The Green Dragon Inn

Pull out your pack and head on down to the Prancing Pony for some great Role Playing (try to stay in character)!

Postby Rylar » Wed Jun 06, 2007 9:31 pm

"I don't give refunds," the peddler said, hoping against all odds that she would simply go away.

The woman smiled. “Refunds?” She then chuckled softly, “You think I’m here searching for…”

Rylar continued to looked into the young man’s eyes though her hearing turned elsewhere. From behind she heard the sounds of foot steps and a moment later she knew they were approaching their table. Silent, she held the peddler’s gaze.

The table suddenly jolted as the large man’s rough-skinned hand hit the wooden top.

Instantly the woman reached out and caught the small, glass bottle as it nearly teetered over. In one fluid motion it was tucked safely back into her tunic.

"Anything I can help with?" growled the man.

With his one large hand still upon the table, Rylar’s dark eyes quickly passed over the the man’s belt, and noted that his other hand now rested upon his sword hilt. Her focus shifted slowly, up to his chest, then to his face, carefully avoiding his eyes, before she turned her attention back to the man across the table. Her eyes briefly searched his and Rylar deduced that the peddler did not know this new arrival. She again looked up at the man who loomed over the table and met his eyes this time.

“No,” her voice was confident. “I don’t believe we need your help.”

She paused for a moment and again turned her gaze. A spark gleamed through her eyes as she smiled mischievously at the young peddler.

“Not unless my friend here could interest you in three links from the Angainor.”


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Last edited by Rylar on Wed Jun 06, 2007 9:56 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Postby elerrina_narloth » Wed Jun 06, 2007 9:33 pm

Analin nodded as the woman excused herself, and then turned.

"Thorwen? I would never have expected to see you here of all places of Middle Earth! yes, yes....you never know where I shall be traveling" Analin laughed slightly. Her green eyes sparkled with delight as she laughed.

"On what business do you travel here? what is the news from Rivendell?" Analin could barely contain her questions, so long it had been since she had seen her old friend. She brushed a strand of golden-red hair from her face.

She watched the woman she had conversed with earlier go and sit with a man in another booth...showing him a bit of a chain. The half-elf only wondered about it for a moment before turning back to Thorwen.
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Postby Hirgon_the_Messenger » Wed Jun 06, 2007 11:43 pm

OOC: Sorry about that. I try to not control other people's characters but i couldn't see what else to do there.
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Postby Rylar » Thu Jun 07, 2007 7:20 am

OOC:

Hirgon, my post may have sounded stronger than I meant it to, but thank you for the apology. :) In RP it's a fine line between writing what your character sees and does and how that intergrates with the other characters, especially when all the characters are new to a story line. We are all trying to find our place and figure out how to relate to each other.

You mentioned that you didn't know what else to do. I think your previous post is a good one, you write well and have a good sense of your character. One suggestion (and to use your previous post as an example) is to keep writing your character and his actions as you have been. His perceptions such as: he wondered why a woman would upset a man, and his actions: he got up from the table, he crossed the room, he slammed his hand down upon the table, he asked if there was anything he could do to help...but then end the post there. This gives my character and Rodia's character a chance to respond to what just happened.

When writing for secondary characters, such as your post with the stable boy, it is totally fine to write their responses and reactions to you character since they are secondary characters and no one is writing for them.

I hope this helps and I hope you stick with our story. :)

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Postby Thorwen » Thu Jun 07, 2007 10:31 am

"On what business do you travel here? what is the news from Rivendell?" Analin asked.

There was a glimpse of sadness in Thorwen's grey eyes. "Actually, I'm on my way back to Rivendell. I was in the Havens, seeing my parents off on a ship; they finally decided to sail. After that, I stayed a while with my uncle - he's still building ships there, and I doubt that he will leave before lord Círdan himself does. He asked me to run an errand in these parts for him on my way home, and that's what brought me here tonight."

She had just finished the last sentence, when a large man strode across the room to the man and woman that she was curious about, and slammed his hand on the table in quite an aggressive manner. She glanced at him suspiciously.

