Elendor
How tall did you say?
Menelglir gets heightist with the locals
Sort Date: no date set
Location: At the Sign of the Prancing Pony
Game Date: April 3049
IC Time: Morning
Description: At the Sign of the Prancing Pony(#27261Rto)
The Great East Road bends around the southeastern corner of Bree-hill. The Road leads away to the west and southeast, and where it sweeps past the foot of the hill there sits a large three storey inn. The inn is reached by a wide cobblestone pathway, with two wings that run back, away from the Road to the east, on land partly cut out from the hill's lower slopes. As a result, the rear second-floor windows of the inn are level with the ground. A wide arch leads to a courtyard between the two wings. Above the arch is a lamp and beneath it swings a large signboard: a fat white pony rearing up on its hind legs.
Obvious exits:
Cobblestone Pathway leads to Before the Prancing Pony.
Broad Way leads to Broad Way - North Bree.
Market Way leads to North Market.
SouthEast leads to GER: Centre of Bree.
West leads to Great East Road.
================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Thu Oct 22 10:06:01 2009
Bree time: Mid Morning <10:18:03> on Sunday of Spring - April 2,1448
Moon Phase: New Moon
Breelands Weather
The mid morning spring air is cool but pleasant around you. A light drizzle trickles from the sky.
===============================================================================
[Nob(#16122)] Almost all the snow of winter is gone now. Only a few dirty icy piles lie forlornly in shaded spots. And the constant drizzling rain is eating away at those as well.
A short roundish figure, well-wrapped around in a scarlet cloak, hurries head-down towards the Pony from the direction of the marketplaces. He appears to be barefoot despite the wet.
There are a few other figures hurrying along the road as well, most of them equally bundled but for the most part, the morning seems empty of people. Apparently, everyone else has decided that today is a good day for doing things inside, and that's where they are staying.
Brandebras Bywater, of course, seldom makes wise decisions. Today he can be found trotting up the road from the market, breathing heavily, his coat rain-darkened and his chestnut curls bedraggled from the damp - for it seems he has forgotten his umbrella. He carries a wicker basket over one arm it, at least, is covered.
His head is down and it's only when he is almost upon the scarlet-cloaked figure that he stops, with a muffled, "Oh!"
[Menelglir(#17324)]
Clip clop. Clip clop. Those are hoofbeats on the road, certainly, but possibly louder than the sound made by the few ponies that are stabled in Bree. On a large brown gelding rides a tall young man, hood of his grey wool cloak sensibly pulled up against the weather. Strands of black hair fall about his face, though. "Hello!" he warns as he approaches the pedestrians--perhaps just in case they don't know what to do when a horse is actually on the road.
[Nob(#16122)] The scarlet-cloaked figure - short as a boy, but much fatter - stops and turns around, peering up. And up. "Ah..." says Nob, his round face smiling. "Good morning to you." He eyes the horse a bit warily, and prudently steps sideways. Just in case.
Brandebras is by this point blinking wetly at his fellow hobbit. "What is-" he begins, and then Menelglir's greeting comes. He twists round to see who the speaker is - and stops dead in the middle of the road, staring open-mouthed. Perhaps not the best thing to do when a horse wants past you, but still .. "Hello," he responds cheerily then, clearly eager to make conversation, "That's ..um, a very nice horse. Very ..erm, big." From his saucer-like eyes he's more excited than afraid.
[Menelglir(#17324)]
The dark-haired youth, in turn, stares back unblinking for several long seconds, expression clearly registering confusion. "Uh...yes son..it is...a big horse," Menelglir coughs. "Though my size..." He pats the horse's flank the beast tosses its head and snorts loudly. "He needed some exercise, he did, but I'm rather confined to just walking the roads through town at the moment, and that's no exercise at all, I'm afraid. But..son..." he looks between the two hobbits, still confused, "you've never ridden a horse? Maybe when you're a bit taller?"
