by his upper arm. It was a humorous sight, as the young man was almost head and shoulders taller than Kannah. "No, I don't think I--" the young man began, but Kannah cut him off by dragging him to the counter where he had paid. "One, two, three gold pieces," she counted quickly. "You owed four." "I'm sorry, I thought I'd--" "What you thought is irrelevant," she said. "The fact remains that you didn't pay in full. Will you give me another gold piece, or would you prefer doing dishes?" The young man fished a gold piece out of his pocket and handed it to Kannah, who accepted it without the least touch of graciousness. She saw Finian shaking his head from the other side of the room, but paid him no heed. She had passed a difficult night--two young patrons had come down with violent chest colds, and their panic-stricken mother had come banging on Kannah's door at well past midnight but still well before dawn to have her administer appropriate treatment. She had gotten no sleep and still had some bruises on her ribs from small flailing arms. She was in no mood to be cheated out of her rightful dues. Now, she liked children--growing up with two brothers and one sister, all significantly older than Kannah, she had numerous nieces and nephews on whom to hone her maternal skills. Not that she planned on settling down any time soon... She settled down in her office--that is, the side of her bedroom with a desk--and started going over the financial records. If they were going to drag her out of bed at ungodly hours of the morning, she was going to make sure they had enough money to pay for it! |
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#21 |
Shadow of Tyrn Gorthad
Join Date: Sep 2003
Location: The Fencing Lyst
Posts: 810
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Rochadan
At the mention of Harstan’s contract with the boy, Rochadan exchanged a serious glance with Bęthberry. Then he gave the boy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, careful to avoid any of the child’s many bruises and sore spots.
“I can see you are a young man of your word, Andhun,” the stablemaster said, choosing his words carefully. “That is an admirable quality and will serve you well as you get older. But I must tell you that this paper you speak of cannot possibly be binding. People cannot own other people, particularly not on the strength of a document signed by a wounded and desperate child.” Andhun neither answered nor opened his eyes, but Rochadan could tell by his posture that the child was listening. “I will speak to you frankly now,” he continued. “You must not go back to your master, not if you value your life or the life of your sister. I know this man Harstan. He will work you and beat you until you can no longer help yourself. And then, how will you help your sister?” He paused as a single tear slid from the corner of one of the boy’s eyes and ran unchecked down his thin cheek. “You will stay here,” continued Rochadan. “And let Mistress Bęthberry see to your wounds. She is a good and kind woman and will take very good care of you. When you are strong enough, we will look for your sister. And I will teach you how to take care of the horses. You do like animals, don’t you?” “Yes, sir,” said Andhun softly. “But I... my master...” “I will deal with him.” Last edited by Ealasaide; 07-08-2004 at 05:55 PM. |
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#22 |
Vice of Twilight
Join Date: Nov 2002
Location: on a mountain
Posts: 1,121
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Andhun shook his head. "Sir, I promised my master," he said. "And sir, he does not own me, but he does own my services. And even if it were possible that I could leave him, I would not, for it would leave him short of hands and... I promised him, sir."
"I will speak to your master," Rochadan said gently, "and he will be compensated for his loss." "I do not understand, sir..." "He will lose nothing by losing you, for he will be paid in equal worth," said Rochadan. He saw Andhun still hesitated, and he took a slightly different course. "Stay, Andhun, at least for the day. You need not make any promise you will stay with us, but stay for now, and then when you see if your master will let you go or not, you may decide what you will do then." "Very well, sir," said Andhun, and a silence fell. It seemed a very deep silence, though from outside the tavern there were shouting and scuffling noises. Andhun was considering what his position in life would be if he worked at the tavern, and he saw very clearly that Rochadan was a very good man. Andhun would be almost useless in the stables, for he could not carry anything heavy nor move very fast, and he could only use his left hand, which would in normal circumstances have been the weaker of the two. He grew tired easily, and many times when he grew too tired he would fall into fever. Here, he knew, he would not grow too tired, but Rochadan would find him not a help, but a burden. And as Andhun studied the stablemaster's face, he saw that the latter fully realized. The door was flung open and banged against the wall with a resounding thud, and the young boy who had come running in paused and looked from Bethberry to Rochadan with a shame-filled face, and fixed his eyes on Rochadan, feeling that he as a man would be the one to deal out the punishment. Rochadan raised his eyebrows gravely and shook his head, and the boy sighed heavily, but slowly an impish twinkle came into his eyes when he saw that Rochadan was attempting not to smile. Jumping forward, the boy took Andhun's left hand and let some coins falling into it, saying something about paying for the meal. Then he turned to Rochadan and Bethberry and sweeped a courtly bow, still smiling impishly. "Cynan Harwell at your service," he said. "I was the one to find this boy you seem so interested in." Andhun had been turning the money over in his hand and then held it out to Rochadan. "Here, sir," he said. "This is for the meal you gave me." Rochadan opened his mouth to speak, but was cut short as the door was flung open again. It also banged against the wall, but the man who was the cause showed no remorse as his squinted eyes fell on Andhun. With his heavy build, rough large hands, and twisted lips that seemed to be in a perpetual sneer, he was very recognizable. And if he could not be recognized by these attributes it would be obvious by the way Andhun began to tremble and crouched back in his chair that this man was 'the master.' Harstan gave a growl of rage and advanced forward at a quick pace towards Andhun, then stopped and smoothed his brow with one hand, letting his face fall into a twisted, hideous smile as he addressed Rochadan. "Good day to you sir," he said, his voice rasping. "I hope my boy has not been bothering you with his presence." "On the contrary," said Rochadan, his words courteous but his tone stiff. The master sensed this and tensed slightly, and when he spoke he was still smiling and his words still full of politeness, but there was a dangerous edge in both the words and his eyes. "Ah, that is a good thing to hear," said he. "Now perhaps you should not consider it too much of a trouble if I took him back to my home now, for he has been sorely missed." Last edited by Nurumaiel; 07-09-2004 at 11:14 AM. |
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#23 |
Cryptic Aura
Join Date: May 2002
Posts: 5,991
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Bethberry watched the man with disguised contempt, for she did not want to anger him. Not yet.
