Elendor
Treason?
Bifur finally orders the men and dwarves at Iach Celduin to withdraw to Londaroth, but this time it seems that Frarin and Thari overstep their station.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Cellar, Iach Celduin
Game Date: Day 14 of February 3048
IC Time: Nighttime
Description:
Cellar
You stand in a small room, bare and spartan for the most part. A spacious trapdoor leads up to the houses above ground, but for now the way is barred. Along the walls there are no decorations, no shelves nor cupboards that one might expect to find in a cellar only a hasty collection of wooden boards sealed by muddy plaster serving to hold up the dank ceiling. On the farthest wall from the trapdoor is a second exit, a tunnel delving into the earth as it twists away from the light of the torches that light the room.
Contents:
Broddur
Obvious exits:
Headquarters and Trap Door
Thari has arrived.
[Frarin] It is late and the air outside is bitter cold. But here in the 'fortress' of Iach Celduin, the pitiable residents are hardly spared much of that same cold, though they are perhaps removed from the terrible chill of the wind. Yet the ceiling drips, water gathers underfoot, food supplies dwindle and the condition of the men of Dale continues to deteriorate. Even the dwarves, though they may be spared the sicknesses of men, have grown restless in this poor excuse for an underground dwelling.
Down in the dank, cramped cellar of the fortress is a single dwarf. This is Frarin, who sits upon a box with his back propped against the damp wall. His arms are crossed, though his left arm more seems to cradle his still mangled right arm. The fingers of his good hand tap a restless rythme upon the side of his bad arm and he stares intensely at a blank spot on the opposite side of the room, deep in thought. Only a solitary lantern lights the small chamber.
[Broddur(#23715)] Broddur enters the cellar, a lantern held high above his head. He is looking not at the room before him but at the ceiling overhead more precisely, tracing the pattern of the drips. "Must be a weakness along thattaway," he mumbles, tracing a line with a finger and scowling. "Men. Never can trust 'em to finish the job." He /has/ been told that Dwarves were involved in the construction of this place, but it doesn't stop him grumbling.
His scarred face is scabbed over and slowly healing, though scarcely less ugly. A short fuzz has started to grow where his beard was burned away, and he raises his free hand to itch at it absently.
[Frarin] Frarin jerks out of his thoughts as if pulled from sleep, startled by the sudden light of Broddur's lantern. The silversmith has his own set of brutal scars along his face, but it is easy to recognise Broddur's half-beard. "Broddur," Frarin grunts by way of greeting. He shifts as if straightening, but hardly moves in reality. "Or start it in the first place," he adds to the other dwarf's grumbling. "What are you looking for?"
[Broddur(#23715)] Broddur starts at the greeting, almost dropping the lantern. He offers reluctantly, "Good morning .. uh, evening. Or whatever it is." His tone is sour. "Looking to check the whole ceiling of this place won't cave in on our heads. Far too near the river for my liking, it is. Give me some mountains and good solid rock to delve in!"
Only then does he think to add to his fellow Barazin, squinting suspiciously at Frarin's near-stillness, "Didn't disturb you, did I?"
[Frarin] "Not at all," Frarin grunts in reply, sounding both apathetic and sarcastic. "Do I look like I'm disturbed?" He shifts again, glancing absently at the ceiling. He looks irritated, as he has ever since the burning of Iach Celduin. "If you find the place is near collapse, mind you tell our Lieutenant Acton or Lord Bifur. Might convince them to shift us out of this hole."
[Broddur(#23715)] Broddur lowers the lantern and holds it before him so that he can inspect Frarin just as he inspected the ceiling. "You look like you slipped away while the healer's back was turned. Don't blame you. Terrible whip-crackers, healers - no sympathy!"
At the mention of Bifur he grunts. "I've already told the Marshal what /I/ think. Not sure it'd do me much good wasting my breath on some young whippersnapper. The Lake-Men should have sent a /real/ general."
The grumbling ceases abruptly, though, as he lowers his voice. "Any word from .. the Mountain?"
[Frarin] "-Impressionable- young whippersnapper, with more power over this situation than you or I," Frarin adds to Broddur's grumbling. He sounds as sour as as his fellow Barazin. "If the Lake-Men have a real general still at their disposal, I imagine they are more eager to keep him for the defense of Lake-Town than this wet hole and its bedraggled residents."
