Elendor
(Mis)Information
A new arrival to Creatrach lets slip rumour of Wulf raiding plans. The current Bear chieftain, Brodie, takes decisive action.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Courtyard -- Creatrach Keep
Game Date: 22 of July in the year 3045
IC Time: Morning
Description: Courtyard -- Creatrach Keep
Creatrach Dun, the greatest fortress in Caerdh, flies the red banners of Clan Bear proudly from its high reinforced bulwarks. The tops of dark evergreen trees are just visible over the tall, manned walls of this keep which protect the inhabitants against the evils abroad in the forest below. Inside, the earthen ground of the courtyard is laid with gravel for drainage, and is well-trodden as the Bears move about their daily business. The keep proper takes up part of the west wall and the whole northern section of the courtyard. A short flight of steps leads up to the keep doors into the foyer. A small shelter, beside the wooden gates, serves as the guard post.
A row of small stone buildings line the southern wall where thick smoke rising almost continually from the chimneys of Mederon the Smith and his rival Smithy proclaim their trade. The shingle of a grinning bear holding a mug swings over the door into a squat structure. This is obviously the Grinning_Grizzly. Behind the tavern is an outhouse. Clan Bear appears to be building a small city within the confines of the keep's walls.
The appearance of the courtyard morphs throughout the day, dawn to dark to dawn again. During the day, the south side of the courtyard is transformed into a bustling market and the cry of merchants and peddlers hawking their wares echoes throughout the courtyard. A pair of Bear warriors guard the wooden gates that leads out while a second pair patrols the courtyard. Two more Bear guards bar the other main entrance in the courtyard, the Great Doors to the inner keep. Visitors and residents enter and exit the inner keep foyer through these doors. The low wood enclosure of the militia training ground may be seen at the far north-eastern corner.
Obvious exits:
Grinning Grizzly leads to Grinning Grizzly Alehouse.
Great Doors leads to Main Foyer -- Creatrach Keep.
Wooden Gate leads to Southern Misty Mountains - Dunland <>.
===============================================================================
Dunland Time and Weather Forecast
===============================================================================
Real Time is: Fri Nov 28 23:35:10 2008
IC weather is: Wind: - Clouds: clear
IC Moon is: Not visible
IC time is: Early Morning
IC date is: Sunday, Day 22 of July in the year 3045.
===============================================================================
It is a clear morn, and a fair one, as such things go. Creatrach Keep has long since woken, and the common folk go about their daily business of keeping things running irrespective of the unpredictable whims of their leaders. The gates are open, and in the distance a cart can be seen rumbling along the road. The flood of refugees from Kierkgard has slowed to a trickle, but still they come ... in dribs and drabs, unannounced and without fanfare, hoping no doubt for crumbs from the Fianni's table.
As the cart ascends the steep hill, it becomes apparent from its lurching gait that it's having trouble. The sound of raised voices carries: "Fix it yourself! I've already put that wheel back on twice, that more than pays for any passage. Kiern, I could have walked here in half that time!" The cart holds several passengers, one hunched and shawl-shrouded and apparently ancient, while at its side a couple of men walk. It is the younger of these, scowling through a screen of dark curls, who is the speaker.
The gates are indeed open, but they are not unguarded. One of the two guards who stand to either side of the open gate settles his gaze upon the group making their way towards the gate with the cart. "The Keep is closed," he announces loudly. "We're full to bursting," he continues stepping into the open gateway. "We've nay enough food for the ones here already."
[Saffron(#15443)]
Inside the gate there is indeed, much activity. Some of the fortunate ones who managed to pass through the gates stare back at the wagon, gaunt and tired. Such is the look of those who lost everything in a fire.
"Perhaps we should ask Brodie. They aren't many."
One of the more sympathetic people from the inside calls out to the guards.
The guardsman's words are met with a babble of protest.
"But I have goods to sell," the carter complains, his tone belligerent. Sure enough, there are boxes and crates in the back of tha cart, though not too many. "And the cart needs fixed."
A baby wails, and the old woman, quavers, "Aiee! But what is to become of us?"
"Hush, old mother," the young woman cradling the baby admonishes. They won't turn us away. They can't!" She raises the infant so that the guard can see, hoping no doubt for the sympathy vote.
The fellow with the dark curls snorts. "Fine, then I'll go elsewhere. If Brodie doesn't want extra hands and backs, it's his funeral. Guess Creatrach might not be so safe right now, going by the talk that's been flying round ..."
