Elendor
Seven Stars and Three Tempers--11/12/2008
Tensions run high between the squire Arashen, scout Ceredir, and ranger Endaerion at what was intended to be a small pre-wedding celebration for the marriage of Arashen's mother.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Gondor: Minas Tirith
Game Date: June 6 3045
IC Time: Midnight
Description:
[Minas Tirith City ZMO(#81)->Ceredir]
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Weather: Clear
Time: Midnight <01:01:18 >
Season: Summer
Date: Orithil - June 6, 3045
Real Time: Wed Nov 12 21:00:26 2008
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The Seven Stars: Common Room
The Inn of the Seven Stars boasts one of the liveliest common rooms in Minas Tirith. The double doors open out to a long, rectangular room a stage sits against one of the walls, and appears as if it is used for announcements, readings and performances. A plaque decorates the wall behind the stage.
The opposite side of the room is heavily occupied by the bar a high and long oak bench from which serving men and women scurry to the many tables, chairs and benches that are squeezed into the common room. Softer couches also offer comfort, congregated nearer to the stage. At the rear of the spacious entertaining area is a winding staircase, leading up to the guest rooms and offices above.
It's midnight on this early June day, but no matter: The Common Room of the Seven Stars is as boisterous as always. No performers are on the stage tonight, yet the inn guests are putting on a loud show of drinking and singing, entire tables of drinkers rocking back and forth with a song, mugs held high or (if empty) slammed onto the wooden tables to accompany the tune.
At the edge of this noise a young man, a scout, sits at a table. He, too, is singing and drinking, but either his companions have left (there are several empty tankards scattered on the table) or he is drinking and singing alone. Indeed, now and then--between refrains of the chorus--he glances toward the door as if expecting someone.
[Arashen(#24692)]
A tall young man bearing the livery of a distant lord enters the tavern. He skirts around a cluster of drinkers blocking the door and looks about the room, scanning the crowded room slowly.
Evidently not finding what or who he is looking for, he moves deeper into the room, his gray eyes flitting from face to face, table to table - until they fall upon the scout seated alone among empty tankards. He grins and makes his way over. "You prefer noisy inns, I deem."
"Do they even serve food here?"
"Food? Food?! Of course they have food!" Ceredir grins and kicks out an empty chair towards Arashen, then twists around, waving toward a serving woman. "Miss! Mistress!" He gestures to the empty tankards and then puts up two fingers toward the woman.
"There. I've ordered you food," he grins to the squire. "What took you so long?"
[Arashen(#24692)]
Assuming an exaggerated air of scholarly pomposity, Arashen replies: "Ceredir, you -do- know that barely is only food when it's in a stew?"
He grins slowly and pulls his chair out ere taking his seat. "Duties, of course. We squires work much harder than you scouts."
"HA! You only make everyone -think- that! I know the truth, though," the scout snorts. "Besides," he then continues, grumbing, "Don't remind me of that. I'm never going to live it down, you beating me out that way. But I was tired! I had been practicing for a long time before you showed up, and you were fresh. So we'll have to try it again sometime." A serving girl sets down two ales on the tables, and Ceredir pushes one over toward the squire. "Here...have your damn stew," he grins at him. "When do you you leave for the wedding?"
[Arashen(#24692)]
The young Telpekhor picks up his ale but pauses before he takes a draught. His brow wrinkle as he frowns at the Scout. "-We- sail at dawn. You -did- get permission to go to the wedding, did you not?"
[Endaerion(#30487)]
"There you are." comes a cold voice creeping up from behind the two acquaintances, though which of the two he addresses remains uncertain. Its owner wears the livery of the Rangers of Ithilien, yet he also wears the mask about his face as if afield. Had he not, a sneer might be detectable upon his face. Though his face might remain concealed, his voice would be easily recognized by any that know him that of Lord Endaerion. He does not sit. A disapproving glare falls upon the two below him, arms crossed.
"And you far foolish to think so, young Arashen."
