Elendor
A Dwarf for Mayor?
Damlur finds himself cast in a role he surely never envisaged.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Bree: The Prancing Pony
Game Date: June 3051
IC Time: Evening
Description: Common Room(#32029RM)
This large and rectangular room serves the purpose of Common Room for the Prancing Pony. Large windows along the western end of the room peek out over the Great East Road which runs outside the Inn. There are long tables with bench seats for the patrons in the centre of the room. Nestled into the wall is a large fireplace with several bundles of wood piled next to it. Overhead, lamps hang down from roof beams, but their light is dim and half-veiled in smoke. The corners of the room are wrapped in shadow.
Obvious exits:
Out
================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Sun Nov 14 14:41:05 2010
Bree time: Midnight <01:03:15> on Mersday of Summer - June 9,1451
Moon Phase: Waxing Gibbous Moon
Breelands Weather
The midnight summer air is very hot and dry around you. The sky is near black and studded with hundreds of stars. The moon is above the horizon and in its waxing gibbous phase.
===============================================================================
[Damlur(#30238)] It may be the middle of the night, but that does not mean the Pony is empty. Usually it would mean it's /mostly/ empty, but the hot summer night brings many that seek some form of escape or cooling from it. And what can be moreso than getting drunk, stumbling home and falling into a horse trough?
There are some, though, that are here for reasons other than the heat. The 'thump-thump-thump' of a cane announces the arrival of one of those. Master Silverbeard, hood up and cane in hand, stumps into the common room of the pony and flings himself into the nearest available chair and table. A slightly irritable order is given to a serving girl, mostly seeming to be comprised of cider and bread.
Some of the more sober heads turn in Master Silverbeard's direction. Amongst them is young Brandebras Bywater, who is balanced precariously on the window-ledge (in an effort to keep cool) with a quill in one hand and a rather crumpled-looking piece of parchment on his knee. He wriggles round to get a better look - and knocks over his (thankfully empty) mug, which goes rolling across the floor to stop at the Dwarf's feet. "Oops," Brandebras announces to the world in general and slides down to retrieve it. "Uh, lovely evening, isn't it, Master Silverfoot?" he enquires. Well, perhaps not /completely/ sober.
Others show no interest at all in the new arrival. Ernie, the burly Breeguard, sits at a table on his own staring mournfully into his mug and swaying in time as he hums something off-key and totally incomprehensible.
[Damlur(#30238)] "Silver/beard/," rumbles the Dwarf in reply, glancing down at the hobbit and the mug. "It would be better if the heat was not so great, but then the heat is always worse within towns and buildings."
The lass returns with his order, and the Dwarf eats and drinks with gusto, muttering under his breath about what seems to be the town leaders.
Brandebras, having retrieved his dropped mug, stares at the Dwarf wide-eyed. Whether it's the bejewelled beard or the .. ah, enthusiastic .. appetite the other displays, who can say. "The pie's good too," Brandebras informs Silverbeard sagely. "I had three pieces. Erm, what was that you said?" His ears prick up and his fingers twitch as though reaching for his quill (he's left it on the windowsill).
Across the room someone who happened to catch a stray phrase or two gives Ernie a dunt on the head in passing. "That's you." The Breeguard looks up in slow-motion, belches loudly and mumbles, "M'off'duty."
[Damlur(#30238)] "What type of pie?" Rumbles the Dwarf, eyes flicking briefly to the hobbit before he shrugs. "I am annoyed at the masters of this town. I have been waiting patiently to see if my offer to the Breeguard would be accepted. I have heard nothing from them, so I went to those above them. Bah, shoddy way to run things. /I/ could do better," mutters the Dwarf before he drains his mug of cider.
Brandebras considers. "Rabbit, I think. With sage and thyme. It was very tasty." He turns from interrogating the visitor to flag down the serving girl and wheedle, "Is there any more of that wonderful pie I had earlier?" On being told he's already eaten the last piece, his round face falls. "Oh."
Of course, thus occupied he's missed half of what Damlur has actually said. "You could?" he repeats, staring and starting to fidget nervously from foot to foot. Um, what sort of things would you do?"
Across the room, Ernie pushes himself to his feet and starts to lurch unsteadily across the room. He /could/ be headed toward the Dwarf and his hobbit-companion, or could just be aiming for the door.
