Stable talk

Stable of the White Gelding

You stand at one end of the stables of the White Gelding. Three eoscealcs (attendants) are washing out stalls, or grooming horses. About 25 of the 50 stalls have horses in them. One of the attendants walks over to people entering, wiping his hands on his trousers, "Ya looking to board your horse? Won't charge ya as much as the guard will when he finds them roamin' all over the city."

How can anyone resist?

Obvious exits:

Exit

Real time is: Fri Nov 14 09:49:56 2008 - Rohan weather is: Clear

Elendor time is: Early Afternoon <15:29:48 > on Sterday of June 11, 3045

The Moon is: first quarter

[Heregyth(#24218)] It is just past the noon hour on this early June day, and the sun is shining brightly in a sky of brilliant blue punctuated by lazy white clouds, a soft breeze blowing gentle warmth across the lands. In short, it is a perfect early summer day, and as such, most of the horses that are stabled here are out being ridden. A small knot of grooms is gathered by the stable doors, which have been flung open wide to let in the day--the grooms there obviously and blatantly idling the time away, talking, lazing, and glancing a bit more than derisively toward a young woman in the stables who is the only one laboring here. "Make sure you get -all- the manure out of the stalls, Heregyth," one of them calls to the young woman--the groom seeming to take obvious pleasure in having someone else to pass this task too.

Heregyth pauses from where is is at work with a shovel, cleaning out a stall and dumping horse droppings into a cart nearby. She wipes sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a dirty streak on her forehead, and shoots the grooms an ill-tempered look, but says nothing. Nearby, there is one mare in its stall--Faelwine's ill tempered horse, which is making its displeasure widely known, kicing at its stall.

Not /all/ the horses are out being ridden. One is returning now - a grey mare being led by a tall fellow with hair the colour of ripe barley. His steps are slow, and he limps heavily. "Fair day to you," he calls out by way of greeting, blinking as sun-adjusted eyes peer into the dim stable.

Perhaps equine ill-temper is catching, for as the grey mare passes beneath the arch of the stable door, she snorts and tosses her head, stopping still.

[Heregyth(#24218)] "Don't leave her stand there!" Heregyth says, hastily dropping the shovel against the manure cart, the tool clattering down. "That mare has a penchant to bite!" she continues as she hurries forward toward the man. At the stable doors, there is some scattered laughter from the grooms as they watch this. "I've cleaned out the stalls over there if you want instead," the girl continues, pointing deeper into the stables. She pauses, though, frowning as her glance takes in the man. "Are you injured?"

Heregyth just looked at you.

Something, whether the presence of the ill-tempered horse, the sharp note in the young groom's voice, or the clatter of the shovel, disturbs the normally placid mare, for her ears go back and she neighs an equine challenge. "Hush, Sceobriht," the man reprimands, urging her forward with hand and voice and even, when those fail to move her, a push with his shoulder. Grudgingly the mare moves forward, deeper into the stable, lifting her muzzle to sniff at the scents.

The man sighs. "I thank you," he murmurs, then his brows draw together in the beginnings of a frown. "Although I had left something within these walls," he gazes toward the newly cleaned stalls. "A staff of polished wood, it was?" Preoccupied as he is with the simple business of moving, he does not answer the question.

[Heregyth(#24218)] "A staff?" Heregyth turns, quickly looking back toward the stalls she has already cleaned. "No, sir, I haven't seen that here, but you might ask some of the other grooms. But then again, I am new here..." There is a small, apologetic wince given at the end of her sentence.

The man hesitates. "Then perhaps-" Sceobriht, sensing the inattention, takes advantage of the moment to lurch forward, off toward the stall where a dun-gold stallion is most often stabled (although thankfully he is not there at present), snorting softly.

Caught off-balance, the man staggers and drops to one knee, rising slowly and with a grimace. "Enough, my girl," he calls after her shaking his head. "Have her stabled away from the stallions, if you can," he instructs Heregyth, then murmurs, "Ah, forgive me. Welcome to Edoras." Thin lips curve in a faint smile despite the worried frown that creases his brow as he starts after his recalcitrant mare.

[Heregyth(#24218)] "Oh!" Heregyth gives a soft cry as the mare lurches and Bardawulf falls. For a moment she hesitates between catching the mare and helping the man, but as the horse seems to not be heading for trouble, she chooses to help the man. "I can put her next to my mare, who is quite docile," she says, gesturing toward a small grey mare toward the back. A hand offered to help the man up, but withdrawn halfway, hesitantly, as Bardawulf gets to his feet on his own. "You -are- injured, then..." The girl's brows crease, her face momentarily paler under her freckles.

The man absently shakes his head. "Nay, it is naught of concern. Merely the mark of a time past, and stiffness from the ride." He limps toward the mare, who is still snuffling at the empty stalls, and strokes at her muzzle as he tries to persuade her to move toward the back.

