Elendor
Dwarven Fishing
Ranol and Frarin go fishing.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: The River near Rivendell.
Description: [Frarin(#31050)] It is not exactly an ideal day for fishing. Indeed, it is probably not even a very average day for fishing. But it is tolerable at least and that, it seems, is good enough for dwarves. The damp drizzle in the sky is little stalled by the thinning woodlands here to the south of the Bruinen, but it does at least lend a muggy quality to the cool November air that helps to put off the hints of bitter winter cold that will arrive very soon. And into the woodlands and through such damp weather come two dwarves.
One of them rides a grey pony and is wrapped in a heavy grey cloak damp with the rain. Frarin's left shoulder and arm are still wrapped thinly in bandages, but they seem designed to prevent excessive movement more than anything else, for he seems to ride without much discomfort, plodding along the path at the river's edge.
Ranol follows on a second pony, this one with a glossy charcoal coat, the only break in the color being a white star on Hrappi's muzzle. The animal seems eager to be out away from the caravan, free to tread on softer ground where grass still fights the coming winter.
The huskarl has been his usual, quiet self. He has said little beyond what was neccessary for them to be off, and seems content to enjoy the sound of the rain dripping amongst the leaves of the tree, and the river flowing along with it's endless flow.
[Frarin(#31050)] The gentle plodding goes on for some time, until the distant roar of the Bruinen as it drops from the cliffs far ahead brings Frarin to a halt. He reigns in the snorting Barim. "How's here look?" he says gruffly, glancing back at Ranol. He doesn't wait long for an answer though, squinting at the river briefly before dismounting his pony, careful not to put too much strain on the still healing bones in his left arm.
"Aye... It looks good." Ranol slides down off of Hrappi, leading the animal over to a tree to tie a lead line off. It's unlikely that the well-trained pony would run off, but some things are easier avoided with a bit of extra precaution.
He unhooks a saddle bag that has the majority of the supplies, and collects a pole he carved from a fallen tree limb over the last few days in his free time.
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin too finds a suitable tree to tie Barim too and offloads a few things from the pony's back, including a stout pole in two pieces. Without a word, he starts for the river's edge not far away and soon finds a place to set down his supplies. The pole is screwed or slotted together somehow and soon the silversmith is fixing a long length of line to it, glancing back once towards Ranol.
Ranol sits down not far from the spot Frarin chooses, then takes some time to prepare his own pole for the fishing. With the rain, the river is running fast, but the huskarl never seems overly concerned with actually catching anything on these trips. Mostly he simply likes to get away from everything and relax. Debatably, one might say the Bundazanul is a terrible fisher.
It isn't long before the line is tossed into the water and Ranol is shifting to sit more comfortably, clearly not expecting much to come of his preparation. "Maybe it will stop raining."
[Frarin(#31050)] "Aye, hopefully," says Frarin, casting his own line and watching it bob in the running current for awhile before choosing a sodden boulder to sit on. And despite the rain, he takes out his pipe and quickly thumbs it full of a bit of pipeweed, then offers it to Ranol. "Have you heard if there's any traders from the west in Rivendell, by chance?" the silversmith asks, his first real effort at a conversation. "Mayhap we'll be able to find some Old Toby if there's any about. My stores back home are just about spent."
Ranol glances over when he notices Frarin offering him something out of the corner of his eye. "Ah, thank you." He says, taking the pouch with a grin. He pulls his own pipe out and sees it filled before returning the bag to the Barazin. "I haven't, but I didn't think to ask around either. I have been out of Old Toby for quite some time now. It's too expensive at the mountain." Though no longer in debt, Ranol has been habitually stingy with his money ever since.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Aye, and growing pricier by the day, it seems," says Frarin with a nod, re-pocketing his pouch of pipeweed. A match is struck and soon a little tendril of smoke, only slightly damped by the drizzle, is rising from his pipe. He lapses into silence for a time, dark eyes watching the river again and the bobbing end of his line. After awhile, he tugs at the end of his pole, skipping the line in the river along the water's bottom to attract attention from any fish swimming by.
