(Archive) The Strange Adventures of Numandil, Naerdil, and Huan 12

Elendor - Saturday, July 15, 2000, 5:03 PM

Real time is: Sat Jul 15 14:50:11 2000

Elendor time is: Mid Afternoon on Hevensday of Autumn - October 25, 3020

Approach to Esgaroth

The rolling farmlands of Dale extend to the north and south on either side of the Esgaroth Road, however dominating the the view to the east are the rolling waters of the long lake, and the town of Esgaroth which sits upon it. Spanning the distance from the shore to the thriving town on the lake is a large bridge of wood, flanked by a pair of guardhouses. Banners fly streaming from the bridgeposts in the wind off of the lake. The bridge is busy, and the sounds and sights of life in the small city are apparent acrossed the short span of water.

Contents:

Dwarven Travel Camp

Badger aka Gweneth

Naerdil aka Aearwen

[Badger(#17328)] A thing cloud of dust hangs low over the road approaching Esgaroth, kicked up by feet and hooves alike as the road\'s traffic seems to find a sort of apex under the afternoon sun. Mixed with warm, Autumn temperture, makes air is thick and heavy as people move to and from the pair of camps or on to Laketown itself. The one camp, a larger caravan that has been here for a few weeks now is filled with activity, human traders loading goods that have been sold or will be soon. The other camp, a smaller travel camp, is guarded by armoured dwarves. Not nearly as active, the few dwarves that do move in the camp, seem to be leaving it, heading towards town. In between, tucked away from the road, a trio of large tents, fashioned from hides, sit. A small fire burns at their center, otherwise, there is no sign of life. A few dozen yards from the camp, a bulky figure stands, examining to newer Dwarven camp. His clothes are similar in material to the tents, his skin darker than any of the other traders, and the axe hung in his belt as wicked as any carried by the dwarves.

A raven haired man sits on his haunches occupied with what looks to be several leaves and wild berries. Long slender fingers smooth the leaves onto a long white cloth oblivious to the activity around the encampment. Holding one leaf up to the light he discards it after noticing there are several darkened places upon its stem, clearly indicating a form of disease. A mug of ale rests by the feet of Naerdil and before long the drink is lifted to his lips and a long draught of the cool ale bought from the Dwarven traders is taken. Silvery orbs glance around the camp watching the activity of these strangers to the North as he again takes another sip of his drink.

Ever curious is the man from House Nimothan as his eyes fall upon an odd shaped tent covered by hides. Trying not to start at the bulky figure standing there he glances away and then back to this huge man. Never one to let a situation pass without learning more he stands and wipes errant bits of leaves and grass from his leather breeches and nods his head at the man, a reserved expression upon his face as he takes no steps in the direction of the tent.

[Badger(#17328)] The tan skinned man does not take notice of Naerdil or his camp, his attention seemingly focus on the Dwarves. With Naerdil\'s nod at the man, he turns his head towards him, his face expressionless as he crosses his arms, his right ending in a grusome looking stump, and returns the nod. His eyes run over Naerdil, sizing him up, at over his work, before he gaze falls back to the dwarves, sparing a look towards Naerdil from time to time.

The expression upon the countenance of Naerdil is an odd mixture of repulsion and interest as he bends down and carefully folds up the long white cloth. Gently folding it several times so as not to crush the tender leaves inside. Once done he walks towards the grey tent located to the edge of the camp and places the cloth inside a saddlebag resting by the flap. Grey eyes cut to the tall bald man from time to time, each time his eyes meet those of the man he nods his head, still a guarded expression upon his face. The keg of ale bought from the Dwarven traders rests to the right of the flap and Naerdil turns the tap and releases a flow of the dark, frothy brew into his cup as he again catches the eyes of the man.

[Badger(#17328)] After Naerdil pours his drink and catches the eye of the man again, the warrior lets out a deep belly laugh. He continues to laugh for but a few minutes, quite obviously at Naerdil, then he seems to calm down and shakes his head, still a wide grin on his face as he glances back towards the dwarves.