[Carac(#32384)] "If you want your head cracked then you go disturb, Brodie!" The guard before the gate calls over his shoulder to the speaker.
He turns back to the group with a fierce determination, but at the sight of the babe, but he stands his ground, albeit with less ferocity than before. "I can not allow you to pass without Fian, er Ceann Brodie's blessing," he says. "My orders."
He glances once at the wagon and then towards 'dark curls'. "What talk is this?"
[Saffron(#15443)]
People starved for news and gossip gravitate towards the new arrivals until a small crowd is formed by the gate.
"What talks? What is the news?"
"Why is it not safe?"
Two resourceful lads make a mad dash towards the main building, in a footrace to see who will be the first one to reach the Ceann with news of news.
"Then won't you ask him? Please?" The young woman's voice is pleading as she stares at the guard with dark, haunted eyes, and tears trickle down her cheeks as she tries to put the babe to the breast. From the infant's fussing it looks like it isn't finding much milk.
The carter wisely stays silent.
The young man with the dark curls shrugs. "Sometimes a man hears things. Could be just talk, though after all that trouble in Redvyrne ... ach, no need to disturb anyone, is there?" He eyes the gossipseekers nonchalantly.
[Carac(#32384)] The guard, who's name is Greldik, watches the babe and the woman and then steps aside from the gate. "Brodie can be damned," he mutters and points a thick finger at mother and child. "You two," he barks. "Inside. Come quick now," he orders as he steps from the gate.
Then again his gaze is back on 'dark curls'. "If you have something to say, then say it." he says, his earlier ferocity returning. "What trouble in Redvyrne, we've only had the news of Kierkgard's burning."
[Saffron(#15443)]
As two more refugees are let inside the Keep, those less charitable grumble something about there not being enough food as is.
"Who cares what goes on in Redvyrne? What have you in the wagon?" Another homeless man demands.
"And my mother?" The young woman climbs down from the cart, but then clutches at the crone with her free hand. The babe, disturbed by the motion, starts wailing again.
The carter, forgotten, frowns and tries to get the guard's attention. "But what about my cart? I've got all sorts to trade. Pottery ... ironware ... turnips." He mutters the last under his breath, very quietly.
The dark-haired fellow lets the scene play out before responding to the guard's questions. He pushes the hair back from his face for a moment, amber eyes glaring at the man suspiciously as he answers low-voiced, "Loose talk can get a man killed. You think I don't know that? If Ceann Brodie," the name slips easily off his tongue, "wants me to tell him what I've heard, I will. Let /him/ decide if it's worth worrying about. As to Redvyrne," his voice rises again, "heard they'd had a little change of leader." He snickers. "That's no secret."
[Carac(#32384)] Greldik frowns at the mother. "You and the babe," he says once more. "I can make it just the babe if you wish, I'm sure a wetnurse can be found if needed and you and the old woman can go hang. Would that be more suitable?"
He steps once more into the gateway when the carter announces there are turnips in his wagon. "Back!" he orders the people inside the gates and puts a hand on his axe hilt threateningly.
He glance angrily towards 'dark curls' briefly, and then back towards the keep. "Someone go get Brodie!" he orders. "Now!"
[Saffron(#15443)]
As if on cue, the large door slams open and two terrified young lads who earlier went to fetch the Ceann even before Greldik gave the order, come barreling out.
"He's coming!" They call out, in warning.
Even from this distance, the smell of heavy whiskey is unmistakable. Through the large doors, a group of drunken men kick up dust as they leave the main hall and head towards the gates, though not exactly in a straight line. A large Dunlending man with a shock of bristly beard and long hair leads the pack, shoving and kicking those unfortunate enough to not get out his way in time.
"What's this I hear, of even more cripples and old women wanting food? Are there no more men who can lift an axe?" Ceann Brodie bellows into the crowd.
"My baby! Don't take my baby!" the young woman pleads almost hysterically, clutching the wailing infant to her. At least that has the effect of muffling its cries a little.
The old woman in the cart pushes the daughter's hands away and shakes her head. She starts rocking back and forth, crooning under her breath the thread of sound does not cease even when Brodie barrels into the scene.
The carter, formerly so assertive, swallows hard and falls silent.
