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Bandit blusterings

Tags: Danir,  Aglarebar,  Bolosi,  Brev,  bandits

Short Summary: Dwarves and a self-proclaimed 'protector of the poor' are disturbed by a bevy of bandits with a 'message'.
Date (real-life): 2010-08-18
Scene Location: Breelands: Forsaken Inn
Date (in-game): September 3050
Time of Day: Evening?
The Forsaken Inn

A medium sized room, completely formed of wood. Wooden walls, wooden floors, wooden ceiling, all clearly having been recently polished though dust has begun to gather on them again. It is a dark wood, perhaps entirely begotten of the nearby Chetwood forest. This room is a common room of sorts - a tavern as well as a small bar. There are pictures hanging on the walls of riders on horses, hobbitfolk, and various other peoples. On the far wall from the front entrance, a large opening which presumably used to frame two doors stands, giving the onlooker a perfect view into a kitchen. A swinging door obscures part of the view, made of a brighter, newer wood than the surrounding walls. Against the eastern wall rises a staircase which leads into darkness. Westward is another door, closed, but there is a small wooden sign which reads 'office' hanging above it.
Tables fill the floor of this room, perhaps ten in all, and stools surround each table. It is not fancy, but it is almost aggressively clean, save for the new layer of dust.
Table code is in effect here. Type thelp for table commands.

Obvious exits:
Kitchen, Side Door, Staircase Up, and Out to the GER

================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Thu Aug 19 15:38:41 2010
Bree time: Late Night <03:56:03> on Trewsday of Autumn - September 20,1450
Moon Phase: Full  Moon

Breelands Weather
The late night autumn air is cool but pleasant around you. The dark sky is overcast and dreary.

(Start of scene missing - RP already in progress. Time presumed evening)

And right behind the other dwarves, comes yet another, only this one is carrying its own tankard. The dwarf tips back its head and takes a long drink of it just as it descends the final step, muttering all the way. "All this hurry up and waiting," he grumbles. "Wait wait wait." He takes another drink from his tankard, and his voice seems to crescendo. "Why, back in MY day we woulda just gone out and found them instead of waiting for them to come to us. Hrmph," he snorts.


Aglarebar seems intrigued by the conversation easily overhead and he leans towards the group of Dwarves, "Indeed, I find waiting to be the cowards approach." His voice lowers, "Take my advice good friends of the mountain, seize victory before the rabbit can escape your trap. Then you will feast well."

He leans back, continuing to nod to emphasize his point. The maid returns with his drink and he laughs, "Ah yes! Ale!" and takes it up, drinking from it hastily. She rolls her eyes once more and moves on.

[Danir(#28691)] Turning towards the man, Danir lifts his tankard. "That's my thoughts too, good sir," he says. "Waiting don't help nobody, my father always said, and he was right." Turning to the barmaid, he holds out his tankard and asks, "Y'got anything that doesn't taste like water?"

     Bolosi, the largest dwarf of the three with a trimmed, black beard plonks himself onto the stool beside the man, the seat creaking dangerously under his bulk The red-bearded dwarf sits beside the other. As the man speaks, Bolosi eyes him, his gaze both hard and suspicious. " And you are, friend?" His words are friendly, but his voice is rather cold. Over by the table, the other two dwarves stuff weed into their pipes, beginning to smoke silently.


"Certainly I am known to you. Tales of my exploits run far and wide. A lost merchant rescued. Bandits driven off. Often the tales are true though, I humbly can admit, embellished. There was only one troll, not four," he laughs into his cup.

"If you had not guessed it already, I am known as Fennec in this area."

Though he'd been engaged in a "conversation" with the barmaid about the worthiness of the beverage she calls ale, Danir stops his grumbling the moment the word "troll" is mentioned. Dropping a few silver coins on the bar's surface, he turns to the human.

"Trolls?" He transfers the tankard from his hand to his hook, then reaches for his war hammer with his now free hand. "Where? And WHY are we just standing here?!"


"We are not standing," Aglarebar corrects. "Although it can be difficult to tell with your kind."