"Hope he won't try and start any trouble," she thought, and instinctively touched the handle of the knife she was carrying on her belt.
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Postby Hirgon_the_Messenger » Thu Jun 07, 2007 12:45 pm

OOC: Thanks, I'll try to keep that in mind as we continue. Once again sorry about that.

"Angainor, huh?" growled Hirgon with his eyes narrowed as he stared at Rylar. Suddenly he gave a bark like laugh. He withdrew his hand from his sword hilt and ran his fingers through his matted hair.

"I thought it was something serious for a moment there, I may not look particuarly learned but I've heard a few tales in my time and I seriously doubt those are links of the chain that bound the enemy." his eyes suddenly seemed to change as if his thoughts wandered somewhere else, "They still tell tales of those times in Dol Amroth."

A great change seemed to have come over Hirgon. He sounded almost wistful and peaceful. The lines around his face momentarily softened as he though of the city he had called home for so long. However his old bitter manner returned quickly.

"Well it appears that somebody has been trying to make a quick coin from the gullible," he growled to the peddler. "and if there's one thing I hate its people who take advantage of others. I don't know you but if I were you I wouldn't try to sell any more 'historical' artifacts while I'm around."

Hirgon returned his gaze to the woman and extended a scarred, calloused hand to her. "Hirgon son of Erurainon, formerly of Dol Amroth, currently of no fixed abode, former man at arms of Dol Amroth, currently a mercenary for whoever has the biggest pocket book, at your service." said Hirgon as courteously as he could in his gruff, cold voice.
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Postby Rodia » Thu Jun 07, 2007 1:56 pm

Fennel did his best to remain calm even as the man crossed the room to join them; even as the woman cut a dangerous joke at his expense, and even as the burly warrior threatened him. Especially then. He wondered how much longer the two would play their game before they took matters more seriously in hand.

It surprised him when the man introduced himself. He had caught the woman's meaning so quickly, Fennel had been sure they both shared the task of seeking him out and spoiling his business. Now it seemed the two did not know each other after all. With a length of titles, the man named himself: Hirgon of Dol Amroth, a mercenary.

Fennel stared at the table, sucking at his lower lip. He had slid into the booth to have a wall at his back; now it meant he could not leave quickly and quietly. Hirgon may not have been after him, but the woman definitely was, and Fennel had no doubt Hirgon would take pleasure in assisting her in such a mission. She was purposely and shamelessly drawing her jest out, clearly confident in her advantage. If she had not had it before, she did now. Hirgon's arrival had successfully blocked Fennel's last routes of escape.

Nothing remained but to sit quietly and avoid drawing any more attention to himself. He would bide his time, find out more, and as soon as possible, slip away.
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Postby Rylar » Mon Jun 11, 2007 8:44 pm

Even though the man from Dol Amroth still loomed over the end of the table, Rylar continued to study the man’s countenance. The mention of the Angainor’s links had led him on a brief yet capricious journey of proclamations, homeland memories, and threats. Her eyes remained on him, yet she never lost complete sight of the peddler, who was sagging deeper into the very booth that was supposed to support him.

At the end of his menacing pronouncement, the man’s demeanor shifted again and the woman was soon presented with a formal introduction.

“I am Rylar.” She responded with a firm handshake yet her mind quickly questioned just whose hand she was shaking. A man from Dol Amroth he claimed to be, who currently had no home, was formally a man in arms, and sold himself to the highest bidder. The townsfolk who had hired her were certainly not affluent people, and yet here she sat. The man she’d spent the last six weeks searching for was now sitting across the table, and an experienced mercenary stood nearby...

Ex…cuse me,” came the shaky voice of the Innkeeper.

With a woven breadbasket in one hand and a bowl of soup in the other, the Innkeeper slipped nervously by Hirgon and hastily placed a small mountain of steaming, fresh baked bread down on the center of the table. He followed with the large bowl and uneasily set it down in front of the woman. With a swipe of his hand upon his slightly stained apron, the Innkeeper turned awkwardly and leaned over placing his head beside Rylar’s.