Ranol gets his own pipe lit, then leans back against the embankment of the river, closing his eyes. He takes the occasional puff at the pipe that he holds with one hand, and the the pole is kept in a loose grip with the other. "All the more reason for you to find some so that you can sell it when we return home." The dwarf answers with a small grin. "It might prove more lucrative than silver."
[Frarin(#31050)] "Indeed it might," Frarin nods, leaning forward to tug at his pole again. "And tis usually the case, in any event. The elves of Rivendell are always interested in my silver and the gold from that is useful for buying pipeweed for a handsome resale back home. Perhaps some of the dwarves from the Blue Mountains have some for trade." He sits up again as if that reminds him of something. "Have you heard what some of our western cousins have been saying, by the way? About the Shaws?"
"No. I've not spoken with them much, yet. I've been meaning to ask after my brother." The huskarl comments, then asks, "What of the Shaws? Are the trolls growing more bothersome?"
[Frarin(#31050)] "Apparently," Frarin says with a nod. "And other loathsome creatures that live there. Some say they have been rather more active in the past months. Who can say what it means? It is like as not the same thing that afflicts the rest of the world." He pauses though as if recalling Ranol's reply. "You have a brother in the Blue Mountains? I did not know that."
The swiftly deepening gloom shows that the sun has set behind the clouds.
"Probably. I wonder what all of it means. Dark times." Ranol addresses the more serious topic first, his tone reflecting the forboding thoughts, though he still lounges with his eyes closed against the rain. He takes a slow drag at the pipe, blowing the smoke out. "Yes, Ranon. Supposedly he went off from the Iron Hills with a caravan some time ago. It was around the time we first arrived back after our trip to Bree. I haven't heard from him in a long time. My mother is very concerned, but Ranon isn't very responsible."
[Frarin(#31050)] "Hmm," Frarin replies, in the sort of museful manner he uses when he is thinking something but not saying it. "Is he your junior or elder?"
"He is the youngest. Two years younger than Panor. He .. " The huskarl hesitates, opening his eyes now to glance over at Frarin, as if weighing how interested the Barazin is, along with whether he should share. "He is only ninety-one. He lied his way onto the caravan. He told them he was older. It was around the time when my father was getting worse into things and I was gone. Ranon had been off in the Iron Mountains, apprenticing with a cousin. He told the cousin he was traveling home for a visit, but ended up joining with another group that was bound for the Blue Mountains."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin nods silently, glancing sidelong at Ranol, though it is not clear whether he catches Ranol's own glance towards him. "Aha," he says by way of reply. "Only ninety-one? Aye, I can see why you might worry. Still, I was ninety-five the first time I crossed the mountains. You should ask around some of the dwarves of the Blue Mountains, perhaps one of them has heard of him." He pauses, glancing at Ranol again, then says, "May I ask what happened to your father, by the way? You do not need to answer, I only wonder, and you've every right not to confide in me. I only wonder, since I was given to understand that he had removed to the Iron Hills."
"I'm concerned, but not worried yet. He's not foolish enough to go off on his own. I had a letter confirming that he made it to Ered Luin in one piece, but that was the last I heard and it was some time ago. I've been meaning to ask, I just haven't had the chance." Ranol answers, shrugging. "I suppose I might have today."
When the topic shifts to Ranor, the huskarl grows quiet. His blue eyes stare off at water dripping from a leaf that still clings to a tree. "He's in the Iron Hills. I haven't spoken to him since he left Erebor. My mother writes, but she doesn't mention him much. Mostly she asks about Panor and mentions Ranon from time to time. My family isn't.. very cohesive right now."
[Frarin(#31050)] Again Frarin nods without an immediate reply, staring straight ahead at the water rather than looking at Ranol. He is partly calmly attentive to Ranol, but there remains also that slight edge that has for so long stood between silversmith and huskarl. "Understandable," he finally says, if only to fill the gap. "Perhaps time will help."