     Bolosi gives a grunt of acknowledgement. " Well, Fenec..." He says, glancing at the man, " Our situation here is somehwat more complicated than it first appears. It has gotten to the stage where we no longer have a rabbit in our trap, but a pack of wolves in our back garden..." He looks at Danir as she reacts to the man's words, instantly recognising her as a woman. Of course, the only difference between the sexes are subtle ones, and very few men are able to see them.

Fennec's correction is lost on Danir. He turns his gaze to the other dwarf as he speaks. "Which is why we shouldn't be sitting," he says, slightly emphasizing the word with a glance at Fennec, before looking back at Bolosi to finish. "We should be out there skinning the wolves, eating the rabbit, and slaying the trolls." He takes a drink of his ale, then asks to anyone listening, "Or are we a bunch of hobbits?"


"Wolves in gardens I know much on. There was a farmer with two dozen hens. The wolf slayed half before I was able to trap it."

"If wolves are your problem. I have the skills to aid you," he nods assuringly.

Then aside to Danir, "Trolls as well. But it is odd for hobbits to slay Trolls. If you are hobbits, then you should look to the fields instead. Your feet work best on soil, not the hard trail of adventure," he advises.

     Bolosi gives a roll of the eyes, just as the barmaid arrives with a pint. He thanks her, sharing a wink, before he takes a sip of it. It does indeed taste a bit like pungent water. He looks back at the other dwarf, making a conscious tempt to ignore Fennec's last comment. " Well, ma'am, if you would like to take us to them, lead on." There is a winkle in his eye as he speaks, " If you know where to find them?"

While the others speak, Danir wastes no time in draining his ale, only this time he doesn't immediately ask for a refill. He places the empty tankard on the bar next to him, but keeps it within eyesight. He speaks to the human first: "Well human, if you know of wolves in gardens, and even trolls, let's see what you can do. You /do/ have a weapon, right?" He glances at the man's dagger and bow. He's just about to comment on them when Bolosi speaks.

This time, his words come very slowly, and very quietly - much the way a person speaks when he is trying to refrain from an outburst. "Ma'am?" he asks softly. "Ma'am?" He turns around, looking around the room, then back at the other dwarf. "You wouldn't be calling *me* ma'am, would you beardling?"


A great guffaw bellows from Aglarebar, "Beardling. That is a good one. I shall remember it."

     Bolosi glances back at Danir. " Forgive me, cousin, I seem to be slopping my words. Perhaps, I need some rest, I haven't slept in a while..." Over by the table, the red-bearded dwarf and the tall one give chuckles, which are quickly disguised as coughing fits as Bolosi shoots them a glare.
     But the conversation is interrupted right there, as the door burts open and a bald-headed man appears there. One look at this man would reveal that he is a ruffian- his smooth head is covered in tattoos, and his scarred face is twisted into a constant sneer. At either side of him, but slightly behind, are two towering thugs who, if they were inclined to, could probably fool somebody into believing they are half-troll. The leader of the bandits peers around,his eyes falling on Bolosi. With a snarl, he marches forward, his cornies following him. Behind the immediate thugs, four more come, all appearing like hardened mercenaries.
     " You! Dwarf! We need to talk..."

With a curt nod of his head, Danir grudgingly accepts the other dwarf's apology. "See it doesn't happen again, beardling," he says, not letting it go too lightly. When the others enter the Inn and call out for a dwarf, Danir immediately straightens, as if assuming they were talking to him.

Stepping away from the bar, Danir says, "Talking ain't what I had in mind, but I reckon we might as well start there."


A whisper, soft and quiet to Danir comes from Aglarebar, "Be wary with these men. It is rumored their fathers are those self-same trolls and their mothers..." a shake of the head, "Those poor wretched women."

     The brigand is glaring at Bolosi, who takes a long draught of his ale, wiping some froth from his beard, before turning around and glowering at the bald man. To the right of the brigands, the red-bearded and tall dwarves rise, their hands resting threateningly on their weapons as they too give the ruffians hard eyes.
     The bandit leader opens his mouth to speak, but then Danir speaks. The bald-headed man, closes his mouth, frowning with confusion as he looks at the hook handed dwarf. " And who are you?"

