Elendor
Sharing a trick or two
Broddin and Ganon each share a little piece of skill.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Rolling Dales
Game Date: March 3058
IC Time: Afternoon
Description: Rolling Dales
Vegetation grows lush and wild, fed by the River Celduin which flows through the valley. Here, the river flows from northwest to southeast. A small but still well-defined road appears to follow its entire course while a larger, more heavily traveled road heads north, cutting past the great curve of the river. Many tracks, made by wagons, horses, and humans, suggest that this road probably serves as a major trading route through Rhovanion. Though sparsely populated, this valley is punctuated here and there by the odd farm or homestead, and in the distance can be seen the dark eaves of Mirkwood to the northwest, and the tiny town of Finney which stands to the southeast.
Obvious exits:
North leads to Rolling Dales.
SouthEast leads to In the Dale-lands, passing by Finney.
NorthWest leads to Iach Celduin.
----
Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service
Real Time: Mon Feb 18 03:47:37 2013 MST
Dale-Lands Time:
Hevensday, mid afternoon on a clear spring's day, March 21 of 3058
----
The late afternoon sun slants across the hills, warming the air. Already there are hints of spring, with trees beginning to bud and a warm leaf-mould scent rising from the damp ground below. It's a pretty picture, spoiled somewhat by the blot on the landscape that is a Dwarven caravan setting up for the evening. Already some of the younger Dwarves are gathering brush for a cookfire whilst their elders tend to other tasks: merchants to secure their goods, Warders to set a strong guard and others to ... well, that depends. From one particular Erebor wagon, in which a slightly battered and very overexcited young Skald by the name Bardur was last spotted, comes the sound of loud, regular snoring: a two-note percussive rhythm that is almost a tune!
The dark, squat shape of a grimy and rather scruffy black-clad Dwarf with a tattered bandage round his head steps from behind one of the other wagons with a bundle of clanking sacking and settles himself down with his back to a rock. The sacking is unwrapped to reveal a motley assortment of weapons, presumably not all his, and some cleaning and polishing gear. A leaf-bladed shortsword is pushed aside dismissively with a mutter of, "Bloody elf-twig!", a sturdy but unmarked axe is examined for a moment then set down more gently with the announcement, "Needs a whetstone," and instead the muttering Dwarf lifts a war hammer. "Now you're a beauty, aren't you?" he remarks approvingly, lifting it up to catch the sun's rays.
[Ganon(#13346)] Leaning heavily against a wagon stands the old Firebeard, looking a little worse for wear. He has bandages on his leg, arm and a large one around his belly and he cringes when he shifts his weight. His hammer leans against the wagon next to him and every now and then he shoots it a strange glance, an almost betrayed look on his face. He mutters to himself "Damn Uruk bastard, next time I'll get yer." He glances up when the newcomer arrives, noticing him picking up the hammer he glances from it to his, a dark glare on his face.
The grimy black-bearded Dwarf seems oblivious to Ganon's glare: he turns the hammer in his hand as though checking its balance then scrambles to his feet to swing it through the air a couple of times, once whistling down from above and once a vicious side-swing that would surely sweep the knees from any invisible opponent. At least, it starts off that way: it ends in a grunt and a jerk of pain as some unseen wound catches the Dwarf out. By this stage every member of the party is a little worse for wear.
Then, of course, the Firebeard is spotted. The shaggy black beard bristles as the Dwarf, Broddin, sticks his chin out and then demands belligerently, "Got a problem, laddie? This one's not up for grabs. Doubt you'd know what to do with it anyway, Burzandhel never did appreciate quality." Seemingly he's taken looks and accent into account and jumped to a conclusion regarding Ganon's clan.
[Ganon(#13346)] The Firebeard's eyes widen at the insult to himself or his clan, reflexively his hand jumps to the handle of his old hammer, he hefts it onto his shoulder with a grun of pain as he hobbles over to stand far too close to the newcomer. "Don't appreciate quality? I smithed this hammer m'self and it's killed more beasties than you can dream of 'laddie', I know how ter use it!" He pauses for a second, his face reddening slightly, "Not that I know evr'thin'"He glances at the bandage around his belly sheepishly.
"Doesn't look like you know how to use it." Broddin's gaze follows Ganon's to that bandage around the midriff. "Arms, legs, any Dwarf gets hit there. But letting them at your belly, that's bad form. If he's that close you swing down on him and split his skull like an eggshell!" His fingers twitch, but this time he doesn't demonstrate with the hammer - perhaps Ganon's not the only one nursing more than one hurt. Or perhaps he actually has the sense to realize how well that would go down.