"Uh...of course...yes..." Ceredir clears his throat, answering Arashen hesitantly. "I mean, that is..." The scout instead downs a good portion of his drink quickly, nervously. "I'm sure that the Rang..." The cold voice suddenly behind him, though, makes him start, setting down the tankard with a thud that makes the ale in it slosh wildly. "Sir." Ceredir turns.
[Arashen(#24692)]
Arashen looks up to the newcomer, and appears to recognize the voice. Though, in contrast to past encounters, he does not smile - indeed, there is a brief flash in his eyes. His tone is even when he replies, "And why, pray tell, would I be foolish to expect so?"
"An invitation extended by a Telpekhor to attend the wedding of their lord's own daughter is not a thing to refuse lightly."
[Endaerion(#30487)]
The Cold Lord's eyes visually account each of the empty tankards before Ceredir. He seems about to speak in a displeased manner, but then simply shakes his head and looks to Arashen. "Gondor's scouts enjoy the thankless task of surveying its borders while you squires 'joust' and collects favors from ladies."
"But no matter," he continues, looking again to Ceredir and intoning dryly, "Tell me news of your journey to Rohan. If I like what I hear, you may attend this wedding late."
Ceredir coughs, casting a quick, worried glance to Arashen. "It's a celebration...for the wedding, sir," he answers the Ranger. "And...Rohan...yes sir. Seems there have been sporadic orc raids in the Undeeps, as they call them. And I was part of a patrol that scouted furhter south, in the marshes. Strange thing we found--orcs were there, but they didn't answer the volley of arrows that we fired. We had to dismount and go after them on foot. Should have been some sort of trap, but instead, they killed their own and ran. As if they were testing us."
[Arashen(#24692)]
"Truly? I thought we wasted our time serving far from our homes for a thankless and unwelcoming people,"
Arashen stares evenly at the Ranger a moment, then he too shakes his head and picks up his ale to take a long draught, letting the other two finish their conversation. A conversation which appears to interest the Blue Squire despite his displeasure.
[Endaerion(#30487)]
The Ranger swivels upon Arashen as he speaks, his stare lingers even briefly after the squire has looked away. "You come, young squire, because your Lord Steward beckons you." An insincere smile creases his lips. "Let us consider it just a token of Dol Amroth's resolve in this war, then. We know the Order of the Swan is quite preoccupied within the restful tranquility of Belfalas, far from Gondor's dangers."
But he has little time for bickering, and the Cuthalion turns once again to Ceredir. "Very well, report your findings to command. But I inquire also about the our dealings with Rohan's trade ministers."
Again Ceredir looks to the squire, his face turned toward Arashen as he arches a brow in surprise at Endaerion's comment. He clears his throat and shifts to address the Ranger. "Sir? The orcs in Rohan? The wedding?"
[Arashen(#24692)]
His eyes hard and steady on the Ranger, Arashen takes a slow draught of his ale, watching the man over the rim of his tankard. He smiles with coldly, disdainfully but says naught for the moment.
[Endaerion(#30487)]
The Ranger stares blankly at the Scout. A brief moment passes. Then of a sudden, leaning towards him, the Ranger grabs the Scout by the collar and pulls his face closer to his. There is no anger in his voice, only a fury that burns cold, "You have drank yourself into stupidity, Scout. I would contrive some punishment for your insubordination if I did not think that your absence on this 'wedding venture' might be beneficial to the Company." The green gauntlet both releases and forces the man back into his seat. Then, regarding not the other man seated, Endaerion simply walks away.
"Bastard." Ceredir spits the word out without thinking as the Ranger walks away. If he is lucky tonight, the curse will have been drowned out by the noise and singing, which continues on, loudly. A moment or more and the scout stares after Endaerion, hatred clearly in his eyes and there, still, when he finally looks away and back to Arashen. "I'm sorry, friend, but I've lost my appetite for drink or food or conversation tonight. Here..." He tosses a few coins on the table. "Buy yourself some food and drink, and I will see you at dawn." He stands, making to leave.
[Arashen(#24692)]
Still angry himself, but far more controlled than his friend, Arashen merely nods his head to the Scout and leans back in his chair, staring long and hard in the distance into which the Ranger has disappeared. There is a light in those narrow eyes - of activity, calculation perhaps - a look familiar to any who know the Telpekhor. He is thinking. And they are dark thoughts.