The silversmith scratches absently at the still-fresh wounds on his cheeks, having failed to acknowledge Broddur's comment about the escape from the healers. Though that is likely true enough. But he is silent for a moment at the other dwarf's last inquiry. Finally, he grunts and shakes his head. "If you have heard nothing, then neither have I. No word. No." He falters into silence again, gaze fixed on the ground. "I am going to send two of my merchants to the elves," he says abruptly.
Bifur has arrived.
[Broddur(#23715)] It is night, perhaps, in the world above. Here beneath Iach Celduin night and day are alike - cold, dank and dark, and nowhere more than the small cellar, in which Frarin sits on a box and Broddur stands with a lantern in his hand.
Broddur listens to Frarin's words, at least having the grace to lower the lantern so it does not glare in the other Dwarf's eyes. "Then we should leave this wet hole!" he proclaims. "High time I swung a pick at something other than mud." The rest of the speech brings a sigh, and then a start. "Elves?" he repeats, staring. "But - what for?"
[Bifur(#6709)] The short, stout figure of Bifur comes stomping into the cellar from the tunnel. Judging by his rosy cheeks and stamping feet, he's just come in from outside. Taking his hood off his head, the old war marshal rubs idly at his beard as he whispers something to another dwarf who promptly nods his head and takes off down the tunnel.
[Frarin] "What for?" Frarin says, giving a sharp, humourless chuckle. "Because I don't want to be stranded in this infernal hole any more than you, cousin. There were elves here the night Iach Celduin burned, I'm sure of it. In the forest. If they can be convinced to return, our commanders might finally be shifted out of their apathy and have the courage to leave. My two merchants will have to pass through Lake-Town, where they can tell the--"
The silversmith cuts off at the sound of another approaching from the tunnel above and he squints up the cramped corridor into the dim light.
[Broddur(#23715)] "Courage?" Broddur rumbles, outrage quivering in every inch of his remaining beard. "Let it not be said that any Dwarf lacks courage! If the Men wish to remain here-"
The words cut off as Frarin stares past him, and the Ered Luin miner frowns. "What? What-"
He turns and catches sight of Bifur. "Marshall," he greets, head ducking in a jerky nod that has more deference than he'd shown Frarin. "What news of the town above?"
[Bifur(#6709)] With a cold smile that betrays no mirth, Bifur grunts in a harsh voice, "Ye speak of apathy and courage, do ye?" Walking closer to Frarin, the old dwarf's eyes burn as his voice grows, "What know ye of courage? Ye sit here and talk outta both sides o' yer mouth while those with real responsibility make life and death decisions." Pulling out his axe, Bifur makes a show of checking the blade in front of Frarin, "Question courage at yer own peril..."
With that, he turns to Broddur and clears his throat loudly, "Akh, it seems ta have quieted down. The enemy is out there somewhere, but it would seem their attention is divided."
[Frarin] Frarin straightens some as he comes to recognise Bifur and the old war marshall comes close to the seated silversmith. His lip curls when Bifur addresses him and so conspicuously inspects his blade. "I question poor leadership, be it from courage lacking or ought else, my -lord-," Frarin returns, disregarding Bifur's words to Broddur. His voice is low, but simmering with his long irritation. "And I do not gloat over my arms when they have been a month idle with naught but dripping water to split."
[Broddur(#23715)] Broddur glances from one Dwarf to the other, his brows shooting up. "Last I heard, the enemy was out there," he mutters sourly then interjects, "Marshall, if the Enemy's attention is divided, then isn't /now/ the time to move? Not doing much good cooped up here like worms in the mud. And the Mountain ..." The words trail off into suggestive silence, and the flame from the lantern he's holding trembles - just a little.
[Bifur(#6709)] The glow in Bifur's eyes turns to raging fire as he steps in front of Frarin. The blade of his axe comes up close to Frarin's chest as Bifur speaks in a low growl, "So ye know better than those who have served the House of Durin in military matters for almost two centuries, do ye?" Moving his axe out of the way, Bifur comes to stand directly in front of Frarin, giving him no room as he continues in a voice as hard as granite, "Learn yer place or it'll be yer blood spilled." With that, he spits on the ground at Frarin's feet.