The Forsaken Inn seems to be quite the popular place for entertainment tonight. Dwarves, ruffians bent on intimidation ... all it would take now is an Elf or two to complete the mix.

Alas, the figure now approaching the clearing where the Inn stands is no Elf. Tall for a man of Bree, perhaps, but the figure swathed in a tattered brown cloak has neither elven height nor elven grace. Caution, however, he has in spades. He is in time to see the four with the mercenary air about them disappear through the Inn door. Head tilted as though in thought, he halts beneath the concealing eaves of the Chetwood, to watch ... and listen.

[Danir(#28691)] Without taking his eyes from the newly arriving men, Danir answers Fennec, but doesn't keep his voice to the whisper. "All the better then. And if they are offspring of those trolls, they should be wary of me."

His expression is set and determined as one of the brigands turns to him, and he steps forward. "I am Danir," he says, as if that answers everything.

     The brigand looks at the dwarf a moment longer, still frowning. " Right...You can sit down and stay out of this, if you don't want to get hurt." The troll-like men on either side of him tense, their eyes falling on the hook-handed dwarf as they shuffle a forward a little. Bolosi's red-bearded companion gives off a fierce growl, moving in by Danir's side to back him up. The taller one approaches as well, but his face seems emotionless, an unusual air of calm about him considering the situation.
     Bolosi rises, facing the brigand. " Don't threaten anyone in here, brigand. Your shadow no longer darkens this place. Say what you must and get out." Two war-axes gleam at his side.

The watcher in the woods hears little - voices do not carry well through solid timber - but that suggests no brawl is taking place. He fumbles beneath the cloak as though reaching for a weapon; oddly, though, when his right hand emerges there is no glint of a blade. Just a tangle of leather and cords. He takes a single step forward, still half-beneath the branches but a sharp-eyed sentry looking in that direction might see the movement. And he waits, tensed for fight or flight.


As the conversation continues, there is a soft creak near the stairs. Aglarebar also seems to be gone.

"If you're concerned about anyone getting hurt," Danir begins, "You should be looking to yourselves. I've been killing trolls longer than you've been living. Say what you're here to say, so I can get on to the speaking with my hammer."

     The brigands behind the bald one give snicker at the hook-handed dwarf, some shouting something about not even being able to pick his own nose without skewering his brains. The leader, however, gives the dwarf a long hard stare, before turning to Bolosi. " I know he's been talking to you. And I want you to know that you can't trust a word he's been saying. Every single one is a lie. That's just the way he is. So whatever he's been saying... Don't believe him." There is a hint of nervousness in the man's voice, and his lip quivers ever so slightly.
     Bolosi gives him a long, hard stare, before speaking. " Well, the way I see it- if you've come all the way of whatever gong pit you live in to tell me this, then you must be scared. Scared that you'll be blamed for your old thug's loose tongue.
     The brigand sneers, but the nervousness in his expression is unmistakeable. " You've been warned, Naugrim! Believe me- if you trust him you'll end up dead."
     The red-bearded dwarf gives a low growl, murder in his eyes as he glowers at the bandit. Even the trolls-men seem a little taken aback. Bolosi waves a hand of dismissal. " I think I can make that decision for myself. Now get out before you all get killed...." He glances at Danir's hook, " There's more than one place to stick a sharp object, and us dwarves pride ourselves in knowing all of them."
     The brigand seems to hesitate for a moment, not wanting to lose face in front of his me...And then he sweeps around and heads out, pushing passed his thugs as he does so. The merceneries follow their master, glancing wickedly at the dwarves as they leave.

As the thuggish-looking man and his mercenary fellows swagger past, the cloaked man who'd been watching the Inn steps to follow quietly in their wake.

The immature nose-picking comments are seemingly ignored by the dwarf. He stands at the ready, his hand on his hammer, but for a change remains quiet as he listens to the brigand speak to Bolosi. When the other dwarf makes reference to the hook in place of his left hand, Danir raises it with a hard grin on his face. As the men turn to leave, Danir turns to Bolosi: "Why are we not following? They'll lead us to the ones we want to slay."