[Minas Tirith City ZMO(#81)->Ceredir]
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Weather: Clear
Time: Midnight <01:01:18 >
Season: Summer
Date: Orithil - June 6, 3045
Real Time: Wed Nov 12 21:00:26 2008
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The Seven Stars: Common Room
The Inn of the Seven Stars boasts one of the liveliest common rooms in Minas Tirith. The double doors open out to a long, rectangular room a stage sits against one of the walls, and appears as if it is used for announcements, readings and performances. A plaque decorates the wall behind the stage.
The opposite side of the room is heavily occupied by the bar a high and long oak bench from which serving men and women scurry to the many tables, chairs and benches that are squeezed into the common room. Softer couches also offer comfort, congregated nearer to the stage. At the rear of the spacious entertaining area is a winding staircase, leading up to the guest rooms and offices above.
It's midnight on this early June day, but no matter: The Common Room of the Seven Stars is as boisterous as always. No performers are on the stage tonight, yet the inn guests are putting on a loud show of drinking and singing, entire tables of drinkers rocking back and forth with a song, mugs held high or (if empty) slammed onto the wooden tables to accompany the tune.
At the edge of this noise a young man, a scout, sits at a table. He, too, is singing and drinking, but either his companions have left (there are several empty tankards scattered on the table) or he is drinking and singing alone. Indeed, now and then--between refrains of the chorus--he glances toward the door as if expecting someone.
[Arashen(#24692)]
A tall young man bearing the livery of a distant lord enters the tavern. He skirts around a cluster of drinkers blocking the door and looks about the room, scanning the crowded room slowly.
Evidently not finding what or who he is looking for, he moves deeper into the room, his gray eyes flitting from face to face, table to table - until they fall upon the scout seated alone among empty tankards. He grins and makes his way over. "You prefer noisy inns, I deem."
"Do they even serve food here?"
"Food? Food?! Of course they have food!" Ceredir grins and kicks out an empty chair towards Arashen, then twists around, waving toward a serving woman. "Miss! Mistress!" He gestures to the empty tankards and then puts up two fingers toward the woman.
"There. I've ordered you food," he grins to the squire. "What took you so long?"
[Arashen(#24692)]
Assuming an exaggerated air of scholarly pomposity, Arashen replies: "Ceredir, you -do- know that barely is only food when it's in a stew?"
He grins slowly and pulls his chair out ere taking his seat. "Duties, of course. We squires work much harder than you scouts."
"HA! You only make everyone -think- that! I know the truth, though," the scout snorts. "Besides," he then continues, grumbing, "Don't remind me of that. I'm never going to live it down, you beating me out that way. But I was tired! I had been practicing for a long time before you showed up, and you were fresh. So we'll have to try it again sometime." A serving girl sets down two ales on the tables, and Ceredir pushes one over toward the squire. "Here...have your damn stew," he grins at him. "When do you you leave for the wedding?"
[Arashen(#24692)]
The young Telpekhor picks up his ale but pauses before he takes a draught. His brow wrinkle as he frowns at the Scout. "-We- sail at dawn. You -did- get permission to go to the wedding, did you not?"
[Endaerion(#30487)]
"There you are." comes a cold voice creeping up from behind the two acquaintances, though which of the two he addresses remains uncertain. Its owner wears the livery of the Rangers of Ithilien, yet he also wears the mask about his face as if afield. Had he not, a sneer might be detectable upon his face. Though his face might remain concealed, his voice would be easily recognized by any that know him that of Lord Endaerion. He does not sit. A disapproving glare falls upon the two below him, arms crossed.
"And you far foolish to think so, young Arashen."
"Uh...of course...yes..." Ceredir clears his throat, answering Arashen hesitantly. "I mean, that is..." The scout instead downs a good portion of his drink quickly, nervously. "I'm sure that the Rang..." The cold voice suddenly behind him, though, makes him start, setting down the tankard with a thud that makes the ale in it slosh wildly. "Sir." Ceredir turns.