The dark-haired young man watches the Ceann's arrival his response falls into the silence that follows Brodie's bellow. "An axe? I can swing a knife well enough. Ceann," he dips his head in a nod that might be construed a bow, "I gather Creatrach is closed, and there's some information I'd share with you before I leave." His voice is clear, the speech carefully slow (perhaps to aid that drink-fogged brain).
[Carac(#32384)] "Close your mouth woman unless you want to end the day on the block," he hisses when he hears Brodie approaching.
He turns then and faces Brodie. Unlike many of the others, he neither cowers or shows any fear of the Ceann, but meets his gaze unflinching. "My brother's wife, their child and her mother," he lies. "You agreed to their coming, since my brother is serving you in that matter involving Baodan."
He turns and gives the woman a warning glance before his eyes fall on the carter. "The carter seems hale enough, and brings turnips and other goods."
"And this one," he says with a jerk of his head towards Brev, "claims to have some news about happenings in Redvyrne that he claims may effect us here."
[Saffron(#15443)]
The way Brodie's eyes settle in their sockets do indeed, indicate that he has had much to drink. He listens to the young man speak, then to Greldik while breathing heavily through his nose, so hard in fact, that the hairs from his nostrils entwine with his moustache. He grunts at Greldik while lifting the corner of his upper lip before turning his gaze on the young man.
"Whose bastard son are you, boy? Ah, never mind. Swear you will die for me and you can come in along with that whole worthless lot. SHUT YOUR MOUH!"
The Ceann whips his head to bark at a muttering man complaining of not enough food. The muttering ceases.
"WHISKEY!"
Brodie extends his palm to the side, expecting someone to hand him a jug, all the while keeping his blood-rimmed eyes on the young man.
"What about Redvyrne?"
The woman manages to stifle her sobs to a nervous whimpering, and moves quickly behind Greldik. She cannot muster up a smile, but the duck of her head when he glances at her hints at gratitude. "I have goods to sell, my Lord Ceann," the carter interjects gruffly, no doubt hoping to escape too much notice.
The dark-haired young man shrugs at Brodie's first question, saved from the bother of answering by the Ceann's bellows. In the pause that follows the demand for whisky, he steps a little closer, hands empty and held well out from his sides. "Ceann," he lowers his voice as much as he may, "I've heard that some young hothead from the Faols is raising an army."
[Carac(#32384)] Greldik steps forward to look into the carter's wagon and inspect the goods within, allowing Brodie to handle 'Dark curls'. "Where'd you come about these goods?" he asks. "We've had word recently that thieves struck Fian Odharn's farmstead and made off with some of his belongings, turnips amongst them."
He looks up from the wagon to the carter questioningly. "Not a theif are you?"
[Saffron(#15443)]
Brodie takes the jug of whiskey handed to him and lifts it to his mouth. There is a slight pause as he grabs the cork between his teeth when Dark Curls informs him of this new army.
"Faols are nothing but a bunch of worm diggers," Brodie says with the cork held between his teeth. Then, with a violent tug, he frees the cork and spits it out onto the ground. "What do they plan to do, bait us with worms?"
He lets out a boisterous laugh before gargling with whiskey. With his head tilted back to dump more whiskey into his mouth, he snaps out with his free hand in an attempt to seize Dark Curls by his locks to drag him closer.
The carter looks quite outraged at Greldik's question. "This load came with us all the way up from the old village!" he protests. "Ask these folks." He gestures to the old woman who's fallen blessedly silent, the young mother, who's busy trying to nurse her babe again, the young man ... "Turnips are from my brother-in-law's farm, edge of Laeg." Then the indignity fades and he asks, "Thieves? Where? Thought things'd be safe now." His glower is shared between Greldik and the young man who is so determinedly prophesying trouble.
'Dark curls' ducks neatly out of the way as Brodie's hand snaps out he steps round then leans forward so that he can murmur to the man whilst staying out of range of anything worse than an elbow or two. "I ... heard some Wulf boasting. The fact some former Bear was warming the high seat in Redvyrne didn't sit well with them. A fellow claimed the Faol lad was rallying an army, tit for tat he said. Naught in Flaherven lands but scrawny sheep, this time they'd seek richer pickings."
[Carac(#32384)] Greldik glances towards Brodie and spots that he is occupied with 'dark curls' and then turns back to the carter. He steps from in front of the cart and nods towards the open gate silently, while holding a single finger to his lips.