[Frarin] Frarin is in an awkward position, seated as he is and up against the wall. His chin instictively rises when Bifur's axe is so suddenly beneath it, but instead of shying away from the marshall's threat, Frarin's lips press thin and he brows draw together as if he has been waiting for this. "I know better than to keep men of Dale huddled underground in as dank and useless a place as this! Our mountain may be aflame even now," he says, gesturing at Broddur for his evidence, "and here we -sit-." The old veteran comes closer still, and though Frarin may have no where to move, his eyes rage as angriy as Bifur's.
"And my place is to sit by while this madness continues, is it? Then aye, I shall never learn it. Spill away, my lord! Merchant or not, I know better than to sit idle in such a place or at such a time. Meet the enemy on a ground of our choosing?" Frarin says derisively. "Hah! This is hiding, my lord!"
[Broddur(#23715)] Well, now. Broddur finds himself in a place he'd /much/ rather not be, stuck between clan and his own folk's superior. "Marshall, Frarin of the Barazin has been overseeing supplies and communications ..." A tactful way of saying that perhaps this easterner has his uses after all. The words fade into silence as he looks at the belligerent pair, and then he shakes his head. "Think I'll get right on with checking these walls." Deliberately he raises the lantern again, fingering at the damp patches on the ceiling. A nice attempt at lookind disinterested that -almost- looks convincing.
[Bifur(#6709)] As Frarin speaks, Bifur's eyes betray the barbarian within. His low growl is a warning, though it is not intended as such, "You overstep your station. You know nothing and each time you open yer mouth, you shame the House of Durin." The old dwarf hardly allows the other to finish his words before his mailed fist comes around quickly in a blow aiming to knock the breath out of Frarin.
Bifur attacks you with his Bare Hands!...
...and he hits! Ouch!
ARB: You've been injured for 9 hp's by Bifur's attack...
...you have 44 left. Please RP this injury accordingly.
[Frarin] Oof! Knock the breath out of Frarin Bifur most certainly does. The old marshall's mailed fist slams into Frarin's chest, whipping his head against the wall by the sheer force of the blow and likely drawing blood in addition to the heavy bruise that will no doubt arise about his chest. The silversmith looks severely winded for a second and takes a moment to clear his eyes. He coughs heavily. A shake of his head and he fixes Bifur would a look that is best described as angrily shocked.
Now it is Frarin's turn to issue a low growl, though he hardly looks in any state to return the blow. Indeed, all he does is pound his good fist on the box beside him. "Grr, station be damned! Hit me again if you will, it seems that is the only vessel by which you can prove this wretched plan of yours is the best one! Because no other here can see the reason!"
[Thari(#31038)]
Just then, Thari comes down from the headquarters. She is wiping her hands on an oily rag and there is suspicion in her eyes. She's walking fast.
She glances between Frarin and Bifur and shouts angrily at once. "BIFUR! Hitting the wounded?" She takes several quick steps to try to shove beside or between Frarin and Bifur.
[Broddur(#23715)] The fly-on-the-wall twitches at the sound of mail hitting mail, and Broddur turns too quickly, the motion dashing the lantern he holds against the wall of the cellar. There is the soft tinkling of shattering glass. The miner lets out a growl of his own as he steps out of Thari's way. "If the Enemy could see us now-" he mutters, features contorting in disgust. Then, shaking his head again, he stomps off to find a new lantern.
[Bifur(#6709)] The old war marshal eyes Frarin for a moment after hitting him. Taking his axe in his right hand, Bifur speaks in a low, harsh voice, "Next time it will be my blade and there'll be no words precedin' it--" At Thari's words, Bifur whirls around and barks at her, "Mind yer business healer! I'll not tolerate insults from anyone. Anyone. He's lucky I didn't do more fer what he said." Bifur steps closer to Thari and lowers his voice ominously, "Unless you too would like ta overstep yer bounds..."