The boy Andhun was ill, seriously ill. He was weak, almost feverish, and would soon have festering wounds on his back if the burns were not treated, for they were weeping still. He was hungry and haunted by abuse. He was not alone in this condition, for there were many orphans about these days who were at the mercy of adults, many of whom felt the only way to get work out of anyone was to threaten and beat them. And Rochadan was ready to take responsibility for the boy. She though for a bit. What grounds did they have for refusing to allow this Harstan to take the boy? He ran a business, made trade. He could be influential in complaining that the Tavern was interferring in his business. Finian didn't need to anger the town authorities; he had enough on his hands to improve the business of his tavern. They would either have to make Harstan realise he was better off without the boy, or else make him so angry he stepped over a line, here in the Vineyard, clearly, so that everyone here would witness his transgression. Bethberry decided to begin by making Harstan prove himself. She would quietly and calmly challenge his claims. "Your boy, Harstan? I did not know you had a son." She looked at him with a face of mild interest, not challenge, indeed, of almost concern. Let him state what his claims are over the boy, she decided. And then she would point out how incapable Andhun was of fulfilling them in his wounded state. If he could be persuaded that he was better off without the boy, perhaps matters could be resolved without ill effects. Last edited by Bęthberry; 07-17-2004 at 07:02 PM. |
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#24 |
Tears of the Phoenix
Join Date: Jun 2003
Location: Putting dimes in the jukebox baby.
Posts: 1,453
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Finian had not forgotten about the burnt boy and had been glancing to make sure he had been taken care of all the while. He grinned when he saw that Rochadan had been conversing with him. He drummed his fingers upon the counter, one eyebrow cocked upwards. The boy seemed to be rather parentless or guardianless which was a shame. He seemed to be a cute little fellow. But they could use some help around the stable and the inn proper. The boy would not have to do heavy labour.
Of course, he would have to see into the boy's true state of affairs but for now there was the brewing of an excellent plan. Finian sauntered down the room and was about to ask the boy about his parents and all that when the door flew open and the first boy came dashing back into the inn. Shortly behind him came another man who stormed through the door. Harstan Finian leaned his elbow on the back of the injured boy's chair, assumed a menacing slouch, and narrowed his eyes at the slime that called itself a man. So he was the boy's master, eh? Then the boy was definately staying here. Last edited by Imladris; 07-10-2004 at 11:02 AM. |
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#25 |
The Melody of Misery
Join Date: Aug 2002
Location: The Island of Conclusions (You get there by jumping!)...
Posts: 1,147
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The dark-skinned, dark-haired woman in the corner of the tavern watched half-heartedly as the Innkeeper and others clustered around the burned boy. She stirred the package of brown powder she had taken from her bag earlier into the steaming water. The young woman watched as it turned a sandy color and the steam began to smell wonderfully sweat. Hot chocolate, they said, Kellan thought happily, lifting the mug to her lips and sipping the tasty liquid. Grimm whined softly from the floor, lapping up the last of his water and moving on to finish off his plate of scraps.
