Elendor
Orcs out in daylight?
Ranol gets visitors as he recovers in the infirmary and he talks of Grishnakh the Great.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Northern Village - Infirmary
IC Time: Night
Description: [Frarin(#31050)] Nighttime is only recently come and the darkness is not quite the inky black of the dead of night yet. But in the village of the Beornings, it is dark enough for the place to have settled into quiet solemnity. The infirmiry especially is this way, with the few sick patients there having gone to sleep for the night already. Only the two low-burning lamps lend light to the rows of cots.
Into this comes a distinctly not-Beorning figure, for he is short and a low beard wags down to his belt. Frarin carries a small lantern that throws deep shadows across his face as he opens and closes the door of the infirmiry behind him. There is no healers currently here in the main room, perhaps they linger in the back, and the silversmith pauses to gaze about the long room.
Being moved to softer bed than the ground was a welcome change for the huskarl, but he's still in a lot of pain and it's only the drastic blood loss that's allowed him to sleep through the discomfort.
Ranol is lightly asleep now, but it's very restless nap. He's pulled off some of the blankets they had over him and there's a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. Frarin shouldn't have a hard time picking out the dwarf.
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin is frowning as he looks about the infirmiry with its rows of cots, but indeed, Ranol is not difficult to spot, being significantly bulkier and shorter than the other resident patients in the room. The silversmith holds his lantern higher and his frown changes to an unhappy scowl as he watches Ranol's restless sleep. As softly as iron-clad boots may go, Frarin comes towards the huskarl's cot. For a time he lingers there, just watching Ranol, but he glances briefly behind him then grabs a small chair and pulls it up to the cot's side and seats himself. There seems no reason for his visit, for there he sits in silence.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] This -is- Beorning, home of the kin of Grimbeorn. Still, the infirmary is made for the northmen here, and not necessarily for the shapeshifters. Mobeorn has to duck slightly to enter the doorway, though he is not yet full grown. Despite this, he slips into the infirmary, his voice booming--not using his 'indoor' voice at all--it's unlikely that he has one, in fact. "I hear there were orcs about in our lands?" he demands angrily.
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
The door to the infirmiry burts open and in comes Gunnarr. Looking around the room the dwarf comes in, his mangeled armor in one hand and a book in the other. He notices Frarin is standing by what must be Ranol's cot and quickly strolls toward him. "Well met, Frarin how does guts and glory look today?" He turns his head at the entrance of the large Beorning.
Ranol startles awake at the booming voice, the loud words of Mobeorn jarring through his restless sleep. His eyes open along with an intake of breath, and the huskarl looks around in bleary-eyes confusion. First he notices Frarin sitting in quiet vigil, then he takes in Mobeorn.
The dwarf struggles to sit up, a slow and painful endeavor but he stubbornly pushes himself. He doesn't want to be laying prone if Mobeorn is here. Gunnarr busts in a moment later and Ranol groans softly, muttering something quietly. "Punch me in the stomach Frarin.. maybe I'll pass out again.."
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
Folk moving about in the village after dark, both large and small, and then a loud voice booming, is enough to catch a stranger's attention.
Far, far more quietly, a tall man eases into the infirmary and pauses near to the door, just outside of it. He couldn't help but overhear something the brown haired tall man had said just before his own silent arrival.
[Frarin(#31050)] Durin have mercy! The entrance of Mobeorn with his distinctly non-indoor voice and the slam of the door at Gunnarr's arrival bring Frarin quite quickly to his feet, his scowl deepening and mouth opening in what promises to be a very Thari-esque scolding. But perhaps it is this very analogy that strikes the silversmith and stays his quick rebuke to the loud arrivals, for instead of telling off either Mobeorn or Gunnarr, he looks instead to Ranol. "Lie back down, you. By the Maker!"
Frarin nods briefly to Gunnarr. "Awake, cousin, very awake now." The reply is given to the warder, but with the last word, Frarin looks pointedly at Mobeorn, and no matter how hard he might try not to, he does in fact look rather like a scolding healer. He gives no reply right away to the big man, nor does he notice the entrance of another, far quieter, man.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] "Knew I should have never left your party to fend for yourselves on this journey," Mobeorn mutters, returning Frarin's pointed look with a brown-eyed stare. "And now the Laird'll have my head for this, even if you -are- dwarves. Orcs being so daring on our lands...." There's more indistinct muttering from the Beorning man. And he -does- turn, looking Lithuigelir over from head to toe and bluntly asking, "Who are you and what's your business in my lands?"
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
Gunnarr isn't taken aback by Frarin's sharp implied rebuke, he is used to it by now. Instead he looks over at the new arrival, a wonderer by his cloth to Gunnarr's eyes. then looks back at the beorning, "Are you always this rude to strangers?"
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The dark haired stranger raises a black brow over pale eyes and smiles a little disarmingly at the other man. His voice is soft and pleasant upon the ear, a low tenor, "Just a Harper, passing through."
A friendly glance past Mobeorn towards the dwarves, "I heard..." his voice still politely low so not to disturb over much, "something about orcs?"
Watching the unnamed Mobeorn once more, the stranger adds, "Travelers naturally are keen to avoid such."
A friendly glance past Mobeorn towards the dwarves, "I heard..." his voice still politely low so not to disturb over much, "something about orcs?"
Watching the unnamed Mobeorn once more, the stranger adds, "Travelers naturally are keen to avoid such."'.