[Frarin] Well now. Hitting Frarin is one thing, threatening his wife is entirely another. As Bifur moves closer to Thari, it gives Frarin the chance to scooch off of his box seat and stand properly, though he does look quite hunched over and tipsy. "Leave Thari be," he says sharpy. Not other acknowledgement is given to Thari. Even so conspicuously inhibited by his former and more recent wounds, Frarin looks to be fair shaking with the pent up anger and irritation of the past month. "Arrest me then, strike me again if you will, but it does not erase the facts, does it? My Lord Bifur, why are we still here?" Every word in the last sentence is punched out between clenched teeth, even as Frarin seems braced for more of the old marshall's anger.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari's voice lowers, her eyes on Bifur's. "So the noble Lord Bifur hits women of the dwarves, does he?" she asks, and again she tries to nudge between Bifur and the wounded Frarin. "Whether it's my place or no, I'll be taking my father's dwarves out of here. We don't follow your sort."
[Bifur(#6709)] Glancing back to Frarin as if brushing off an insignificant gnat, Bifur grunts, "I'll leave Thari be the moment she gets outta me business. Not before. And you are here because you were told to be here. That is all you need know."
Looking at Thari with intensity, he smiles, though no humor is evident, "You take anyone out of here against my wishes and you will be held for treason, at best. Go against me and you go against the House of Durin. Decide now if ye be with the King or against. It is as simple as that. Where are your loyalties?"
[Frarin] "The merchants are under my authority, not Thari's," Frarin growls, reaching out towards Thari's shoulder as she tries to elbow her way between him and Bifur. "And I pledged them to you and to Dale to aid against the enemy, not to sit idle." The silversmith jabs a finger at Bifur, rage burning in his face. "The House of Durin, eh! King Dain is the House of Durin and we go against him -already- by doing nothing! I am no military dwarf, my -lord-, and I do not follow orders blindly. Why do we remain?!"
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari stops trying to elbow her way in so much, but lifts a bushy brow upward. "I believe you are not of the House of Durin, my lord," says the lass to Bifur. "I learned my history when I was young and I would say that one notable feature about the House of Durin is that your name is not included in it."
[Bifur(#6709)] The old war marshal takes a long, deep breath and says loudly, "You *all* are under my authority. You would do well to remember that." Looking intently at Thari, he bumps into her shoulder and breathes in her face, "I have served the House of Durin as King's Marshal and Lord of the Realm for nigh 200 years. We will leave these tunnels. And when we get back ta the Lonely Mountain, both of you will answer ta the King fer yer actions."
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari's mouth snaps shut at Frarin's word and her eyes are lively as she looks at Bifur. Her beard bristles out oddly from where she was wounded. She takes in a breath and asks, measured, "How long will we be staying here, my lord?"
[Frarin] "I understand that, my lord," Frarin says. His teeth are still clenched, but there is a visible slackening to his shoulders, be it from the blow to his chest, relief at the prospect of departing the tunnels, or perhaps even relief that the old war marshall's axe did not get to swinging. He reaches out to steady himself against a box.
[Bifur(#6709)] With a momentary pause, Bifur idly strokes his beard. When he speaks, it is in a low, gravelly voice, "As I said, the enemy is diverted in its attention. Now is the chance we've waited fer. We dared not move with such a force arrayed 'gainst us. But if we move quickly, now is our chance. Gather up everythin' ya can bring with on short notice and leave the rest. The wounded will have ta be helped along. We cannot afford delays at this point."
[Thari(#31038)]
"I'll get it done," Thari says mildly, as if the threatened treason never happened. She leans over Frarin. "Let me bind up your arm better so you're in a state to travel."
[Frarin] The anger slowly ebbs from Frarin as Bifur speaks levelly of what is to come. The silversmith leans more heavily on his box. "Where do we go?" he says abruptly, voice sounding out the labour of a blow to the chest now that the adrenaline of the moment is past. Irritation flares up again though when Thari leans over him. "Thari, leave me be!" he grunts impatiently.
[Bifur(#6709)] Nodding his head slowly at Thari, Bifur grunts, "The King has sent word not ta come back ta Erebor. Unless there be no threat in these lands, or we hear differently, we honor the King's commands." The old dwarf thinks for a moment and gestures to Thari, "Our more serious wounded were sent ta Londaroth. Probably best ta link up with them at first."
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari's eyes seem dull as they look upon Frarin's face for a moment, and then she turns away. "I'll see to the packing," says the healer to Bifur before walking up the tunnel, to where the others are.
[Frarin] Frarin nods briefly at Bifur's orders. "Aye, my lord," he says. His tone contains the cold distance that might be expected, but also the same dull agreement that Thari shows the old war marshall. He looks at Bifur with brows drawn together, but says no more. After a moment to steal himself for the task, Frarin limps up the tunnel after Thari.