Kellan did not look up from her table until she heard the door of the Vineyard Tavern swing open to reveal a newcomer. A man, middle-aged and not handsome to say the least, pounded into the Inn and caused both Grimm and Kellan to snap their gaze over to him. Kellan's dark brows knitted together in curiousity and intrigue, but Grimm growled as the man went over to the group around the boy. This should be interesting...Kellan assured herself inwardly, watching carefully as the horse-master and the newcomer began to speak. Grimm growled, a deep, guttural hum that only Kellan could hear. When she did hear it, the woman looked over her table and squinted at her companion, watching as he pawed his way over to the group near the boy. "Grimm! Grimm, stay! Grimm! NO!" Kellan hissed at her dog, who had begun to show his teeth in his equivalent of a displeasing sneer. Kellan certainly did not want to be booted out of the Inn for the behaviour of her companion. "Grimm! Come back here right NOW!" The girl quickly moved from her chair to get the ebony-coloured beast, but it was no use for the dog had already made it completely over to where the ugly man stood. Grimm did not bite, like Kellan had feared, but what the dog did do could have been considered just as bad for Kellan; Grimm began to bark incessantly at the man. |
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#26 |
Shadow of Tyrn Gorthad
Join Date: Sep 2003
Location: The Fencing Lyst
Posts: 810
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Sallie
Leaving Finian at the door, Ćrosylle clattered into the kitchen and shouted something at the top of her voice to Ćdhral. Startled, Sallie crouched down on the chair upon which she had been standing and tried to make herself as small as possible. While Ćrosylle had never hurt Sallie, the little girl was afraid of her. Ćrosylle could be very noisy and tended to make lots of quick and unexpected movements, popping up at times with her face right in front of Sallie's when the little girl least expected it. Seeing that Ćrosylle was busy talking to Ćdhral, Sallie climbed down from the chair and went to hide under the kitchen table, well out of the way of Ćrosylle. Crouching in her new hiding place, with her arms wrapped around her knees, Sallie watched the door to the common room. Every time it swung open with the passage of Cook, Finian, or one of the two serving girls, she tried to see out. Her papa had told her not to go in there without him or one of the other grownups with her, but he had not said she couldn't look. She wanted to see the little sick boy that Cook had carried a tray out to.
She had not seen much of anything when suddenly there came a bang of the front door slamming open in the common room, followed a little later by a second bang. And voices. Sallie heard her papa's voice mixed in with the voices of the other grownups. And then the loud barking of a dog. "What on earth!" exclaimed Cook. Sallie saw her and Ada look at each other, then Cook wiped her hands on her apron and went to stand in the doorway, looking out. Ada and Ćrosylle crowded into the doorway behind her. Crawling out from under the table, Sallie crept up behind them and tried to see around the skirts of Ada and Cook. Finally noticing her, Ada reached down and picked Sallie up, settling her solidly against her hip. "What are they doing?" asked Sallie, her little voice piping above the barking of the dog. She could see a very big man standing in front of her papa, looking at him with an ugly, mean face. Her papa talked quietly to the ugly man as a big black dog that Sallie had never seen before barked at them. A pretty lady tried to stop the dog from barking but he didn't stop. "Shhh," Ada said gently, shaking her head. "We mustn't make a sound. We must let Finian and your papa handle things." Sallie nodded, staring into the scene with wide eyes. Then she saw the little boy at the center of the group that included her papa, Finian, and Miss Bęthberry. He was hunched over like he thought someone was going to hit him and his skin looked like raw mutton. "Is that the little sick boy?" she whispered to Ada, pointing at him with a little pink finger. "Yes," said Ada. "Is my papa and Miss Bęthberry trying to make him better?" "Yes," answered Ada again in a hushed voice. "They are," she added, correcting the little girl's grammar. "What's wrong with him?" "Hush, Sallie." Sallie took a big breath and closed her mouth. She wanted to ask what the ugly man was doing there, too, and why the little boy looked so scared, and why did her papa look so angry, but she knew that Ada didn't want her to talk. She wanted to please Ada, so she decided she would be quiet as a mouse. Papa would explain it later. Last edited by Ealasaide; 07-09-2004 at 04:47 PM. |
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#27 |
Vice of Twilight
Join Date: Nov 2002
Location: on a mountain
Posts: 1,121
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Harstan scowled at the dog that stood barking at his feet and then at its mistress. He did not mind that it barked; many dogs did so, except his own, which knew him too well to cause any trouble for him. When Harstan turned back to Bethberry he had the frightening smile on his face again, and he spoke in a mild tone. "My dear lady, the boy is not my son," said he, "but he works for me at my 'ome. To that effect, he is my boy."