Puzzled by the deep belly laugh of the warrior, Naerdil shrugs broad shoulders and goes about the task of packing the items inside the tent for the journey into Erebor. Whistling between his teeth as he goes in and out of the tent flaps first a tied bedroll is brought forth and placed upon the ground, followed by what appears to be changes of clothing, quickly those are stuffed into the leather saddlebag. Working for quite some time the man obviously breaks a sweat as one white sleeved arm goes up to wipe the sweat upon his brow. Walking the few steps to a tree stump he crosses one shiny booted foot upon his knee and pulls a journal from the deep pocket of his cloak. A whisper of a smile turns up the corner of his lips as he pulls a stick of charcoal from within his pocket and begins to sketch. Silvery orbs rove over the camp, oft resting on the beauty of the near by lake, but his eyes focus on the tall warrior as the scratching of charcoal sounds.

[Badger(#17328)] The attention of the warrior turns fully on Naerdil now as he moves. An amused look always resting on his face, as Naerdil goes about his work. From time to time, he chuckles again all the while watching Naerdil. Finally Naerdil begins to sketch, seeming to draw the warrior himself. With that, the warriors amusement breaks, his grin replaced by a grim, emotionless stare.

Seemingly unaware of the expression upon the face of the warrior, Naerdil continues on with his sketching. Several people from the Beorning camp walk to where he sits and admires the drawing that is quickly coming to live as he shades in the tent. Well versed with the man\'s love of his journal and logging his travels one of the woman asks, \"Can I see the drawing of the Great Bear again?\" Laughing aloud Naerdil says good naturedly, \"Allow me to finish this piece and I shall glady show you any sketch in my journal.\" A nostalgic look crosses his face for a moment as he continues, \"My uncle insisted that every event of this journal be recorded so those in the Stone City may know of our travels.\"

[Badger(#17328)] The warriors left hand reaches down his side, slowly wrapping his fingers on the shaft of the axe, just below the double blades. He lifts it from the leather loop on his belt, all the while looking at Naerdil. He rests the curve of one of the blades ontop his arm with the severed hand and grips the handle tightly with his left. The slowly he turns and begins to stomp off towards the three Yurts.

A frown draws thick black brows in a furrow as Naerdil watches the warrior draw his weapon, silvery grey eyes looking from the blade atop his arm up into the eyes of the man with calm reserve. Silence fills those standing around Naerdil as his fingers still in their drawing and all are aware of the threatening stance of the man. A sigh of relief escapes the lips of the man from House Nimothan as the tall warrior turns and heads towards the three Yurts. Dusting the excess charcoal from the page of his journal Naerdil holds it aloft to take a good look at the drawing and then smiles to himself as he again places the journal into the deep well of his pocket. Brushing dusty fingers on leather breeches he says aloud, \"Anyone care for a drink of the best Dwarven ale around?\" And with that a group head to the grey tent and the sharing of a drink.

lookaway Badger

Badger\'s bald head stands a hand shorter than six feet. A large scar runs down the crest of his head from a battle that appears to almost to have been his last. His skin is deeply tanned to a dark brown. He sports a salt and pepper colored gotee cropped short to his face, long enough to not be called stubble. He wears several rings of gold in his left ear. His right ear has a large gash in its middle, the flesh having been torn away sometime earlier. His head is tattooed down past his neck and disappears under his tunic. The tattoos are simple dots and lines, making his head look streamlined. His build is bulky and large, his stomach while trim for one his age, still protrudes a bit from his chest. His right arm ends in a stump where his hand should be. He keeps it hidden from view, tying the cuff of his shirt up usually. He wears a thick leather hide vest, a simple cotton shirt underneath. His pants match his shirt, gray in color and loose from his body, easily sized enough to billow in the wind. They are held up by a great black belt of leather. In this belt hangs a large scimitar. The blade is encased in a simple leather scabbard. On the other side of the belt, a large dagger lays sheathed at his waist. Hanging off the dagger\'s sheath, a braid of hair is wrapped and tied around it. Hanging on his back is the great shaft of his battle axe. Two crescent moon shaped axe blades top the shaft. Both smooth and sharpened, but with scratches and nicks showing long years of wear. His legs are large and solid to hold the bulk of the rest of his body and gear. Dirty, black boots finish his gear. Old and ratty, they appear to fit his huge feat perfectly.