He eyes the Firebeard again, frowning. "Reckon you learned a lesson or two," he volunteers at last, gruffly but less hostile. "Figured out how to avoid that move next time?"
Ganon nods at Broddin, "Strange enough, tha's exactly what I did! Little beasty was a slippery one!"He cringes as he shifts the hammer off his shoulder and lets the head drop to the side to rest on the ground with a dull thud. "Won' be underestematin' him again any time soon!" He sighs, his eyes lost in his past, "Not like them trolls, for sure, slow things, but if they hit yer", sorrow crosses his face and his shoulders hunch. He shakes his head, mind elsewhere, on some past horror.
Where Ganon is pensive, Broddin is aggressive. His fist knots on the haft of the war hammer and he growls out, "Next troll I meet won't get much chance to be hitting anything. Not if I hit it first!" Which of course is only hot air - but then the surly miner has plenty of that.
There's a brief silence and then he says to Ganon confidentially, "Little trick I've learned. Works with a pick, works with a hammer. Next time they get that close, you try using their own momentum against them. Hook the end of the hammer round ... so," he lifts the warhammer and mimes catching the edge of a thrusting blade, "and pull. Back and down, so their blade slides sideways and out of their hand. See?" He demonstrates, letting the hammerhead thud onto the grass.
[Ganon(#13346)] The Firebeard snaps out of his trance at Broddin's demonstration, following the Barazin's movements. He nods carefully, "That's no' a move I've seen before, I'll take that one on board". He glares slightly, "Troll's" He spits on the ground, "beasts have taken too many good dwarves, far too many." He nods towards his pack, "Not a herb, bandage or remedy in my pack that can fix the kind o'damage one of those can do... Believe me.... I've tried". The haunted, sorrowful look comes over his face and he mutters to himself,"Why, why der I do it, what is it for?"
Broddin follows the direction of Ganon's glance. "Don't need herbs to fix them," he mutters angrily. "Just a good strong arm and some stout fellows to back you up. That's what I reckon. If my brother had had that when he went off on that damnfool quest ..." He shakes his head, scowling and then stares at the Firebeard. "What d'you mean, 'why'? Isn't ridding the world of vermin enough for you? I tell you, next time there's a row of orcs and I have a hammer to swing you won't catch /me/ asking 'why'!" He shakes his head then stops, wincing. "Best get this lot cleaned and oiled," he mutters, pointing with his free hand to the pile of weapons.
[Ganon(#13346)] The Firebeard sighs at Broddin's words before limping over to get his pack, "There is more, though, I've found that certain skills can be just as powerful as weaponry."He opens his pack and strange, foreign scents waft from within, "Warder's 'r no good if they fall to a cut, let's have a look at that bandage, eh?"
Broddin glowers at the pack and sniffs suspiciously. "Smells funny," he grunts, sounding unimpressed. However, it is perhaps a measure of the surly Dwarf's discomfort that he lets the war hammer fall back on the pile of waiting weapons and stomps over to Ganon. "Haven't touched it in a while," he admits, fingering the now-loosened bandage that bears both old stains and several layers of dirt.
The long gash beneath is closed but definitely red and angry the scabs have split in a few places, no doubt allowing the muck in.
Ganon's eyes narrow and he glares at the wound. "Yer should be taking more care of that,"he growls, ""yer no good to anyone if it gets infected." He pulls various vials as well as clean bandages from his pack. "This'll sting"he grunts as he pours a strange solution on the wound. He then rubs a strange salve onto the wound, muttering as he works, "Picked this up in Rivendell, say wha'yer want about them pansy elves, this stuff works." He rebinds the wound, and glares at Broddin, "Now don' touch it, and make sure that if yer get it dirty, yer come see me, or someone else tha' knows what they're doin'!"
Broddin grunts in turn and allows his wound to be tended, hissing as the stinging solution takes effect but not complaining. When Rivendell is mentioned, however, his face contorts. "What do you want to go using stuff like that for?" he demands belligerently. "Shot of strong whisky's what I need, not some leaf-hugger's cologne!" Of course, no sooner is he told not to touch the bandage than one hand shoots up to finger it. "Feels too tight," he complains sullenly. But after a pause he does concede, "Won't come off so easy, then. Suppose you're not so bad, for a flower-crusher," he concedes - high praise! - and then stomps off to clean those weapons.