"Is he able to do the work well with his burns? Are you sure he is not a burden rather than a help?" "It's very kind of you to consider that difficulty," said Harstan, "but every little bit of 'elp is appreciated, and besides," and here he stood tall, "I would not turn down a poor little burned boy which was begging for work. You get along all right, don't you now, Andhun?" The boy hesitated slightly and glanced up at Rochadan, but Harstan narrowed his eyes and stood taller. Andhun cowered and murmured a soft 'yes.' Harstan grinned his leer again. "There, you see, ma'am?" he cried. "He's that 'appy where he is." Cynan looked to Andhun and could see instantly that this was a lie. He looked back to Harstan and a sly little grin came to his face, and he began to walk towards the door. As he passed Harstan the ugly man gave a sharp cry and clutched at his foot. Scowling down at Cynan, he cried, "Clumsy little boy, you stepped on my foot!" Cynan's face was the picture of shock and innocence as he laid a hand on Harstan's sleeve and said earnestly, "Sir, I apologize profusely. I did not see your feet down there." He glanced down at the boots of the man and said, "But really, sir, what big feet you have." Harstan saw that he was being watched so he contented himself with scowling at Cynan until the boy was out the door. Then he smiled at the Tavern staff. "Those boys can be so wild sometimes," said he, "and I have no doubt whatsoever it was the same wildness that which compelled my own boy 'ere to leave." He let his foot fall to the ground. "Now, ma'am, as I was getting to saying, I would like to take my boy now, for---" He did not finish but instead gave a sharp cry. Nobody said anything, but all looked at him in a questioning manner. He rubbed his cheek. "What was that what 'it me?" he grumbled, looking about. His eyes fell on something on the floor and he stooped to pick it up. "What's 'ere this?" he muttered. "A little rock, so it is." He glanced about the room but nobody seemed to know anything about it. He frowned in puzzlement, but Andhun had looked towards the open window and seen Cynan standing, a little pile of rocks in his hand. "So, ma'am, in conclusion," said Harstan, though it should have been more proper to say 'in repitition,' "I should like it very much if I could take this 'ere boy 'ome now, for he is sorely missed." |
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#28 |
Pile O'Bones
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Krerin Gemfinder
When the message from King Dáin Ironfoot had arrived, summoning him to Erebor, Krerin Gemfinder had cursed his evil luck. Just as he had finished delving his great workrooms and furnaces, and had found suitable apprentices in the Iron Hills, he would have to pack up the few tools with which he could not part, and move westward. Krerin was not an important or wealthy Dwarf-he was of the Blacklock tribe-but he was an immensely talented smith and engraver, and could produce fine jewelry of a type that was seldom seen these days. The black-haired, black-eyed Dwarf had worked, longer hours even than most Dwarves, to establish his business, workshop, and reputation. Now, he feared that he would have to start all over, and dreaded being assigned to some lowly mining task in Erebor.
After hiking towards the Lonely Mountain with sinking heart and sour mood, Krerin had decided to stop at the markets of the rebuilt town of Esgaroth on Long Lake, to earn a few coins by selling a trinket or two. Krerin’s temper was improved by the surprisingly quick sale of all the small jewelry pieces and chased metal boxes that he had brought with him, and the happy sound of jingling coins brought joy to his heart. “Well, I can always earn a few extra coins, and perhaps build a reputation here, by doing a bit of frivolous metalwork on the side,” thought Krerin, “and perhaps I’ll treat myself to a pint of ale now.” The Dwarf stumped through the streets of Esgaroth on his short legs, tassel bobbing from the tip of his dark blue hood, and silver bells tinkling from the cords of his pack. As always when he visited the cities of Men, Krerin was followed by laughing children, who made a game of trying to touch the tassel or the bells. Krerin didn’t mind-in fact he encouraged the games by alternately smiling and scowling at the children, and by altering his pace unexpectedly. He had a soft spot for the children of Men in his hard dwarvish heart. At last Krerin found what he was looking for-a tavern; the Vineyard Tavern, to be precise. The Dwarf pulled his hood back from his head, and laid his pack of tools outside the door, as some of the axes and tongs might be taken for weapons. He walked in, scanning the patrons as he entered, and stumped right up to the part of the room in which he expected to procure some refreshments. The top of Krerin’s head was even with counter of the bar, and no one on the other side noticed the Dwarf standing there, waiting rather impatiently to request a pint of ale. “Excuse me,” said Krerin to the rough wooden panel in front of his face, “but what must a thirsty Dwarf do to be served a pint of good ale in this establishment?” Krerin waited until his gruff voice caught the attention of a tall serving girl, who peered over the top of the bar into a pair of glittering black eyes that looked upwards expectantly and with a certain amount of exasperation. “I’m very sorry, sir, but I…I didn’t see you standing there. What can I get for you?” “Hummph,” said Krerin, “I’d like a pint of your best ale, please. Strong ale, I hope and trust.” “Coming right up, sir, and yes, it’s quite strong.” The girl retrieved a mug of ale for the Dwarf, and offered a small dark rye loaf as recompense for having overlooked Krerin initially. Krerin paid for his ale, and stalked over to a table in the corner of the common room, from which he could watch the other patrons of the tavern. He climbed up into a chair, looking a bit ridiculous, like a child who was too small to sit at the table properly. Krerin had to reach upwards to grasp his mug of ale from the tabletop, and muttered under his breath about the lack of consideration for dwarvish patrons. Krerin’s glittering black eyes focused on one patron of the tavern in particular-a young boy, face and body badly scarred by dragon-fire, who was receiving much kind attention. The Dwarf could see that the boy had been beaten, both recently, and repeatedly in the past. No Dwarf could ever understand the loathsome Mannish habit of keeping servants and slaves. All Dwarves, regardless of status, wealth, or birthright, worked hard at menial jobs at some point, and often throughout their long lives. Moreover, Dwarf children were rare and treasured, protected and sheltered; how could anyone put a child to hard physical labor? Krerin shook his shaggy head in disapproval. An older boy, who looked healthy and impish, had burst in through the door of the tavern, and soon afterwards, a more ominous visitor appeared. A large, ugly, cruel-featured man, whom the Dwarf recognized instantly to be a bully of the worst sort, entered the tavern, and was immediately confronted by a few of the other patrons and a barking dog. A discussion ensued, in which Krerin could perceive that the large man was lying to gain some advantage, or to retrieve something that he felt was rightfully his. Dwarves rarely fail to see through lies and deception. Last edited by Fallinel; 07-10-2004 at 05:30 PM. |
