(Archive) The Strange Adventures of Numandil, Naerdil, and Huan 8

Elendor - Sunday, April 16, 2000, 10:53 PM

Tavern

The common room is a circular room with a large radius. Located in the center of the wooden circle is a large fire pit, burning and spitting up smoke and ashes of wood. Directly above the fire is a large smoke hole to which the rest of the ceiling slopes towards. The wood around the smoke hole is blacked with the smoke. The stout tables stand ready to hold the repast of large men, for large are the Northmen who live in this village the stools and long benches are constructed of thick hardwood, and can hold even the largest of their number aright.

The common room is populated with men and women taking a few moments off their feet during the day light floods in through the open windows of the common room, warming everything in a bright basking glow.

Contents:

Sloane

Geoff

Numandil aka Indilzar

Naerdil aka Aearwen

Tinidril

Woody

Obvious exits:

Dining Room leads to Dining Room.

Out leads to Great Bear Inn - Entrance Hall.

[Sloane(#27017)] The door opens again, and a dripping form enters, muttering sourly. Casting off his wet hood, said action sending droplets flying in all directions, the figure resolves to be Sloane, the brewer\'s apprentice. He looks around, his gaze traversing the entire span of the large room, stopping on the scribbling figure in the back corner. Curious, he makes his way towards Woody, the bartender. \"Who is that,\" he asks softly, small puddles of rainwater forming at his feet and seeping through the wooden floor down to the mud below.

[Numandil(#10108)] Woody then leans over and says softly to Sloane, \"That is one of the strangers. Numandil they call him. A man from the South.\"

[Tinidril(#27663)] Tinidril makes her move. Without a trace of her former hesitation she heads towards one of the tables and sits, letting her hood srop from her face.

[Numandil(#10108)] Hearing his name spoken, Numandil looks up swiftly. His keen grey eyes fall on Sloane. He motions for him to join him.

[Tavern(#9729)] Tinidril sits at the Round table.

[Tinidril(#27663)] Rubbing her hands to get the chill out of them, Tinidril once more glances about the room. Her survey takes in the usual tavern crowd, several rough-looking men, and a peculiar stranger in the corner, writing.

[Sloane(#27017)] Looking curiously at the seated man, Sloane barely hears Woody\'s response. Suddenly, the stranger turns and looks directly at him. Shockingly, he makes a gesture suggesting the apprentice approach him. Sloane turns to his friend, the barkeep, only to find the other serving the girl who was just sat down at the big round table in the center of the room. With a slight shrug, he turns back towards the stranger, and makes his way slowly, until he stands before the seated figure. \"Well met,\" he says, not sure what to call the man. \"Or ill met, considering the rain,\" he notes, looking at his soaked clothes.

Tinidril looks up at the bartender before her, wondering what he could possibly want from her. Quick thought computayion points out the obvious:her order, please.

Seated at the table with Numandil is his young nephew, twenty and one years, on his first trip outside of Gondor. Naerdil, the younger Nimothan picks up his mug of ale and takes a long drink. Setting the mug back on the table he glances around the room at those present and politely nods his head, curiosity ever present as he scratches a few more lines in his well worn journal. Quickly do his eyes cut away from the serving girl and a look of embarassment flushes his cheeks as she gives him a saucy smile.

[Numandil(#10108)] Rising the Man of Gondor looks grimly at Sloane and says, \"Yea, verily you speak aright.\" Thus with a shrug of the shoulders he casts off his own cloak and hands it to the man, \"Take ye mine, for no man should go cold even by chill Anduin.\" Then the Man bows, crossing his arms over his chest and says, \"I am called Numandil, son of Nodroth of Gondor. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking.\" He then motions to the younger man beside him, \"And this is Naerdil, my brother\'s son.\"

[Geoff(#29825)] Geoff wanting to relax now out of the rain, motions for the bartender woody to his table. He order a glass of hard liqure. He then leans back in his seat and kicks his soaked boots onto the chair across from him. His eyes fall apon a group of men talking in the back of the room. He could not hear what they were saying, but his lip reading was good. He made it not so obvious that he was watching by shifting his head and reading lips out of the corner of his eye.

Tinidril also motions the batender over. She speaks hesitantly, shyly, \"W-would you have anything hot, by any chance. It was very cold outdoors.\"

[Grimbeorn(#13677)] The doorway parts, another in the many in\'s and out\'s of patrons. This time though it is opened wide to let the girth of the entrant. Grimbeorn the Old, he ducks his head to pass through the portal, and then strolls right into the centre of the Tavern, \"Hullo!\" He roars as he strides in amoungst the folk of the Anduin and others.