"I don't think so." Ranol responds quietly. He tugs at the pole half-heartedly, then holds it still again. "How is Thari?"
[Frarin(#31050)] "Perhaps though," Frarin says quietly but gruffly again. "It helps many rifts, if not all." The edge seems to fade though once Ranol asks after Thari and Frarin glances at the huskarl, then shrugs. "Well enough, not precisely pleased to be spending another winter with the elves, but well enough at least. And continually fussing over my arm, of course," he adds with a smirk. He taps the fingers of his left hand one by one against his thumb. "I made the mistake of mentioning that I've lost the feeling in the tips of my fingers since my hand was broken. Now I can only hope she has forgotten it."
Ranol chuckles at first, nodding. "Ah, well.. I'm not thrilled with the prospect either, but at least our Ered Luin cousins are here." At the mention of his arm, though, the huskarl frowns. "That is not a good thing. Do you think it will heal?" He looks over with a concerned expression on his face.
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin shrugs, brushing off the huskarl's concern with a telling light-heartedness. And he stops fiddling with his fingers too. "Who knows? It is nearly three months now, I expect the feeling would have returned by now if it was going to. Still, the bones have knit properly, that is what matters. Besides, it is a habit of mine to break bones, it is probably better the less I feel, eh?"
Aye, that is true." Ranol says in agreement, laughing. If Frarin isn't upset about it, the huskarl isn't going to be. "Thari needs something to fuss over, otherwise she doesn't know what to do with herself." The Bundazanul observes with a small grin.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Aye indeed," Frarin nods with a half smile. "Ever true, alas. By Durin, I knew she was fond of bossing, but I did not know she was quite so adept at fussing as well." He tugs at his pole again, dragging the line along the river's currents. "So, have you only today off from your duties? I imagine Braldor has been kept quite busy, given his attachment to this valley."
"For now, aye. I suspect things will quiet down once we're settled, though. Why? I can always arrange for one of the clan-karls to tend to things if neccessary." Slowly, Ranol's diehard affliction to duty has begun to mellow out again. Now that things are better between him and Braldor after letting the news slip on the collapse in Erebor, the huskarl hasn't been walking on eggshells nearly so much.
[Frarin(#31050)] Again Frarin shrugs casually. "I am only curious, since you seem to have been less tense of late. And indeed, performing a huskarl's duties again, rather than simply standing guard." He grunts and pauses, then shakes his head. "But aye, it is likely as you say, it is simply settling in for the winter, I imagine."
"Ah.. well.. We are in far less dangerous lands. That may be part of it." Ranol comments with another grin. "It is not as if I have much to fear regarding Braldor's safety here. The elves are more than vigilant."
[Frarin(#31050)] A half smirk pulls at one corner of Frarin's mouth when Ranol replies lightly and the silversmith adopts a look of mock seriousness. "Ah, but you should be guarding him more vigilantly than ever, cousin. Haven't you heard the whispers of our fellows? How elves will stab you in the back sooner than talk with you? Or worse yet, rob you blind of a good trade with their honeyed words?" With a wry gleam in his eye, Frarin grins. "Dangerous place, this Rivendell, aye. Perhaps if we wintered in the Shaws we would mpre easily placate some of our comrades, eh?"
Ranol laughs more openly. "Well, Braldor is more than capable of defending himself against honeyed words from the elves. He has such good rapport with Rivendell, it leaves little for me to concern myself with outside of training and that is tricky enough without our weapons." The dwarf shrugs again. "I do not know. I guess there is some relief in knowing that I can relax my vigil for a time."
[Frarin(#31050)] "Indeed it is," Frarin says with a half-grin. "But who knows, if the elves are truly as concerned as the Shaws as they seem to be, perhaps you shall have practice enough with your blade." And just then there is the sound of a little plop of water and the end of Frarin's line with a tug. "Aha!" he says, standing and pulling on his pole.
