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Midnight brings the darkness

Tags: Frarin,  Bolosi,  Tiriel

Short Summary: At The Prancing Pony, the arrival of three dwarves from the east brings quiet talk of dark rumours and dangerous roads.
Date (real-life): 2010-07-14
Scene Location: Common Room, The Prancing Pony
Date (in-game): 6 June 3050
Time of Day: Midnight
Weather: Humid


Real time: Wed Jul 14 22:11:05 2010
Bree time: Midnight <02:33:15> on Monday of Summer - June 6,1450
Moon Phase: Waning Crescent Moon

Common Room
This large and rectangular room serves the purpose of Common Room for the Prancing Pony. Large windows along the western end of the room peek out over the Great East Road which runs outside the Inn. There are long tables with bench seats for the patrons in the centre of the room. Nestled into the wall is a large fireplace with several bundles of wood piled next to it. Overhead, lamps hang down from roof beams, but their light is dim and half-veiled in smoke. The corners of the room are wrapped in shadow.

<OOC> Type PHELP for help using the menu at the Pony.
Dart Board
Obvious exits:

[Frarin] Midnight over Bree and the Pony had quieted at last, though the warm weather had more than a few merrymakers attending to the inn. Outside, it has cooled for the night finally, but a sticky mugginess still clings to the air, even here in the common room where a low fire smoulders. A few late-night patrons still linger, quietly playing at a game of dice or nursing a warm mug of ale. But the place has a yawning atmosphere as one of the serving girls absently whipes at a few dirty glasses.

At a table near the fire sits a dwarf, the sleeves of his shirt rolled back against the muggy night heat. He looks well dressed, like a merchant, but the lines of his face bespeak no cheery bartering tonight. He chews at the end of a long pipe which has wreathed his head in blue-gray smoke, but he is otherwise still, dark eyes fixed on the fire.

[Bolosi] Trudging in through the doorway come three dwarves, all cloaked in travel-stained garb, their boots caked in mud. Each dwarf has a bulging backpack strapped to their back, and tied to them, are sharp battle-axes, which gleam in the dim firelight. The lead dwarf of the trio, who is particularly large and barrel chested, approaches the counter, giving the fussing barman a firm nod as he bustles over to serve them.

 " Is there anything I could be helping ye with, master dwarves?" The barman gives his most charming smile, although his beady eyes flick warily to the dwarves' weapons.

 The lead dwarf, his beard braided in the fashion of a warrior, speaks. " Good evening to you. We would just like a table to ourselves, if that isn't too much bother." The dwarf's words and tone is polite, yet his eyes are wary and wearied form travel.

 " Of course it is't, sir! Sit anywhere you like! May I get you some drinks?" The barman bumbles in a firendly manner.

 The lead dwarf, seemingly deciding that the man is harmless, nods and gives him a slight smile. " Three ales, if you please. Your finest. We've come a long way."

 The barman nods. "Three ales it is!" And busies off to find them.

 One of the dwarves remaing at the bar for the dirnks tray, the other two gaze around at the common room...And spot a lone dwarf by the fire. The shorter of the two looks to the leader of the company, who nods, and they head over to him.

[Frarin] The lone dwarf by the fire glances up at the arrival of three others of his kind, but he makes no greeting until two of them seem to make as if to join him. Then a hand comes up to take the pipe from the dwarf's mouth and he nods at the newcomers. "Evening, cousins," he grumbles gruffly, voice scratching slightly. "You look as if you've come a ways."

[Bolosi] The larger dwarf nods to the other by the table, as he greets them. " Good evening to you also, cousin. And we have...A very long way indeed. We are tired and sore- we need a good pint of ale a warm fire, and some excellent company!" The corners of his mouth tug into a slight smile, " May we join you?"

 By the bar, the bumbling barman hands the third dwarf a tray with three frothing pints upon in it. Balancing it, he turns gingerely and heads in their direction.

[Frarin] The lone dwarf nods briefly, absently waving his brethren towards the empty chairs around his table. "Ah but a pint of the Pony's best ale is enough to make any dwarf push through the night before the inn closes its doors." He does not smile, but there is jest in his tone. "Are you come from the Blue Mountains then? Or farther afield?" Abruptly he straightens slightly as if reminding himself he is in company now, then tips his head somewhat more formally. "I am Frarin son of Forli, of Clan Barazin."

