Elendor
What's in a name?
Gidon and Brev give their prizes suitably honorific names.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Old South Road (Junction) - Dunland, Laeg County
Game Date: Feb/March 3049
IC Time: Late afternoon
Weather: Snow
Description: Old South Road (Junction) - Dunland <>
The road here dips in a relief from the treeless land plains surrounding it, its surface mud-encrusted. Water tends to gather in the hollows in all but the driest weather.
A lake is set off to the east, spanned by a rickety bridge that leads to the walled Stag settlement of Forthunn. It is too dark to make out much else around you, however.
Obvious exits:
East leads to Cross Country Road - Dunland <>.
Toll Booth leads to Rickety Bridge to Forthunn - Dunland <>.
Southeast leads to Old South Road - Dunland <>.
Northwest leads to Old South Road - Dunland <>.
===============================================================================
Dunland Time and Weather Forecast
===============================================================================
Real Time is: Sat Feb 13 15:09:43 2010
IC weather is: Wind: - Clouds: dense - Snow: powdery
IC Moon is: Not visible
IC time is: Nighttime
IC date is: Mersday, Day 8 of March in the year 3049.
===============================================================================
It is almost dusk, and moreover it is snowing. Not the best of weather for travel nevertheless, four distinct shapes make their way through the Laeg plains, the flurries of whiteness concealing their passage. Time has passed, and by accident or design the four horse-thieves have made it this far without pursuit.
A moment to confer, and then the group halts. Owain and Saraid move off to seek out a likely spot for camp, whilst Gidon and Brev are left to tend the beasts. Brev slides down from the smaller one, the brown pony, a little awkwardly, hissing as his leg touches groun d, then mutters something in its ear.
[Nob(#16122)] The boy looks thin and cold, snow clinging to his rough cloak and pants. His boots have gotten a hole in them, which he has tried to tie up with a bit of cloth.
He walks stiffly around his horse, patting its neck, before looking over at Brev. "Leg gettin' better?" he asks.
Brev grunts to that. "Likely." Though whether riding has speeded his recovery or slowed it, who can say? Certainly he's had his fair share of falls by now, though, beast and rider have at least learned to cooperate (and the pony learned to cope with a vocabulary of instructions peppered with expletives!) "Give me a few more weeks and I'll be fighting fit. If we get that many weeks ..." The grin he gives the other is perhaps just a little strained. "How's the rear end doing? Any better than mine?"
While awaiting the answer, he reaches out a hand to rub at the pony's withers, watching as it snorts steaming breath into the freezing air. "Aye, I can see it's bloody cold," he tells the beast in a tone of affection.
[Nob(#16122)] Gidon's grin flashes out suddenly. "Din't think it were possible t'be so sore!" he admits, shoving his hands under his armpits to try and warm them up. He looks around at the falling snow. "Where are we?" His animal bumps him in the back with its nose.
Brev gives a snort of his own, and his lips twitch. "We'd used up the last of the hundred-leaf. I'll see if I can find any likely spots to unearth some more - or I might take a little trip into Forthunn." Absently he looks east, and its hand ceases rubbing. "We're in the northern part of Dunland - Stag lands. Once we go on there's highlands to the east and marshes to the west then we come to the border river and to Tharbad."
The pony's ears twitch, but nothing in the rise and fall of speech has the cadence of order so it lowers its head and tries to move off, seeking grass most likely.
[Nob(#16122)] The boy nods, as if Brev's explanation has made any sense at all. He turns a little, and rubs absently at the horse's nose - who tries to nibble on his fingers - and says in a low voice, "Reckon it were a fool idea, tryin' t'find m'mam." He is quiet for a minute, then shakes his head a little. "What're we doin' now? Find your friend - uh - " He has clearly forgotten the name.
Brev gives Gidon a level look, cut short by the pony's antics. He yanks on the rope that has been doing duty as a bridle, not hard. "Oi, you. Not yet. Just remember I'm the one on top in this relationship, eh?" He looks at the snow-flecked muzzle fondly, then back to Gidon. "We'll not find Carac." His voice is surprisingly calm, but the muscle in his cheek is jumping now. "None know where he is." He swallows. "So now we're getting you back to Bree. Saraid's coming along too."
Noticing Gidon's horse, he chuckles. "Someone's mistaking you for dinner. Anyone thought of a name for that one yet?"
[Nob(#16122)] Gidon's head jerks up. "But..." he says, then stalls, unable for a minute to think of what to say. Then, "But - that's why you come," he protests. "We can' leave without findin' him!" He looks down at the horse it's as if he doesn't see it as he shakes his head. But he tries to make a show of interest, to hide his confusion, "Greedy?"
At those first words, Brev shakes his head. "He didn't come this way his own folk know no more than I. And I can't stay without becoming him." His hand on the rope tightens, and his jaw sets before he stubbornly mutters, "Not doing that. I'll serve Dunland my own way."