“The blacksmith, he…he won’t be back until Thursday.” The man whispered so softly she could barely make out the words.

The woman nodded in response. “Thank you,” she replied in her normal voice as the man pulled himself away. Her attention momentarily turned to Hirgon who still towered above them but then it shifted back to the peddler.

“So…” she began in a curious tone, extending her hand across the table. “I am Rylar…and you would be?”

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Postby Rodia » Tue Jun 12, 2007 4:41 pm

The bread both looked and smelled appetising, but Fennel frowned at the loaves as well as the soup bowl; the innkeeper never looked his way, so the peddler's glare only hit his back. The woman had settled down at his table for good. Fennel could not say he had really expected her to leave, but he was still put out.

Unexpectedly, she introduced herself, reaching out over her soup to shake his hand. It was almost...friendly.

Fennel went over the collection of fake names he used, trying to recall which one he most recently chosen. He took Rylar's hand. He would play along.

"I'm Veris," he offered.
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Postby Rylar » Wed Jun 13, 2007 10:07 am

"Veris?" Her voice questioned while shaking his hand. Releasing her grasp, Rylar gently picked up a thick slice the bread, tore off a small piece, and placed it into her mouth. Its flavor offered a sense of home to the woman of the road.

Swallowing the warm morsel she then surveyed the peddler while she spoke. “Funny…I thought your name was Reven…were the townspeople of Willowbrook mistaken in what they told me?”

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Postby Rodia » Wed Jun 13, 2007 10:56 am

The peddler blinked. A small gasp of horror tried to rise up in his throat, but he pursed his lips and did not let it escape.

"The good folk of Willowbrook know me as Reven, yes," he admitted as calmly as he could manage. "I don't understand your surprise. Out of all the people you have met in your travels, Rylar, I am certain there are some who do not care to refer to you by your proper name."

There was only a touch of venom in those words, and Fennel closed his eyes as he drank again.
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Postby Edmund the Scholar » Wed Jun 13, 2007 1:13 pm

A meek-looking, middle aged human slowly pushes open the door to the Green Dragon with his hip. Peering tentatively inside, he surveys the room. Seeing a small, unoccupied table left in the darkened corner, he thrusts the open a little wider and steps across the threshold.

A book falls from his overly-laden arms. He bends down to pick it up and drops several more in the process. Fearing that the clatter had disrupted the merriment around him, he smiles awkwardly at the rest of the patrons and then reclaims his belongings.

The human takes a few more steps towards the table as a bundle slips from his thin arms. Aged parchments scatter like dried leaves in the wind on the wood floor. Quickly he drops to his knees and crawls about, scooping up papers from underneath the nearby chairs and tables before anybody can step on them.

Standing up too quickly, he hits his head on a table’s edge. The human winces, but doesn’t utter the profanity that is likely forming behind his lips.

He gathers his belonging back into his arms and scurries to the corner like a child with his knees tied together. His arms relax and a deluge of books, scrolls, manuscripts, and papers fall onto the table and surrounding area. Quickly, the human sits down and buries his head behind a large tome.
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Postby rwhen » Thu Jun 14, 2007 12:57 pm

The drudge who usually swept the floor after closing time noticed the newcomer to the Inn. He had dropped his books and papers and seemed a bit unsettled by his surroundings. She wasn't good for much else but to clean up and take the orders of her elders, but she had a good heart. Her thought was to jump from her stool just inside the kitchen and help the man, but she was too timid. When he was seated and hidden from view by a massive book, she noticed that he was not yet attended to by the barkeep and screwed up some courage.

"I'll be right back," Toula called out to the old cook, "I just need to fetch some water." To back up her claim, she grabbed up a bucket and headed through the main room and to the front door. Turning and looking back, she noticed that a scroll was still rolling back and forth between two pieces of the old wood floor. He must have missed that one, she thought.