"We will see, cousin." Ranol answers, grinning still. When Frarin jumps up to tend to the fish the huskarl laughs again and gives his own pole another lazy tug, relaxing back again to waste away the afternoon.
One of them rides a grey pony and is wrapped in a heavy grey cloak damp with the rain. Frarin's left shoulder and arm are still wrapped thinly in bandages, but they seem designed to prevent excessive movement more than anything else, for he seems to ride without much discomfort, plodding along the path at the river's edge.
Ranol follows on a second pony, this one with a glossy charcoal coat, the only break in the color being a white star on Hrappi's muzzle. The animal seems eager to be out away from the caravan, free to tread on softer ground where grass still fights the coming winter.
The huskarl has been his usual, quiet self. He has said little beyond what was neccessary for them to be off, and seems content to enjoy the sound of the rain dripping amongst the leaves of the tree, and the river flowing along with it's endless flow.
[Frarin(#31050)] The gentle plodding goes on for some time, until the distant roar of the Bruinen as it drops from the cliffs far ahead brings Frarin to a halt. He reigns in the snorting Barim. "How's here look?" he says gruffly, glancing back at Ranol. He doesn't wait long for an answer though, squinting at the river briefly before dismounting his pony, careful not to put too much strain on the still healing bones in his left arm.
"Aye... It looks good." Ranol slides down off of Hrappi, leading the animal over to a tree to tie a lead line off. It's unlikely that the well-trained pony would run off, but some things are easier avoided with a bit of extra precaution.
He unhooks a saddle bag that has the majority of the supplies, and collects a pole he carved from a fallen tree limb over the last few days in his free time.
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin too finds a suitable tree to tie Barim too and offloads a few things from the pony's back, including a stout pole in two pieces. Without a word, he starts for the river's edge not far away and soon finds a place to set down his supplies. The pole is screwed or slotted together somehow and soon the silversmith is fixing a long length of line to it, glancing back once towards Ranol.
Ranol sits down not far from the spot Frarin chooses, then takes some time to prepare his own pole for the fishing. With the rain, the river is running fast, but the huskarl never seems overly concerned with actually catching anything on these trips. Mostly he simply likes to get away from everything and relax. Debatably, one might say the Bundazanul is a terrible fisher.
It isn't long before the line is tossed into the water and Ranol is shifting to sit more comfortably, clearly not expecting much to come of his preparation. "Maybe it will stop raining."
[Frarin(#31050)] "Aye, hopefully," says Frarin, casting his own line and watching it bob in the running current for awhile before choosing a sodden boulder to sit on. And despite the rain, he takes out his pipe and quickly thumbs it full of a bit of pipeweed, then offers it to Ranol. "Have you heard if there's any traders from the west in Rivendell, by chance?" the silversmith asks, his first real effort at a conversation. "Mayhap we'll be able to find some Old Toby if there's any about. My stores back home are just about spent."
Ranol glances over when he notices Frarin offering him something out of the corner of his eye. "Ah, thank you." He says, taking the pouch with a grin. He pulls his own pipe out and sees it filled before returning the bag to the Barazin. "I haven't, but I didn't think to ask around either. I have been out of Old Toby for quite some time now. It's too expensive at the mountain." Though no longer in debt, Ranol has been habitually stingy with his money ever since.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Aye, and growing pricier by the day, it seems," says Frarin with a nod, re-pocketing his pouch of pipeweed. A match is struck and soon a little tendril of smoke, only slightly damped by the drizzle, is rising from his pipe. He lapses into silence for a time, dark eyes watching the river again and the bobbing end of his line. After awhile, he tugs at the end of his pole, skipping the line in the river along the water's bottom to attract attention from any fish swimming by.
Ranol gets his own pipe lit, then leans back against the embankment of the river, closing his eyes. He takes the occasional puff at the pipe that he holds with one hand, and the the pole is kept in a loose grip with the other. "All the more reason for you to find some so that you can sell it when we return home." The dwarf answers with a small grin. "It might prove more lucrative than silver."