[Bolosi] The two dwarves seat themselves as offered, heaving their backpacks off and shoving them under the table as they do so. The third dwarf appraoches at a snail's pace and, as he finally reaches the table, places the tray down. Then he too stuffs his bulging rucksack under the table before taking a seat beside the stranger.

 " Nay, cousin, we have travelled from far West...From Dain's kingdom, under the mountain of Erebor." He bows his head as the stranger introduces himself. " It is an honour, master Frarin." The leader of the three points to himself, " I am Bolosi, son of Boli..." He points to his companion on the right, a short dwarf but with a thickly-muscled neck and a formidable red-beard (also braided) " This is Folli, son of Folgo.." He points to his companion beside the stranger, who is tall for a dwarf, yet nowwhere near as stocky as the other two, " And this Horgor, son of Horlin."

[Frarin] "Ah yes?" says Frarin, straightening more to lean forward, now out of interest than of formality. The tired moodiness in his composure seems to fade at the mention of Erebor. He nods at their introductions. "Well met, well met. I am at your service. So you come from the Mountain, you say? That is my home as well, though I am a year gone from it now. How fares the Lonely Mountain last you saw? And what brings you west? You do not look as merchants."

[Bolosi] Bolosi reaches out and sizes a frothing mug from the tay, his companions following suit. Taking a long draught of the pint, he places it back down on the table with a thud, allowing himself a small sigh of contentment.

 He looks back at Frarin. " The Kingdom of Erebor stands strong, cousin. There has been some trouble of late...The lord Dain had need to raise an army and defend the Dale lands, but that trouble passed. That was the last time we fought for him. On the most part, the effort there has been the rebuilding of the old kingdom, and of Dale-lands. More than that, I cannot tell you- I departed the mountain eight months ago myself."

[Frarin] "Ah," Frarin nods, leaning back as if disappointed. "Yes, the trouble in the south. Aye, I departed only shortly after that was resolved. Wretched business." He snorts disdainfully, mention of the south clearly having provoked some unpleasant memory. After a moment of chewing absently on the end of his pipe again, he glances back at the three as if recalling himself. "You are soldiers then? Is there a caravan here from Erebor or do you travel alone?"

[Bolosi]  Bolosi nods, taking another draught of the pint. " We are. I was a captain among Dain's guard, and my companions here were my seconds. We travelled East when first we heard of the Cursed Wyrm's death, and of Thorin's fall a tthe Battle of the Five Armies..." He smiles a little, " We were young then. Young and eager for adventure. And we have had much of it..." He catches the eye of Horgor, the taller dwarf beside Frarin, and the two chuckle a little, " ...Far too much perhaps. Stories for the grandchildren, hopefully. But now, we have returned to our kindred, as the future becomes ever more uncertain. Dark times lie ahead of us, I fear." The large dwarf falls silent, and his red-bearded companion takes up the story.

 His voice is raspy and throaty- the voice of a heavy smoker. " We have returned just as you see us now- the three of us. We have joined the caravan from Ered Luin here, and shall accompany it back to our homeland."

[Frarin] "So Blue Mountain dwarves after all," Frarin returns, nodding absently. But then he smiles slightly for the first time. "Aye, twas many a dwarf who flocked to Erebor after the Cursed Wyrm's death. So twas with me as well, though I came from the east, from the Iron Hills. As for adventure, I wager you had your fair share, if you were soldiers in the Baruk Narag." Frarin grows silent for a time, as if mulling Bolosi's last comment. "Dark times indeed," he says finally. "I fear to leave my own home, whilst you return to yours. Your journey was not easy, I imagine. The road is ever treacherous."

[Bolosi]  The redbearded dwarf nods, contining in his raspy voice as Bolosi broods over his mug, his bushy eyebrows fixed in a frown. " It was indeed. Even more so than when we first travelled East- times are changing. Few strangers can we Naugrim trust now, and even some whom we thought as friends are changing..." Folli catches Horgor's eye, and some hidden communication passes between them, before the stocky dwarf continues, " The pass over Caradharas is almost un-walkable now. Goblins haunt thos emountains in ever increasing numbers. And then there have been tidings...." He looks at Bolosi, " Tidings of Evil."