Cellar
You stand in a small room, bare and spartan for the most part. A spacious trapdoor leads up to the houses above ground, but for now the way is barred. Along the walls there are no decorations, no shelves nor cupboards that one might expect to find in a cellar only a hasty collection of wooden boards sealed by muddy plaster serving to hold up the dank ceiling. On the farthest wall from the trapdoor is a second exit, a tunnel delving into the earth as it twists away from the light of the torches that light the room.
Contents:
Broddur
Obvious exits:
Headquarters and Trap Door
Thari has arrived.
[Frarin] It is late and the air outside is bitter cold. But here in the 'fortress' of Iach Celduin, the pitiable residents are hardly spared much of that same cold, though they are perhaps removed from the terrible chill of the wind. Yet the ceiling drips, water gathers underfoot, food supplies dwindle and the condition of the men of Dale continues to deteriorate. Even the dwarves, though they may be spared the sicknesses of men, have grown restless in this poor excuse for an underground dwelling.
Down in the dank, cramped cellar of the fortress is a single dwarf. This is Frarin, who sits upon a box with his back propped against the damp wall. His arms are crossed, though his left arm more seems to cradle his still mangled right arm. The fingers of his good hand tap a restless rythme upon the side of his bad arm and he stares intensely at a blank spot on the opposite side of the room, deep in thought. Only a solitary lantern lights the small chamber.
[Broddur(#23715)] Broddur enters the cellar, a lantern held high above his head. He is looking not at the room before him but at the ceiling overhead more precisely, tracing the pattern of the drips. "Must be a weakness along thattaway," he mumbles, tracing a line with a finger and scowling. "Men. Never can trust 'em to finish the job." He /has/ been told that Dwarves were involved in the construction of this place, but it doesn't stop him grumbling.
His scarred face is scabbed over and slowly healing, though scarcely less ugly. A short fuzz has started to grow where his beard was burned away, and he raises his free hand to itch at it absently.
[Frarin] Frarin jerks out of his thoughts as if pulled from sleep, startled by the sudden light of Broddur's lantern. The silversmith has his own set of brutal scars along his face, but it is easy to recognise Broddur's half-beard. "Broddur," Frarin grunts by way of greeting. He shifts as if straightening, but hardly moves in reality. "Or start it in the first place," he adds to the other dwarf's grumbling. "What are you looking for?"
[Broddur(#23715)] Broddur starts at the greeting, almost dropping the lantern. He offers reluctantly, "Good morning .. uh, evening. Or whatever it is." His tone is sour. "Looking to check the whole ceiling of this place won't cave in on our heads. Far too near the river for my liking, it is. Give me some mountains and good solid rock to delve in!"
Only then does he think to add to his fellow Barazin, squinting suspiciously at Frarin's near-stillness, "Didn't disturb you, did I?"
[Frarin] "Not at all," Frarin grunts in reply, sounding both apathetic and sarcastic. "Do I look like I'm disturbed?" He shifts again, glancing absently at the ceiling. He looks irritated, as he has ever since the burning of Iach Celduin. "If you find the place is near collapse, mind you tell our Lieutenant Acton or Lord Bifur. Might convince them to shift us out of this hole."
[Broddur(#23715)] Broddur lowers the lantern and holds it before him so that he can inspect Frarin just as he inspected the ceiling. "You look like you slipped away while the healer's back was turned. Don't blame you. Terrible whip-crackers, healers - no sympathy!"
At the mention of Bifur he grunts. "I've already told the Marshal what /I/ think. Not sure it'd do me much good wasting my breath on some young whippersnapper. The Lake-Men should have sent a /real/ general."
The grumbling ceases abruptly, though, as he lowers his voice. "Any word from .. the Mountain?"
[Frarin] "-Impressionable- young whippersnapper, with more power over this situation than you or I," Frarin adds to Broddur's grumbling. He sounds as sour as as his fellow Barazin. "If the Lake-Men have a real general still at their disposal, I imagine they are more eager to keep him for the defense of Lake-Town than this wet hole and its bedraggled residents."