"Well," he says loudly, as he steps towards the Ceann. "I'd say we know who's responsible for this raid on Odharn," he continues as he tries to keep attention on 'dark curls' and away from the carter. "The Wulf have been wanting to get back at the Flahervens for some time."
[Saffron(#15443)]
Brodie shakes the jug, making sure every last drop of the contents fall into his mouth. He then throws the empty jug towards Dark Curls.
"And if you're lying, boy -- You'll spend the rest of your days as a slave without a tongue."
The Ceann turns to enter the Keep once more. As he does, he signals with his chin towards the mother and the baby.
"Throw her into the brothel until she can farm."
But before Greldik can protest, Brodie steps up and presses his face close to his. "Since your brother's dead, he'll have no use for her." He gives the guard a nasty grin, before calling out.
"Gather up the men. We're goin Wulf huntin'!"
The carter's eyes widen - and then he dutifully urges his ox through the open gate, setting his shoulder to the lower side of the cart to stop the wheel squeaking. Doubtless Greldik will have no shortage of turnips in the near future.
'Dark curls' glances up as Greldik speaks, but doesn't look in the least perturbed as his quiet murmurs are given public voice. He deftly catches the thrown jug and peers into it, shaking his head as though saddened it is empty. He wanders through the gates and into the courtyard in the Ceann's wake.
The young mother lets out a little scream as Brodie decrees her fate, then subsides into muffled sobbing, hugging her baby to her. The poor wee thing, worn out by all the disturbance, no longer suckles - it has fallen asleep
[Carac(#32384)] Greldik watches the passage of Brodie with a disgusted look. Once the Ceann has departed he steps in front of the woman and glares at the pair of guards moving towards. "Lay a hand on her and you'll lose it," he says hefting his axe. "Brodie's heading to Redvyrne and most like won't be back, if the Wulf don't end him one of his own will."
He leans towards the men slightly. "As Captain of the Guard, will be I who holds the Keep while he's off. If you lads don't want any mishaps befalling you during your watch, you'll do as I say."
Keeping his eyes on the men he reaches back towards the woman. "Head to the Grizzly lass, I'll see that we find you and your's a place somewhere."
The woman turns her tear-stained face on Greldik, looking dazed and bewildered by all the threats and promises. "Thank you," she murmurs at last, and before she shuffles off, she leans forward to give him grateful kiss.
Creatrach Dun, the greatest fortress in Caerdh, flies the red banners of Clan Bear proudly from its high reinforced bulwarks. The tops of dark evergreen trees are just visible over the tall, manned walls of this keep which protect the inhabitants against the evils abroad in the forest below. Inside, the earthen ground of the courtyard is laid with gravel for drainage, and is well-trodden as the Bears move about their daily business. The keep proper takes up part of the west wall and the whole northern section of the courtyard. A short flight of steps leads up to the keep doors into the foyer. A small shelter, beside the wooden gates, serves as the guard post.
A row of small stone buildings line the southern wall where thick smoke rising almost continually from the chimneys of Mederon the Smith and his rival Smithy proclaim their trade. The shingle of a grinning bear holding a mug swings over the door into a squat structure. This is obviously the Grinning_Grizzly. Behind the tavern is an outhouse. Clan Bear appears to be building a small city within the confines of the keep's walls.
The appearance of the courtyard morphs throughout the day, dawn to dark to dawn again. During the day, the south side of the courtyard is transformed into a bustling market and the cry of merchants and peddlers hawking their wares echoes throughout the courtyard. A pair of Bear warriors guard the wooden gates that leads out while a second pair patrols the courtyard. Two more Bear guards bar the other main entrance in the courtyard, the Great Doors to the inner keep. Visitors and residents enter and exit the inner keep foyer through these doors. The low wood enclosure of the militia training ground may be seen at the far north-eastern corner.
Obvious exits:
Grinning Grizzly leads to Grinning Grizzly Alehouse.
Great Doors leads to Main Foyer -- Creatrach Keep.
Wooden Gate leads to Southern Misty Mountains - Dunland <
===============================================================================
Dunland Time and Weather Forecast
===============================================================================
Real Time is: Fri Nov 28 23:35:10 2008
IC weather is: Wind: - Clouds: clear
IC Moon is: Not visible
IC time is: Early Morning
IC date is: Sunday, Day 22 of July in the year 3045.