The brigand seems to hesitate for a moment, not wanting to lose face in front of his me...And then he sweeps around and heads out, pushing passed his thugs as he does so. The merceneries follow their master, glancing wickedly at the dwarves as they leave.

[Nob(#16122)] Once outside, the bandit leader starts to run, then settles into a steady jogging trot that can take him a long ways.

One of the mercenary-men, a lean runner with a scraggly beard, comes up close to his leader, showing him the bright steel of a half-drawn dagger with a nasty grin.

[Danir(#28691)] Though nobody else seems inclined to join the dwarf in pursuit of the thugs, Danir doesn't seem to be bothered. He leaves his empty tankard on the bar, unfastens his war hammer, and heads out behind the men. But whether age or past injuries, Danir is not as quiet as once he might have been, thus making it easy for those he's following to notice his presence.

The lurker in the tattered brown cloak - a tall man by Bree standards, but he cannot match the height of Elf or Ranger - peers through the evening dimness, by the tilt of his head using ears as much as eyes to track the departing bandits. When they quicken their pace, he does also. His movements are fairly quiet, but as he speeds from walk to trot a twig cracks beneath his foot. Without pausing stride, he addresses the darkness: "Kiern, but you're hard to catch up with. What's the hurry?" No blade glints in his hand; rather a tangle of cord and leather. His tone is fairly relaxed (if a little breathless), but fresh sweat stands out on his brow.

It may be that the singsong words mask some of the sounds of Danir, the other follower.

[<#16122>] "Lead ... by ... ...," the leader says in a low voice, grinning even more nastily than the other man at the sight of the knife blade. "... ... ... easy ... ... ... ... ... ....." He glances over his shoulder and sees the dwarf behind.

The mercenary threatens to giggle with glee, then sheathes the blade. "'Ere," he calls loudly to those who follow, waving a friendly-enough hand. "Mind the midges, now..."

[Nob(#16122)] With a gesture, the leader sends his men off, 2 this way, 3 that - until there are at least four different paths that the followers could take - all of them (though they cannot know this) converging onto the Midgewater Marshes.

[Danir(#28691)] Though the dwarf doesn't speak, it's hard to not hear him anyway. He follows a bit behind the cloaked man, who follows the ruffians; short legs tend to move a bit slower than the longer ones of men.

The first of those lurking followers, Brev (who's still shrouded in his tattered brown cloak), fumbles with the leather-and-cord as he waits for a response to his words, but he doesn't get the one he'd expected. "Midges, is it?" he queries softly, the sing-song, foreign accent becoming a little more pronounced. "Awfully large ones for this time of year." And without drawing breath he spins on his heel, draws back his right arm and sends a sling-stone flying into the darkness. Not toward the bandits, but back toward Danir. The light's poor enough that he's aiming by sound alone, but his chosen direction is a fair guess.

[Nob(#16122)] The bandit leader winds through the trees - it's almost dark in here, though the sky is still light - glancing back now and then to see (or listen) to his followers. The others, all save one, have long since vanished into the night.

And the one that is left calls out, "Are you there? We're over here!" in an almost whining, mocking tone.

[Danir(#28691)] Perhaps it's something in the tone, or perhaps it's the words themselves, but at the mocking words, Danir pauses. Hammer still hefted, he remains mostly motionless but turns his head towards the direction of the voices.

Brev listens to the rustle of the bushes as his stone parts them, and to the lack of pained cries. A single, guttural word escapes his lips.

His response to the mocking call is an equally mocking, "I'm not there. Your oversized midge is, though. Pity I missed." He pauses, moves very softly in a direction oblique to the paths of both bandit and dwarf. From a different place, he calls out again, "Love to stay and play, but .. some other time, eh?" The game of cat and mouse - or is that fox and weasel? - will have to wait for another day.

Date added: 2010-08-25 16:05:46    Hits: 43
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