[Frarin(#31050)] "Indeed it might," Frarin nods, leaning forward to tug at his pole again. "And tis usually the case, in any event. The elves of Rivendell are always interested in my silver and the gold from that is useful for buying pipeweed for a handsome resale back home. Perhaps some of the dwarves from the Blue Mountains have some for trade." He sits up again as if that reminds him of something. "Have you heard what some of our western cousins have been saying, by the way? About the Shaws?"
"No. I've not spoken with them much, yet. I've been meaning to ask after my brother." The huskarl comments, then asks, "What of the Shaws? Are the trolls growing more bothersome?"
[Frarin(#31050)] "Apparently," Frarin says with a nod. "And other loathsome creatures that live there. Some say they have been rather more active in the past months. Who can say what it means? It is like as not the same thing that afflicts the rest of the world." He pauses though as if recalling Ranol's reply. "You have a brother in the Blue Mountains? I did not know that."
The swiftly deepening gloom shows that the sun has set behind the clouds.
"Probably. I wonder what all of it means. Dark times." Ranol addresses the more serious topic first, his tone reflecting the forboding thoughts, though he still lounges with his eyes closed against the rain. He takes a slow drag at the pipe, blowing the smoke out. "Yes, Ranon. Supposedly he went off from the Iron Hills with a caravan some time ago. It was around the time we first arrived back after our trip to Bree. I haven't heard from him in a long time. My mother is very concerned, but Ranon isn't very responsible."
[Frarin(#31050)] "Hmm," Frarin replies, in the sort of museful manner he uses when he is thinking something but not saying it. "Is he your junior or elder?"
"He is the youngest. Two years younger than Panor. He .. " The huskarl hesitates, opening his eyes now to glance over at Frarin, as if weighing how interested the Barazin is, along with whether he should share. "He is only ninety-one. He lied his way onto the caravan. He told them he was older. It was around the time when my father was getting worse into things and I was gone. Ranon had been off in the Iron Mountains, apprenticing with a cousin. He told the cousin he was traveling home for a visit, but ended up joining with another group that was bound for the Blue Mountains."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin nods silently, glancing sidelong at Ranol, though it is not clear whether he catches Ranol's own glance towards him. "Aha," he says by way of reply. "Only ninety-one? Aye, I can see why you might worry. Still, I was ninety-five the first time I crossed the mountains. You should ask around some of the dwarves of the Blue Mountains, perhaps one of them has heard of him." He pauses, glancing at Ranol again, then says, "May I ask what happened to your father, by the way? You do not need to answer, I only wonder, and you've every right not to confide in me. I only wonder, since I was given to understand that he had removed to the Iron Hills."
"I'm concerned, but not worried yet. He's not foolish enough to go off on his own. I had a letter confirming that he made it to Ered Luin in one piece, but that was the last I heard and it was some time ago. I've been meaning to ask, I just haven't had the chance." Ranol answers, shrugging. "I suppose I might have today."
When the topic shifts to Ranor, the huskarl grows quiet. His blue eyes stare off at water dripping from a leaf that still clings to a tree. "He's in the Iron Hills. I haven't spoken to him since he left Erebor. My mother writes, but she doesn't mention him much. Mostly she asks about Panor and mentions Ranon from time to time. My family isn't.. very cohesive right now."
[Frarin(#31050)] Again Frarin nods without an immediate reply, staring straight ahead at the water rather than looking at Ranol. He is partly calmly attentive to Ranol, but there remains also that slight edge that has for so long stood between silversmith and huskarl. "Understandable," he finally says, if only to fill the gap. "Perhaps time will help."
"I don't think so." Ranol responds quietly. He tugs at the pole half-heartedly, then holds it still again. "How is Thari?"