[Damlur(#30238)] "Less uncertainty, that is one thing. Try to make more money for the town to improve it: roads, the weapons of the Breeguard, perhaps even rebuild some of the more important buildings," rumbles the Dwarf as he finishes off his bread, sending the serving girl to get another mug of cider before he shrugs. "I cannot tell you how detremental to trade it is, such uncertainty and poor state of afairs."
Silverbeard's eyes, glittering in the depths of his hood, flick towards Ernie as he lurches across the room.
"I .. see." Brandebras has paled rather and is shaking his head, murmuring very quickly to himself. "Roads ... trade ... buildings ..." "I need to write to Torebras!" he bursts out much louder, poised on his furry toes as though ready to dash off. "You can't - I mean you mustn't - is he really going to be Mayor of Bree?" he appeals to Ernie, dancing up and down in his agitation.
Ernie lifts bleary eyes to view both Damlur and Brandebras without recognition. "No offishal bushness 'cept in *hic* hours of ten'n'five," he proclaims. Thus speaks the law.
[Damlur(#30238)] "Eh, what?" Asks the Dwarf, eyes flicking to Brandebras. "Who ever said anything about being Mayor?" That is quickly set aside, though, as the eyes of Silverbeard return to Ernie, an eyebrow arching beneath his hood. "This is the Pony, Breeguard. 'tis fair to say there is no official business outside of eating and drinking, here."
Brandebras, however, hasn't waited to hear the answer. Still looking upset, he dashes out of the Common Room, murmuring to himself all the while. Doubtless he's all set to tell every passer-by he meets that Master Silverbeard - or should that be Silverfoot - intends to be Mayor of Bree!"
By this point, a few heads have turned to listen to the conversation. "About time we had a new Mayor," one fellow, a burly red-faced farmer, proclaims loudly into the silence that follows. Ain't seen hair nor hide of that Ferny for months. Where was he when the bandits came'n stole my turnips?" He eyes the Dwarf in assessing fashion.
There is a chorus of assent from others, all to the effect that it's time Mayor Ferny was ousted.
Ernie tries very hard to stare Damlur down. "Then what washz ye doin' offish-offish-offishwhatsit?"
[Damlur(#30238)] Silverbeard seems ready to shout after the hobbit, but the others in the Pony claim his more immediate attention. "Poor leadership only encourages bandits, 'tis true," rumbles the Dwarf after a few moments. "And bandits are bad for trade, to say nothing of the livelihood of you folks. You need a mayor that would not hesitate to take such things on."
The glittering gaze flicks back to Ernie, with a look under the Dwarf's hood that says 'I am impervious to your stares, Man'. "I am doing nothing official, for I have no official position within your town."
"You hear that?" one patron mutters to one another at those final words. "Wants an Official Position, he does! He's anglin' for Mayor, mark my words."
Meanwhile, the red-faced man nods his agreement with Damlur. Someone sniggers. "Going to be our next Mayor, Farmer Trotthorpe?" At that, he turns a baleful glance on them. "What, an' miss sowin ' an' harvest an' fattenin' the pigs up for bacon? You tryin' to drive me off the market, eh? Eh?" For a moment it seems a fight is about to break out, but then he loses interest in the mocker and turns back to Damlur. "Sounds like ye've a packet of ideas about our town, Master Dwarf. Plannin' to stay long?"
Ernie merely sways gently back and forth like a pendulum under Damlur's glare.
[Damlur(#30238)] What might be a quiet sputter comes from the Dwarf, eyes flicking about to seek the patron that spoke of Official Positions and the Dwarf wanting one. For the moment, he gives up on the search as the farmer speaks to him again. "I shall likely be here for a while, aye I may occasionally leave to see if anyone in the Shire needs my services, but there has always been work for a smith here."
The farmer grunts at that. "Good hardworkin' fellow, too. Not like that waster as ran off to the Shire with pots of gold." There is general tut-tutting and murmurs of 'no-good Bywater'. Not a few dark glances are cast toward the door and the direction in which Brandebras had disappeared. "Well, you'll have my vote if ye're up for the job," the farmer announces and, lifing his mug, proclaims, "A toast! To a Mayor with good Common Sense."
Ernie, looking more glazed by the moment, clearly hasn't been following. "Job," he mumbles in slurred fashion. "Washn't 'ere summat 'bout a *hic* job?" He peers hard at Damlur as though trying to work it out.
