Elendor
Something to hide?
The nameless black-armoured Dwarf seems reluctant to take said armour off - why?
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Trollshaws, Dwarven camp
Game Date: Spring 3051
IC Time: Night
Description: [Damlur(#30238)] 'Tis late at night upon the East Road through the wilderness. The skies above spotted with spring stars, and for now the trolls seem to be mercifully away. In the Dwarven camp, many are asleep or recovering from their wounds, with one or two upon watch. Yet there is another, farther away and at the edge of the fire light, that does not sit with the Dwarves though he is one himself.
Clad entirely in black armour, he is currently seems to be cleaning his battle axe, the blades glinting dimly in the light. That said, his movements are somewhat stiff, especially when he turns to dip his cleaning cloth into a bowl. (repose)
Another figure is beyond the circle of firelight, this one checking over a couple of packs as though preparing for departure (or perhaps just ensuring he is ready should any trouble disturb the camp). Brev straightens, stretching his arms above his head, and catches sight of the black-armoured Dwarf. Quietly he moves to stand beside him. "Met any good goblins lately?" he enquires, peering at the gleaming axe. "Or do you just do that /all/ the time? There is such a thing as too clean, you know." One brow lifts a fraction as he notes the stiffness, but he says nothing of it yet.
[Damlur(#30238)] "These /are/ the wilds," rumbles the sable-clad Dwarf in response, helmed head turning slightly, as if to look at the Man from the corner of his eye. "A weapon must be kept clean, and it must be polished for the surface to be smooth. A good, cared-for weapon and a rusting, pitted length of iron can be the difference between life and death."
Brev shrugs at that. "I clean my knife when I use it. Works well enough for me. But somehow I doubt you've been off fighting that Imil - Imaldek, was it? - in your state. Hurts still bothering you, eh?" He eyes the other shrewdly.
[Damlur(#30238)] "Imladech," growls the Dwarf, fist balling the cleaning cloth. "The traitor. And, no, I have not fought him again... and not just because of my wounds. His hammer is heavy, and ribs crack and break under it."
Brev watches the cleaning cloth as it is crushed. "Strength of arms isn't everything," he remarks mildly. "How are you going to deal with the fellow, then?" There is a long pause before he adds, surveying the armour, "Want me to take a look at those ribs, check they're mending right? If you ever take yon ironmongery off." He's hardly one to talk, given he's never seen without his worn leather jerkin.
[Damlur(#30238)] "Kill him, of course. Take out his legs and then finish him off," replies the sable-clad Dwarf. He turns his head to look properly upon Brev, eyes glimmering in the depths of the helm. "I shall not take it off, but I shall move it, if you wish to examine them." That said, he sets the battle-axe aside with care, hands reaching to pull up the black chain, revealing the rough, dark clothing beneath.
Brev snorts at those first words. "Except that while you're trying to take out his legs he's crushing your skull with that hammer of his. Easiest way to take out a stronger enemy's to use an indirect approach. Archers, ropes, poison ... or are such things beneath your notion of honour."
Damlur is given an odd look as he declines to remove the armour. "Kiern, what is it with you folk? I've seen a Dwarf before, treated the other one. Sides, you can't look any worse underneath than a bloody Elf would." Corners of his mouth twitching, he starts trying to move the dark clothing aside, fingers gently probing. "Oh, and you're supposed to tell me if it hurts," he adds drily. "Any coughing? Wheezing?"
[Damlur(#30238)] "We do not have many bows... and Dwarves confront their problems directly, not resorting to foul poison. Orcs do that," rumbles the black-armoured Dwarf. To his comment, he simply replies: "I am not he."
He falls silent as Brev begins his probing. "When I breath, there is a dull ache and pain. Not much in the way of coughing or wheezing."
Brev's cheek twitches slightly at the mention of poison being orc-work ... or maybe it was just a trick of the light, dim as it is here away from the flames' warmth. He gives a dry chuckle. "For all I know you /could/ be the same one. Never seen your face. Though if you were, I'd say you'd made a pretty miraculous recovery." He sends a swift glance the other's way, smirking slightly.