Carefully setting the pail aside, she quietly slid behind the other customers and crawled under the tables until she reached the scroll. Picking it up, she fingered the leather strap holding it sealed and noticed the markings on the outside. It meant little to her as she had never learned her letters.

Taking a deep breath, she stood at the corner table and cleared her throat. "Mister," she said barely above a whisper, "I think you dropped this," extending the scroll out to the man.

He looked up from his reading and smiled. "Hello."
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Postby Rylar » Thu Jun 14, 2007 9:30 pm

She continued to watch the peddler as he drank from his mug until a barrage of books tumbled upon the hard floor causing her to look away. The newcomer was now in a wavering battle with several scrolls attempting escape. It was a battle he soon lost.

Rylar’s eyes followed the one scroll came to rest between two planks of the old wooden floor. It was too far to make out the scrolls origin; however, she was intrigued. Much to her surprise, the man missed the lone document as he quickly disappeared into the corner. A few moments latter a young timid girl emerged from the kitchen and spotted the aged scroll.

Returning her gaze back to Hirgon, Rylar wondered if the new arrival was normally skittish or if it had been the sight of the man from Dol Armoth that had caused his anxiety. Turning to the food in front of her, Rylar began eating the thick soup which eased the pull in her stomach. When her bowl was half empty she reached to her side, pulled out a fabric pouch, and placed it next to the breadbasket.

“Well Veris, I have a few more items here from your adventure in Willowbrook.” She said with intention pulling on the bag’s cord. “Shall we discuss these?”

.
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Postby Edmund the Scholar » Fri Jun 15, 2007 8:50 am

Startled out of his thoughts, the middle aged man looked up at young girl standing before his table. Seeing that she held a scroll remarkably like one of his own, he first seemed puzzled. Then, quickly taking a mental inventory of the items around him, he realized that the scroll was one of his own.

“I’ll take that!” he said and quickly snatched it away from the girl.

He then added in a more conciliatory, though somewhat flustered, tone, “I’m… I’m sorry.” He said as he scanned the floor of the common room, looking for any other items that he might have dropped. “It is just that these are…are exceedingly old…very old, indeed…and worth a great deal for those who know how to read them. You could damage them, don’t you know. That wouldn’t do.”

An awkward pause enveloped them. The man shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Could you…,” he began unsteadily, evidently unsure of who this girl was or whether she worked for the inn. “Could you be a dear and bring me a ah,…a…candle. Yes. Lit, please. A little more light would be grand, if you would be so kind. But be careful not to burn yourself. That…that wouldn’t do either.”

The man returned his gaze back to the large tome that he had been reading.
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Postby rwhen » Fri Jun 15, 2007 11:15 am

The young girl stood frozen to the spot, eyes wide and round. When it became evident that the man was not going to look at her again and expected his request to be filled. She murmered acceptance and turned away.

Now, Toula KNEW where the candles were kept, but she had never been trusted with this sort of task before and didn't want to get into trouble, especially when she knew the punishment would be no supper and she had not yet eaten.

"When in doubt, ask about," was what her mother had always told her. She spared a second or two for the deep pain of loss that memory triggered, but shouldered forward into the kitchen to confront the cook.

"Umm ma'am, there's a man who needs a candle at his table, do you want me to get it for him?" she started carefully and backed towards her corner stool.

"What?" the red-faced cook turned around, "what and who wants what?" Her entire focus had been on preparing a special meal for the guests that night and the intrusion was not a welcome one, especially from a drudge of all people.

"A candle, ma'am, for a customer to the Inn," Toula breathed.

With a mighty humpff, the cook waddled to a corner closet and retrieved something from within, muttering all the while. When she came back, she held forth a short squat candle that was in it's own brass holder. Toula stared blankly at the unlit candle.

"He says he wants it lit," offered the drudge.

"He does, does he? Do I look like a servant to you? No one tells ME what to do, you were the one to boldly demand...."

"Oh no ma'am, I would never demand..."

"Oh yes you would, you gutter snipe. Take this and be off. If I SEE you again, you'll be ta bed with no supper." The cook turned away dismissively, forgeting the girl as soon as her back was to her.