Brandebras' rain-speckled brow furrows as he tries to follow the gist of the conversation, his mouth alternately opening and shutting. "I'm plenty tall enough now!" he proclaims indignantly once he thinks the foreigner is done. "I'm only an inch smaller than Torebras! And I've ridden a pony - once. It was a long time ago." He sighs almost wistfully.
[Menelglir(#17324)]
"You are..tall...." Menelglir starts, blinking again at the hobbit, who stands in front of the White Squire and the horse he is riding in the rain. Hood up, but strands of black hair appear from beneath the hood, sticking to his hair in the rain he brushes one of these away now, then again looks to the two hobbits in the road. "A pony is a worthy mount to start on when young," he continues, tentatively. "My family had me ride one when I was too small to even remember."
The steady drip-drip of the rain has reduced the amount of mid-morning traffic on this, one of Bree's main roads. A few passers-by still stop to goggle, though, at the sight of Nob and Brandebras Bywater stood in the middle of the road and talking (well Brandebras is, at any rate) to one of those visitors, a young man mounted on a very ..um, /large/, chestnut gelding.
Whilst pondering the stranger's words, Brandebras turns to ask Nob, in a stage-whisper, "Why did he keep calling me 'son'? And what's age got to do with it?"
[Lominhur(#19466)]
The pitter-patter of the rain is joined then by the squelching approach of another figure likewise cloaked and hooded against the elements. That figure known as the Hare wends his way into view, strolling from the Prancing Pony, and as he draws nearer his step does not falter at the impressive sight of the man of Gondor.
[Nob(#16122)] Nob turns his head towards Brandebras at the other hobbit's question, and ponders deeply. "Don't know," he whispers back.
[Nob(#16122)] Then he suddenly looks up, startled, and without another word rushes away.
[Menelglir(#17324)]
"I..uh..my apologies," the youth of Gondor murmurs. "I...well, I do notknow your name, but nor do you know mine. Menelglir," he offers, his gaze turning with keen interest on the newcomer. A nod of his head is given the cloaked man's way. "Sir."
Brandebras, distracted momentarily by Nob's abrupt departure, looks back at Menelglir's introduction. "I don't see that name has anything to do with riding a horse either," he says, pointedly. Then, relenting a little, he returns the introduction with his own. "But I'm Brandebras Bywater, messenger and errand-runner extraordinaire. I could carry a message for /you/ if you like?" His button-eyes are eager. And "Menelir," he mutters to himself, repeating the stranger's name.
Lominhur's appearance goes unnoticed.
[Lominhur(#19466)]
Continuing his approach, the tall, rather obvious figure of the notorious Ranger lifts his hood slightly to gain a better view of the encounter, and with his long strides pressing him on he joins the hobbit in apparently admiring the horse. "A fine steed," he remarks up to the White Squire.
[Menelglir(#17324)]
"Menel..." the squire starts to correct, then sighs. "Just Menel is good enough," he concedes. "Well met, Brandebras Bywater, but...errands?" He eyes the hobbit dubiously. "None that I have to offer you at the moment...and yes...yes he is a fine steed," he beams at the Ranger's compliment. "Are you...one of the men they call Rangers here?" he asks, questioning Lominhur but also glancing to Brandebras.
The horse, meanwhile, feeling its rider relax into easy conversation, bends its head toward the top of the hobbit's, neck arching to get that way, as if it smells food. And wants to munch.
Brandebras looks almost disgruntled that his monopoly on the stranger is gone. "That's what I said," he agrees with the Ranger. "It's just a bit .. well, big. All right for you Big Folk, I suppose." He pulls a doubtful face, likely copied from somewhere else (Torebras?) .. it is at this point that the horse arches its neck forward. The hobbit jumps back with a squeal. "It tried to bite me!" he claims, sounding outraged - but from the eager gleam in his eye you just know that by tomorrow it'll have turned into a fine story. "I .. um, have to be going now. It being wet and all that. Nice meeting you, you know." All of this last comes out in a gabble - and then he turns and starts trotting back up the road as fast as his short hobbit-legs can carry him.