HEALING: Damlur has no critical wounds and you'd categorize his condition as marginal.
After a pause, during which he frowns intently, and tilts his head slightly as he listens to the other's breathing, he comments, "Looks like you got off lightly. Nothing in the lungs, and it's starting to knit. Not much to do now but wait ... and aye, the pain. Can give you something to take the edge off it from young Gidon's stores - should help you move more freely, if there's fighting or rough travel. Suppose he'd want me to barter for it." There is a note of amusement in his voice.
[Damlur(#30238)] "How much would he charge for them? I am not exactly a merchant," says the black-armoured Dward dryly, "and thus do not have much in the way of goods for exchange. What little I have is precious, and not traded lightly."
Brev lowers the dark clothing back into place and leans back on his heels. "Well now ... Can't say I'm rightly sure. Don't have much use for your 'precious', Kiern knows the lad has enough troubles without being marked out as a target. Was thinking of something simpler - like a new blade for his skinning knife, old one won't take mucu of an edge any more." Without waiting for a response, he suggests, "Let me see what I can lay hands on."
With no more said he is off back to the little group of packs. When he returns it is with some dark, feathery-looking leaves in his hand however, he makes no move to hand them over.
[Damlur(#30238)] A slight grunt comes from the sable-clad Dwarf. "I am no weaponsmith," rumbles he, lowering his chain back into place. He then pulls out a dirk from his boot, holding it out to Brev. "This has served me well, in my younger days. It keeps an edge well, and if kept clean will not pit or rust."
Brev blinks at the extended knife. One brow raises as though he thought the offered payment a little high, but he says only, "Fair enough. It'll serve young Gidon equally well." He extends his own offering in turn. "You chew this - one leaf at a time to dull the pain. No more than this many," he separates off a few, "in a day, it dries the mouth. Shouldn't do you much harm though. Doesn't maze the mind, so you won't be spilling all your dark secrets." He flashes the other a sudden grin.
[Damlur(#30238)] "If he keeps it well, it shall serve him all his life," replies the black-armoured Dwarf, taking the leaves. "Keep it oiled and covered, and take a quality whet stone to it and the blade shall remain sharp. Dwarven steel cuts fine." He falls silent at the jab about dark secrets, only speaking after a minute: "Who says my secret is dark?"
With that, he takes up his axe once more, looking at it in the dim fire light.
A smile plays about the corners of Brev's mouth as he accepts the knife. "Oh, I know that Dwarven steel can cut. Had a knife of it myself, once."
The silence is met by silence, the Dunlending's features remaining calm and neutral, though there's a glint in his eye at the evidence that his words have struck close to home. "Yon blackened armour does?" he suggests flippantly. "Dark hues for dark deeds and all that. 'Sides, everyone has a few unpleasant secrets hanging around." He turns the blade this way and that, letting the flame-glint flicker along the edge.
HEALING: Damlur's existing bandages are still fresh, and you're reluctant to change them.
[Damlur(#30238)] "Black is also a good colour for those that do not wish to proclaim allegience, and to protect armour against rust. I could just as easily painted it red, blue, green, purple or gray I could have had it made out of gold! It does not matter. It hides what it must and it protects well."
Brev listens to the words, seeminly half-heartedly. "Should've painted it red then," he comments lightly. "Hides the blood. Figure that's why my folk used it. Or made it of soft gold then after your first battle you'd never need to worry about it again."
A little pause, then he adds casually, "What must it hide?"
[Damlur(#30238)] "Gold is only good for ceremony 'tis too soft for practical armour," rumbles the Dwarf. "And black can hide blood just as well. Now, if I had painted it white, there you might have cause for concern." The black-armoured Dwarf snorts. "It hides what it must, and that is not for the ears of other races."
Brev snorts. "Don't you mean the eyes? My ears tell me that you're of the Dwarf-folk, for all you're trying to hide any sign of it." He smirks briefly. "Whereas my eyes tell me only that it's dark and that some of us at least plan to get some sleep. Goodnight then, Master Dark-helm." With a jerked nod he turns and is gone.