Toula was in a quandry. She didn't want to disappoint the man and she didn't want to lose her supper. Her stomach won out. She peered around the corner and the man was still looking at his book in the darkened corner. Approaching quietly, she pushed the candle onto his table and started away, hoping to be un-noticed.

"I asked for a LIT candle, young lady," the man stated.

With that, Toula fled to the door and outside, breathing heavily.
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And getting into trouble with Rally The Eldar.

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Postby Rodia » Sat Jun 16, 2007 2:05 am

The walking library that had entered the inn pleasantly distracted Fennel for a few moments. The abundance of scrolls was an impressive sight, and the peddler wondered if the parchments were worthless, or the man careless. Likely both.

Rylar's voice cut into the reverie like the grating caw of a carrion-bird. Fennel winced at her words, and the sight of the pouch, then quickly composed himself. He put on a sorrowful look as he peered into the mug.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could indulge you, but I really don't have the time."

Slowly, the peddler finished his drink. He set the mug down gently, not allowing either wood or clay to resound.

"It is a pity, we seem to have so much in common," he said with a dry smile. "Perhaps our paths will cross again some day."

He made a small motion as he began to rise from his seat, almost reaching for the pouch, but his hand withdrew quickly. Instead, he reached for the bag that lay beside him on the bench.
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Postby Rylar » Sat Jun 16, 2007 9:48 am

The small brown pouch remained on the table as the peddler began to gather himself and his belongings. Rylar collected the pouch and tucked it back into her tunic and turned her attention back to the man. His clothing showed signs of travel, his slightly unruly curls framed a studious face, and the bag he held so protectively now, appeared to be a much needed companion.

“Suit yourself…” she replied doubting every would the peddler had just spoken. “…but you should know, I am not the only one the townspeople of Willowbrook hired.”

.
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Postby SmogsFlame » Sat Jun 16, 2007 12:41 pm

OOC: May I join?

IC: The horse's hooves clapped loudly in the dark as the light from the inn flooded the streets. The rider drew up in the saddle as the horse stopped in front of the inn and snorted. His hair was long and he was cloaked in black, with the hood drawn up to his face. The sword he had on his hip had a long blade, two handed grip, and was distinctly Numenorean. "What say you Hatha?" The man asked leaning down to the horse's ear. "Should we stop here, or sleep another night outside."

The horse tossed it's head and starting prancing sideways towards the stable. The man laughed. "All right friend. We'll stop here."

He swung his heg up over the horse's head and dropped to the ground. His sharp gray eyes spied the stable boy taking a snooze on a pile of hay beside the door. He nudged the boy's foot. "Come lad this is no time for sleeping. My horse is anxious for a place to sleep himself."

The boy sprang to his feet muttering apologies, still groggy from his nap. His eyes cleared when he saw the man standing in front of him. He quickly snatched the reigns and lead Hatha to a large stall. The man helped the boy unsaddle the horse. He slung his bags over his shoulder carrying a great long bow in one hand. With his free hand he reached into his purse and handed the boy a shiny silver coin.

The boys eyes grew to the size of plates staring at the coin. The man laughed, as he handed him the coin. "Pop you eyes back into your head lad, I dare say you'll need them all your life."

The man left the stable and walked to the large door that lead into the inn, his boots thunking on the stony ground. He opened the door and blinked a couple times to help his eyes adjust to the light difference. He set his belongings in a corner and walked over to the desk. "A room for me, and stable for my horse, and food for me please."
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Postby Rodia » Sat Jun 16, 2007 2:05 pm

Fennel froze. He glanced at the big man from Dol Amroth, then back at Rylar. He had suspected that she did not seek him out of boredom or charity, but he had not thought the gentle people of Willowbrook rich or resourceful enough to hire more than one hunter. She could be lying now, she probably was. Yet the big man still lingered near, and if Rylar spoke the truth, then Fennel would rather deal with her game of hints than with the mercenary's muscles.

He sank back down in his seat with a deep sigh. He would need another drink before this was over.