Vegetation grows lush and wild, fed by the River Celduin which flows through the valley. Here, the river flows from northwest to southeast. A small but still well-defined road appears to follow its entire course while a larger, more heavily traveled road heads north, cutting past the great curve of the river. Many tracks, made by wagons, horses, and humans, suggest that this road probably serves as a major trading route through Rhovanion. Though sparsely populated, this valley is punctuated here and there by the odd farm or homestead, and in the distance can be seen the dark eaves of Mirkwood to the northwest, and the tiny town of Finney which stands to the southeast.
Obvious exits:
North leads to Rolling Dales.
SouthEast leads to In the Dale-lands, passing by Finney.
NorthWest leads to Iach Celduin.
----
Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service
Real Time: Mon Feb 18 03:47:37 2013 MST
Dale-Lands Time:
Hevensday, mid afternoon on a clear spring's day, March 21 of 3058
----
The late afternoon sun slants across the hills, warming the air. Already there are hints of spring, with trees beginning to bud and a warm leaf-mould scent rising from the damp ground below. It's a pretty picture, spoiled somewhat by the blot on the landscape that is a Dwarven caravan setting up for the evening. Already some of the younger Dwarves are gathering brush for a cookfire whilst their elders tend to other tasks: merchants to secure their goods, Warders to set a strong guard and others to ... well, that depends. From one particular Erebor wagon, in which a slightly battered and very overexcited young Skald by the name Bardur was last spotted, comes the sound of loud, regular snoring: a two-note percussive rhythm that is almost a tune!
The dark, squat shape of a grimy and rather scruffy black-clad Dwarf with a tattered bandage round his head steps from behind one of the other wagons with a bundle of clanking sacking and settles himself down with his back to a rock. The sacking is unwrapped to reveal a motley assortment of weapons, presumably not all his, and some cleaning and polishing gear. A leaf-bladed shortsword is pushed aside dismissively with a mutter of, "Bloody elf-twig!", a sturdy but unmarked axe is examined for a moment then set down more gently with the announcement, "Needs a whetstone," and instead the muttering Dwarf lifts a war hammer. "Now you're a beauty, aren't you?" he remarks approvingly, lifting it up to catch the sun's rays.
[Ganon(#13346)] Leaning heavily against a wagon stands the old Firebeard, looking a little worse for wear. He has bandages on his leg, arm and a large one around his belly and he cringes when he shifts his weight. His hammer leans against the wagon next to him and every now and then he shoots it a strange glance, an almost betrayed look on his face. He mutters to himself "Damn Uruk bastard, next time I'll get yer." He glances up when the newcomer arrives, noticing him picking up the hammer he glances from it to his, a dark glare on his face.
The grimy black-bearded Dwarf seems oblivious to Ganon's glare: he turns the hammer in his hand as though checking its balance then scrambles to his feet to swing it through the air a couple of times, once whistling down from above and once a vicious side-swing that would surely sweep the knees from any invisible opponent. At least, it starts off that way: it ends in a grunt and a jerk of pain as some unseen wound catches the Dwarf out. By this stage every member of the party is a little worse for wear.
Then, of course, the Firebeard is spotted. The shaggy black beard bristles as the Dwarf, Broddin, sticks his chin out and then demands belligerently, "Got a problem, laddie? This one's not up for grabs. Doubt you'd know what to do with it anyway, Burzandhel never did appreciate quality." Seemingly he's taken looks and accent into account and jumped to a conclusion regarding Ganon's clan.
[Ganon(#13346)] The Firebeard's eyes widen at the insult to himself or his clan, reflexively his hand jumps to the handle of his old hammer, he hefts it onto his shoulder with a grun of pain as he hobbles over to stand far too close to the newcomer. "Don't appreciate quality? I smithed this hammer m'self and it's killed more beasties than you can dream of 'laddie', I know how ter use it!" He pauses for a second, his face reddening slightly, "Not that I know evr'thin'"He glances at the bandage around his belly sheepishly.
"Doesn't look like you know how to use it." Broddin's gaze follows Ganon's to that bandage around the midriff. "Arms, legs, any Dwarf gets hit there. But letting them at your belly, that's bad form. If he's that close you swing down on him and split his skull like an eggshell!" His fingers twitch, but this time he doesn't demonstrate with the hammer - perhaps Ganon's not the only one nursing more than one hurt. Or perhaps he actually has the sense to realize how well that would go down.