 The leader of the three drifts out from his brooding mood, glancing around for over-curious ears, before leaning closer to Frarin and continuing in a whisper. " There have been rumours, cousin. Tidings from friends in the South. They say the a great Shadow has returned to the land of Mordor...That the fires of Barad-Dur burn once more."

[Frarin] Frarin leans in when Bolosi glances around cautiously, then he nods at the former-captain's words, as if a suspicion confirmed. "None does that surprize me, cousin. Ill tidings from the south always. I have fought many battles under the boughs of Mirkwood, but the trouble this year past came from the south, as much as from the forest. I have never ventured farther south than the Dalelands for trade, tis a land too much beset by trouble. The mountains are dangerous enough, much as the Beornings fight to keep the pass clear. I fear tis a losing battle. Yet if the world grows dark, I would not give it up without a fight." His words sound almost boastful, but his tone and his face are grave, as if their worries are the same as his.

[Bolosi] A dangerous glow twinkle shines in Bolosi's eye as he holds Frarin's gaze. " Likwise, good cousin. I have slain many goblins and wild men in my time, but I tell you now, my axe is still sharp. Dain is a strong king, and Erebor does not need three more warriors- but I fear trouble in Eriador is also brewing..." He glances around the room once more, " Before we ventured, we stopped at the house of Elrond, at the feet of the Misty Mountains. It was there that we heard tidings of troubles in the North- They say that the land of Angmar is occupied again. That another ancient evil returns there, this time in league with the Shadow of the East..." He shakes his head and mutters as he draws back, taking another gulp of his ale, " Evil times, good cousin."

[Frarin] "Angmar?" says Frarin, tongue almost fumbling over the word. "Now there is no name to utter at such an hour, cousin. Some things are better left to the day. Evil times, perhaps, but tomorrow at least, I trust the dawn will come. Look around even." He gestures around the pleasantly quiet common room and shakes his head, sending up a plume of smoke from his pipe. "Think you that these good folk wonder on such dark tidings? Nay." He chuckles abruptly. "Bree had ever vexed me. A part of me is glad that it suffers not the evil of the rest of the world, yet a part of me seeths that it makes itself so blind to it. Ah, but that is the way, I suppose. Perhaps while there are pockets like this place where no evil tidings yet reach, we may yet venture to hope."

[Bolosi] Bolosi has a grim expression as he gazes around at the common room, the reek of ale and hops ever present." I am not so sure, Frarin- I have no such fondness for these towns of men. Few men have I met who are of a noble nature, and fewer still would I call my friend. I hope that the caravan will move on from this place soon..."

 Bolosi looks up at the bar, attempting to catch the eye of the barman. Doing so, the bumbling Barliman hurries over, eager to please his newest guests.

 "What can I get for you, good sirs?" He gives a toothy grin. Bolosi looks around the table, and gets a general nod of agreement from his two companions.

 He looks back at Barliman. " Three great slabs of salted steak, please. As big as you have."

 The barman nods eagerly, " Right away, gentlemen" He turns and looks at Frarin questioningly.

[Tiriel] A tall figure, in soft step, enters into the Prancing Pony's common room. Though dressed in mannish clothing, the other is obviously a young woman--a traveller who wears something of the dust of the road from hem of cloak to the tops of her boots.

 She looks nonchalantly towards the Dwarves seated near the fire, but takes a seat a few paces away at a smaller table next to one of the windows along the west wall.
 With a long, slow sigh, she leans against the chair's back and closes her eyes for a moment.

[Frarin] Frarin waves his hand to indicate he wants nothing more, having supped some hours before. "No?" he says, looking back to Bolosi. "Aye, I suppose tis not unreasonable to think so. I am a merchant, though, and I have spent many a night in the midst of men - in Dale and Esgaroth, in the lands of Beorn, here in Bree, even far to the east of Erebor." It is Frarin's turn to lean in now and lower his voice. "Though you are perhaps right on one point, about the nobility of men. I have ever found men more prone to deceit than our own folk. Mahal shaped us well, it seems. But not all men are thus. I have more than once had my life saved by a man, not far from this very place, in fact." He leans back as the door creaks quietly open to admit another, but Frarin only glances at the tall figure who enters for a moment before turning back to his comrades.

[Bolosi] Bolosi raises an eyebrow as he lowers the beer mug from his lips, white froth sill bubbling in his beard. " Oh? And who might this noble man be?"