Mobeorn grins to Gunnarr, showing a fine set of somehow dangerous-looking teeth. "And tell me, Master dwarf--do the dwarves allow strangers in their lands? Would you let a stranger with no name, who claims to be nothing more than a harper, yet carries a a sword and a bow and wears leather armor...." Mobeorn twitches at that..."would you let such a man into the Lonely Mountain? Though he had not given you his name, his business or intentions in your lands, nor the name of his homeland?" He turns his attention to Lithuigelir and sniffs the air loudly. "When said man is asking, strangely, about orcs? As if a harper could fight orcs with song....and you don't know the smell of him, either?:
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The stranger isn't put off in the least. A merry laugh little laugh that slips into a friendly chuckle, eyes dancing with light hearted amusement, "Even a bard must be able to defend himself if he wanders the land alone, friend."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin is scowling. Just kinda of...in general. Not at anyone in particular. He is simply carrying that stony, critical look he usually does as he glances from Gunnarr to Mobeorn to the stranger to Ranol. "Stranger or no stranger," he grumbles, "you lot are still yammering away while there's a dwarf with a bloody fever trying to sleep." That earns a brief distraction as Frarin turns to point at Ranol. "And that's a fever, which you wouldn't have if you hadn't wandered off. So stop complaining."
Well, Frarin certainly seems irritated at the interruption to his quiet vigil. Nevertheless, instead of letting his famous temper build further, he instead moves back to his chair and takes up a waterskin hanging near to Ranol's cot. He uses it to wet a cloth which he offers to the huskarl. "Put that over your brow," he orders. Durin be damned if he's going to do it himself, with Ranol awake and all these people here to see.
"Maybe.. or maybe it's just hot in here." Ranol continues in a mutter so soft it's little more than a quiet rumble like one might hear of distant thunder. He takes the cloth with a murmur of thanks and wipes it over his brow and short black hair. It brings some relief and Ranol's tense expression softens. "Mobeorn.. " He says with an effort to raise his voice. "Do you know of an orc named Grishnakh?"
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
"We ask questions sure but we never get so huffy about them right off the bat. We only get grumpy right before fighting people unless your Frarin here who is always grumpy." Gunnarr laughs and turns his attention back on his wounded companion. "It is pretty hot in here, but it can't be helped any." Gunnarr searches the room quickly and finds a chair which he draws up near Ranol's cot and sits down.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] "Well good for you and your folk," Mobeorn snots to Gunnarr, not at all chastised. "And we live between the Misty Mountains and the dark wood. And me and my kind and the people of this land give our lives to keep the High Pass free of orcs so that you and yours can travel on your merry way, trading to and fro," he growls, starting to sound dangerously animal-like. "Not all the enemy takes the form of gobilns--this the Laird of this land knows from experience. And so we ask simple questions." He turns to Lithuigelir. "A simple harpist, who protects himself is all? And yet clearly you came to this land alone--miraculously surviving either the High Pass or the fiends of Mirkwood. And so I ask one last time--your name and your business here? Or shall we take it outside?"
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
Still soft spoken and relaxed, leaning against the door jam, the man smiles, "Of course we can go outside and speak." A flicker of pale eyes to the wounded, resting Ranol, "And perhaps we should. I do not wish to disturb." A polite inclination of his dark head to the dwarves, "Mend well."
And so saying, the tall stranger moves to depart and go outside.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Oh for Durin's sake," Frarin grumbles to himself, for once not at all interested in joining the mounting tension between Mobeorn and the harpist. He glances sidelong at Gunnarr, but seems well accustomed to his reputation as a curmudgeon and actually nods at the warder as if his speech were well spoken. He lifts his brows at Ranol, however. "Grishnakh?" Frarin repeats, some of his grumpiness fading in interest now. "Is that who attacked you, cousin?"
He twists around irritably towards Mobeorn and the stranger and grunts loudly. "Hold a second, Master Harpist," he orders. "Before you two depart outside for what will no doubt be an enlightening lesson, perhaps Master Mobeorn here will answer my comrade's question about this Grishnakh, since that seemed to be his intention when he interrupted Ranol's rest in the first place."
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
"Oh peace for heaven's sake I wasn't suggestin that you not question the man entirly just suggestin you weren't so wound up tight about it is all." He looks up, quite enjoying the banter he has created with the Beorning. "Might as well talk in here. I don't think Ranol is going to sleep even if we left.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] "Aye," Mobeorn nods, starting to follow the harpist out the door. He does turn and pause, though. "Grishnakh? No...I don't generally ask the orcs their names before I kill them. How is it, though, that you came to learn this particular goblin name?" A glance is given to Lithuigelir. "Hold there, harpist. You don't have my leave to wander the village, so stay here for the time being. We'll talk in here for now, and then later, you and I will settle out the nature of your business in this land."
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The 'harper' in question doesn't seem the least put out, or inclined in any obvious way towards being violent or ill tempered. He merely smiles, still amused most likely, "Very well. I am happy to wait and hear the local news."
Ranol sighs softly as Mobeorn seems too wrapped up in his tirade to hear his question. The dwarf holds the damp rag over his face, as if that will ward away all the sudden noise and arguing in the infirmary, but he slides it away when Frarin's voice fills the room. "Aye, cousin." He answers, giving him an appreciative nod.
Mobeorn finally gets back to the topic of the orcs and Ranol shifts his blue eyes the the Beorning. "He told me. He was demanding to know what happened to some of his kin that were killed by your people." Ranol's voice is soft. If they wish to hear what he has to say they'll need to be quieter.