"I fear this girl is most displeased at having to return whilst the day is but half-done. That and ... other things," is the explanation he offers Heregyth. "Could you aid me with her, please-" he breaks off, hesitating, then adds, "I do not know your name."

[Heregyth(#24218)] The girl accepts this explanation of the man's injuries without questioning, though there is something of a haunted look to her face as she nods silently to him. "Other things?" she then says after a moment's silence, lookign at the mare. "If I had some carrots I could lure her, perhaps...." She starts to walk back toward the stall she had indicated, but turns to answer the man's question. "I am called Heregyth, of Stjernholm, though I suppose it is of Edoras now, since I am living here with my cousins. And I will aid you as best I can, for I am still learning much. My brother, it was, who tended our horses, though I watched all that he did."

Perhaps the man does not notice the girl's unease, distracted as he is. "Then well met, Heregyth," he offers as he continues to stroke the mare's neck, and manages to persuade her to take a few slow steps towards the stalls at the back. "I am Bardawulf, a healer, also now of Edoras." The corners of his mouth lift in a gentle smile. "And your aid will be most welcome. How do you like the City?"

[Heregyth(#24218)] "Then you were not originally from here?" Heregyth asks, looking the man up and down again. She makes a few soft cooing noises toward the mare, trying to lure it, then reaches into one of the stalls, pulling out a small handful of fresh hay, which she shakes a little. "Perhaps you should have ridden her longer to tire her out more, sir?" she suggests with a shrug. The question about the city seems to fluster her some, or at least her expression grows distant. "One place is like another," she says finally.

The man, Bardawulf, shakes his head. "I was born in the Westfold Vale," he answers quietly. "But now I work with the healers, and Edoras is home to me and mine." He pauses, eyeing Sceobriht. "Perhaps I should have. Yet I have duties in the infirmary this afternoon and evening. And on the morrow, she will have more than her fill of riding."

Sceobriht shows little interest in Heregyth's cooing and fussing. The rustling hay, however, is another matter. With a snort and a pained look in Bardawulf's direction - must I really? - she trots the rest of the way to the stall and stretches out her neck to munch on the proffered hay.

Bardawulf follows after more slowly, his steps awkward. "Surely you must find something to like?" he queries the young woman, a brow raised. "There are so many people, so many sights. Many craftsmen find their home here. In the markets they sell goods from the Stoninglands and beyond. Go down to the training fields and you will see the best in the Mark hone their skills. And the King's own household walk among us daily. This city is full of wonders."

[Heregyth(#24218)] The hay does the trick to lure the mare into the stall, and Heregyth rewards the animal by stocking the stall with more. "I have met the King. I made the mistake of thinking he was someone's kindly old grandfather," she says as she works, no smile or expression coloring her face or voice. Once the horse is taken care of, she steps away, turning her full gaze to the healer. "The training fields..." Something flickers behind her grey eyes, though her face is still serious and even stony. "Yes, I think I will go there. I thank you for the suggestion, sir. Bardawulf, yes? You have my gratitude."

Sceobriht munches contentedly, eyeing Heregyth every now and then but clearly more interested in food than humankind.

Bardawulf watches the young woman in silence, the beginnings of a frown-line appearing between his brows. "Nay, it is I who hope to thank you," he says gently, carefully erasing the frown and replacing it with a courteous smile. "For alas, I have more to ask. Would you tend Sceobriht here while I seek my staff? I would walk easier with it in my hand. I will be but a few moments ..." His voice fades as he limps awkwardly off.

[Heregyth(#24218)] "Of course, sir," Heregyth replies, changing course to head back to the mare again. Whether or not she sees the man's slight frown is not clear--her own expression does not change.

=== Heregyth's DESC ==========================================================

Tall and fair is this young woman, with honey blonde hair braided down her back and eyes of grey. Her face is liberally sprinkled with freckles, as if she has spent much time in the sun, yet her skin is strangely pale beneath them and dark hollows are under her eyes.

Her dress is of coarsely spun wool, dyed a dull brown, though a woven belt of many colors defines her narrow waist.

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=== Bardawulf's DESC =========================================================

You look on a Man tall and proud, as are all his folk. Hair the colour of ripe barley has been carefully plaited into neat braids, swept back over his shoulders. His lean visage bears witness to the depredations of wind and sun, and his left cheek is marked by the white line of some long-healed scar that disappears beneath his neatly-trimmed beard. His eyes are the pale green-tinged blue of the Isen after first snow-melt. At first glance one shoulder appears set a little higher when he walks it becomes apparent his left leg is lamed.

He is clad in a tunic of dark green and leggings of the same hue his leather boots are well-worn but serviceable. His left wrist is encircled by a bracelet of braided hair, blond mingling with grey. Upon his left breast is pinned a brooch of silver, fashioned in the shape of a crescent moon.

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