 Before Frarin has the chance to answer, Butterbur comes bouncing back with a tray, upon which are three plates, each bearing a formidable-sized steak with seasoning and herbs. Placing the tray down, he puts a plate before each of the hungry dawrves before hurrying away again.

[Tiriel] The young woman's respite lasts only a moment, however, as no sooner has she closed her eyes, then a very-busy-Hobbit rushes over, blustering and flustered.
 "Beggin' your pardon, ma'am," he says, clearing his throat and nodding all in the same motion, "Would you care for anything?"

 Tiriel's glance might be seen to flicker over towards the Dwarves in conversation, though it settles upon the server, and a wan smile barely curves her lips.
"Aye," she says. "I'll take a pint, please."

 Seeming relieved the customer has ordered, the Hobbit scurries away, his footfalls shuffling. Tiriel looks after him, but then turns to the window, as if to see something in it...or in its reflection.

[Frarin] "Two men, in fact, on two different occasions," Frarin returns, taking a pull on his pipe. He lets a hazy smoke ring drift away as Butterbur deposits the heaped plates of food. "Several years ago - perhaps you had heard it - an army of goblins came down from the mountains, bound for who knows where. Bree was never the wiser, but the goblins came painfully close to the town. I was here then. Twice I was dragged from danger, a poor performance, I fear."

He smiles bitterly at that, but his eyes become slightly distant as he recalls the memories. Then he shakes his head to himself. "One was a man from the south, whom I called Stranger, for he was not wont to give his name freely. The other was one of the wild men of Eriador, the Rangers that Breefolk so love to nurture suspicions of. Both noble men. If a man will raise his blade beside mine in battle, I shall hold him no grudges, I say."

[Bolosi] Bolosi gives a grunt as he hears his kinsman's tale. " Well, I am glad that he was their to aid you, cousin- but you have had greater luck in your relations with men than I have. Although the men of Dale are of a reasonable sort, I have had some dealings with men further East- aggressive dealings at that." He catches Folli's eye, and the stocky dwarf with the red beard touches his shoulder, wincing a little, as if remembering old wounds. " Foul men..." He mutters darkly, " Sellswords and mercenaries."

 The large dwarf peers down at the steak for a moment, leaning over it and breathing in the steam rising from it. He smiles as the scent of seasoning and cooked meat fills his nostrils. " Excellent..." He breathes, picking up the knife and fork and sawing off a large bit of meat before popping it into his mouth.

[Frarin] "Ah now there I can agree," Frarin nods, at once sarcastic and grave. "I traded once in Buhr Mahrling in the east. Strange folk, nothing of honesty about them. I was glad to be gone from there. The Easterlings are more apt to raid rather than trade with our caravans that go there, I think. And there's none would buy silver, which is my trade. Poor as dirt, or leastwise they place no hearty value on dwarven goods."

[Tiriel] Staring out the window, Tiriel seems oblivious to the goings-on around her. Though, at one point, she once again casts a glance towards the Dwarves--or was she merely turning an ear to the shuffling footfalls that announce the return of the server Hobbit, who--despite his clumsy-seeming steps--deftly balances the ale upon a wooden platter.

 "Here ya' are, ma'am," the server says as he sets the drink upon the table.
Tiriel has a coin ready and sets it upon the platter. "Thank you," she says, and without a pause takes up the drink.
This time, as she takes a sip from the mug, her calm gaze settles upon the Dwarves at their table.

[Frarin] Before Bolosi or either of his compatriots can reply, however, Frarin yawns wide, releasing a gasp of sweetish smoke. "Mm, the night wears on me, it seems," he says vaguely, falling back into his apparently distant manner of treating with others. "I wonder that it does not on you, cousins. Or perhaps your hunger wears on you even more. Still, talk of enemies and dark tidings are best kept for the day, when the sun might more easily banish such evil."

And with that he taps out the smouldering remnants of his pipe upon the floor and stamps them out, rising as he does so. "I bid you good night, cousins. I return with the same caravan you do, so I imagine I shall see more of you. Good night and rest easy." Nodding them a farewell, he gathers his few things and makes for the passage leading to the inn's guest rooms. As he passes the table where the tall woman is seated, he casts her a glance, likely no more than absent curiosity, before passing her by to find his bed.

Date added: 2010-07-15 11:54:25    Hits: 152
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