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin leans in to hear Ranol speak, completely ignoring the others. This is the first time he has heard Ranol speak of the incident and he seems interested now. Darkly, he mutters, "There's a novelty. An orc actually caring about what happens to his own people."
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
Gunnarr looks perplexed. "Why on earth would an orc ask that? Usually they can't stop yacking about themselves when they fight." He too leans to the side in his chair toward Ranol. Eager to here what his brother has to say.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] The Beorning man snorts loudly. "A goblin that pretends to caring? If he's that concerned with the burial rites of his folk, we'll have to give him a firsthand tour of them. Where exactly did you encounter him?" he presses Ranol.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
There is definite interest from the harper in this information about this particular orc. He says nothing but listens, attention slipping from the tall local man to the dwarves and back again as they each speak.
Lithuigelir leans against the door jam once more, long bow idly in hand and looking much like the rest of his ilk - for those familiar with such men. To anyone who pays attention to details, he appears to be a left handed man.
"He did that, too.." Ranol mutters in response to Gunnarr's words. He flicks his attention back to Mobeorn. "This Grishnakh was in charge. They ambushed me when I was riding south along the river, they were hiding in the tall grasses. It was still bright daylight out." The injured dwarf pushes his elbows against the cot again, trying to sit up, but winces in pain and lays back again, an expression on his face that's a mix of the pain as well as frustration.
[Frarin(#31050)] "By Durin," Frarin mutters, standing briefly when Ranol tries to sit up again. But the huskarl soon eases himself back down and Frarin too reseats himself. "In broad daylight? Orcs? That does not sound like the goblins of the mountains at all." He turns to look at Mobeorn, more business now than irritability. "Has Mirkwood been more troubling of late than usual?"
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
Gunnarr frowns at Ranol's telling. And looks over at Frarin, "Not even Mirkwood orcs attack in broad daylight under the sun. They keep to the dense forrests. If they are attacking in broad daylight they must be more organized than we thought and probably under the control of some creature that is not an orc."
The sun rises over the wood of Mirkwood to the east, casting the first rays of morning light on the Anduin Valley.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] "Not at all like the goblins of the mountains," Mobeorn snarls. "Mirkwood and the mountain goblins have been more or less the same of late--always trouble, always in need of vigilance. But this...this is something else. I will inform the Laird. Is there anything else to tell?"
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin looks up at Mobeorn, the young man's loud entrance now seemingly entirely forgiven in the face of such grim talk. "We encountered trouble in the High Pass, but that was expected. Only a small patrol, but most certainly the mountain goblins." He looks back to Ranol, brows lifted.
"Yes. Listen." The fevered dwarf makes certain he has their attention, too weary to explain it all multiple times. "This one is different. He -let- me live. He wants me to tell of my fight with him and he wants us to go after him. It's a trap and he's smart enough to know that we won't ignore him. He said as much." Ranol frowns, "He was calling himself Grishnakh the Great. He was smarter than other orcs I've seen.. much more cunning than the goblins in the pass. Be on guard."
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
This news is grim indeed, even to the silent stranger. The harper glances at Mobeorn, watching the local man but still keeping his tongue his own. His bow in the crook of his right elbow, the dark haired man folds his arms over his chest and considers this information.
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
"Orcs don't just all of a sudden get smart there must be some darker power behind this Gishnakh. I wonder what the scheme is though. Is it to try and shut down the trade routes or is it just to get plunder. More likely then naught it is the later. Though still the fact that he possessed some intellegence is very troubling. What else did this orc say?"
Ranol closes his eyes, shaking his head. He's looking tired. "He said nothing else of importance." When he opens his eyes again, the huskarl looks towards Gunnarr. "Can you find Thane Braldor? I need to tell him of this."
[Frarin(#31050)] "Not all orcs are foolish," Frarin mutters darkly. "The road has grown darker in these days because of it, we know that more than most. They spread for the sake of spreading, because that is their purpose, to spread malice and fear." He draws a deep, troubled breath, dropping his gaze. "We shall have to be on our utmost guard when we pass through Mirkwood. Well, we shall not rise to this Grishnakh's bait. Let it not be said that the dwarves cannot recognise a trap in its making. We have lost too many already."
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
Someting perks the interest of the muscian and his low tenor asks of Frarin, "You have come through the High Pass, and travel eastwards... have you then news of the land west of the mountains, perchance?"
A possibly wary, but friendly glance for the tall, local Mobeorn before Lithuigelir adds, looking back to the dwarf, "I have kin there. But I have been away for some while in the south. I would have whatever news you might share of hte road to Bree."
[Mobeorn(#22365)] "Can't help you with the trip through Mirkwood," Mobeorn notes. "Foolish to make such journeys these days, but maybe the Laird will see fit to provide you with some sort of escort. I'll talk to him on your behalf. Though this fellow here--" a nod of his large head toward Ranol, "will be a while here, from what you tell me."
Mobeorn pauses to turn to the harper as that man speaks, meeting his gaze and frowning. "Kin? In the Breelands? Is that so?"
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin seems surprised when the strange harpist addresses him and his words encourage a deeper inspection of the man where the dwarf had only glanced at him before. Is there something familiar about the man's garb and manner? Perhaps, but only vaguely and after a second or two, the silversmith nods, frowning. "Aye, we have come from the west, but it is several months now since our departure from Bree. I do not know how long you have been away, but there was trouble in Eriador last summer. No more, though, it is gone. There was trouble in Bree when we left--" this is not elaborated on "--but the East Road is as ever it was. And the garrison no longer stands at the High Pass."