Shaking his hairy mass of a beard the Laird pauses a moment, \"Rain..\" He grumbles, \"Oh well, can\'t be helped, the great bear must too need a bath!\" He muses then weaves his way towards the bar with a broad smmile piercing that long beard.

[Sloane(#27017)] With a smile, Sloane shakes his head. \"Nay, friend, though I thank you for your offer. But none should walk in the rain without some kind of protection, not me and not you. I, however, reside closer than you, and it is not that bad a walk. Besides,\" he adds with a smile, \"Rain makes us grow bigger. As water added to a plant makes it grow and bloom, so does rain make us grow bigger and stronger.\" He pulls out a chair from the table, and seats himself on it.

The serving girl who was eyed by Naerdil rushes over quickly, setting several mugs of ale before them, then tarries at the table looking over the younger lad quizzically, her lips curved into a naughty smile. With a chuckle, Sloane takes one of the tankards. \"But let us drink to warmer nights instead, spent around a nice fire with some good drink and nice company. Whither again are you from? Gondor? I have heard of that land, but no little about it. Will you tell me more about your homeland, whilst we drink?\" He raises the tankard, waiting for the other.

[Tinidril(#27663)] Tinidril once more glances at the growing knot of men in the back. What could they possibly be dicussing. She deliberately turns back her attention to her own table and slyly listens the hardest she can.

[Numandil(#10108)] Turning at the sound, the Man of Gondor looks to Grimbeorn. He inclines his head and bows, \"Hail Grimbeorn of the Anduin and well met! By your words and the humour therein I can safely say that baths should be a cherished thing. In my land there are great baths in the City of Guard were the people go at whiles to refresh themselves. Yet in this land the Great River must suffice. What can be better.\"

Then turning to Sloane he says, \"It is of no matter, for I am staying in this Inn with my nephew.\" He then considers his other question, \"I shall tell you of Gondor if you wish, but in return, I would learn all I may of your folk. Is this a fair deal?\"

[Tinidril(#27663)] The serving girl comes with a mug of something hot and spicy for Tinidril. She does not tarry at this table, however, because there are no manly good looks to detain her.

Raven locks fall across the forehead of Naerdil as he works in his journal, fingers dark with the charcoal of his pencil as he sketches the Tavern and occupants. A look of concentration is broken by the sound of his Uncle\'s voice and he flashes a smile, pearly white teeth glistening. Turning as the giant of a man strides into the room his eyes widen as if the height of the man had been perhaps forgotten since their original meeting.

Naerdil drops his head, raven hair brushing across his brows as the serving girl comes forth and replenishes their drinks. A tinge of colour shades his cheeks as he realizes her look is upon him. Flushing a deeper red, the colour clearly sliding further down his neck, he looks to the woman and then to Sloane and then back to the woman again, adam\'s apple bobbing in his throat as he finally says, \"Thank you for the drinks fair lady.\" A kick of his boot under the table from his Uncle quickly brings the boy up straight in his chair and he says to Sloane, \"Yes! We would love to tell you more about our homeland.\", a warm smile curves his lips as he asks, \"If you will promise to return the favour. Tis such a privilege to learn the customs and habits of our neighbors to the North.\"

[Grimbeorn(#13677)] \"Land of Stone..\" Grimbeorns say, not overly loud as he ponders the sight of man made baths. \"Hail to you Southman!..\" He growls in his deep baritone voice. He then starts to scan the faces of the crowd, spying some he knows, which is most in his vale, and the few he does not. \"O\' Sloane..\" comes a gruff offer of welcome. He then nods his head to Naerdil.

[Tinidril(#27663)] Tinidril has noticed the tall, furry giant. This must be the legendary Grimbeorn she has heard so much about. She shivers involuntarily at the sheer size of him, then stops herself. He looks friendly enough.

[Sloane(#27017)] With a loud chuckle, Sloane sends the ale down his throat, gulping the drink greedily. Finishing the tankard, he motions to the girl for another one, then turns his attention back to the foreigners. \"Aye, a fair deal it would be could I tell you the stories of our people, but there is one here that knows more than I could ever know. For stories of our lives and kin, ask the loremaster and the son of Beorn himself, for he seems in a jovial mood on this wet evening.. hopefully more so once he samples the latest batch from the brewery.\" His eyes darken for an instant, and his smile fades.

A slight sigh escapes from his frame. Lost in his own mind for the moment, he fails to hear Grimbeorn. Just as suddenly, though, he snaps out of his reverie. \"But come, let us hear of your journeys and your homeland,\" he calls, loudly enough for the inn to hear. In the case that anyone had missed his call, he turns towards the back. \"Come friends, let us hear the stories of these wanderers, and let us return their courtesy in storytelling with ours in listening.\" He smiles to Grimbeorn. \"Come, Great Laird, join us, but bring your own ale... and drip not on me from your great, wet beard,\" he adds with a grin.