[Lominhur(#19466)] Watching the hobbit depart, Lominhur turns his eyes back up to the imposing figure of Menelglir, and he nods. "That I am, yes. Though whether you have heard good or ill about us, I can hardly guess."
"He's just hungry!" Menelglir protests too late to the figure of the hobbit scurrying away. "Such strange children in this place...I swear that one had a beard..." he mutters to himself, tightening his grip on the reins as he turns attention to the Ranger.
"It seems that the local populace thinks bad of you, if I can judge by the little I've heard. A strange name to have, though. Why are you known as that?" As he speaks, Menelglir slips down out of the saddle, standing next to his horse now and holding the reins.
[Lominhur(#19466)] "I cannot wholly tell you," shrugs the Ranger in turn, and he raises a hand to rest it upon the horse's flank. "For the term was given by folks other than I, and I have little control over its use. All the same, it is not so terrible a title to bear, and I have heard far worse applied to folks from distant lands."
With a chuckle then Lominhur shakes his head. "As for the 'children', they are far from that. They are known here as Hobbits, which any townsfellow can tell you, and they are a peculiar people. Worthwhile, to say the least, and they are fiercer than they look when cornered, but for the most part the Big Folk and Little Folk of Bree dwell contentedly alongside one another."
This explained, the Hare tilts his head and regards Menelglir once more. "You then I guess are one of these travelling folk, who hail from a land called Gondor?"
"Hobbits?" One more time Menelglir blinks in surprise, twisting his neck around to stare at some of the few figures of such little people hurrying about here. "So...he is not a child..." This said in wonder, with a shake of his head. "I had expected surprises on this journey, but did not anticipate that."
The Ranger's next question draws somewhat of a scowl. "Let it not be said that I mentioned any such thing. And yet, so it is whispered far and wide in this town already, it would seem. Certainly..." his lips twist in a bit of a smirk, "we are not local."
Then lower, in the barest of whispers, " Though I hear tell we are allies?"
[Lominhur(#19466)] If the Ranger understands this last part of speech, he shows it not, and his brow wrinkles. "I can see that, if you have such strange words tumbling from your lips. But aye, I have heard this word Gondor before. Is that your homeland?"
A quick furrowing of his brows marks the Squire's response to this answer. He shrugs one shoulder. "Folk will say many things, will they not? Suffice it that we are travelers and for the moment we are here, sir....." He prompts for a name.
[Lominhur(#19466)] "Hare," answers the other. "Or -the- Hare, as many seem wont to name me. You wear rich livery, I can see that. Whatever land you hail from, it surely has wealth beyond that of the simple folks of Bree. What brings you out to see them, may I ask? I have a fondness for hearing the tales of travellers similar to myself."
"Hare...the names in these lands are different, but well met nonetheless," Menelglir nods, stroking his horse's neck a bit as he thinks on his answer. "As for what brings me here, I am a squire in the Order of the Swan, and I go where I am ordered. If you wish for more than that, you will have to talk to the Knights I travel wtih."
[Aphria(#17221)] Splash, splash, splash... and all the other sounds running through the rain makes! Aphria is carrying a basket and running back towards the Inn as fast as she can, not that it probably matters since she seems more than a bit drenched at the moment.
[Lominhur(#19466)] Turning his head as Aphria comes hurtling into view, Lominhur smiles to himself ere he looks up to Menelglir once more. "Order of the Swan, you say? I have not heard of that before. And I should dearly love to catch you all together, aye, and swap tales of the Wild. Where can they be found?"
[Hraefengar(#30729)] One of the travellers comes now, a tall man greycloaked, the cloak lined with cinnamon bear fur. The man's hair is honey-gold, braided, bronze-banded. The horse itself is a stallion, dun-gold with raven mane and tail. His legs are long, lithe, his neck arched, and he runs easily, light as thistledown.