The silversmith scratches absently at the still-fresh wounds on his cheeks, having failed to acknowledge Broddur's comment about the escape from the healers. Though that is likely true enough. But he is silent for a moment at the other dwarf's last inquiry. Finally, he grunts and shakes his head. "If you have heard nothing, then neither have I. No word. No." He falters into silence again, gaze fixed on the ground. "I am going to send two of my merchants to the elves," he says abruptly.
Bifur has arrived.
[Broddur(#23715)] It is night, perhaps, in the world above. Here beneath Iach Celduin night and day are alike - cold, dank and dark, and nowhere more than the small cellar, in which Frarin sits on a box and Broddur stands with a lantern in his hand.
Broddur listens to Frarin's words, at least having the grace to lower the lantern so it does not glare in the other Dwarf's eyes. "Then we should leave this wet hole!" he proclaims. "High time I swung a pick at something other than mud." The rest of the speech brings a sigh, and then a start. "Elves?" he repeats, staring. "But - what for?"
[Bifur(#6709)] The short, stout figure of Bifur comes stomping into the cellar from the tunnel. Judging by his rosy cheeks and stamping feet, he's just come in from outside. Taking his hood off his head, the old war marshal rubs idly at his beard as he whispers something to another dwarf who promptly nods his head and takes off down the tunnel.
[Frarin] "What for?" Frarin says, giving a sharp, humourless chuckle. "Because I don't want to be stranded in this infernal hole any more than you, cousin. There were elves here the night Iach Celduin burned, I'm sure of it. In the forest. If they can be convinced to return, our commanders might finally be shifted out of their apathy and have the courage to leave. My two merchants will have to pass through Lake-Town, where they can tell the--"
The silversmith cuts off at the sound of another approaching from the tunnel above and he squints up the cramped corridor into the dim light.
[Broddur(#23715)] "Courage?" Broddur rumbles, outrage quivering in every inch of his remaining beard. "Let it not be said that any Dwarf lacks courage! If the Men wish to remain here-"
The words cut off as Frarin stares past him, and the Ered Luin miner frowns. "What? What-"
He turns and catches sight of Bifur. "Marshall," he greets, head ducking in a jerky nod that has more deference than he'd shown Frarin. "What news of the town above?"
[Bifur(#6709)] With a cold smile that betrays no mirth, Bifur grunts in a harsh voice, "Ye speak of apathy and courage, do ye?" Walking closer to Frarin, the old dwarf's eyes burn as his voice grows, "What know ye of courage? Ye sit here and talk outta both sides o' yer mouth while those with real responsibility make life and death decisions." Pulling out his axe, Bifur makes a show of checking the blade in front of Frarin, "Question courage at yer own peril..."
With that, he turns to Broddur and clears his throat loudly, "Akh, it seems ta have quieted down. The enemy is out there somewhere, but it would seem their attention is divided."
[Frarin] Frarin straightens some as he comes to recognise Bifur and the old war marshall comes close to the seated silversmith. His lip curls when Bifur addresses him and so conspicuously inspects his blade. "I question poor leadership, be it from courage lacking or ought else, my -lord-," Frarin returns, disregarding Bifur's words to Broddur. His voice is low, but simmering with his long irritation. "And I do not gloat over my arms when they have been a month idle with naught but dripping water to split."
[Broddur(#23715)] Broddur glances from one Dwarf to the other, his brows shooting up. "Last I heard, the enemy was out there," he mutters sourly then interjects, "Marshall, if the Enemy's attention is divided, then isn't /now/ the time to move? Not doing much good cooped up here like worms in the mud. And the Mountain ..." The words trail off into suggestive silence, and the flame from the lantern he's holding trembles - just a little.
[Bifur(#6709)] The glow in Bifur's eyes turns to raging fire as he steps in front of Frarin. The blade of his axe comes up close to Frarin's chest as Bifur speaks in a low growl, "So ye know better than those who have served the House of Durin in military matters for almost two centuries, do ye?" Moving his axe out of the way, Bifur comes to stand directly in front of Frarin, giving him no room as he continues in a voice as hard as granite, "Learn yer place or it'll be yer blood spilled." With that, he spits on the ground at Frarin's feet.