[Damlur(#30238)] "If you are all so insistant, perhaps I /shall/ make a venture of it," rumbles the Dwarf quietly, eyes flicking about the patrons. "Though Dwarves do not desire lordship over Men, it would seem I have little choice."
Silverbeard turns his gaze to Ernie. "Go home and sleep it off, if you can make it there."
"Hear, hear," echoes the farmer, draining his mug. "Well, I'll be off," he adds when he's done, rising to his feet and making for the door. "Good evenin' to ye, Masters all." He gives Damlur a beefy smile, dons his hat and is gone.
Not all in the Common Room are so happy about things as the farmer was. A group of hobbits over in the corner have started muttering: "Lordship indeed! Just who does he think he is? Even a Bywater'd be better than that ..."
Ernie, meanwhile, blinks and echoes, "Hooome," before toppling gracefully forward. By the time he hits the floor with a crash at a spot just beside Damlur's table, he is out cold."
[Damlur(#30238)] An annoyed glance is sent towards the hobbits in the corner, a scowl forming beneath the splendid silver beard. "If I /do/ make a venture of it," he says to the room at large, "I will only stay in such a position long enough to set things right. As I said: Dwarves do /not/ desire lordship over Men... we just want decent trading partners and if I can improve the trade in Bree, then I have served the halls of my forefathers well enough."
He glances to the unconscious Ernie, watching rather dispassionately as the man topples and crashes to the floor.
The muttering subsides for a little while, but then the whole Common Room erupts in a buzz of conversation as the worthies of Bree discuss this unexpected turn of events. A Dwarf for Mayor? Whoever heard of such a thing? But then, wouldn't anything be better than the absent Mayor Ferny or his disgraced predecessor? One thing is certain, the Common Room will be full for many nights to come as locals vie to catch a glimpse of the metalsmith known as Silverbeard ...
And from the ground near Damlur's feet comes the gentle sound of snoring. Business hours up at the Breeguard headquarters tomorrow may be a little shorter than usual.
[Damlur(#30238)] With a snort, and finishing off his cider, Silverbeard stands and quickly departs from the Pony before he can be badgered with more questions.
This large and rectangular room serves the purpose of Common Room for the Prancing Pony. Large windows along the western end of the room peek out over the Great East Road which runs outside the Inn. There are long tables with bench seats for the patrons in the centre of the room. Nestled into the wall is a large fireplace with several bundles of wood piled next to it. Overhead, lamps hang down from roof beams, but their light is dim and half-veiled in smoke. The corners of the room are wrapped in shadow.
Obvious exits:
Out
================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Sun Nov 14 14:41:05 2010
Bree time: Midnight <01:03:15> on Mersday of Summer - June 9,1451
Moon Phase: Waxing Gibbous Moon
Breelands Weather
The midnight summer air is very hot and dry around you. The sky is near black and studded with hundreds of stars. The moon is above the horizon and in its waxing gibbous phase.
===============================================================================
[Damlur(#30238)] It may be the middle of the night, but that does not mean the Pony is empty. Usually it would mean it's /mostly/ empty, but the hot summer night brings many that seek some form of escape or cooling from it. And what can be moreso than getting drunk, stumbling home and falling into a horse trough?
There are some, though, that are here for reasons other than the heat. The 'thump-thump-thump' of a cane announces the arrival of one of those. Master Silverbeard, hood up and cane in hand, stumps into the common room of the pony and flings himself into the nearest available chair and table. A slightly irritable order is given to a serving girl, mostly seeming to be comprised of cider and bread.
Some of the more sober heads turn in Master Silverbeard's direction. Amongst them is young Brandebras Bywater, who is balanced precariously on the window-ledge (in an effort to keep cool) with a quill in one hand and a rather crumpled-looking piece of parchment on his knee. He wriggles round to get a better look - and knocks over his (thankfully empty) mug, which goes rolling across the floor to stop at the Dwarf's feet. "Oops," Brandebras announces to the world in general and slides down to retrieve it. "Uh, lovely evening, isn't it, Master Silverfoot?" he enquires. Well, perhaps not /completely/ sober.