[Numandil(#10108)] Smiling, Numandil says, \"By your leave then, I shall tell you my tale. Though I imagine it will be of scant wonder to those who live on the border of the dread of Mirkwood.\"

[Numandil(#10108)] \"A long time ago, in a land far, far away,\" begins Numandil...

[Tinidril(#27663)] Tinidril sighs. She is too shy to join the group of men at the back. It would be presumptuous, with her being a stranger in these lands. Still, it is so wet and murky outdoors! She had better ask the barkeep about staying at the inn. He would know.

Tinidril walks up to the bar, and leans heavily on it to take the weight off her cold little feet. \"Excuse me, \" she says to the bartender\'s back, \"I was wondering about the inn...?\"

[Numandil(#10108)] \"A people were forced into exile from the mighty land of Numenor,\" continues Numandil. \"Coming from over the sea they founded two realms. One in the north, that was called Arnor, and the other in the South that was called Gondor. Arnor is now no more, but Gondor lives on, barely. There the Men of the West built mighty cities, and the greatest of these was called Osgiliath, whither the Kings held their court. Yet Osgiliath is no more. And the King is lost. Now we are ruled by Stewards. Our current Lord is called Denethor, and his father was Ecthelion.\"

Numandil sighs, \"From his tower in Minas Tirith he governs the land of Gondor and defends it from the great Enemy of the World, who we will not name. Not much is there to tell in tales, save some few of the wars of Men in the South, or the deeds of valour of princes of reknown, or the quests for what strength we can find. That is how I have come here. For I am the Lord of the House Nimothan, and that signifies the White Ram in the speech of Old.\"

Taking a long sip of wine, Numandil continues, \"War now presses heavily on our land, and my Lord had chosen my companion and I to journey into the North and see if there was any strength that might come to Gondor in her need. Yet already I see that my quest is in vain, for war already marches on the borders of your own land. For long days my nephew and I have marches hither, following the course of the Anduin. We explored rivers, and the Forest of Fangorn where the trees are strange. Indeed, we even met some of the dwellers of the Golden Wood. Yet even as we come here, not even a tithe of our journey is over, for we go to Erebor, where it is said that Dwarves yet dwell. So we have come to the point where we wish to record the customs and ways of the people of the Anduin, in the hope, as little as might be thought, that what we impart to Denethor, may be useful in our struggle against the east.\"

[Sloane(#27017)] Rising swiftly and suddenly, his face once again a grim mask, Sloane stands and interrupts the story-teller. \"Forgive me, but I must leave. I bid you sleep well, friends, and well met. I hope I shall see you on the morrow, but for now I must away.\" He turns, and makes his way out of the tavern.

Nodding his head to Grimbeorn, the young noble man from Gondor waves his hand in the direction of the table at which he is seated and asks, \"Would you care to join us in another round of ale?\" A self-conscious look creeps over his face as he admits, \"After talking to Dalbeorn about the ways of your people, I am fascinated to hear more.\" A shrug of his shoulder is given as he asks, \"Have you been to the Stone City or just heard of it from passing travelers?\"

Silvery grey orbs return to Sloane as he sits there awaiting a tale of Gondor and Naerdil turns to his Uncle with question, awaiting more than his few opening words. Patiently his eyes rest on his kinsman, a smile of fondness curving the corners of his lips as he turns to Sloane and whispers, \"Do be sure and ask him about...\", stopping as the steady, confident voice of his Numandil continues with his tale of Gondor. Crossing his hands on the table, his head nods in agreement of the things said...a small laugh sounds at the mention of Fangorn. When Numandil finishes speaking he says softly, \"Very well said Uncle. Very well said. Your words never fail to impress me.\"

[Numandil(#10108)] \"Thank you my young hellcat nephew,\" says Numandil, \"Yet now you must excuse me. I must see to Huan.\" He rises from his seat and takes a moment to bow to Grimbeorn, \"By your leave?\"

[Grimbeorn(#13677)] \"We have many people pass through..\" Grimbeorn replies as he walks, already taking up Sloanes offer he sits at the table alongside him and opposite Numandil. \"Of course..\" He offers the man

[Tinidril(#27663)] At the bar, Tinidril has somehow managed to get a room for the night. She slowly walks back to her table to finish her now lukewarm drink. She is still listening to the men, of course. Draining the last bit of her drink, Tinidril rises to her feet, and prepares to leave. Casting one last glance at the men in the corner, she heads out the tavern door and into the inn, hoping her sleep will be restful.