"It seems it is not quite as late as I thought. Let's talk," the peddler lowered his voice. "What do you want?"
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Postby Bryttar » Sat Jun 16, 2007 5:40 pm

“Yes it’s her horse.” The loud male voice echoed from the darkness back of the barn.

“Good!” Bryttar whispered under his breath as he and the stable boy stood near the entrance. A nearby lantern offered a small about of light which let the Rohirrim see the boy stood almost to his chest

“How long has she been here?” He inquired hiding the slight annoyance in his voice.

“Not long.” The young boy answered slowly, still sleepy from his nap. “Not even a half hour,” he added thinking his nap surely hadn’t been all that long.

Just then the tall, lean, dark haired elf emerged from the blackness. “Thank you, he said to the stable boy pressing two coins into his hand.

“Please,” the young voice quivered as he wrapped his fingers around the coins. “Don’t tell anyone I let you check.”

“No, no one will know.” The elf reassured.

The two men began to walk towards the Inn but the elf slowed his stride for a moment. “Bryttar,” he said lowering his voice. “If she’s with others we ignore her. Alone, then we approach.”

“Yes…fine!” The Rohirrim blurted out louder than he meant and then turned. With each step his mind raced with the many questions he had since meeting this elf. Questions only she could answer.

“What the…” Bryttar blurted as young girl suddenly plunged into him. Instinctively he reached out to balance her yet his voice was stern. “You little lady need to watch where…”

The Rohirrim quickly pulled his hands away. In the darkness there was still enough light from the Inn to see the terror in her young eyes. The elf saw it too, for he quickly moved beside his companion and the girl.

“Can we help you?” The elf asked softening his voice and lowering his body just a little.

.
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Postby SmogsFlame » Sun Jun 17, 2007 1:46 pm

"Not to bad." Thought the man as he surveyed the room he would be staying in for a couple days. "Not bad at all."

He set his bags down beside the bed, and leaned his long bow up against the wall. He thought about leaving his cloak and sword, but something inside him wanted to keep them for the moment. He did, however, pull the hood of his cloak back to reveal a nasty jagged scar that ran from well into his hairline, on the right side of his face, almost straight down past his eye to his jaw.

His traced it with his finger tips as he looked at himself in the full length mirror. "That orc would've had you, had you not been wearing that helm, glancing blow or not. The look on that orc's face when you went sprawling only to get up a moment later was quite humorous." Agothdín, for that was the man's name, did not know it until later, that the helm had cracked inward. Opening a nasty gash in the side of his head, but otherwise protecting him from having his brains spilt all over the ground.

Agothdín adjusted his leather jerkin, and shirt so that it covered the bright shiny mail underneath. He had another name which was, Magazad-Duer, which was orkish for "Scarred Slayer".

Agothdín finished primping and finally left his room, locking the door on his way out. "Yes it is best to keep one's business to one's self, at least until I how the land lays."

He was a weapons smith, who went from village to village mending and building weapons for villagers who were having orc problems. He would also go on orc hunts and teach sword mastery to a few of the village men. Then he would go to another village, and so it had gone for a couple years now, until he had aquired quite a name for himself among the townsfolk and orcs alike.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs he glanced around at all the people there. He would need a guide, or someone who knew the land well enough to draw him a map. There had been rumors of raids done by orcs in a small town that he knew should be near by. The problem was he was having trouble finding it.

He picked a table close to the edge of the room, close to the stairs, where he could watch the hustle and bustle without being in it. He sat thinking about his father back home in Morthond, near Erech. Long had his people lived there in constant fear of the mountain. No more. When the war had come Agothdín had gone away with his father. But when it was over his father had gone home and begger Agoth to come to, but he had stayed. Agoth missed his home but he knew deep in his heart he was doing a good work by helping the people of Middle-Earth.