===============================================================================
It is a clear morn, and a fair one, as such things go. Creatrach Keep has long since woken, and the common folk go about their daily business of keeping things running irrespective of the unpredictable whims of their leaders. The gates are open, and in the distance a cart can be seen rumbling along the road. The flood of refugees from Kierkgard has slowed to a trickle, but still they come ... in dribs and drabs, unannounced and without fanfare, hoping no doubt for crumbs from the Fianni's table.
As the cart ascends the steep hill, it becomes apparent from its lurching gait that it's having trouble. The sound of raised voices carries: "Fix it yourself! I've already put that wheel back on twice, that more than pays for any passage. Kiern, I could have walked here in half that time!" The cart holds several passengers, one hunched and shawl-shrouded and apparently ancient, while at its side a couple of men walk. It is the younger of these, scowling through a screen of dark curls, who is the speaker.
The gates are indeed open, but they are not unguarded. One of the two guards who stand to either side of the open gate settles his gaze upon the group making their way towards the gate with the cart. "The Keep is closed," he announces loudly. "We're full to bursting," he continues stepping into the open gateway. "We've nay enough food for the ones here already."
[Saffron(#15443)]
Inside the gate there is indeed, much activity. Some of the fortunate ones who managed to pass through the gates stare back at the wagon, gaunt and tired. Such is the look of those who lost everything in a fire.
"Perhaps we should ask Brodie. They aren't many."
One of the more sympathetic people from the inside calls out to the guards.
The guardsman's words are met with a babble of protest.
"But I have goods to sell," the carter complains, his tone belligerent. Sure enough, there are boxes and crates in the back of tha cart, though not too many. "And the cart needs fixed."
A baby wails, and the old woman, quavers, "Aiee! But what is to become of us?"
"Hush, old mother," the young woman cradling the baby admonishes. They won't turn us away. They can't!" She raises the infant so that the guard can see, hoping no doubt for the sympathy vote.
The fellow with the dark curls snorts. "Fine, then I'll go elsewhere. If Brodie doesn't want extra hands and backs, it's his funeral. Guess Creatrach might not be so safe right now, going by the talk that's been flying round ..."
[Carac(#32384)] "If you want your head cracked then you go disturb, Brodie!" The guard before the gate calls over his shoulder to the speaker.
He turns back to the group with a fierce determination, but at the sight of the babe, but he stands his ground, albeit with less ferocity than before. "I can not allow you to pass without Fian, er Ceann Brodie's blessing," he says. "My orders."
He glances once at the wagon and then towards 'dark curls'. "What talk is this?"
[Saffron(#15443)]
People starved for news and gossip gravitate towards the new arrivals until a small crowd is formed by the gate.
"What talks? What is the news?"
"Why is it not safe?"
Two resourceful lads make a mad dash towards the main building, in a footrace to see who will be the first one to reach the Ceann with news of news.
"Then won't you ask him? Please?" The young woman's voice is pleading as she stares at the guard with dark, haunted eyes, and tears trickle down her cheeks as she tries to put the babe to the breast. From the infant's fussing it looks like it isn't finding much milk.
The carter wisely stays silent.
The young man with the dark curls shrugs. "Sometimes a man hears things. Could be just talk, though after all that trouble in Redvyrne ... ach, no need to disturb anyone, is there?" He eyes the gossipseekers nonchalantly.
[Carac(#32384)] The guard, who's name is Greldik, watches the babe and the woman and then steps aside from the gate. "Brodie can be damned," he mutters and points a thick finger at mother and child. "You two," he barks. "Inside. Come quick now," he orders as he steps from the gate.
Then again his gaze is back on 'dark curls'. "If you have something to say, then say it." he says, his earlier ferocity returning. "What trouble in Redvyrne, we've only had the news of Kierkgard's burning."
[Saffron(#15443)]
As two more refugees are let inside the Keep, those less charitable grumble something about there not being enough food as is.
"Who cares what goes on in Redvyrne? What have you in the wagon?" Another homeless man demands.
"And my mother?" The young woman climbs down from the cart, but then clutches at the crone with her free hand. The babe, disturbed by the motion, starts wailing again.
The carter, forgotten, frowns and tries to get the guard's attention. "But what about my cart? I've got all sorts to trade. Pottery ... ironware ... turnips." He mutters the last under his breath, very quietly.