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
Gunnarr looks at the harpist, "Indeed we have come from west of the mountains. We actually were only supposed to go to Rivendel but ended up going on an orc hunt all the way to Bree. How come you here if you are from the western lands?"
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
A nod to the dwarf first, taking in the news, "Thank you. Perhaps I shall ask more, ere I move on myself. If you will be so kind as to indulge me, sir."
A glance to Mobeorn and a faint smile, though humor is now gone, "Around, if not in Bree proper." A loose shouldered shrug, still leaning against the door frame, arms folded leisurely.
Again a black brow arches up as Gunnarr speaks, something that dwarf says a faint surprise mayhap. "Orc hunt ... to Bree?" Now that seems very odd.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] The question seems to interest Mobeorn as well--he turns to the harpist and folds his arms over his chest. "I think, perhaps, though, that it's time for our chat. No?" He smiles, flashing those white, deadly looking teeth.
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
Gunnarr then addresses Ranol, "I will indeed notify the thane that you wish to speak to him of this matter."
"Thank you, brother." Ranol adds nothing further, laying back into the pillow silence. The huskarl closes his eyes, sweating again as the fever spikes. The heat and closeness of all the people around him are making his head spin.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The self proclaimed harper seems... reluctant to draw off just now, as the news was getting good. But he drops his arms and takes his long bow back into his right hand as though he would go if Mobeorn is going to insist.
A nod of his dark head, "Very well, if you like."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin nods silently at the stranger, indicating he is willing to speak later. But he looks back to Ranol as the huskarl lays back and closes his eyes. "That is a fine idea," he says to Mobeorn, voice regaining just an edge of annoyance again. To the harpist, he adds, "We do not depart soon, Master Harpist. And the Laird of this village, and his kin, have more right to your attention than you do to mine. Return later, if you like." And then the silversmith-turned-healer twists in his seat again and makes a point of not paying attention to the others.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] Without further word, Mobeorn steps to the door and pushes it open in invitation to the harper. "After you." He grins.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
An inclination of his head and a smile for Frarin, who's name he did not learn either, "You are quite right, of course. Thank you."
The harper moves to go as Mobeorn has directed, not at all rankled at the other's insistance. He is polite and unruffled. In a biref moment he has passed out of the infirmary and out into the street beyound where he pauses to await the other.
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
Gunnarr stands up picking up his mail suit. "I now go to find the Than. Get some rest now that it is somewhat quite in here brother." With a nod of farewell to Frarin he pushes his chair back against the wall and crosses the room towards the door after the two men on his way back to the camp.
Ranol sighs in relief as the room begins to clear out. His eyes open again and the dwarf glances around to assess who remains. He seems satisfied when he takes in only Frarin's quiet company. "Could you pass me the skin.. for a sip of water, please?" Now that they're alone he allows himself to show more of his weakness.
Gunnarr leaves the Infirmary, heading back outside.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Farewell, Gunnarr," Frarin says, nodding to the warder with distinctly more cordiality now that the loud Mobeorn is departed. Once he and Ranol are the only ones who remain, he nods to the huskarl and scooches his chair closer to the bed. "Come on then, sit up a bit since you were so determined to do so before." He snatches an extra pillow from the empty bed nearby and moves to place it behind Ranol once he has sat up.
The waterskin is uncorked. "Durin, I had thought only to look in on you. Seems that I brought a herd behind me." Carefully, and less reluctant to show his - for want of a better word - caring side now that the others are gone, he tips the skin towards Ranol's mouth.
Ranol struggles up again, grimacing as the small strain at the wound still sends pain blazing through his side. He sinks back after Frarin packs the pillows behind him, breathing heavily for a moment until the worst of the pain passes. After he sips from the skin he manages a smile. "I was going to jump to my feet and chase them out myself if it had gone on much longer." He's quiet for a moment, then asks in a less joking tone. "Can you do me a favor, cousin?"
[Frarin(#31050)] "I was quite tempted to do so myself," Frarin rumbles, recorking the waterskin and hanging it from the corner of the cot. "But the Beornings are very good to let us use of their place of healing, and them not overfond of our folk. I did not wish to offend Mobeorn." He lifts his brows at Ranol and frowns, then says, at last without chastisement in his voice, "Of course. What is it?"
"If.. " Ranol smirks at himself and ammends, "When you see Thari, would you mind letting my cousin know how appreciative I am? Thari gets uncomfortable when I speak my thoughts directly." He's quiet for a moment, brows knitting together. "I did not intend to be so reckless, truly. I did not see the danger for what it was."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin frowns, expression softening somewhat as he drops his gaze. He does nod after a moment, though. "Of course. She knows though, you know she knows? But I will tell her nevertheless." He looks up again, face still slightly stony, but less critical. "It is hard sometimes to predict whether danger is ever really near. I prefer time to myself as well." Is Frarin actually /identifying/ with Ranol? Implying he might well have done the same? Well, if he is, he does not say so straight out.
But as he stands, he does rumble quietly, "Well, I am glad to see you on the mend at least. Get some rest." And as if being nice is just too much, he nods once more to Ranol, takes up his lantern, and heads for the door.