He was brought out of his reverie as a tray of food was placed on the table in front of him. He thanked the person who brought it and began eating. "I still need a guide." He mumbled to himself as he, again, studied each individual in the room.
Last edited by SmogsFlame on Sun Jul 01, 2007 3:59 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Edmund the Scholar » Mon Jun 18, 2007 6:07 am

The young girl gingerly set a candle on the table in front of the middle-aged man. Edmund looked up over the top of his book.

“I said that I wanted a LIT candle,” he said, perhaps a bit too sternly. But before he could mutter an apology, the girl scampered off appearing as if she did not wanted to return.

Edmund glanced at the nearest lantern and watched its beckoning flame. But he had no desire to leave his belongings unattended, even for the minute or two it would take to walk to the lantern, light his candle, and resume his studies.

Grumbling to himself, Edmund surveyed the common room. There was an odd assortment of patrons. Mostly locals or wanders from this place or that, no obvious adventurers up for a challenge of any significance…certainly nobody who looked trustworthy.

Edmund sighed wistfully to himself wishing that this had been his night.

Casually, he took the candle and cupped its wick in his hands. When he felt that nobody was watching, he blew softly upon it. A red flicker appeared, followed by long orange flame that danced merrily in the retreating darkness.

“Better,” Edmund said to nobody in particular and then returned to his tome.
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Postby Rylar » Mon Jun 18, 2007 10:05 pm

A slight smile raised the corners of her mouth as the man quickly sat back down and posed his question. Pushing the soup bowl to the side, Rylar then leaned in towards the center of the table. Her voice was also low as she spoke.

“Do you know I once visited a land where there were these birds. They weren’t beautiful to look at, in fact they were quite plain, but the males could sing a beautiful song. However, almost all of their song was not from their own imagination. It was made up of other bird’s songs and as they grew older they continually added other bird sounds to their own. Now, the other birds who were not of the same species knew this song was not from one of their own, but it didn’t matter. What was important was the length and variety of these songs and these males would sing them continually, in the spring, until they drew what they wanted to themselves.”

Leaning herself up against the back of the soft booth, the woman reached into her tunic and pulled out a slightly crumpled, cream colored envelope. The name Revon was scribbled in bold black letters upon the front. Rylar placed it down upon the wooden table, face up, and pushed it towards the peddler.

“Veris, this is a message for you from the people of Willowbrook.”

.
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Postby Galadorn » Tue Jun 19, 2007 12:05 am

(in the corner of this lively bar sits a young elf who is all but himself, he is very concentrated on something on his table. many of poeple look at him as if he were a dwarf with no beard. he finally looks up and asks the bar tender for a bowl of soup. the bar tender is happy to oblige and fetches him the soup he requested as the bowl is set down galadorn begins to sip his soup )
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Postby Edmund the Scholar » Tue Jun 19, 2007 7:38 am

The night was growing old and the printed words that he held so dear were beginning to blur in Edmund’s tired eyes.

He glanced around the common room again. The crowd had grown somewhat, but it was the same as every night. Locals, a handful of travelers, a few peddlers, the Inn’s staff…not the type of people for whom he had been looking and waiting.

Who had he been waiting for, he wondered—Gandalf himself? The thought began to germinate and then grow onto itself.

“What have you been waiting for all these years?” the voice in his head pressed louder.

Of course, this line of inquiry wasn’t anything new. Edmund had frequently thought about leaving his home and letting the Great East-West Road sweep him away to distant lands and great adventures. But the thought of traveling by himself made his feet freeze and his heart seek the comfort of familiar surroundings.

“I could die,” he replied in his head.

“Oh,” the voice assured him. “You WILL die. Make no mistake about that! All mortals will die…the question is: Will their death mean anything?”

Edmund didn’t have an answer for this. His eyes drifted towards the window and stared at the stars twinkling high over the hills. He wondered what they looked like from the peaks of mountains… or from the shores of the sea… or from the distant East….

“All mortals will die,” the voice prodded again. “Whether you be here or walking along side the mighty Anduin, death is only a few steps behind you.”

Edmund frowned. He was about to force his attention back to his book when he noticed that his feet were aching to move and that his heart did not want to return to his small home outside of town. He surveyed the crowd again. People were talking about their own concerns…talking, talking, and more talking.