Coming upon the gathering, though, the rider on his back speaks to him, and the horse slows easily, walks to them and comes to a halt. The man is Hraefengar, and though his skin is pale, he gives no other sign of the strangeness or illness of the other day. He nods in greeting, but does not yet speak.
Girls running by in the rain, the arrival of the Rohir and his horse--Menelglir's horse is vexed, stamping its feet and tossing its head so that the Squire turns to calm it. "In the Pony, sir," he answers the Ranger. "If you wait just a few minutes while I stable and tend to my horse, I'll return to bring you to them if you wish? That is, if they can be found this time of day."
[Aphria(#17221)] Aphria is just soaked as she gets near the group. Though seems to be polite enough to stop there. "Hi!" She chimes in greetings. "It's soooooo wet!" She calls out sheepishly. "You should all hurry in." She tries to suggest. "There's warm stew being made for lunch and everything!"
[Lominhur(#19466)] This brings a smile to Lominhur's lips, and he nods. "Aye, that sounds wonderful, Aphria, and who could argue with Nob's cooking? Mayhap the others of your party could join us there?" he asks then of Menelglir, ere his eye turns to rove over the figure of Hraefengar. The Ranger nods his cowled head in greeting, though says naught as yet."
[Hraefengar(#30729)] Hraefengar leaps down lightly from his horse, and he bobs his head to the stranger. "Greetings," he says in Westron, his voice heavily accented but clear and rolling. "Stew sounds wonderful: it will take but a short time to settle Dealfyr here, and then I can go." He looks at the stranger, then at Menelglir. "Assuming that the invitation is extended to me? I travel with them. I am Hraefengar son of Hrothgar of the land of Rohan, one of the bards of Theoden King." He gives his formal introduction.
"Of course you could lunch with us, if that is your wish, sir," Menelglir answers. "Stew sounds good and the rain is cold."
[Aphria(#17221)]
"I hope it stops raining too! All the rain is the one thing about spring I don't like! Especially when I need to go out in it all the time." Aphria says with a slight pout, though the rain still doesn't seem to have dampened her spirits. "Come on! Let's go in and get dry. I need to give the last spices to Nob for everything too."
The Great East Road bends around the southeastern corner of Bree-hill. The Road leads away to the west and southeast, and where it sweeps past the foot of the hill there sits a large three storey inn. The inn is reached by a wide cobblestone pathway, with two wings that run back, away from the Road to the east, on land partly cut out from the hill's lower slopes. As a result, the rear second-floor windows of the inn are level with the ground. A wide arch leads to a courtyard between the two wings. Above the arch is a lamp and beneath it swings a large signboard: a fat white pony rearing up on its hind legs.
Obvious exits:
Cobblestone Pathway leads to Before the Prancing Pony.
Broad Way leads to Broad Way - North Bree.
Market Way leads to North Market.
SouthEast leads to GER: Centre of Bree.
West leads to Great East Road.
================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Thu Oct 22 10:06:01 2009
Bree time: Mid Morning <10:18:03> on Sunday of Spring - April 2,1448
Moon Phase: New Moon
Breelands Weather
The mid morning spring air is cool but pleasant around you. A light drizzle trickles from the sky.
===============================================================================
[Nob(#16122)] Almost all the snow of winter is gone now. Only a few dirty icy piles lie forlornly in shaded spots. And the constant drizzling rain is eating away at those as well.
A short roundish figure, well-wrapped around in a scarlet cloak, hurries head-down towards the Pony from the direction of the marketplaces. He appears to be barefoot despite the wet.
There are a few other figures hurrying along the road as well, most of them equally bundled but for the most part, the morning seems empty of people. Apparently, everyone else has decided that today is a good day for doing things inside, and that's where they are staying.
Brandebras Bywater, of course, seldom makes wise decisions. Today he can be found trotting up the road from the market, breathing heavily, his coat rain-darkened and his chestnut curls bedraggled from the damp - for it seems he has forgotten his umbrella. He carries a wicker basket over one arm it, at least, is covered.
