Stirrings in the shadows

Stone Houses(#27944Rto)

At the base of the Bree Hill, about a hundred comfortable-looking stone houses line the small and winding road that clings to the lower reaches of the hill. Red brick chimneys are built alongside each neatly-placed house and several of these chimneys spew forth smoke. A handful of skinny trees grow between some of the houses, and there in the centre of the street stands a green water pump. In place of one of the houses is a conspicuous gap, dismal-looking gravel that is still blackened in places, though weeds have started to reclaim the desolate space.

Light filters out of several of the windows of the houses that line the street. The light casts enough illumination among the night time shadows to allow folks to walk.

The sky is near black and studded with hundreds of stars. The nighttime winter air is cold and dry around you. The moon is above the horizon and in its new phase.

Obvious exits:
 Aaron Clothweaver's House leads to Aaron Clothweaver's House.
 East leads to Garden.
 Toby Appledore's House leads to Main Room.
 Lorekeeper Residence leads to Lorekeeper Residence.
 Common House leads to The Common House of Bree, Common Room.
 West leads to GER: Centre of Bree.

================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Mon Jan 18 14:54:45 2010
Bree time: Evening on Hevensday of Winter - December 22,1448
Moon Phase: New  Moon

Breelands Weather
The nighttime winter air is cold and dry around you. The night sky is clear with only slight wisps of clouds overhead. The moon is above the horizon and in its new phase.
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It's midwinter now, and the days are at their shortest. Already the huge, reddish sun is almost below the western horizon, and in the east the first stars are glinting, cold and clear and sharp as diamonds. The temperature has dropped below freezing and the gaggle of children out in the street playing ball are warmly wrapped up.

Brandebras is well wrapped up too, his yellow woolly hat a cheery beacon as he makes his way up the street that leads to the Stone Houses. No running today - his movements are slow and careful, even - dare one say it? - somewhat pained. Over one arm is slung a wicker basket.

One of the doors is flung open, spilling out a pool of warm lantern light, and a woman cups her hands to her mouth and calls loudly, "Billy! Sara! In ye get, it's gone dinner-time." Brandebras glances up, squinting as he tries to make out who's speaking, then shakes his head.

[Malorie(#28410)] "Achoo!"

The Breeguard might have been all but invisible but for that betraying sneeze, standing as she is cocooned in a dark cloak near the garden, her back facing the street. Why she is standing there is anyone's guess, but as one of the doors of the houses is flung open, the golden light spills up against her, and she turns with a start to see who it is.

Her pipe glows faintly in the dim, smoke curling stark against the chill air.

"Hey you!" she calls to the young hobbit, and takes a pace towards him.

Brandebras glances round, wide-eyed, at the sneeze. At the greeting, though, he starts and almost loses his balance. Not quite .. he clutches his basket doubly tightly as he directs his reluctant footsteps in Malorie's direction. "Y-yes?" Then he takes a deep breath, and seems to get a grip on himself. "Was there something you were wanting, Missus Blackroot?"

One of the children tumbling toward the open door of the house stops and stares at Malorie and her pipe, and has to be yanked away by her brother. "But - but - you said ladies /never/ smoke." Her thin, piping voice carries in the still air.

[Malorie(#28410)] Malorie almost...but not quite...glares at the youngster who comments on her pipe, and seems to reconsider a retort as her mouth opens and closes wordlessly. Instead, she steps away towards young Brandebras as the children retreat.

The pipe held in her hand, she shifts it back in her mouth and pulls out a slender arrow from beneath her cloak.

"You're a hobbit, " she states (as if it needs to be stated...), offering the fletched end of the arrow towards the other. "What do you know about arrows?"

The youngster is pulled back indoors and that particular door shuts with a bang. Almost, one can here a disapproving sniff - or was it just a breath of wind?

Brandebras peers at the arrow interestedly, not reaching out to touch it in case he has a mishap with his basket. "It's .. very nice," he agrees politely. "Did you make it yourself?"

[Malorie(#28410)] As the hobbit peers at the arrow, Malorie's glance drifts to the basket that he holds. As Brandebras answers, however, the Breeguard's eyes narrow as her gaze returns to him.

"No, I didn't make it," she says with a darker tone. "I pulled it out of my shoulder the evening the troll smashed the Shire wagon." She puffs twice on her pipe, then continues. "I'm trying to find out who it belongs to..." Her smile seems a tad insincere. "So that I can return it."

Brandebras' basket is covered with a snowy white linen cloth. There is one clue as to its contents: a faint, pleasantly sweet smell with hints of butter rises from it.

"Oh." Brandebras digests this. "I don't really know what happened that night, I- I think I fainted." His gaze drops to his woolly toes, twitching from contact with the cold ground, and his voice is rather subdued. "I'm sorry I wasn't much help." After a moment's self-castigation his natural hobbit-curiosity returns and he pursues the subject: "You mean the troll shot you? That arrow's awfully small ..."