[Frarin(#31050)] "Perhaps though," Frarin says quietly but gruffly again. "It helps many rifts, if not all." The edge seems to fade though once Ranol asks after Thari and Frarin glances at the huskarl, then shrugs. "Well enough, not precisely pleased to be spending another winter with the elves, but well enough at least. And continually fussing over my arm, of course," he adds with a smirk. He taps the fingers of his left hand one by one against his thumb. "I made the mistake of mentioning that I've lost the feeling in the tips of my fingers since my hand was broken. Now I can only hope she has forgotten it."
Ranol chuckles at first, nodding. "Ah, well.. I'm not thrilled with the prospect either, but at least our Ered Luin cousins are here." At the mention of his arm, though, the huskarl frowns. "That is not a good thing. Do you think it will heal?" He looks over with a concerned expression on his face.
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin shrugs, brushing off the huskarl's concern with a telling light-heartedness. And he stops fiddling with his fingers too. "Who knows? It is nearly three months now, I expect the feeling would have returned by now if it was going to. Still, the bones have knit properly, that is what matters. Besides, it is a habit of mine to break bones, it is probably better the less I feel, eh?"
Aye, that is true." Ranol says in agreement, laughing. If Frarin isn't upset about it, the huskarl isn't going to be. "Thari needs something to fuss over, otherwise she doesn't know what to do with herself." The Bundazanul observes with a small grin.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Aye indeed," Frarin nods with a half smile. "Ever true, alas. By Durin, I knew she was fond of bossing, but I did not know she was quite so adept at fussing as well." He tugs at his pole again, dragging the line along the river's currents. "So, have you only today off from your duties? I imagine Braldor has been kept quite busy, given his attachment to this valley."
"For now, aye. I suspect things will quiet down once we're settled, though. Why? I can always arrange for one of the clan-karls to tend to things if neccessary." Slowly, Ranol's diehard affliction to duty has begun to mellow out again. Now that things are better between him and Braldor after letting the news slip on the collapse in Erebor, the huskarl hasn't been walking on eggshells nearly so much.
[Frarin(#31050)] Again Frarin shrugs casually. "I am only curious, since you seem to have been less tense of late. And indeed, performing a huskarl's duties again, rather than simply standing guard." He grunts and pauses, then shakes his head. "But aye, it is likely as you say, it is simply settling in for the winter, I imagine."
"Ah.. well.. We are in far less dangerous lands. That may be part of it." Ranol comments with another grin. "It is not as if I have much to fear regarding Braldor's safety here. The elves are more than vigilant."
[Frarin(#31050)] A half smirk pulls at one corner of Frarin's mouth when Ranol replies lightly and the silversmith adopts a look of mock seriousness. "Ah, but you should be guarding him more vigilantly than ever, cousin. Haven't you heard the whispers of our fellows? How elves will stab you in the back sooner than talk with you? Or worse yet, rob you blind of a good trade with their honeyed words?" With a wry gleam in his eye, Frarin grins. "Dangerous place, this Rivendell, aye. Perhaps if we wintered in the Shaws we would mpre easily placate some of our comrades, eh?"
Ranol laughs more openly. "Well, Braldor is more than capable of defending himself against honeyed words from the elves. He has such good rapport with Rivendell, it leaves little for me to concern myself with outside of training and that is tricky enough without our weapons." The dwarf shrugs again. "I do not know. I guess there is some relief in knowing that I can relax my vigil for a time."
[Frarin(#31050)] "Indeed it is," Frarin says with a half-grin. "But who knows, if the elves are truly as concerned as the Shaws as they seem to be, perhaps you shall have practice enough with your blade." And just then there is the sound of a little plop of water and the end of Frarin's line with a tug. "Aha!" he says, standing and pulling on his pole.
"We will see, cousin." Ranol answers, grinning still. When Frarin jumps up to tend to the fish the huskarl laughs again and gives his own pole another lazy tug, relaxing back again to waste away the afternoon.
Players: Frarin, Ranol
Located in: Erebor