Ranol smiles when Frarin agrees to his request, relaxing more. "Thank you.." He listens quietly as the silver merchant speaks, nodding at the comparison to their habits. "Thank the Maker that this Grishnakh was so cocky.. Good eve, cousin." As Frarin leaves, Ranol reaches for the damp cloth again to press to his forehead, letting his eyes drift closed again.
Into this comes a distinctly not-Beorning figure, for he is short and a low beard wags down to his belt. Frarin carries a small lantern that throws deep shadows across his face as he opens and closes the door of the infirmiry behind him. There is no healers currently here in the main room, perhaps they linger in the back, and the silversmith pauses to gaze about the long room.
Being moved to softer bed than the ground was a welcome change for the huskarl, but he's still in a lot of pain and it's only the drastic blood loss that's allowed him to sleep through the discomfort.
Ranol is lightly asleep now, but it's very restless nap. He's pulled off some of the blankets they had over him and there's a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. Frarin shouldn't have a hard time picking out the dwarf.
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin is frowning as he looks about the infirmiry with its rows of cots, but indeed, Ranol is not difficult to spot, being significantly bulkier and shorter than the other resident patients in the room. The silversmith holds his lantern higher and his frown changes to an unhappy scowl as he watches Ranol's restless sleep. As softly as iron-clad boots may go, Frarin comes towards the huskarl's cot. For a time he lingers there, just watching Ranol, but he glances briefly behind him then grabs a small chair and pulls it up to the cot's side and seats himself. There seems no reason for his visit, for there he sits in silence.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] This -is- Beorning, home of the kin of Grimbeorn. Still, the infirmary is made for the northmen here, and not necessarily for the shapeshifters. Mobeorn has to duck slightly to enter the doorway, though he is not yet full grown. Despite this, he slips into the infirmary, his voice booming--not using his 'indoor' voice at all--it's unlikely that he has one, in fact. "I hear there were orcs about in our lands?" he demands angrily.
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
The door to the infirmiry burts open and in comes Gunnarr. Looking around the room the dwarf comes in, his mangeled armor in one hand and a book in the other. He notices Frarin is standing by what must be Ranol's cot and quickly strolls toward him. "Well met, Frarin how does guts and glory look today?" He turns his head at the entrance of the large Beorning.
Ranol startles awake at the booming voice, the loud words of Mobeorn jarring through his restless sleep. His eyes open along with an intake of breath, and the huskarl looks around in bleary-eyes confusion. First he notices Frarin sitting in quiet vigil, then he takes in Mobeorn.
The dwarf struggles to sit up, a slow and painful endeavor but he stubbornly pushes himself. He doesn't want to be laying prone if Mobeorn is here. Gunnarr busts in a moment later and Ranol groans softly, muttering something quietly. "Punch me in the stomach Frarin.. maybe I'll pass out again.."
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
Folk moving about in the village after dark, both large and small, and then a loud voice booming, is enough to catch a stranger's attention.
Far, far more quietly, a tall man eases into the infirmary and pauses near to the door, just outside of it. He couldn't help but overhear something the brown haired tall man had said just before his own silent arrival.
[Frarin(#31050)] Durin have mercy! The entrance of Mobeorn with his distinctly non-indoor voice and the slam of the door at Gunnarr's arrival bring Frarin quite quickly to his feet, his scowl deepening and mouth opening in what promises to be a very Thari-esque scolding. But perhaps it is this very analogy that strikes the silversmith and stays his quick rebuke to the loud arrivals, for instead of telling off either Mobeorn or Gunnarr, he looks instead to Ranol. "Lie back down, you. By the Maker!"
Frarin nods briefly to Gunnarr. "Awake, cousin, very awake now." The reply is given to the warder, but with the last word, Frarin looks pointedly at Mobeorn, and no matter how hard he might try not to, he does in fact look rather like a scolding healer. He gives no reply right away to the big man, nor does he notice the entrance of another, far quieter, man.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] "Knew I should have never left your party to fend for yourselves on this journey," Mobeorn mutters, returning Frarin's pointed look with a brown-eyed stare. "And now the Laird'll have my head for this, even if you -are- dwarves. Orcs being so daring on our lands...." There's more indistinct muttering from the Beorning man. And he -does- turn, looking Lithuigelir over from head to toe and bluntly asking, "Who are you and what's your business in my lands?"
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
Gunnarr isn't taken aback by Frarin's sharp implied rebuke, he is used to it by now. Instead he looks over at the new arrival, a wonderer by his cloth to Gunnarr's eyes. then looks back at the beorning, "Are you always this rude to strangers?"
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The dark haired stranger raises a black brow over pale eyes and smiles a little disarmingly at the other man. His voice is soft and pleasant upon the ear, a low tenor, "Just a Harper, passing through."
A friendly glance past Mobeorn towards the dwarves, "I heard..." his voice still politely low so not to disturb over much, "something about orcs?"
Watching the unnamed Mobeorn once more, the stranger adds, "Travelers naturally are keen to avoid such."
A friendly glance past Mobeorn towards the dwarves, "I heard..." his voice still politely low so not to disturb over much, "something about orcs?"
Watching the unnamed Mobeorn once more, the stranger adds, "Travelers naturally are keen to avoid such."'.