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#29 |
Cryptic Aura
Join Date: May 2002
Posts: 5,991
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"Wildness you say, which prompted the lad to leave? I see no wildness in him, Master Harstan," spoke the Healer quietly. 'Perhaps you are not so well acquainted with his health as a master should be"
"I know him right well enough, Mistress, not that it is any business of yours," he replied dismissively to the woman. "I am sure you do know his true behaviour well enough, Master Harstan, but I am a practiced healer who sees great need in the boy. I speak out of concern for your need as well, for this boy is not capable of sustained work. If you wish to gain a valuable labourer, you must first see him restored to health." Bethberry paused here, and nodded courteously at Harstan. "His arm is too weak to lift even a spoon, he has burns which still pain him greatly and which still require gentle treatment if he is ever to be able to stretch his muscles much again, he has I suspect bones broken which require setting and swellings which must be treated." Here Bethberry heard Rochadan cough, and she nodded her head at him, hoping he would see her short term strategy. She knew she could rely on him to help the boy find work at the Tavern, if only she could heal the boy first. "I came to Esgaroth to help the healing after the devastation wrought by Smaug and I am here still attending to it. I have room here where I treat injuries and heal what sicknesses I can. I deem this boy needs my care. You would be foolish, my good master, to ignore my words here, for the town will hold you accountable should the boy die under your roof and hand." She paused, looking sombrely at the man, with no trace of animosity, but with a firm presence. She would do her part to help Rochadan gave the boy from this cruel master, yet she would try hard not to make an enemy of the master.
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I’ll sing his roots off. I’ll sing a wind up and blow leaf and branch away. Last edited by Bęthberry; 07-10-2004 at 10:48 PM. |
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#30 |
Vice of Twilight
Join Date: Nov 2002
Location: on a mountain
Posts: 1,121
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A look of bafflement crossed Harstan's face at Bethberry's word, and he ran his right hand through his greasy hair while rubbing his sore cheek with his left. He looked from Bethberry to Andhun and back to Bethberry again, and scratched his head. "Now 'ere, ma'am,' he said, "I don't rightly know what you mean."
"What I am offering," said Bethberry coolly, "is to treat this boy here for a time. You cannot deny, I suppose, that his burns tamper his work?" "They do that, ma'am." "And that it would be a good thing if he were treated so he might work in a better way?" "That would be a fine thing, ma'am," said Harstan. "Is this what you 'ere propose?" "It is," said she. Harstan's eyes wandered in a shiftless way about the room, but when they glanced upon Andhun they stayed there, and he stood there gazing upon the boy, contemplating. Andhun shrunk away from him and avoided meeting his eyes, and instead looked to Bethberry in an imploring fashion. The wierd, twisted smile had come to Harstan's face again and he said, "Well, ma'am, that which you propose is all right for me so long as it is also right by you. Yet I 'ope you won't mind if I stop in occasionally to see 'ow the boy is doing?" He did not give Bethberry a chance to answer but said, "I thank you for that. I'll bid you good day now. Let the boy cause you no trouble." And then he departed. It happened suddenly, and Andhun felt relief and wonder surge through him. Relief, for he was glad to see the master go, and wonder for he had not been taken home and beaten. A cry sounded from outside the Tavern and Cynan ran past the window, winking at Andhun as he went by. Andhun smiled faintly, and then he started violently and caught Bethberry's hand. "Oh, Mistress, you are very kind," he said, "but I do not understand what you say. When you have taken care of me will I go back to my master? I do not want to go!" He exclaimed the last sentence passionately, and then took hold of himself and said in a calmer voice, "Yet, Mistress, if there is no other way I will resign myself to it. Only I would beg you," and here his chin began to tremble, "that if I ever find my sister she will not have to live with me at my master's home, but you kind people here will take care of her. Then I will be happy." |
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#31 |
Shadow of Tyrn Gorthad
Join Date: Sep 2003
Location: The Fencing Lyst
Posts: 810
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Rochadan
Rochadan stood behind the healer, prepared to intervene if there were trouble and listening closely as she deftly maneuvered Harstan into granting the boy permission to stay - at least on temporary basis - with them at the inn. She did a masterful job of it, far better than he would have done himself had it been left up to him. He knew full well that he would have taken a far more confrontational approach to the situation. Harstan was not fit to take care of farm animals, much less a sick child. Rochadan felt quite certain that he would have told him as much. It was probably not the best approach, he knew, but the pitiable condition of poor Andhun’s body combined with the amazing strength of the boy's character had really touched Rochadan’s heart. It made Harstan, by contrast, stark in his brutality. Rcohadan would do what he could to make sure that Andhun's temporary situation at the inn became a permanent one.