The dark-haired fellow lets the scene play out before responding to the guard's questions. He pushes the hair back from his face for a moment, amber eyes glaring at the man suspiciously as he answers low-voiced, "Loose talk can get a man killed. You think I don't know that? If Ceann Brodie," the name slips easily off his tongue, "wants me to tell him what I've heard, I will. Let /him/ decide if it's worth worrying about. As to Redvyrne," his voice rises again, "heard they'd had a little change of leader." He snickers. "That's no secret."
[Carac(#32384)] Greldik frowns at the mother. "You and the babe," he says once more. "I can make it just the babe if you wish, I'm sure a wetnurse can be found if needed and you and the old woman can go hang. Would that be more suitable?"
He steps once more into the gateway when the carter announces there are turnips in his wagon. "Back!" he orders the people inside the gates and puts a hand on his axe hilt threateningly.
He glance angrily towards 'dark curls' briefly, and then back towards the keep. "Someone go get Brodie!" he orders. "Now!"
[Saffron(#15443)]
As if on cue, the large door slams open and two terrified young lads who earlier went to fetch the Ceann even before Greldik gave the order, come barreling out.
"He's coming!" They call out, in warning.
Even from this distance, the smell of heavy whiskey is unmistakable. Through the large doors, a group of drunken men kick up dust as they leave the main hall and head towards the gates, though not exactly in a straight line. A large Dunlending man with a shock of bristly beard and long hair leads the pack, shoving and kicking those unfortunate enough to not get out his way in time.
"What's this I hear, of even more cripples and old women wanting food? Are there no more men who can lift an axe?" Ceann Brodie bellows into the crowd.
"My baby! Don't take my baby!" the young woman pleads almost hysterically, clutching the wailing infant to her. At least that has the effect of muffling its cries a little.
The old woman in the cart pushes the daughter's hands away and shakes her head. She starts rocking back and forth, crooning under her breath the thread of sound does not cease even when Brodie barrels into the scene.
The carter, formerly so assertive, swallows hard and falls silent.
The dark-haired young man watches the Ceann's arrival his response falls into the silence that follows Brodie's bellow. "An axe? I can swing a knife well enough. Ceann," he dips his head in a nod that might be construed a bow, "I gather Creatrach is closed, and there's some information I'd share with you before I leave." His voice is clear, the speech carefully slow (perhaps to aid that drink-fogged brain).
[Carac(#32384)] "Close your mouth woman unless you want to end the day on the block," he hisses when he hears Brodie approaching.
He turns then and faces Brodie. Unlike many of the others, he neither cowers or shows any fear of the Ceann, but meets his gaze unflinching. "My brother's wife, their child and her mother," he lies. "You agreed to their coming, since my brother is serving you in that matter involving Baodan."
He turns and gives the woman a warning glance before his eyes fall on the carter. "The carter seems hale enough, and brings turnips and other goods."
"And this one," he says with a jerk of his head towards Brev, "claims to have some news about happenings in Redvyrne that he claims may effect us here."
[Saffron(#15443)]
The way Brodie's eyes settle in their sockets do indeed, indicate that he has had much to drink. He listens to the young man speak, then to Greldik while breathing heavily through his nose, so hard in fact, that the hairs from his nostrils entwine with his moustache. He grunts at Greldik while lifting the corner of his upper lip before turning his gaze on the young man.
"Whose bastard son are you, boy? Ah, never mind. Swear you will die for me and you can come in along with that whole worthless lot. SHUT YOUR MOUH!"
The Ceann whips his head to bark at a muttering man complaining of not enough food. The muttering ceases.
"WHISKEY!"
Brodie extends his palm to the side, expecting someone to hand him a jug, all the while keeping his blood-rimmed eyes on the young man.
"What about Redvyrne?"
The woman manages to stifle her sobs to a nervous whimpering, and moves quickly behind Greldik. She cannot muster up a smile, but the duck of her head when he glances at her hints at gratitude. "I have goods to sell, my Lord Ceann," the carter interjects gruffly, no doubt hoping to escape too much notice.
The dark-haired young man shrugs at Brodie's first question, saved from the bother of answering by the Ceann's bellows. In the pause that follows the demand for whisky, he steps a little closer, hands empty and held well out from his sides. "Ceann," he lowers his voice as much as he may, "I've heard that some young hothead from the Faols is raising an army."
[Carac(#32384)] Greldik steps forward to look into the carter's wagon and inspect the goods within, allowing Brodie to handle 'Dark curls'. "Where'd you come about these goods?" he asks. "We've had word recently that thieves struck Fian Odharn's farmstead and made off with some of his belongings, turnips amongst them."