Mobeorn grins to Gunnarr, showing a fine set of somehow dangerous-looking teeth. "And tell me, Master dwarf--do the dwarves allow strangers in their lands? Would you let a stranger with no name, who claims to be nothing more than a harper, yet carries a a sword and a bow and wears leather armor...." Mobeorn twitches at that..."would you let such a man into the Lonely Mountain? Though he had not given you his name, his business or intentions in your lands, nor the name of his homeland?" He turns his attention to Lithuigelir and sniffs the air loudly. "When said man is asking, strangely, about orcs? As if a harper could fight orcs with song....and you don't know the smell of him, either?:
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The stranger isn't put off in the least. A merry laugh little laugh that slips into a friendly chuckle, eyes dancing with light hearted amusement, "Even a bard must be able to defend himself if he wanders the land alone, friend."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin is scowling. Just kinda of...in general. Not at anyone in particular. He is simply carrying that stony, critical look he usually does as he glances from Gunnarr to Mobeorn to the stranger to Ranol. "Stranger or no stranger," he grumbles, "you lot are still yammering away while there's a dwarf with a bloody fever trying to sleep." That earns a brief distraction as Frarin turns to point at Ranol. "And that's a fever, which you wouldn't have if you hadn't wandered off. So stop complaining."
Well, Frarin certainly seems irritated at the interruption to his quiet vigil. Nevertheless, instead of letting his famous temper build further, he instead moves back to his chair and takes up a waterskin hanging near to Ranol's cot. He uses it to wet a cloth which he offers to the huskarl. "Put that over your brow," he orders. Durin be damned if he's going to do it himself, with Ranol awake and all these people here to see.
"Maybe.. or maybe it's just hot in here." Ranol continues in a mutter so soft it's little more than a quiet rumble like one might hear of distant thunder. He takes the cloth with a murmur of thanks and wipes it over his brow and short black hair. It brings some relief and Ranol's tense expression softens. "Mobeorn.. " He says with an effort to raise his voice. "Do you know of an orc named Grishnakh?"
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
"We ask questions sure but we never get so huffy about them right off the bat. We only get grumpy right before fighting people unless your Frarin here who is always grumpy." Gunnarr laughs and turns his attention back on his wounded companion. "It is pretty hot in here, but it can't be helped any." Gunnarr searches the room quickly and finds a chair which he draws up near Ranol's cot and sits down.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] "Well good for you and your folk," Mobeorn snots to Gunnarr, not at all chastised. "And we live between the Misty Mountains and the dark wood. And me and my kind and the people of this land give our lives to keep the High Pass free of orcs so that you and yours can travel on your merry way, trading to and fro," he growls, starting to sound dangerously animal-like. "Not all the enemy takes the form of gobilns--this the Laird of this land knows from experience. And so we ask simple questions." He turns to Lithuigelir. "A simple harpist, who protects himself is all? And yet clearly you came to this land alone--miraculously surviving either the High Pass or the fiends of Mirkwood. And so I ask one last time--your name and your business here? Or shall we take it outside?"
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
Still soft spoken and relaxed, leaning against the door jam, the man smiles, "Of course we can go outside and speak." A flicker of pale eyes to the wounded, resting Ranol, "And perhaps we should. I do not wish to disturb." A polite inclination of his dark head to the dwarves, "Mend well."
And so saying, the tall stranger moves to depart and go outside.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Oh for Durin's sake," Frarin grumbles to himself, for once not at all interested in joining the mounting tension between Mobeorn and the harpist. He glances sidelong at Gunnarr, but seems well accustomed to his reputation as a curmudgeon and actually nods at the warder as if his speech were well spoken. He lifts his brows at Ranol, however. "Grishnakh?" Frarin repeats, some of his grumpiness fading in interest now. "Is that who attacked you, cousin?"
He twists around irritably towards Mobeorn and the stranger and grunts loudly. "Hold a second, Master Harpist," he orders. "Before you two depart outside for what will no doubt be an enlightening lesson, perhaps Master Mobeorn here will answer my comrade's question about this Grishnakh, since that seemed to be his intention when he interrupted Ranol's rest in the first place."
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
"Oh peace for heaven's sake I wasn't suggestin that you not question the man entirly just suggestin you weren't so wound up tight about it is all." He looks up, quite enjoying the banter he has created with the Beorning. "Might as well talk in here. I don't think Ranol is going to sleep even if we left.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] "Aye," Mobeorn nods, starting to follow the harpist out the door. He does turn and pause, though. "Grishnakh? No...I don't generally ask the orcs their names before I kill them. How is it, though, that you came to learn this particular goblin name?" A glance is given to Lithuigelir. "Hold there, harpist. You don't have my leave to wander the village, so stay here for the time being. We'll talk in here for now, and then later, you and I will settle out the nature of your business in this land."
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The 'harper' in question doesn't seem the least put out, or inclined in any obvious way towards being violent or ill tempered. He merely smiles, still amused most likely, "Very well. I am happy to wait and hear the local news."
Ranol sighs softly as Mobeorn seems too wrapped up in his tirade to hear his question. The dwarf holds the damp rag over his face, as if that will ward away all the sudden noise and arguing in the infirmary, but he slides it away when Frarin's voice fills the room. "Aye, cousin." He answers, giving him an appreciative nod.
Mobeorn finally gets back to the topic of the orcs and Ranol shifts his blue eyes the the Beorning. "He told me. He was demanding to know what happened to some of his kin that were killed by your people." Ranol's voice is soft. If they wish to hear what he has to say they'll need to be quieter.
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin leans in to hear Ranol speak, completely ignoring the others. This is the first time he has heard Ranol speak of the incident and he seems interested now. Darkly, he mutters, "There's a novelty. An orc actually caring about what happens to his own people."