He watched with a smile as the child grasped Bęthberry by the hand. “Oh, Mistress, you are very kind, but I do not understand what you say. When you have taken care of me, will I go back to my master? I do not want to go! Yet, Mistress, if there is no other way I will resign myself to it. Only I would beg you that if I ever find my sister she will not have to live with me at my master’s home, but you kind people here will take care of her. Then I will be happy.” Rochadan reached out and touched the boy’s hair. “I give you my word,” he said softly, “That if we are able to find your sister, she will have a home with me. I have a daughter of my own. I’m sure she would delight in having a playmate. As for your own situation, resign yourself to nothing. Mistress Bęthberry has done an admirable job of buying us some time to see if we can find an honorable way out of your... your agreement with your master.” Exchanging glances with both Bęthberry and Finian, he added, “I’m sure we can find a way out of it that will be both acceptable to Harstan and will leave your word intact.” Rochadan reached out and took hold of the boy’s hand, gently pressing into Andhun’s palm the handful of coins that Andhun had given to him to pay for his meal just prior to the arrival of Harstan. “You keep this,” he told him with a smile. “As an official guest of Mistress Bęthberry, Finian, and myself, you mustn’t feel obliged to pay for your meals during your stay here. |
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#32 |
Tears of the Phoenix
Join Date: Jun 2003
Location: Putting dimes in the jukebox baby.
Posts: 1,453
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Ćrosylle crept from the kitchen on hands and knees, looking for Finian. She must smell him out as she were a dog and he the prey....
She could see his feet through the maze of of wood and wriggled through the chairs until she was inches from her brother's feet. She heard angry voices and she peered from under the chair. The Healer woman was there, as well as Rochadan, and another boy badly burnt and her brother, of course, but there was also a great big obnoxious man. Wriggling around to get a better view, she saw that her brother's fists were clenched and that his eyes were narrowed like a cat waiting to strike. But the big, oily, mean man left and the boy remained. Finian, touselling the boy's head, also left and went to serve a dwarf, and Rochadan looked well pleased with himself. Clambering to her feet, Ćrosylle dragged a chair to the table, climbed upon it, perched her elbows upon the wood, and stared at the boy. Her eyes wavered to his plate and she said, "If you would be so kind asto give my regards to the plate I would be greatly obliged." She nodded at him. |
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#33 |
Vice of Twilight
Join Date: Nov 2002
Location: on a mountain
Posts: 1,121
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Andhun gazed up at the young girl in a bit of disbelief. Give her regards to the plate? It was sheer madness. Yet he thought her rather pretty, and her brown hair fell in shining waves over her shoulders, and he felt a smile coming to his face when he considered what the plate's answer to her well wishes might be. Still he was confused about waht to say, however, and as Cynan came walking (he had been following Harstan for quite some time, throwing rocks at him) in he gestured to him with his good hand. Cynan skipped obligingly over to the table and when he saw the girl he looked a little bit shy but not completely baffled. He touched his forelock in a polite manner, spun in a circle, and finished with a flourished bow, his head nearly touching the ground.
Andhun gazed in wondered amusement at his friend, thinking how fortunate he had been to be found by such a boy. Cynan was a sweet, friendly lad but nothing short of energy and mischief. He followed him with his eyes; Cynan had left the table and was cautiously approaching the dog called Grimm, looking very grave though his grey eyes twinkled. Grimm growled softly... not in a menacing, threatening way but in a little playful way, for he saw that Cynan was up to mischief. Cynan gave a little yelp of mock fear and danced away, and then he advanced slowly again, and when Grimm sprang forward he giggled madly and knelt down to stroke the dog, smiling in a friendly way up at his mistress. Smiling one last time over Cynan's absurdities, Andhun turned back to the girl and saw that she had also been smiling, though he could not say if it was because of Cynan or not. Cynan felt that he should desperately like to please her, but he did not know how. In confusion he remembered that she had spoken to him, but he could not recall what she had said. As his confusion mounted he felt desperate and dropped his eyes from her gaze... they fell on the plate sitting before him, and he brightened. "The plate accepts your regards with good will, miss, and returns them tenfold." |
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#34 |
Tears of the Phoenix
Join Date: Jun 2003
Location: Putting dimes in the jukebox baby.
Posts: 1,453
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Ćrosylle smiled at the other boy's exuberant bow and courtseyed in return. But she mustn't ignore the plate, lest he think her rude.
"It is good to be on the plate's good side," Ćrosylle whispered. "Or else it will throw your food at your face and it will connive with the glass to make it miss your lips, thereby making your drink dribble down your chin." She nodded at him. The boy nodded and asked, "What is your name?" She narrowed her eyes at him, then flashed a smile and said, "Ćrosylle." She bowed her head and waited for him to reply. "Andhun, at your service." "I do not need any service," said Ćrosylle, lifting her eyebrows. "But thank you for offering it." The poor boy....he was bruised and battered, and he had the look of a puppy lingering about his eyes. She had seen him almost cringed when Finian had patted him on the head -- as if he had expected a cuff. The poor boy, she thought, shaking her head and heaving a sigh. If there was one thing that she did not need was his service. He seemed to have had a lot of that beat out of him. She licked her lips and said, "Let me give you a few tips. Do not ever drum your fingers on the table for it annoys him. Don't step on the first step of the stairs for it screams in agony. I believe it is quite the wimp for the others have no qualms with human weight. Would you like more cider?" |
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#35 |
The Melody of Misery
Join Date: Aug 2002
Location: The Island of Conclusions (You get there by jumping!)...