[Arashen(#24692)]
Arashen looks up to the newcomer, and appears to recognize the voice. Though, in contrast to past encounters, he does not smile - indeed, there is a brief flash in his eyes. His tone is even when he replies, "And why, pray tell, would I be foolish to expect so?"
"An invitation extended by a Telpekhor to attend the wedding of their lord's own daughter is not a thing to refuse lightly."
[Endaerion(#30487)]
The Cold Lord's eyes visually account each of the empty tankards before Ceredir. He seems about to speak in a displeased manner, but then simply shakes his head and looks to Arashen. "Gondor's scouts enjoy the thankless task of surveying its borders while you squires 'joust' and collects favors from ladies."
"But no matter," he continues, looking again to Ceredir and intoning dryly, "Tell me news of your journey to Rohan. If I like what I hear, you may attend this wedding late."
Ceredir coughs, casting a quick, worried glance to Arashen. "It's a celebration...for the wedding, sir," he answers the Ranger. "And...Rohan...yes sir. Seems there have been sporadic orc raids in the Undeeps, as they call them. And I was part of a patrol that scouted furhter south, in the marshes. Strange thing we found--orcs were there, but they didn't answer the volley of arrows that we fired. We had to dismount and go after them on foot. Should have been some sort of trap, but instead, they killed their own and ran. As if they were testing us."
[Arashen(#24692)]
"Truly? I thought we wasted our time serving far from our homes for a thankless and unwelcoming people,"
Arashen stares evenly at the Ranger a moment, then he too shakes his head and picks up his ale to take a long draught, letting the other two finish their conversation. A conversation which appears to interest the Blue Squire despite his displeasure.
[Endaerion(#30487)]
The Ranger swivels upon Arashen as he speaks, his stare lingers even briefly after the squire has looked away. "You come, young squire, because your Lord Steward beckons you." An insincere smile creases his lips. "Let us consider it just a token of Dol Amroth's resolve in this war, then. We know the Order of the Swan is quite preoccupied within the restful tranquility of Belfalas, far from Gondor's dangers."
But he has little time for bickering, and the Cuthalion turns once again to Ceredir. "Very well, report your findings to command. But I inquire also about the our dealings with Rohan's trade ministers."
Again Ceredir looks to the squire, his face turned toward Arashen as he arches a brow in surprise at Endaerion's comment. He clears his throat and shifts to address the Ranger. "Sir? The orcs in Rohan? The wedding?"
[Arashen(#24692)]
His eyes hard and steady on the Ranger, Arashen takes a slow draught of his ale, watching the man over the rim of his tankard. He smiles with coldly, disdainfully but says naught for the moment.
[Endaerion(#30487)]
The Ranger stares blankly at the Scout. A brief moment passes. Then of a sudden, leaning towards him, the Ranger grabs the Scout by the collar and pulls his face closer to his. There is no anger in his voice, only a fury that burns cold, "You have drank yourself into stupidity, Scout. I would contrive some punishment for your insubordination if I did not think that your absence on this 'wedding venture' might be beneficial to the Company." The green gauntlet both releases and forces the man back into his seat. Then, regarding not the other man seated, Endaerion simply walks away.
"Bastard." Ceredir spits the word out without thinking as the Ranger walks away. If he is lucky tonight, the curse will have been drowned out by the noise and singing, which continues on, loudly. A moment or more and the scout stares after Endaerion, hatred clearly in his eyes and there, still, when he finally looks away and back to Arashen. "I'm sorry, friend, but I've lost my appetite for drink or food or conversation tonight. Here..." He tosses a few coins on the table. "Buy yourself some food and drink, and I will see you at dawn." He stands, making to leave.
[Arashen(#24692)]
Still angry himself, but far more controlled than his friend, Arashen merely nods his head to the Scout and leans back in his chair, staring long and hard in the distance into which the Ranger has disappeared. There is a light in those narrow eyes - of activity, calculation perhaps - a look familiar to any who know the Telpekhor. He is thinking. And they are dark thoughts.
Players: Arashen,Endaerion,Ceredir