He eyes the Firebeard again, frowning. "Reckon you learned a lesson or two," he volunteers at last, gruffly but less hostile. "Figured out how to avoid that move next time?"
Ganon nods at Broddin, "Strange enough, tha's exactly what I did! Little beasty was a slippery one!"He cringes as he shifts the hammer off his shoulder and lets the head drop to the side to rest on the ground with a dull thud. "Won' be underestematin' him again any time soon!" He sighs, his eyes lost in his past, "Not like them trolls, for sure, slow things, but if they hit yer", sorrow crosses his face and his shoulders hunch. He shakes his head, mind elsewhere, on some past horror.
Where Ganon is pensive, Broddin is aggressive. His fist knots on the haft of the war hammer and he growls out, "Next troll I meet won't get much chance to be hitting anything. Not if I hit it first!" Which of course is only hot air - but then the surly miner has plenty of that.
There's a brief silence and then he says to Ganon confidentially, "Little trick I've learned. Works with a pick, works with a hammer. Next time they get that close, you try using their own momentum against them. Hook the end of the hammer round ... so," he lifts the warhammer and mimes catching the edge of a thrusting blade, "and pull. Back and down, so their blade slides sideways and out of their hand. See?" He demonstrates, letting the hammerhead thud onto the grass.
[Ganon(#13346)] The Firebeard snaps out of his trance at Broddin's demonstration, following the Barazin's movements. He nods carefully, "That's no' a move I've seen before, I'll take that one on board". He glares slightly, "Troll's" He spits on the ground, "beasts have taken too many good dwarves, far too many." He nods towards his pack, "Not a herb, bandage or remedy in my pack that can fix the kind o'damage one of those can do... Believe me.... I've tried". The haunted, sorrowful look comes over his face and he mutters to himself,"Why, why der I do it, what is it for?"
Broddin follows the direction of Ganon's glance. "Don't need herbs to fix them," he mutters angrily. "Just a good strong arm and some stout fellows to back you up. That's what I reckon. If my brother had had that when he went off on that damnfool quest ..." He shakes his head, scowling and then stares at the Firebeard. "What d'you mean, 'why'? Isn't ridding the world of vermin enough for you? I tell you, next time there's a row of orcs and I have a hammer to swing you won't catch /me/ asking 'why'!" He shakes his head then stops, wincing. "Best get this lot cleaned and oiled," he mutters, pointing with his free hand to the pile of weapons.
[Ganon(#13346)] The Firebeard sighs at Broddin's words before limping over to get his pack, "There is more, though, I've found that certain skills can be just as powerful as weaponry."He opens his pack and strange, foreign scents waft from within, "Warder's 'r no good if they fall to a cut, let's have a look at that bandage, eh?"
Broddin glowers at the pack and sniffs suspiciously. "Smells funny," he grunts, sounding unimpressed. However, it is perhaps a measure of the surly Dwarf's discomfort that he lets the war hammer fall back on the pile of waiting weapons and stomps over to Ganon. "Haven't touched it in a while," he admits, fingering the now-loosened bandage that bears both old stains and several layers of dirt.
The long gash beneath is closed but definitely red and angry the scabs have split in a few places, no doubt allowing the muck in.
Ganon's eyes narrow and he glares at the wound. "Yer should be taking more care of that,"he growls, ""yer no good to anyone if it gets infected." He pulls various vials as well as clean bandages from his pack. "This'll sting"he grunts as he pours a strange solution on the wound. He then rubs a strange salve onto the wound, muttering as he works, "Picked this up in Rivendell, say wha'yer want about them pansy elves, this stuff works." He rebinds the wound, and glares at Broddin, "Now don' touch it, and make sure that if yer get it dirty, yer come see me, or someone else tha' knows what they're doin'!"
Broddin grunts in turn and allows his wound to be tended, hissing as the stinging solution takes effect but not complaining. When Rivendell is mentioned, however, his face contorts. "What do you want to go using stuff like that for?" he demands belligerently. "Shot of strong whisky's what I need, not some leaf-hugger's cologne!" Of course, no sooner is he told not to touch the bandage than one hand shoots up to finger it. "Feels too tight," he complains sullenly. But after a pause he does concede, "Won't come off so easy, then. Suppose you're not so bad, for a flower-crusher," he concedes - high praise! - and then stomps off to clean those weapons.
Players: Broddin, Ganon
Located in: Ered-Luin