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
Gunnarr looks perplexed. "Why on earth would an orc ask that? Usually they can't stop yacking about themselves when they fight." He too leans to the side in his chair toward Ranol. Eager to here what his brother has to say.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] The Beorning man snorts loudly. "A goblin that pretends to caring? If he's that concerned with the burial rites of his folk, we'll have to give him a firsthand tour of them. Where exactly did you encounter him?" he presses Ranol.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
There is definite interest from the harper in this information about this particular orc. He says nothing but listens, attention slipping from the tall local man to the dwarves and back again as they each speak.
Lithuigelir leans against the door jam once more, long bow idly in hand and looking much like the rest of his ilk - for those familiar with such men. To anyone who pays attention to details, he appears to be a left handed man.
"He did that, too.." Ranol mutters in response to Gunnarr's words. He flicks his attention back to Mobeorn. "This Grishnakh was in charge. They ambushed me when I was riding south along the river, they were hiding in the tall grasses. It was still bright daylight out." The injured dwarf pushes his elbows against the cot again, trying to sit up, but winces in pain and lays back again, an expression on his face that's a mix of the pain as well as frustration.
[Frarin(#31050)] "By Durin," Frarin mutters, standing briefly when Ranol tries to sit up again. But the huskarl soon eases himself back down and Frarin too reseats himself. "In broad daylight? Orcs? That does not sound like the goblins of the mountains at all." He turns to look at Mobeorn, more business now than irritability. "Has Mirkwood been more troubling of late than usual?"
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
Gunnarr frowns at Ranol's telling. And looks over at Frarin, "Not even Mirkwood orcs attack in broad daylight under the sun. They keep to the dense forrests. If they are attacking in broad daylight they must be more organized than we thought and probably under the control of some creature that is not an orc."
The sun rises over the wood of Mirkwood to the east, casting the first rays of morning light on the Anduin Valley.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] "Not at all like the goblins of the mountains," Mobeorn snarls. "Mirkwood and the mountain goblins have been more or less the same of late--always trouble, always in need of vigilance. But this...this is something else. I will inform the Laird. Is there anything else to tell?"
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin looks up at Mobeorn, the young man's loud entrance now seemingly entirely forgiven in the face of such grim talk. "We encountered trouble in the High Pass, but that was expected. Only a small patrol, but most certainly the mountain goblins." He looks back to Ranol, brows lifted.
"Yes. Listen." The fevered dwarf makes certain he has their attention, too weary to explain it all multiple times. "This one is different. He -let- me live. He wants me to tell of my fight with him and he wants us to go after him. It's a trap and he's smart enough to know that we won't ignore him. He said as much." Ranol frowns, "He was calling himself Grishnakh the Great. He was smarter than other orcs I've seen.. much more cunning than the goblins in the pass. Be on guard."
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
This news is grim indeed, even to the silent stranger. The harper glances at Mobeorn, watching the local man but still keeping his tongue his own. His bow in the crook of his right elbow, the dark haired man folds his arms over his chest and considers this information.
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
"Orcs don't just all of a sudden get smart there must be some darker power behind this Gishnakh. I wonder what the scheme is though. Is it to try and shut down the trade routes or is it just to get plunder. More likely then naught it is the later. Though still the fact that he possessed some intellegence is very troubling. What else did this orc say?"
Ranol closes his eyes, shaking his head. He's looking tired. "He said nothing else of importance." When he opens his eyes again, the huskarl looks towards Gunnarr. "Can you find Thane Braldor? I need to tell him of this."
[Frarin(#31050)] "Not all orcs are foolish," Frarin mutters darkly. "The road has grown darker in these days because of it, we know that more than most. They spread for the sake of spreading, because that is their purpose, to spread malice and fear." He draws a deep, troubled breath, dropping his gaze. "We shall have to be on our utmost guard when we pass through Mirkwood. Well, we shall not rise to this Grishnakh's bait. Let it not be said that the dwarves cannot recognise a trap in its making. We have lost too many already."
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
Someting perks the interest of the muscian and his low tenor asks of Frarin, "You have come through the High Pass, and travel eastwards... have you then news of the land west of the mountains, perchance?"
A possibly wary, but friendly glance for the tall, local Mobeorn before Lithuigelir adds, looking back to the dwarf, "I have kin there. But I have been away for some while in the south. I would have whatever news you might share of hte road to Bree."
[Mobeorn(#22365)] "Can't help you with the trip through Mirkwood," Mobeorn notes. "Foolish to make such journeys these days, but maybe the Laird will see fit to provide you with some sort of escort. I'll talk to him on your behalf. Though this fellow here--" a nod of his large head toward Ranol, "will be a while here, from what you tell me."
Mobeorn pauses to turn to the harper as that man speaks, meeting his gaze and frowning. "Kin? In the Breelands? Is that so?"
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin seems surprised when the strange harpist addresses him and his words encourage a deeper inspection of the man where the dwarf had only glanced at him before. Is there something familiar about the man's garb and manner? Perhaps, but only vaguely and after a second or two, the silversmith nods, frowning. "Aye, we have come from the west, but it is several months now since our departure from Bree. I do not know how long you have been away, but there was trouble in Eriador last summer. No more, though, it is gone. There was trouble in Bree when we left--" this is not elaborated on "--but the East Road is as ever it was. And the garrison no longer stands at the High Pass."
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
Gunnarr looks at the harpist, "Indeed we have come from west of the mountains. We actually were only supposed to go to Rivendel but ended up going on an orc hunt all the way to Bree. How come you here if you are from the western lands?"