[Damlur(#30238)] "If I wanted to hide that I was a Dwarf, I would have bought stilts," mutters the Dwarf into his helm after the Man has gone.
Clad entirely in black armour, he is currently seems to be cleaning his battle axe, the blades glinting dimly in the light. That said, his movements are somewhat stiff, especially when he turns to dip his cleaning cloth into a bowl. (repose)
Another figure is beyond the circle of firelight, this one checking over a couple of packs as though preparing for departure (or perhaps just ensuring he is ready should any trouble disturb the camp). Brev straightens, stretching his arms above his head, and catches sight of the black-armoured Dwarf. Quietly he moves to stand beside him. "Met any good goblins lately?" he enquires, peering at the gleaming axe. "Or do you just do that /all/ the time? There is such a thing as too clean, you know." One brow lifts a fraction as he notes the stiffness, but he says nothing of it yet.
[Damlur(#30238)] "These /are/ the wilds," rumbles the sable-clad Dwarf in response, helmed head turning slightly, as if to look at the Man from the corner of his eye. "A weapon must be kept clean, and it must be polished for the surface to be smooth. A good, cared-for weapon and a rusting, pitted length of iron can be the difference between life and death."
Brev shrugs at that. "I clean my knife when I use it. Works well enough for me. But somehow I doubt you've been off fighting that Imil - Imaldek, was it? - in your state. Hurts still bothering you, eh?" He eyes the other shrewdly.
[Damlur(#30238)] "Imladech," growls the Dwarf, fist balling the cleaning cloth. "The traitor. And, no, I have not fought him again... and not just because of my wounds. His hammer is heavy, and ribs crack and break under it."
Brev watches the cleaning cloth as it is crushed. "Strength of arms isn't everything," he remarks mildly. "How are you going to deal with the fellow, then?" There is a long pause before he adds, surveying the armour, "Want me to take a look at those ribs, check they're mending right? If you ever take yon ironmongery off." He's hardly one to talk, given he's never seen without his worn leather jerkin.
[Damlur(#30238)] "Kill him, of course. Take out his legs and then finish him off," replies the sable-clad Dwarf. He turns his head to look properly upon Brev, eyes glimmering in the depths of the helm. "I shall not take it off, but I shall move it, if you wish to examine them." That said, he sets the battle-axe aside with care, hands reaching to pull up the black chain, revealing the rough, dark clothing beneath.
Brev snorts at those first words. "Except that while you're trying to take out his legs he's crushing your skull with that hammer of his. Easiest way to take out a stronger enemy's to use an indirect approach. Archers, ropes, poison ... or are such things beneath your notion of honour."
Damlur is given an odd look as he declines to remove the armour. "Kiern, what is it with you folk? I've seen a Dwarf before, treated the other one. Sides, you can't look any worse underneath than a bloody Elf would." Corners of his mouth twitching, he starts trying to move the dark clothing aside, fingers gently probing. "Oh, and you're supposed to tell me if it hurts," he adds drily. "Any coughing? Wheezing?"
[Damlur(#30238)] "We do not have many bows... and Dwarves confront their problems directly, not resorting to foul poison. Orcs do that," rumbles the black-armoured Dwarf. To his comment, he simply replies: "I am not he."
He falls silent as Brev begins his probing. "When I breath, there is a dull ache and pain. Not much in the way of coughing or wheezing."
Brev's cheek twitches slightly at the mention of poison being orc-work ... or maybe it was just a trick of the light, dim as it is here away from the flames' warmth. He gives a dry chuckle. "For all I know you /could/ be the same one. Never seen your face. Though if you were, I'd say you'd made a pretty miraculous recovery." He sends a swift glance the other's way, smirking slightly.
HEALING: Damlur has no critical wounds and you'd categorize his condition as marginal.