His head is down and it's only when he is almost upon the scarlet-cloaked figure that he stops, with a muffled, "Oh!"
[Menelglir(#17324)]
Clip clop. Clip clop. Those are hoofbeats on the road, certainly, but possibly louder than the sound made by the few ponies that are stabled in Bree. On a large brown gelding rides a tall young man, hood of his grey wool cloak sensibly pulled up against the weather. Strands of black hair fall about his face, though. "Hello!" he warns as he approaches the pedestrians--perhaps just in case they don't know what to do when a horse is actually on the road.
[Nob(#16122)] The scarlet-cloaked figure - short as a boy, but much fatter - stops and turns around, peering up. And up. "Ah..." says Nob, his round face smiling. "Good morning to you." He eyes the horse a bit warily, and prudently steps sideways. Just in case.
Brandebras is by this point blinking wetly at his fellow hobbit. "What is-" he begins, and then Menelglir's greeting comes. He twists round to see who the speaker is - and stops dead in the middle of the road, staring open-mouthed. Perhaps not the best thing to do when a horse wants past you, but still .. "Hello," he responds cheerily then, clearly eager to make conversation, "That's ..um, a very nice horse. Very ..erm, big." From his saucer-like eyes he's more excited than afraid.
[Menelglir(#17324)]
The dark-haired youth, in turn, stares back unblinking for several long seconds, expression clearly registering confusion. "Uh...yes son..it is...a big horse," Menelglir coughs. "Though my size..." He pats the horse's flank the beast tosses its head and snorts loudly. "He needed some exercise, he did, but I'm rather confined to just walking the roads through town at the moment, and that's no exercise at all, I'm afraid. But..son..." he looks between the two hobbits, still confused, "you've never ridden a horse? Maybe when you're a bit taller?"
Brandebras' rain-speckled brow furrows as he tries to follow the gist of the conversation, his mouth alternately opening and shutting. "I'm plenty tall enough now!" he proclaims indignantly once he thinks the foreigner is done. "I'm only an inch smaller than Torebras! And I've ridden a pony - once. It was a long time ago." He sighs almost wistfully.
[Menelglir(#17324)]
"You are..tall...." Menelglir starts, blinking again at the hobbit, who stands in front of the White Squire and the horse he is riding in the rain. Hood up, but strands of black hair appear from beneath the hood, sticking to his hair in the rain he brushes one of these away now, then again looks to the two hobbits in the road. "A pony is a worthy mount to start on when young," he continues, tentatively. "My family had me ride one when I was too small to even remember."
The steady drip-drip of the rain has reduced the amount of mid-morning traffic on this, one of Bree's main roads. A few passers-by still stop to goggle, though, at the sight of Nob and Brandebras Bywater stood in the middle of the road and talking (well Brandebras is, at any rate) to one of those visitors, a young man mounted on a very ..um, /large/, chestnut gelding.
Whilst pondering the stranger's words, Brandebras turns to ask Nob, in a stage-whisper, "Why did he keep calling me 'son'? And what's age got to do with it?"
[Lominhur(#19466)]
The pitter-patter of the rain is joined then by the squelching approach of another figure likewise cloaked and hooded against the elements. That figure known as the Hare wends his way into view, strolling from the Prancing Pony, and as he draws nearer his step does not falter at the impressive sight of the man of Gondor.
[Nob(#16122)] Nob turns his head towards Brandebras at the other hobbit's question, and ponders deeply. "Don't know," he whispers back.
[Nob(#16122)] Then he suddenly looks up, startled, and without another word rushes away.
[Menelglir(#17324)]
"I..uh..my apologies," the youth of Gondor murmurs. "I...well, I do notknow your name, but nor do you know mine. Menelglir," he offers, his gaze turning with keen interest on the newcomer. A nod of his head is given the cloaked man's way. "Sir."