He looks up from the wagon to the carter questioningly. "Not a theif are you?"
[Saffron(#15443)]
Brodie takes the jug of whiskey handed to him and lifts it to his mouth. There is a slight pause as he grabs the cork between his teeth when Dark Curls informs him of this new army.
"Faols are nothing but a bunch of worm diggers," Brodie says with the cork held between his teeth. Then, with a violent tug, he frees the cork and spits it out onto the ground. "What do they plan to do, bait us with worms?"
He lets out a boisterous laugh before gargling with whiskey. With his head tilted back to dump more whiskey into his mouth, he snaps out with his free hand in an attempt to seize Dark Curls by his locks to drag him closer.
The carter looks quite outraged at Greldik's question. "This load came with us all the way up from the old village!" he protests. "Ask these folks." He gestures to the old woman who's fallen blessedly silent, the young mother, who's busy trying to nurse her babe again, the young man ... "Turnips are from my brother-in-law's farm, edge of Laeg." Then the indignity fades and he asks, "Thieves? Where? Thought things'd be safe now." His glower is shared between Greldik and the young man who is so determinedly prophesying trouble.
'Dark curls' ducks neatly out of the way as Brodie's hand snaps out he steps round then leans forward so that he can murmur to the man whilst staying out of range of anything worse than an elbow or two. "I ... heard some Wulf boasting. The fact some former Bear was warming the high seat in Redvyrne didn't sit well with them. A fellow claimed the Faol lad was rallying an army, tit for tat he said. Naught in Flaherven lands but scrawny sheep, this time they'd seek richer pickings."
[Carac(#32384)] Greldik glances towards Brodie and spots that he is occupied with 'dark curls' and then turns back to the carter. He steps from in front of the cart and nods towards the open gate silently, while holding a single finger to his lips.
"Well," he says loudly, as he steps towards the Ceann. "I'd say we know who's responsible for this raid on Odharn," he continues as he tries to keep attention on 'dark curls' and away from the carter. "The Wulf have been wanting to get back at the Flahervens for some time."
[Saffron(#15443)]
Brodie shakes the jug, making sure every last drop of the contents fall into his mouth. He then throws the empty jug towards Dark Curls.
"And if you're lying, boy -- You'll spend the rest of your days as a slave without a tongue."
The Ceann turns to enter the Keep once more. As he does, he signals with his chin towards the mother and the baby.
"Throw her into the brothel until she can farm."
But before Greldik can protest, Brodie steps up and presses his face close to his. "Since your brother's dead, he'll have no use for her." He gives the guard a nasty grin, before calling out.
"Gather up the men. We're goin Wulf huntin'!"
The carter's eyes widen - and then he dutifully urges his ox through the open gate, setting his shoulder to the lower side of the cart to stop the wheel squeaking. Doubtless Greldik will have no shortage of turnips in the near future.
'Dark curls' glances up as Greldik speaks, but doesn't look in the least perturbed as his quiet murmurs are given public voice. He deftly catches the thrown jug and peers into it, shaking his head as though saddened it is empty. He wanders through the gates and into the courtyard in the Ceann's wake.
The young mother lets out a little scream as Brodie decrees her fate, then subsides into muffled sobbing, hugging her baby to her. The poor wee thing, worn out by all the disturbance, no longer suckles - it has fallen asleep
[Carac(#32384)] Greldik watches the passage of Brodie with a disgusted look. Once the Ceann has departed he steps in front of the woman and glares at the pair of guards moving towards. "Lay a hand on her and you'll lose it," he says hefting his axe. "Brodie's heading to Redvyrne and most like won't be back, if the Wulf don't end him one of his own will."
He leans towards the men slightly. "As Captain of the Guard, will be I who holds the Keep while he's off. If you lads don't want any mishaps befalling you during your watch, you'll do as I say."
Keeping his eyes on the men he reaches back towards the woman. "Head to the Grizzly lass, I'll see that we find you and your's a place somewhere."
The woman turns her tear-stained face on Greldik, looking dazed and bewildered by all the threats and promises. "Thank you," she murmurs at last, and before she shuffles off, she leans forward to give him grateful kiss.
Players: Brev, Carac, Saffron, Brodie, Greldik
Located in: Dunlending
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