After a pause, during which he frowns intently, and tilts his head slightly as he listens to the other's breathing, he comments, "Looks like you got off lightly. Nothing in the lungs, and it's starting to knit. Not much to do now but wait ... and aye, the pain. Can give you something to take the edge off it from young Gidon's stores - should help you move more freely, if there's fighting or rough travel. Suppose he'd want me to barter for it." There is a note of amusement in his voice.
[Damlur(#30238)] "How much would he charge for them? I am not exactly a merchant," says the black-armoured Dward dryly, "and thus do not have much in the way of goods for exchange. What little I have is precious, and not traded lightly."
Brev lowers the dark clothing back into place and leans back on his heels. "Well now ... Can't say I'm rightly sure. Don't have much use for your 'precious', Kiern knows the lad has enough troubles without being marked out as a target. Was thinking of something simpler - like a new blade for his skinning knife, old one won't take mucu of an edge any more." Without waiting for a response, he suggests, "Let me see what I can lay hands on."
With no more said he is off back to the little group of packs. When he returns it is with some dark, feathery-looking leaves in his hand however, he makes no move to hand them over.
[Damlur(#30238)] A slight grunt comes from the sable-clad Dwarf. "I am no weaponsmith," rumbles he, lowering his chain back into place. He then pulls out a dirk from his boot, holding it out to Brev. "This has served me well, in my younger days. It keeps an edge well, and if kept clean will not pit or rust."
Brev blinks at the extended knife. One brow raises as though he thought the offered payment a little high, but he says only, "Fair enough. It'll serve young Gidon equally well." He extends his own offering in turn. "You chew this - one leaf at a time to dull the pain. No more than this many," he separates off a few, "in a day, it dries the mouth. Shouldn't do you much harm though. Doesn't maze the mind, so you won't be spilling all your dark secrets." He flashes the other a sudden grin.
[Damlur(#30238)] "If he keeps it well, it shall serve him all his life," replies the black-armoured Dwarf, taking the leaves. "Keep it oiled and covered, and take a quality whet stone to it and the blade shall remain sharp. Dwarven steel cuts fine." He falls silent at the jab about dark secrets, only speaking after a minute: "Who says my secret is dark?"
With that, he takes up his axe once more, looking at it in the dim fire light.
A smile plays about the corners of Brev's mouth as he accepts the knife. "Oh, I know that Dwarven steel can cut. Had a knife of it myself, once."
The silence is met by silence, the Dunlending's features remaining calm and neutral, though there's a glint in his eye at the evidence that his words have struck close to home. "Yon blackened armour does?" he suggests flippantly. "Dark hues for dark deeds and all that. 'Sides, everyone has a few unpleasant secrets hanging around." He turns the blade this way and that, letting the flame-glint flicker along the edge.
HEALING: Damlur's existing bandages are still fresh, and you're reluctant to change them.
[Damlur(#30238)] "Black is also a good colour for those that do not wish to proclaim allegience, and to protect armour against rust. I could just as easily painted it red, blue, green, purple or gray I could have had it made out of gold! It does not matter. It hides what it must and it protects well."
Brev listens to the words, seeminly half-heartedly. "Should've painted it red then," he comments lightly. "Hides the blood. Figure that's why my folk used it. Or made it of soft gold then after your first battle you'd never need to worry about it again."
A little pause, then he adds casually, "What must it hide?"
[Damlur(#30238)] "Gold is only good for ceremony 'tis too soft for practical armour," rumbles the Dwarf. "And black can hide blood just as well. Now, if I had painted it white, there you might have cause for concern." The black-armoured Dwarf snorts. "It hides what it must, and that is not for the ears of other races."
Brev snorts. "Don't you mean the eyes? My ears tell me that you're of the Dwarf-folk, for all you're trying to hide any sign of it." He smirks briefly. "Whereas my eyes tell me only that it's dark and that some of us at least plan to get some sleep. Goodnight then, Master Dark-helm." With a jerked nod he turns and is gone.
[Damlur(#30238)] "If I wanted to hide that I was a Dwarf, I would have bought stilts," mutters the Dwarf into his helm after the Man has gone.
Players: Damlur, Brev
Located in: Ered-Luin | Dunlending