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
A nod to the dwarf first, taking in the news, "Thank you. Perhaps I shall ask more, ere I move on myself. If you will be so kind as to indulge me, sir."
A glance to Mobeorn and a faint smile, though humor is now gone, "Around, if not in Bree proper." A loose shouldered shrug, still leaning against the door frame, arms folded leisurely.
Again a black brow arches up as Gunnarr speaks, something that dwarf says a faint surprise mayhap. "Orc hunt ... to Bree?" Now that seems very odd.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] The question seems to interest Mobeorn as well--he turns to the harpist and folds his arms over his chest. "I think, perhaps, though, that it's time for our chat. No?" He smiles, flashing those white, deadly looking teeth.
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
Gunnarr then addresses Ranol, "I will indeed notify the thane that you wish to speak to him of this matter."
"Thank you, brother." Ranol adds nothing further, laying back into the pillow silence. The huskarl closes his eyes, sweating again as the fever spikes. The heat and closeness of all the people around him are making his head spin.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
The self proclaimed harper seems... reluctant to draw off just now, as the news was getting good. But he drops his arms and takes his long bow back into his right hand as though he would go if Mobeorn is going to insist.
A nod of his dark head, "Very well, if you like."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin nods silently at the stranger, indicating he is willing to speak later. But he looks back to Ranol as the huskarl lays back and closes his eyes. "That is a fine idea," he says to Mobeorn, voice regaining just an edge of annoyance again. To the harpist, he adds, "We do not depart soon, Master Harpist. And the Laird of this village, and his kin, have more right to your attention than you do to mine. Return later, if you like." And then the silversmith-turned-healer twists in his seat again and makes a point of not paying attention to the others.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] Without further word, Mobeorn steps to the door and pushes it open in invitation to the harper. "After you." He grins.
[Lithuigelir(#27282)]
An inclination of his head and a smile for Frarin, who's name he did not learn either, "You are quite right, of course. Thank you."
The harper moves to go as Mobeorn has directed, not at all rankled at the other's insistance. He is polite and unruffled. In a biref moment he has passed out of the infirmary and out into the street beyound where he pauses to await the other.
[Gunnarr(#24380)]
Gunnarr stands up picking up his mail suit. "I now go to find the Than. Get some rest now that it is somewhat quite in here brother." With a nod of farewell to Frarin he pushes his chair back against the wall and crosses the room towards the door after the two men on his way back to the camp.
Ranol sighs in relief as the room begins to clear out. His eyes open again and the dwarf glances around to assess who remains. He seems satisfied when he takes in only Frarin's quiet company. "Could you pass me the skin.. for a sip of water, please?" Now that they're alone he allows himself to show more of his weakness.
Gunnarr leaves the Infirmary, heading back outside.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Farewell, Gunnarr," Frarin says, nodding to the warder with distinctly more cordiality now that the loud Mobeorn is departed. Once he and Ranol are the only ones who remain, he nods to the huskarl and scooches his chair closer to the bed. "Come on then, sit up a bit since you were so determined to do so before." He snatches an extra pillow from the empty bed nearby and moves to place it behind Ranol once he has sat up.
The waterskin is uncorked. "Durin, I had thought only to look in on you. Seems that I brought a herd behind me." Carefully, and less reluctant to show his - for want of a better word - caring side now that the others are gone, he tips the skin towards Ranol's mouth.
Ranol struggles up again, grimacing as the small strain at the wound still sends pain blazing through his side. He sinks back after Frarin packs the pillows behind him, breathing heavily for a moment until the worst of the pain passes. After he sips from the skin he manages a smile. "I was going to jump to my feet and chase them out myself if it had gone on much longer." He's quiet for a moment, then asks in a less joking tone. "Can you do me a favor, cousin?"
[Frarin(#31050)] "I was quite tempted to do so myself," Frarin rumbles, recorking the waterskin and hanging it from the corner of the cot. "But the Beornings are very good to let us use of their place of healing, and them not overfond of our folk. I did not wish to offend Mobeorn." He lifts his brows at Ranol and frowns, then says, at last without chastisement in his voice, "Of course. What is it?"
"If.. " Ranol smirks at himself and ammends, "When you see Thari, would you mind letting my cousin know how appreciative I am? Thari gets uncomfortable when I speak my thoughts directly." He's quiet for a moment, brows knitting together. "I did not intend to be so reckless, truly. I did not see the danger for what it was."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin frowns, expression softening somewhat as he drops his gaze. He does nod after a moment, though. "Of course. She knows though, you know she knows? But I will tell her nevertheless." He looks up again, face still slightly stony, but less critical. "It is hard sometimes to predict whether danger is ever really near. I prefer time to myself as well." Is Frarin actually /identifying/ with Ranol? Implying he might well have done the same? Well, if he is, he does not say so straight out.
But as he stands, he does rumble quietly, "Well, I am glad to see you on the mend at least. Get some rest." And as if being nice is just too much, he nods once more to Ranol, takes up his lantern, and heads for the door.
Ranol smiles when Frarin agrees to his request, relaxing more. "Thank you.." He listens quietly as the silver merchant speaks, nodding at the comparison to their habits. "Thank the Maker that this Grishnakh was so cocky.. Good eve, cousin." As Frarin leaves, Ranol reaches for the damp cloth again to press to his forehead, letting his eyes drift closed again.
Players: Ranol, Frarin, Gunnarr, Mobeorn, Lithuigelir