The stocky pony, unimpressed by the tug on the rope, tugs back, and Brev seems to recall the other question. "Greedy, eh? Suits." He flashes Gidon a smile. "I've got a name for this fellow. Came to me when he-" he halts, coughs delicately. He's never actually /said/ that he was thrown spectacularly when his mount sighted and scented Eagle, but the fresh stains on his bandage and general state of his clothing likely gave that away. "Bastard," he announces, grinning at the animal affectionately.
[Nob(#16122)] The horse, warned away from fingers, starts trying to eat Gidon's cloak. "Hey, stop that!" Gidon uses the interruption to tactfully not talk about Carac - he's learning tact, what a concept! - but his eyes widen, startled, at Brev's name for the pony. "Ah..." he says, then starts to laugh. "Better not," he advises, "Somebody'll hear you an' think you mean them!"
Brev, reaching out to rub at that itchy, sweaty spot between the pony's neck and back again, blinks at Gidon's remark. "What's wrong with that? Can't all be born with two parents to our name, can we? Figure this fellow and I are two of a kind." Rubbing done, he lets his hand drop, then shrugs. "But if it offends the Breefolk's sensibilities ..." He pauses, then offers a single word in Dunael, followed by a translation: "Means mixed. Like .. dogs, sometimes. How's that?"
[Nob(#16122)] Gidon looks blank, then shrugs himself. He repeats the word, cautiously, and seems to be making a note to himself not to use it. "That right? And sure. If you want t'call him that." He yanks his cloak-corner out of the horse's mouth, and looks disgustedly at the greenish-yellow slime that now adorns it. "Almost d'ruther walk," he mutters disgruntedly.
Brev chuckles at that. "Don't let me stop you. Have to say I don't object to being carried sometimes. Even if it's a little .. painful, eh?" He glances northwards, frowning. "Not getting any warmer out here, is it? Hope the others find somewhere soon .. ah, there." He points to the single figure standing with raised arm amidst the falling flakes of white.
[Nob(#16122)] Gidon grins almost unwillingly. "Aye," he agrees. "But still..." He looks around and starts off, with relief, towards the hoped-for shelter, tugging the horse after him. "Come on, we'll get you something to eat other than me. Hope it's warm!"
Brev snorts at that. "If you ask me, I reckon the warmest place is on yon beasts' backs. Still rather walk?" Then, grinning at Gidon, he too urges his mount forward. A little more slowly, perhaps - the pony is by nature stubborn - but soon he too is heading towards their friends.
The road here dips in a relief from the treeless land plains surrounding it, its surface mud-encrusted. Water tends to gather in the hollows in all but the driest weather.
A lake is set off to the east, spanned by a rickety bridge that leads to the walled Stag settlement of Forthunn. It is too dark to make out much else around you, however.
Obvious exits:
East leads to Cross Country Road - Dunland <
Toll Booth leads to Rickety Bridge to Forthunn - Dunland <
Southeast leads to Old South Road - Dunland <
Northwest leads to Old South Road - Dunland <
===============================================================================
Dunland Time and Weather Forecast
===============================================================================
Real Time is: Sat Feb 13 15:09:43 2010
IC weather is: Wind: - Clouds: dense - Snow: powdery
IC Moon is: Not visible
IC time is: Nighttime
IC date is: Mersday, Day 8 of March in the year 3049.
===============================================================================
It is almost dusk, and moreover it is snowing. Not the best of weather for travel nevertheless, four distinct shapes make their way through the Laeg plains, the flurries of whiteness concealing their passage. Time has passed, and by accident or design the four horse-thieves have made it this far without pursuit.
A moment to confer, and then the group halts. Owain and Saraid move off to seek out a likely spot for camp, whilst Gidon and Brev are left to tend the beasts. Brev slides down from the smaller one, the brown pony, a little awkwardly, hissing as his leg touches groun d, then mutters something in its ear.
[Nob(#16122)] The boy looks thin and cold, snow clinging to his rough cloak and pants. His boots have gotten a hole in them, which he has tried to tie up with a bit of cloth.
He walks stiffly around his horse, patting its neck, before looking over at Brev. "Leg gettin' better?" he asks.
Brev grunts to that. "Likely." Though whether riding has speeded his recovery or slowed it, who can say? Certainly he's had his fair share of falls by now, though, beast and rider have at least learned to cooperate (and the pony learned to cope with a vocabulary of instructions peppered with expletives!) "Give me a few more weeks and I'll be fighting fit. If we get that many weeks ..." The grin he gives the other is perhaps just a little strained. "How's the rear end doing? Any better than mine?"
While awaiting the answer, he reaches out a hand to rub at the pony's withers, watching as it snorts steaming breath into the freezing air. "Aye, I can see it's bloody cold," he tells the beast in a tone of affection.