Posts: 1,147
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When the ugly man left Grimm had stopped his barking, but his teeth still showed until the door had fully closed behind him. Then the black dog sauntered over to his Mistress, who looked rightly distressed and embarrassed. The swarthy skin of her cheeks had blushed crimson at her companion's behaviour, but Grimm had no regrets in his actions. When he had made it to the lady, she put her hands on her hips, tapping her toe in disapproval. "Was that really necessary, Grimm?" Though she knew no answer would come, the young, dark lady asked the dog weakly before crouching down to his level and breaking into a smile. She pat him reverently on the head and behind the ebony ears, for though her embarrassment rang true her pride in her animal companion could not be hidden behind blushed cheeks.
"Now, I have much more important questions to ask," Kellan relayed to Grimm, her smile fading as she stood up once more and looked about the common room. She searched valiantly for the Innkeeper, for it was his permission she required in a matter that involved why she had even come to the Vineyard Tavern. She saw the man, whom she had heard being called Finian, serving a short and stout man of the Dwarven kind. "I suppose I should wait...no need to be rude and interrupt," the woman sighed as she came to her conclusion. "Besides, we have all day. Nightfall is not for several hours, and even then the best view is not until deep hours of the night arrive." Kellan sat back down in her former seat, waiting patiently for the Innkeeper Finian to finish his service to the Dwarf. |
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#36 |
Vice of Twilight
Join Date: Nov 2002
Location: on a mountain
Posts: 1,121
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"I should very much like more cider," said Andhun, "if it is no trouble, Miss Ćrosylle." He turned his eyes to Rochadan, who had thus far been smiling at the interaction between the boy and Ćrosylle, and said, "Sir, it is very kind of you to say I need not pay money, but do not feel obligated to do it."
"Come, come," said Rochadan, smiling kindly down at him. "When your little friend brought the money you did not push away his kind deed but accepted it with many thanks. If the Tavern offers you a kind deed will you deny us the pleasure?" Andhun smiled. "Thank you very much, sir," he said, and turning to Ćrosylle once again, "and thank you, Miss Ćrosylle, for your words. I shall take much care not to step on the first stair." "But Andhun," said Cynan, from where he had been chuckling over the way the young lady talked to Grimm, "you cannot possibly get up the stairs without walking on them all, can you?" Andhun looked distressed. "It is true, Miss Ćrosylle," he said. "I could not possibly jump the first step. I still do not want to hurt it, however, and so I will refrain from going up the stairs at all." "No, no," said Rochadan. "You will ask me to help you." The young boy brightened. "Thank you, sir," he said. He smiled first at Rochadan, then at Ćrosylle, and then at Cynan. Cynan was still attempting to get the attention of Grimm's mistress. Andhun sank with a contented sigh back into his chair, not even noticing how it stung sore back. Things were becoming so lovely now. He had only to find his sister. |
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#37 |
The Melody of Misery
Join Date: Aug 2002
Location: The Island of Conclusions (You get there by jumping!)...
Posts: 1,147
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What a funny little boy...Grimm thought, though happy to please his mistress. She was so preoccupied with getting the Innkeeper's attention that she missed the friendly, gesturing greetings of the boy. He is more playful than my lady! Grimm wagged his tail and smiled, in his own toothy way at the boy, who spoke to another lady and man for a moment. Grimm looked up at Kellan, who had propped her elbows upon her table and put her head in her hands. But she is weary. Humans get this way sometimes, when they travel for long days without rest. Not like my kin. She will be herself if she does not watch the sky tonight, as she wishes, and sleeps instead.
Grimm watched the boy come nearer to him, and the big black dog rolled over onto his back, wagging his tail and nodding his head. His tail thumped against his Mistress' leg, and she looked down at her dog and then to the boy. She smiled weakly, not sure of his intentions. She knew he was but a boy, but Kellan had learned many, many times that people were not always what they seemed, and she had made many costly mistakes in learning the lesson. The boy came forward slowly, looking tentatively up at Kellan before crouching low to rub Grimm's stomach. "What is your name?" Kellan asked bluntly with a smile upon her face, but she spoke in a soft tone that only she, the boy, and the dog could hear. "I am sure that Grimm would like to know it." |
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#38 |
Cryptic Aura
Join Date: May 2002
Posts: 5,991
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Once the initial unpleasantness of dealing with Harstan was over, Bethberry relaxed a bit, wanting the boy Andhun to begin to feel at home here at the Vineyard. He had a staunch and playful ally in Cynan, who would lead the lad through some reckless but not undeserved tricks no doubt, and a proud defender in Rochadan. Let them talk some more, she decided, before she would attend to the boy's hurts.