[Frarin] Frarin is in an awkward position, seated as he is and up against the wall. His chin instictively rises when Bifur's axe is so suddenly beneath it, but instead of shying away from the marshall's threat, Frarin's lips press thin and he brows draw together as if he has been waiting for this. "I know better than to keep men of Dale huddled underground in as dank and useless a place as this! Our mountain may be aflame even now," he says, gesturing at Broddur for his evidence, "and here we -sit-." The old veteran comes closer still, and though Frarin may have no where to move, his eyes rage as angriy as Bifur's.
"And my place is to sit by while this madness continues, is it? Then aye, I shall never learn it. Spill away, my lord! Merchant or not, I know better than to sit idle in such a place or at such a time. Meet the enemy on a ground of our choosing?" Frarin says derisively. "Hah! This is hiding, my lord!"
[Broddur(#23715)] Well, now. Broddur finds himself in a place he'd /much/ rather not be, stuck between clan and his own folk's superior. "Marshall, Frarin of the Barazin has been overseeing supplies and communications ..." A tactful way of saying that perhaps this easterner has his uses after all. The words fade into silence as he looks at the belligerent pair, and then he shakes his head. "Think I'll get right on with checking these walls." Deliberately he raises the lantern again, fingering at the damp patches on the ceiling. A nice attempt at lookind disinterested that -almost- looks convincing.
[Bifur(#6709)] As Frarin speaks, Bifur's eyes betray the barbarian within. His low growl is a warning, though it is not intended as such, "You overstep your station. You know nothing and each time you open yer mouth, you shame the House of Durin." The old dwarf hardly allows the other to finish his words before his mailed fist comes around quickly in a blow aiming to knock the breath out of Frarin.
Bifur attacks you with his Bare Hands!...
...and he hits! Ouch!
ARB: You've been injured for 9 hp's by Bifur's attack...
...you have 44 left. Please RP this injury accordingly.
[Frarin] Oof! Knock the breath out of Frarin Bifur most certainly does. The old marshall's mailed fist slams into Frarin's chest, whipping his head against the wall by the sheer force of the blow and likely drawing blood in addition to the heavy bruise that will no doubt arise about his chest. The silversmith looks severely winded for a second and takes a moment to clear his eyes. He coughs heavily. A shake of his head and he fixes Bifur would a look that is best described as angrily shocked.
Now it is Frarin's turn to issue a low growl, though he hardly looks in any state to return the blow. Indeed, all he does is pound his good fist on the box beside him. "Grr, station be damned! Hit me again if you will, it seems that is the only vessel by which you can prove this wretched plan of yours is the best one! Because no other here can see the reason!"
[Thari(#31038)]
Just then, Thari comes down from the headquarters. She is wiping her hands on an oily rag and there is suspicion in her eyes. She's walking fast.
She glances between Frarin and Bifur and shouts angrily at once. "BIFUR! Hitting the wounded?" She takes several quick steps to try to shove beside or between Frarin and Bifur.
[Broddur(#23715)] The fly-on-the-wall twitches at the sound of mail hitting mail, and Broddur turns too quickly, the motion dashing the lantern he holds against the wall of the cellar. There is the soft tinkling of shattering glass. The miner lets out a growl of his own as he steps out of Thari's way. "If the Enemy could see us now-" he mutters, features contorting in disgust. Then, shaking his head again, he stomps off to find a new lantern.
[Bifur(#6709)] The old war marshal eyes Frarin for a moment after hitting him. Taking his axe in his right hand, Bifur speaks in a low, harsh voice, "Next time it will be my blade and there'll be no words precedin' it--" At Thari's words, Bifur whirls around and barks at her, "Mind yer business healer! I'll not tolerate insults from anyone. Anyone. He's lucky I didn't do more fer what he said." Bifur steps closer to Thari and lowers his voice ominously, "Unless you too would like ta overstep yer bounds..."
[Frarin] Well now. Hitting Frarin is one thing, threatening his wife is entirely another. As Bifur moves closer to Thari, it gives Frarin the chance to scooch off of his box seat and stand properly, though he does look quite hunched over and tipsy. "Leave Thari be," he says sharpy. Not other acknowledgement is given to Thari. Even so conspicuously inhibited by his former and more recent wounds, Frarin looks to be fair shaking with the pent up anger and irritation of the past month. "Arrest me then, strike me again if you will, but it does not erase the facts, does it? My Lord Bifur, why are we still here?" Every word in the last sentence is punched out between clenched teeth, even as Frarin seems braced for more of the old marshall's anger.