Brandebras, distracted momentarily by Nob's abrupt departure, looks back at Menelglir's introduction. "I don't see that name has anything to do with riding a horse either," he says, pointedly. Then, relenting a little, he returns the introduction with his own. "But I'm Brandebras Bywater, messenger and errand-runner extraordinaire. I could carry a message for /you/ if you like?" His button-eyes are eager. And "Menelir," he mutters to himself, repeating the stranger's name.
Lominhur's appearance goes unnoticed.
[Lominhur(#19466)]
Continuing his approach, the tall, rather obvious figure of the notorious Ranger lifts his hood slightly to gain a better view of the encounter, and with his long strides pressing him on he joins the hobbit in apparently admiring the horse. "A fine steed," he remarks up to the White Squire.
[Menelglir(#17324)]
"Menel..." the squire starts to correct, then sighs. "Just Menel is good enough," he concedes. "Well met, Brandebras Bywater, but...errands?" He eyes the hobbit dubiously. "None that I have to offer you at the moment...and yes...yes he is a fine steed," he beams at the Ranger's compliment. "Are you...one of the men they call Rangers here?" he asks, questioning Lominhur but also glancing to Brandebras.
The horse, meanwhile, feeling its rider relax into easy conversation, bends its head toward the top of the hobbit's, neck arching to get that way, as if it smells food. And wants to munch.
Brandebras looks almost disgruntled that his monopoly on the stranger is gone. "That's what I said," he agrees with the Ranger. "It's just a bit .. well, big. All right for you Big Folk, I suppose." He pulls a doubtful face, likely copied from somewhere else (Torebras?) .. it is at this point that the horse arches its neck forward. The hobbit jumps back with a squeal. "It tried to bite me!" he claims, sounding outraged - but from the eager gleam in his eye you just know that by tomorrow it'll have turned into a fine story. "I .. um, have to be going now. It being wet and all that. Nice meeting you, you know." All of this last comes out in a gabble - and then he turns and starts trotting back up the road as fast as his short hobbit-legs can carry him.
[Lominhur(#19466)] Watching the hobbit depart, Lominhur turns his eyes back up to the imposing figure of Menelglir, and he nods. "That I am, yes. Though whether you have heard good or ill about us, I can hardly guess."
"He's just hungry!" Menelglir protests too late to the figure of the hobbit scurrying away. "Such strange children in this place...I swear that one had a beard..." he mutters to himself, tightening his grip on the reins as he turns attention to the Ranger.
"It seems that the local populace thinks bad of you, if I can judge by the little I've heard. A strange name to have, though. Why are you known as that?" As he speaks, Menelglir slips down out of the saddle, standing next to his horse now and holding the reins.
[Lominhur(#19466)] "I cannot wholly tell you," shrugs the Ranger in turn, and he raises a hand to rest it upon the horse's flank. "For the term was given by folks other than I, and I have little control over its use. All the same, it is not so terrible a title to bear, and I have heard far worse applied to folks from distant lands."
With a chuckle then Lominhur shakes his head. "As for the 'children', they are far from that. They are known here as Hobbits, which any townsfellow can tell you, and they are a peculiar people. Worthwhile, to say the least, and they are fiercer than they look when cornered, but for the most part the Big Folk and Little Folk of Bree dwell contentedly alongside one another."
This explained, the Hare tilts his head and regards Menelglir once more. "You then I guess are one of these travelling folk, who hail from a land called Gondor?"
"Hobbits?" One more time Menelglir blinks in surprise, twisting his neck around to stare at some of the few figures of such little people hurrying about here. "So...he is not a child..." This said in wonder, with a shake of his head. "I had expected surprises on this journey, but did not anticipate that."
The Ranger's next question draws somewhat of a scowl. "Let it not be said that I mentioned any such thing. And yet, so it is whispered far and wide in this town already, it would seem. Certainly..." his lips twist in a bit of a smirk, "we are not local."
Then lower, in the barest of whispers, "
[Lominhur(#19466)] If the Ranger understands this last part of speech, he shows it not, and his brow wrinkles. "I can see that, if you have such strange words tumbling from your lips. But aye, I have heard this word Gondor before. Is that your homeland?"