Thus, the Healer sought out Finian, "You are in agreeement with Rochadan, that the boy should stay here and that we should do our all to ensure he remains out of Harstan's clutches?" 'Indeed, of course. How could I think otherwise?" the young Innkeeper replied indignantly. "To be sure, we must all be of accord here, for I have misgivings about this cruel Master. I think he will be vengeful if he thinks we have out witted him or cheated him. He will not hesitate to cause us problems." 'Yes." "Remember that the masters wield power and influence here; it is their efforts which are being praised for the rapid rebuilding of the town and not that of citizens who work here nor of the people who ply their trade." Finain scowled impatiently at the woman. "What room can I put Andhun in? The small one across the hall from mine, the one which was first a linen closet before we realised its warmth could make a good bedroom? You will foegoe the cost?" Finian at that point was really becoming impatient. 'I ask simply because Harstan might be able to twist our motives, pointing out that the boy has cost you money and you will be anxious to recover it from his labour." Finian raised an eyebrow at this. He had not considered the possibility. "Rochadan has said he will assume the costs of feeding the boy. It is his wise to take the orphan in." "Very well. Will you speak to Rochadan of my concerns, just so we are prepared?" Finian nodded. "Good then. I shall return and see what help I can give the boy." With those words, Bethberry returned to the hall in time to watch a large black dog roll over playfully with the lads before returning to his mistress, a tired looking young woman. "Rochadan, if you and Cynan can bear to part with our young friend for a bit, I should like to attend to his hurts. Can I, Andhun?" she asked. The boy nodded shyly, with a small look of relief spreading over his features. "I should like to start work as soon as possible though." Rochadan laughed. "You will, lad you will." Nodding at the sombre woman with the dog, Bethberry gently took Andhun's hand and brought him to her small clinic beside the kitchen, a room where the warmth of the fires made treatment for the very ill more pleasant. On her way there, she passed by the room of the other healer, Kannah, and knocked, wishing to ask if she would be interested in joining with her in the boy's treatment. Hearing no reply, Bethberry and Andhun continued on their way. Bethberry rather doubted if Kannah would be willing to offer her services in this case, but it would not do to be seen to snub the young woman with the impatient temper. Last edited by Bęthberry; 07-17-2004 at 07:07 PM. |
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#39 |
Vice of Twilight
Join Date: Nov 2002
Location: on a mountain
Posts: 1,121
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Andhun clung to Bethberry's hand, gazing about him with wide eyes. The place looked so neat and tidy, and so very friendly. Not like Harstan's gloomy home where no light ever shone, where little boys with pale faces flitted here or there like shadowy phantoms, flinching when eyes fell upon them. In this place one could be looked at and not fear a harsh kick or a sharp word. Sunlight streamed through every window and made it seem a bright, merry place.
"Please, ma'am," he said, looking up at her with puzzled eyes, "I know you are going to do something to make me feel better, but I am very curious. I know you will not hurt me, for you are good and kind, but I do not know what you will do. If you take no offense by this, will you tell me?" Meanwhile, in the Common Room, Cynan was beaming now that he had caught the attention of the young woman. He smiled down at Grimm, and then let his dancing eyes look back up to the young woman. "My name is Cynan Harwell," he said, "and I very much like your dog." He smiled at Grimm again. "What is your name, miss?" "I am called Kellan," said she. "That is an interesting name," said Cynan, "and very nice, as well, if I may say so. Do you know, I think Grimm and I will be very good friends. Clearly we both dislike Harstan. I used to have a dog, but he died in the attack of the dragon. Someday I will have a new dog, though, when my mamma is better." |
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#40 |
The Melody of Misery
Join Date: Aug 2002
Location: The Island of Conclusions (You get there by jumping!)...
Posts: 1,147
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"I used to have a dog, but he died in the attack of the dragon. Someday I will have a new dog, though, when my mamma is better..." The little boy, Cynan, spoke with such confidence. Kellan admired his attitude. She had seen much destruction and sorrow in her travels, but she could not imagine losing her home and having her parents and family wounded or dead. Looking down at Grimm, happy, carefree Grimm, Kellan could not imagine losing him. Their journey together was not over yet, and Kellan knew that she would not be parting with the dog for a long while, but still the woman never thought of the day when they would take separate paths.
"I am sorry for your loss. I cannot imagine," Kellan murmured, her dark eyes brimming with remorse for the young lad. "I am sure that when you have a new dog, he will be very happy and I know he will be in good company. Not like your poor friend, and his master." Cynan nodded, preoccupied with the big black beast on the floor but listening all the same. Kellan smiled, happy that Grimm could have someone to play with while they were in Dale. Kellan felt too exhausted to put up with his antics, and all Kellan really wanted while she was in Dale was to get up on the roof of the Tavern...but she would deal with that later. Bringing her mind back to the present, she watched as Cynan got Grimm to somehow "shake hands" with him. "If you do not mind me asking, Cynan...what ails your mother? Is it burns, like your young friend? Or have you all lost someone close to you?" Kellan asked gently, curious but not wanting to pressure her new acquaintance into answering. Kellan knew well that wounds of the heart could hurt just as badly as wounds of the body. |
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