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari's voice lowers, her eyes on Bifur's. "So the noble Lord Bifur hits women of the dwarves, does he?" she asks, and again she tries to nudge between Bifur and the wounded Frarin. "Whether it's my place or no, I'll be taking my father's dwarves out of here. We don't follow your sort."
[Bifur(#6709)] Glancing back to Frarin as if brushing off an insignificant gnat, Bifur grunts, "I'll leave Thari be the moment she gets outta me business. Not before. And you are here because you were told to be here. That is all you need know."
Looking at Thari with intensity, he smiles, though no humor is evident, "You take anyone out of here against my wishes and you will be held for treason, at best. Go against me and you go against the House of Durin. Decide now if ye be with the King or against. It is as simple as that. Where are your loyalties?"
[Frarin] "The merchants are under my authority, not Thari's," Frarin growls, reaching out towards Thari's shoulder as she tries to elbow her way between him and Bifur. "And I pledged them to you and to Dale to aid against the enemy, not to sit idle." The silversmith jabs a finger at Bifur, rage burning in his face. "The House of Durin, eh! King Dain is the House of Durin and we go against him -already- by doing nothing! I am no military dwarf, my -lord-, and I do not follow orders blindly. Why do we remain?!"
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari stops trying to elbow her way in so much, but lifts a bushy brow upward. "I believe you are not of the House of Durin, my lord," says the lass to Bifur. "I learned my history when I was young and I would say that one notable feature about the House of Durin is that your name is not included in it."
[Bifur(#6709)] The old war marshal takes a long, deep breath and says loudly, "You *all* are under my authority. You would do well to remember that." Looking intently at Thari, he bumps into her shoulder and breathes in her face, "I have served the House of Durin as King's Marshal and Lord of the Realm for nigh 200 years. We will leave these tunnels. And when we get back ta the Lonely Mountain, both of you will answer ta the King fer yer actions."
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari's mouth snaps shut at Frarin's word and her eyes are lively as she looks at Bifur. Her beard bristles out oddly from where she was wounded. She takes in a breath and asks, measured, "How long will we be staying here, my lord?"
[Frarin] "I understand that, my lord," Frarin says. His teeth are still clenched, but there is a visible slackening to his shoulders, be it from the blow to his chest, relief at the prospect of departing the tunnels, or perhaps even relief that the old war marshall's axe did not get to swinging. He reaches out to steady himself against a box.
[Bifur(#6709)] With a momentary pause, Bifur idly strokes his beard. When he speaks, it is in a low, gravelly voice, "As I said, the enemy is diverted in its attention. Now is the chance we've waited fer. We dared not move with such a force arrayed 'gainst us. But if we move quickly, now is our chance. Gather up everythin' ya can bring with on short notice and leave the rest. The wounded will have ta be helped along. We cannot afford delays at this point."
[Thari(#31038)]
"I'll get it done," Thari says mildly, as if the threatened treason never happened. She leans over Frarin. "Let me bind up your arm better so you're in a state to travel."
[Frarin] The anger slowly ebbs from Frarin as Bifur speaks levelly of what is to come. The silversmith leans more heavily on his box. "Where do we go?" he says abruptly, voice sounding out the labour of a blow to the chest now that the adrenaline of the moment is past. Irritation flares up again though when Thari leans over him. "Thari, leave me be!" he grunts impatiently.
[Bifur(#6709)] Nodding his head slowly at Thari, Bifur grunts, "The King has sent word not ta come back ta Erebor. Unless there be no threat in these lands, or we hear differently, we honor the King's commands." The old dwarf thinks for a moment and gestures to Thari, "Our more serious wounded were sent ta Londaroth. Probably best ta link up with them at first."
[Thari(#31038)]
Thari's eyes seem dull as they look upon Frarin's face for a moment, and then she turns away. "I'll see to the packing," says the healer to Bifur before walking up the tunnel, to where the others are.
[Frarin] Frarin nods briefly at Bifur's orders. "Aye, my lord," he says. His tone contains the cold distance that might be expected, but also the same dull agreement that Thari shows the old war marshall. He looks at Bifur with brows drawn together, but says no more. After a moment to steal himself for the task, Frarin limps up the tunnel after Thari.
Players: Broddur, Bifur, Frarin, Thari