[Malorie(#28410)] As Brandebras considers his answer, Malorie slips the arrow back under the cover of her cloak, and then takes the pipe into her right hand. She turns the bowl sideways and lets the ashes drift, sparkling then smoldering, to the ground. A chill breath of the winter air tugs at her cloak and she turns slightly against the breeze.

"Of course the troll didn't shoot me," Malorie scolds, her mouth tugging to a frown. She sighs, the next less of scolding and more of resignation. "And I don't think you were the only one to faint. It's no matter." Though, it seems from the young woman's continued musings that the matter is perhaps far from over.

"So...what d'you have in that basket there?" she asks.

As the ashes are spilled Brandebras jumps hastily back, letting out a little groan as he does. One can never be too careful of one's foot-hair.

Brandebras' eyes crinkle up, and for a moment his eyebrows are visible beneath the edge of his bright woolly hat. "If it wasn't the troll, then who? You don't mean there were ..other things.. out there?" His brown eyes are suddenly clouded and fearful. "What if they're still around? What if- if they followed us?" He looks nervously over his shoulder as though Bree's shadows might hide some lurking monster.

Malorie's final query recalls him from his fancies. "It's for Mister Miller," he tells her a little self-consciously. "When Ma heard he'd fallen and hurt himself, she baked him one of her blueberry pies. She says a body can starve to death if he's not able to cook."

[Malorie(#28410)] Malorie seems taken aback by Brandebras' leap aside, but that's all soon forgotten as the hobbit speaks.

"Well, I don't know who it came from," she says of the arrow. "That's why I'm asking. I know one thing," she says--more to herself than to the wide-eyed hobbit before her. "It's not made by--"

And here she stops, seeming to realise to whom she speaks. "...er...by certain creatures."

And she leaves it at that. Clearing her throat, the basket once again becomes the point of the conversation. "To Mister Miller..." She sniffs and scratches her head. "Therrin Miller, the crazy old man who always causes problems at the Pony?"

"No, no. Mister Miller the carpenter, the one with .. you know, the donkey." The hobbit shuffles his feet uncomfortably.

And certain creatures? Brandebras cringes at the mere mention, his fear populating the darkness quite effectively. Behind Malorie a tree-branch sways gently and the hobbit gasps, his eyes enormous. "Wh-what was that?" He sidles closer to the Breeguard again, as though for protection.

[Malorie(#28410)] As soon as Brandebras makes mention of the donkey, Malorie is all understanding. "Oh!" she says and. peering at the empty, cooled pipe, she slips it into a pocket. "*That* Mister Miller. I see."

She huffs a soft sigh. "I hope he used some sense and had that looked at--"

The hobbit's next, spooked reaction to the tree-branch swaying in the wind goads the young woman to look about watchfully. "What?" she half-questions, half-demands, and casts a doubtful look at him.

Brandebras makes very sure to put Malorie between himself and the Great Unknown before he replies, in hushed tones. "It was a tree branch - but it moved. There aren't- a troll couldn't really get into Bree. Could it?" His appeal is frantic, and his hands on the handle of the covered basket are beginning to quiver, though that might just be from standing about in the cold.

[Malorie(#28410)] "Yes," Malorie says, shuffling a step away from the encroaching hobbit. "Tree branches do have a habit of moving in the wind. So?" She makes a point of raising an eyebrow as she looks down at the fearful Brandebras.

And if a troll ever got into Bree, you'd know it long before it happened. They're none to quiet about it." She clears her throat and shrugs. "And they'd have to crash through the gates besides...and, speaking of gates. I've got watch duty soon."

A glance at the young hobbit's quivering hands makes Malorie sigh once more as her upward glance seems to plead with the heavens. "Don't work yourself up in a fuss about it." She waves her arm in the direction of the road. "Go and deliver your...basket...to Mister Donkey--I mean, Mister Miller." She winces.

"I .. I just ..." Brandebras fumbles for words then gives up. "Aren't /you/ scared of trolls?" he wonders.

At the final suggestion he perks up considerably, for he lifts his gaze and the corners of his eyes crinkle up as though his mouth was grinning. "Mister Donkey," he repeats, in a tone of great satisfaction. "That's a good one, I'll have to remember it. I'll just go and look ..." He turns, then stops. "If you see him, will you tell him I was looking for him? I'm not quite sure which house is his." And just how many doors he'll knock on before something else distracts his butterfly-like mind is an open question.

[Malorie(#28410)] "Trolls? Aye....always," Malorie says in brief answer to the young hobbit's query, and even as he babbles on about finding "Mister Donkey"...or Mister Miller, whichever comes first, the Breeguard has started along the road in the direction of her watch, with little more than a wave of her hand in passing to acknowledge, if brusquely, young Brandebras' request.

Brandebras watches Malorie go, then picks his way carefully along to the first house and sets his basket down so he can knock ...