Edmund sighed heavily and felt the resolve solitify within him.

“No more talking,” Edmund said to empty chair on the other side of the table. “No more.”

Taking his precious books, scrolls, and manuscripts, he got to his feet and walked quickly out of the Green Dragon Inn and began heading East into the night.

(I might continue this in the Scriptorium under the title "All Mortals Die..." at some point in the future.)
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Postby Rodia » Tue Jun 19, 2007 3:45 pm

She slid the envelope halfway across the table, and withdrew her hand. Fennel stared at the scrawl of ink; a made-up name, borrowed from someone he had once known. The people of Willowbrook had folded their message in good, waxed paper.

He willed himself not to look at Rylar, and reached for the envelope, not knowing what to expect. Holding it gently in one hand, he took a small, folding knife from his pocket. Slowly and carefully, Fennel slid the blade under the smooth blotch of wax that sealed the message. The envelope opened; shockingly, there was a sheet of paper inside.

Bewildered, Fennel glanced at Rylar, but could not read her face. He bent over the piece of paper instead. The page was filled evenly in black ink, probably a berry colour that would fade to red and blue with time. He read it slowly, carefully, and with every word, he found it harder to contain his emotions. By the time his eyes came to the signature- a collective farewell from the people of Willowbrook- he had lost all control over his expressions. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he began reading from the top, and when he finished for the second time, he looked at Rylar. She stared calmly, like a great cat.

Fennel folded the paper in half and slipped it back inside the envelope. He slid it forward, halfway across the table as Rylar had done moments before.

"That's very funny," he told her, with no mirth in his voice. He withdrew his hand and wiped it on his sleeve. The woman worried him more with her game of tricks than if she had drawn a blade. He leaned a little closer. "What do you want?" he repeated.
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Postby Galadorn » Tue Jun 19, 2007 8:52 pm

Galadorn watches the many poeple converse amoungst each other wondering what the sliding of envolopes and one man throwing manuscripts and storming has to do with anything. he cannot help but wonder why is the world filled with such secrecy and anger. he finishes his bowl of soup and stands up and walks towards the exit.

he stops and noticing that the letter the was being past amongst the two poeple had a very familiar sybol on it but he could not put his finger on it so he walks toward the booth




"excuse me sorry for being nossy but. what exactly does the simple on the envolope mean"
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Postby Rylar » Tue Jun 19, 2007 9:38 pm

OOC: In an earlier post I wrote that Rylar put a pouch on the table and at that time I (the writer) revealed that it was a bag of rocks Rylar picked up on her journey. I’ve now changed that post. The pouch contains items from the people of Willowbrook.


IC:

Rylar pulled the brown pouch back out and placed it half way upon the letter. With a gentle push she slid both items back towards the peddler.

“The people of Willowbrook wanted me to give you this letter and return these items to you. Now you will see that not everything you sold to them is here.” Rylar’s eyes then reflected an inner smile as she paused remembering one little man. Her smile then spread to her face. “Veris, Mr. Bossect said he didn’t care one bit if that little sword didn’t glow blue when Orcs were around, he was keeping his hobbit dagger!”

The woman leaned back comfortably against the booth. The look in her eyes turned playful.

“Now, if you can pull a blacksmith out of your bag there, perhaps you can offer me what it is I want.”

Off to the side she then saw a young elf approaching. “Excuse me,” the elf began when he reached the table. “Sorry for being nosy but what exactly does the symbol on the envelope mean?"

Smiling, Rylar reached over and pushed the pouch off the envelope revealing the letters.

“There are no symbols here on this envelope. Just Reven’s name…or one of his names.” She finished with a wink to the peddler.

.
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Postby Galadorn » Tue Jun 19, 2007 9:44 pm

galadorn extends his hand in a kind jesture to the man


"the name is galadorn wonderer of the wood, i know these woods like the back of my hand"

he look at the other person siting at the booth

"if i am not mistaken you said you were looking for a blacksmith"
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