A quick furrowing of his brows marks the Squire's response to this answer. He shrugs one shoulder. "Folk will say many things, will they not? Suffice it that we are travelers and for the moment we are here, sir....." He prompts for a name.
[Lominhur(#19466)] "Hare," answers the other. "Or -the- Hare, as many seem wont to name me. You wear rich livery, I can see that. Whatever land you hail from, it surely has wealth beyond that of the simple folks of Bree. What brings you out to see them, may I ask? I have a fondness for hearing the tales of travellers similar to myself."
"Hare...the names in these lands are different, but well met nonetheless," Menelglir nods, stroking his horse's neck a bit as he thinks on his answer. "As for what brings me here, I am a squire in the Order of the Swan, and I go where I am ordered. If you wish for more than that, you will have to talk to the Knights I travel wtih."
[Aphria(#17221)] Splash, splash, splash... and all the other sounds running through the rain makes! Aphria is carrying a basket and running back towards the Inn as fast as she can, not that it probably matters since she seems more than a bit drenched at the moment.
[Lominhur(#19466)] Turning his head as Aphria comes hurtling into view, Lominhur smiles to himself ere he looks up to Menelglir once more. "Order of the Swan, you say? I have not heard of that before. And I should dearly love to catch you all together, aye, and swap tales of the Wild. Where can they be found?"
[Hraefengar(#30729)] One of the travellers comes now, a tall man greycloaked, the cloak lined with cinnamon bear fur. The man's hair is honey-gold, braided, bronze-banded. The horse itself is a stallion, dun-gold with raven mane and tail. His legs are long, lithe, his neck arched, and he runs easily, light as thistledown.
Coming upon the gathering, though, the rider on his back speaks to him, and the horse slows easily, walks to them and comes to a halt. The man is Hraefengar, and though his skin is pale, he gives no other sign of the strangeness or illness of the other day. He nods in greeting, but does not yet speak.
Girls running by in the rain, the arrival of the Rohir and his horse--Menelglir's horse is vexed, stamping its feet and tossing its head so that the Squire turns to calm it. "In the Pony, sir," he answers the Ranger. "If you wait just a few minutes while I stable and tend to my horse, I'll return to bring you to them if you wish? That is, if they can be found this time of day."
[Aphria(#17221)] Aphria is just soaked as she gets near the group. Though seems to be polite enough to stop there. "Hi!" She chimes in greetings. "It's soooooo wet!" She calls out sheepishly. "You should all hurry in." She tries to suggest. "There's warm stew being made for lunch and everything!"
[Lominhur(#19466)] This brings a smile to Lominhur's lips, and he nods. "Aye, that sounds wonderful, Aphria, and who could argue with Nob's cooking? Mayhap the others of your party could join us there?" he asks then of Menelglir, ere his eye turns to rove over the figure of Hraefengar. The Ranger nods his cowled head in greeting, though says naught as yet."
[Hraefengar(#30729)] Hraefengar leaps down lightly from his horse, and he bobs his head to the stranger. "Greetings," he says in Westron, his voice heavily accented but clear and rolling. "Stew sounds wonderful: it will take but a short time to settle Dealfyr here, and then I can go." He looks at the stranger, then at Menelglir. "Assuming that the invitation is extended to me? I travel with them. I am Hraefengar son of Hrothgar of the land of Rohan, one of the bards of Theoden King." He gives his formal introduction.
"Of course you could lunch with us, if that is your wish, sir," Menelglir answers. "Stew sounds good and the rain is cold."
[Aphria(#17221)]
"I hope it stops raining too! All the rain is the one thing about spring I don't like! Especially when I need to go out in it all the time." Aphria says with a slight pout, though the rain still doesn't seem to have dampened her spirits. "Come on! Let's go in and get dry. I need to give the last spices to Nob for everything too."
Players: Nob, Brandebras, Menelglir, Lominhur