Others show no interest at all in the new arrival. Ernie, the burly Breeguard, sits at a table on his own staring mournfully into his mug and swaying in time as he hums something off-key and totally incomprehensible.
[Damlur(#30238)] "Silver/beard/," rumbles the Dwarf in reply, glancing down at the hobbit and the mug. "It would be better if the heat was not so great, but then the heat is always worse within towns and buildings."
The lass returns with his order, and the Dwarf eats and drinks with gusto, muttering under his breath about what seems to be the town leaders.
Brandebras, having retrieved his dropped mug, stares at the Dwarf wide-eyed. Whether it's the bejewelled beard or the .. ah, enthusiastic .. appetite the other displays, who can say. "The pie's good too," Brandebras informs Silverbeard sagely. "I had three pieces. Erm, what was that you said?" His ears prick up and his fingers twitch as though reaching for his quill (he's left it on the windowsill).
Across the room someone who happened to catch a stray phrase or two gives Ernie a dunt on the head in passing. "That's you." The Breeguard looks up in slow-motion, belches loudly and mumbles, "M'off'duty."
[Damlur(#30238)] "What type of pie?" Rumbles the Dwarf, eyes flicking briefly to the hobbit before he shrugs. "I am annoyed at the masters of this town. I have been waiting patiently to see if my offer to the Breeguard would be accepted. I have heard nothing from them, so I went to those above them. Bah, shoddy way to run things. /I/ could do better," mutters the Dwarf before he drains his mug of cider.
Brandebras considers. "Rabbit, I think. With sage and thyme. It was very tasty." He turns from interrogating the visitor to flag down the serving girl and wheedle, "Is there any more of that wonderful pie I had earlier?" On being told he's already eaten the last piece, his round face falls. "Oh."
Of course, thus occupied he's missed half of what Damlur has actually said. "You could?" he repeats, staring and starting to fidget nervously from foot to foot. Um, what sort of things would you do?"
Across the room, Ernie pushes himself to his feet and starts to lurch unsteadily across the room. He /could/ be headed toward the Dwarf and his hobbit-companion, or could just be aiming for the door.
[Damlur(#30238)] "Less uncertainty, that is one thing. Try to make more money for the town to improve it: roads, the weapons of the Breeguard, perhaps even rebuild some of the more important buildings," rumbles the Dwarf as he finishes off his bread, sending the serving girl to get another mug of cider before he shrugs. "I cannot tell you how detremental to trade it is, such uncertainty and poor state of afairs."
Silverbeard's eyes, glittering in the depths of his hood, flick towards Ernie as he lurches across the room.
"I .. see." Brandebras has paled rather and is shaking his head, murmuring very quickly to himself. "Roads ... trade ... buildings ..." "I need to write to Torebras!" he bursts out much louder, poised on his furry toes as though ready to dash off. "You can't - I mean you mustn't - is he really going to be Mayor of Bree?" he appeals to Ernie, dancing up and down in his agitation.
Ernie lifts bleary eyes to view both Damlur and Brandebras without recognition. "No offishal bushness 'cept in *hic* hours of ten'n'five," he proclaims. Thus speaks the law.
[Damlur(#30238)] "Eh, what?" Asks the Dwarf, eyes flicking to Brandebras. "Who ever said anything about being Mayor?" That is quickly set aside, though, as the eyes of Silverbeard return to Ernie, an eyebrow arching beneath his hood. "This is the Pony, Breeguard. 'tis fair to say there is no official business outside of eating and drinking, here."
Brandebras, however, hasn't waited to hear the answer. Still looking upset, he dashes out of the Common Room, murmuring to himself all the while. Doubtless he's all set to tell every passer-by he meets that Master Silverbeard - or should that be Silverfoot - intends to be Mayor of Bree!"
By this point, a few heads have turned to listen to the conversation. "About time we had a new Mayor," one fellow, a burly red-faced farmer, proclaims loudly into the silence that follows. Ain't seen hair nor hide of that Ferny for months. Where was he when the bandits came'n stole my turnips?" He eyes the Dwarf in assessing fashion.
There is a chorus of assent from others, all to the effect that it's time Mayor Ferny was ousted.
Ernie tries very hard to stare Damlur down. "Then what washz ye doin' offish-offish-offishwhatsit?"