[Nob(#16122)] Gidon's grin flashes out suddenly. "Din't think it were possible t'be so sore!" he admits, shoving his hands under his armpits to try and warm them up. He looks around at the falling snow. "Where are we?" His animal bumps him in the back with its nose.
Brev gives a snort of his own, and his lips twitch. "We'd used up the last of the hundred-leaf. I'll see if I can find any likely spots to unearth some more - or I might take a little trip into Forthunn." Absently he looks east, and its hand ceases rubbing. "We're in the northern part of Dunland - Stag lands. Once we go on there's highlands to the east and marshes to the west then we come to the border river and to Tharbad."
The pony's ears twitch, but nothing in the rise and fall of speech has the cadence of order so it lowers its head and tries to move off, seeking grass most likely.
[Nob(#16122)] The boy nods, as if Brev's explanation has made any sense at all. He turns a little, and rubs absently at the horse's nose - who tries to nibble on his fingers - and says in a low voice, "Reckon it were a fool idea, tryin' t'find m'mam." He is quiet for a minute, then shakes his head a little. "What're we doin' now? Find your friend - uh - " He has clearly forgotten the name.
Brev gives Gidon a level look, cut short by the pony's antics. He yanks on the rope that has been doing duty as a bridle, not hard. "Oi, you. Not yet. Just remember I'm the one on top in this relationship, eh?" He looks at the snow-flecked muzzle fondly, then back to Gidon. "We'll not find Carac." His voice is surprisingly calm, but the muscle in his cheek is jumping now. "None know where he is." He swallows. "So now we're getting you back to Bree. Saraid's coming along too."
Noticing Gidon's horse, he chuckles. "Someone's mistaking you for dinner. Anyone thought of a name for that one yet?"
[Nob(#16122)] Gidon's head jerks up. "But..." he says, then stalls, unable for a minute to think of what to say. Then, "But - that's why you come," he protests. "We can' leave without findin' him!" He looks down at the horse it's as if he doesn't see it as he shakes his head. But he tries to make a show of interest, to hide his confusion, "Greedy?"
At those first words, Brev shakes his head. "He didn't come this way his own folk know no more than I. And I can't stay without becoming him." His hand on the rope tightens, and his jaw sets before he stubbornly mutters, "Not doing that. I'll serve Dunland my own way."
The stocky pony, unimpressed by the tug on the rope, tugs back, and Brev seems to recall the other question. "Greedy, eh? Suits." He flashes Gidon a smile. "I've got a name for this fellow. Came to me when he-" he halts, coughs delicately. He's never actually /said/ that he was thrown spectacularly when his mount sighted and scented Eagle, but the fresh stains on his bandage and general state of his clothing likely gave that away. "Bastard," he announces, grinning at the animal affectionately.
[Nob(#16122)] The horse, warned away from fingers, starts trying to eat Gidon's cloak. "Hey, stop that!" Gidon uses the interruption to tactfully not talk about Carac - he's learning tact, what a concept! - but his eyes widen, startled, at Brev's name for the pony. "Ah..." he says, then starts to laugh. "Better not," he advises, "Somebody'll hear you an' think you mean them!"
Brev, reaching out to rub at that itchy, sweaty spot between the pony's neck and back again, blinks at Gidon's remark. "What's wrong with that? Can't all be born with two parents to our name, can we? Figure this fellow and I are two of a kind." Rubbing done, he lets his hand drop, then shrugs. "But if it offends the Breefolk's sensibilities ..." He pauses, then offers a single word in Dunael, followed by a translation: "Means mixed. Like .. dogs, sometimes. How's that?"
[Nob(#16122)] Gidon looks blank, then shrugs himself. He repeats the word, cautiously, and seems to be making a note to himself not to use it. "That right? And sure. If you want t'call him that." He yanks his cloak-corner out of the horse's mouth, and looks disgustedly at the greenish-yellow slime that now adorns it. "Almost d'ruther walk," he mutters disgruntedly.
Brev chuckles at that. "Don't let me stop you. Have to say I don't object to being carried sometimes. Even if it's a little .. painful, eh?" He glances northwards, frowning. "Not getting any warmer out here, is it? Hope the others find somewhere soon .. ah, there." He points to the single figure standing with raised arm amidst the falling flakes of white.
[Nob(#16122)] Gidon grins almost unwillingly. "Aye," he agrees. "But still..." He looks around and starts off, with relief, towards the hoped-for shelter, tugging the horse after him. "Come on, we'll get you something to eat other than me. Hope it's warm!"
Brev snorts at that. "If you ask me, I reckon the warmest place is on yon beasts' backs. Still rather walk?" Then, grinning at Gidon, he too urges his mount forward. A little more slowly, perhaps - the pony is by nature stubborn - but soon he too is heading towards their friends.
Players: Brev, Gidon
Located in: Dunlending
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