[Damlur(#30238)] Silverbeard seems ready to shout after the hobbit, but the others in the Pony claim his more immediate attention. "Poor leadership only encourages bandits, 'tis true," rumbles the Dwarf after a few moments. "And bandits are bad for trade, to say nothing of the livelihood of you folks. You need a mayor that would not hesitate to take such things on."
The glittering gaze flicks back to Ernie, with a look under the Dwarf's hood that says 'I am impervious to your stares, Man'. "I am doing nothing official, for I have no official position within your town."
"You hear that?" one patron mutters to one another at those final words. "Wants an Official Position, he does! He's anglin' for Mayor, mark my words."
Meanwhile, the red-faced man nods his agreement with Damlur. Someone sniggers. "Going to be our next Mayor, Farmer Trotthorpe?" At that, he turns a baleful glance on them. "What, an' miss sowin ' an' harvest an' fattenin' the pigs up for bacon? You tryin' to drive me off the market, eh? Eh?" For a moment it seems a fight is about to break out, but then he loses interest in the mocker and turns back to Damlur. "Sounds like ye've a packet of ideas about our town, Master Dwarf. Plannin' to stay long?"
Ernie merely sways gently back and forth like a pendulum under Damlur's glare.
[Damlur(#30238)] What might be a quiet sputter comes from the Dwarf, eyes flicking about to seek the patron that spoke of Official Positions and the Dwarf wanting one. For the moment, he gives up on the search as the farmer speaks to him again. "I shall likely be here for a while, aye I may occasionally leave to see if anyone in the Shire needs my services, but there has always been work for a smith here."
The farmer grunts at that. "Good hardworkin' fellow, too. Not like that waster as ran off to the Shire with pots of gold." There is general tut-tutting and murmurs of 'no-good Bywater'. Not a few dark glances are cast toward the door and the direction in which Brandebras had disappeared. "Well, you'll have my vote if ye're up for the job," the farmer announces and, lifing his mug, proclaims, "A toast! To a Mayor with good Common Sense."
Ernie, looking more glazed by the moment, clearly hasn't been following. "Job," he mumbles in slurred fashion. "Washn't 'ere summat 'bout a *hic* job?" He peers hard at Damlur as though trying to work it out.
[Damlur(#30238)] "If you are all so insistant, perhaps I /shall/ make a venture of it," rumbles the Dwarf quietly, eyes flicking about the patrons. "Though Dwarves do not desire lordship over Men, it would seem I have little choice."
Silverbeard turns his gaze to Ernie. "Go home and sleep it off, if you can make it there."
"Hear, hear," echoes the farmer, draining his mug. "Well, I'll be off," he adds when he's done, rising to his feet and making for the door. "Good evenin' to ye, Masters all." He gives Damlur a beefy smile, dons his hat and is gone.
Not all in the Common Room are so happy about things as the farmer was. A group of hobbits over in the corner have started muttering: "Lordship indeed! Just who does he think he is? Even a Bywater'd be better than that ..."
Ernie, meanwhile, blinks and echoes, "Hooome," before toppling gracefully forward. By the time he hits the floor with a crash at a spot just beside Damlur's table, he is out cold."
[Damlur(#30238)] An annoyed glance is sent towards the hobbits in the corner, a scowl forming beneath the splendid silver beard. "If I /do/ make a venture of it," he says to the room at large, "I will only stay in such a position long enough to set things right. As I said: Dwarves do /not/ desire lordship over Men... we just want decent trading partners and if I can improve the trade in Bree, then I have served the halls of my forefathers well enough."
He glances to the unconscious Ernie, watching rather dispassionately as the man topples and crashes to the floor.
The muttering subsides for a little while, but then the whole Common Room erupts in a buzz of conversation as the worthies of Bree discuss this unexpected turn of events. A Dwarf for Mayor? Whoever heard of such a thing? But then, wouldn't anything be better than the absent Mayor Ferny or his disgraced predecessor? One thing is certain, the Common Room will be full for many nights to come as locals vie to catch a glimpse of the metalsmith known as Silverbeard ...
And from the ground near Damlur's feet comes the gentle sound of snoring. Business hours up at the Breeguard headquarters tomorrow may be a little shorter than usual.
[Damlur(#30238)] With a snort, and finishing off his cider, Silverbeard stands and quickly departs from the Pony before he can be badgered with more questions.
Players: Damlur, Brandebras, Ernie
