(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 34

Elendor - Tuesday, January 02, 2001, 1:04 AM

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=Steward\'s Reckoning=

IC time is: Early Afternoon < About 2:46 PM >

IC day is: Menelya

IC date is: 12 Sulime

Moon phase: New

Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.

IC year is: 3022 TA

RL time: Mon Jan 01 23:15:43 2001

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Celebannon

You stand upon the western square of a small river settlement. A well packed dirt road cuts through the town and follows the river\'s path to the east. Several buildings line the square wooden cabin-like structures with thatched roofs all of fine construction and some elegance. To the north is a low circular building, built around a tall healthy oak tree. People mill about entering and exiting the structure on personal business. To the south stands a quaint structure over the doors is a sign bearing the stylized image of a wolf. Smoke makes its way lazily from a small chimney at the side of the building, and the smell of fresh food wafts from the place. In the center of the square stands a tremendous oak tree, nearly one hundred feet in height. The shadowy boughs of Mirkwood loom to the west.

In the daytime, there is much activity as traders mill about.

It is raining.

Contents:

Huan, Wolf-Hound of Dol Amroth(#29314V)

White Pavillion(#19222OeM)

Cork Board with 2 note(s).

Obvious exits:

SouthEast leads to Shipping Docks.

North leads to Trading Hall.

South leads to The Dindraug Inn .

West leads to Meadow outside Celebannon.

East leads to Mal Taurduin near Celebannon.

[Morrandir(#24549)] Celebannon. The Gondorian camp is very quiet, most of the squires in the tavern, or hiding from the rain in their tents. The campfire has gone out, though a squire sits alone by the damp ashes as though trying to draw warmth from the non-existant flames. He is soaking wet, despite the fact that he has afew bandages, and his arm in a sling which would be best kept dry.

The flap of a grey tent is opened slightly and cerulean eyes peer out at the drizzling rain as Lady Aearwen checks the weather. Sighing softly the noblewoman reaches to draw closed the flaps when a movement by the fire catches her attention. Flabbergasted, her mouth drops open and sea blue eyes snap with fire as she stomps out of the tent and into the rain, quickly grabbing her own cloak as she goes.

Quickly the distance to the smoldering campfire is covered by the quick strides of the Envoy of the Prince, her mutterings heard by the retainers that struggle to keep up with her, \"Blasted men. How do they expect to mend if they stay out in this damp chilly weather.\" Turning the heat of her ire upon the two closest to her she snaps, \"Grab some firewood and get this fire blazing at once.\"

[Sagan(#24836)] From among the mighty trees to the west a figure emerges, dripping wet and looking for all appearances like a drowned rat. Red hair peeks from beneath a dented metal cap, the curling strands stuck fast to ears and forehead by abundant water. Drops ping off of his helm, a steady staccato drumbeat, streams running down his face to gather in his soggy beard before falling to the ground. He is the Beorning woodman Sagan, this expedition\'s guide to this place. He does not seem to mind the rain.

He makes his way toward the nonexistant fire, everpresent spear in hand, drawing close just as the woman emerges from her tent and shouts her order. His footsteps halt, eyes blinking in surprise. He should be used to the way these foreign folk order each other about by now, why it continues to surprise him is one of life\'s sweet mysteries.

[Morrandir(#24549)] Morrandir looks up in suprise at the woodman\'s voice. He glances about himself astonished as two men appear with firewood and tinderboxes, and begin to relight the campfire. He stands as they bustle about the fire and turns as though to go back to his tent. However seeing the lady before him he hurridly bows. \"Good day m\'lady.\"

Catching the surprised look of the Beorning guide out of the corner of her eye, Lady Aearwen stops in mid-stride and gives him a cursory nod of her head and a smile that lights up her eyes with devilment as she says, \"Cursed men. What would they do without a woman to fuss over them?\" Laughing softly she continues on to the campfire and watches her retainers tend to the fire for a moment and then her attention is turned to the young squire.

Softly, one hand reaches to lay upon his brow as she checks for fever, pushing back hair soaked by the drizzling rain. Giving him a stern look Aearwen admonishes, \"Do you think you could at least sit beneath the tree and let the leaves offer some soft of refuge from the rain? The wounds you received cannot heal properly if they are continually soaked.\", her words are softly spoken so as to not embarass the men, as concern clearly shows upon her visage.

[Sagan(#24836)] \"Live in peace,\" comes Sagan\'s reply to the woman\'s little joke, a flippant and immediate jest of his own, accompanied by a miniscule smirk. He continues toward the newly reborn fire, ignoring the ceaseless downpour that continues to soak through his clothing.

Sitting across from Morrandir, he tilts his head back and allows the falling droplets to splatter against his face for a long moment, opening his mouth and letting several land upon his tongue. He then turns his attention to the squire and the Lady, nodding a proper greeting and planting the butt of his spear in the earth by his feet. \"A little water never hurt anyone.\"

[Morrandir(#24549)] \"Yes, m\'lady. How foolish of me...\" says Morrandir, glancing across to the tree. \"A little late now. I shall go change in a moment.\" He looks at Sagan, a frown appearing upon his brow. \"Unless you count drowning, though that could prove rather difficult in a mere rainstorm.\"

Lady Aearwen pauses in her -fussing- over the solider of Gondor and looks upon the guide with a cool gaze. Raising one brow in a most haughty manner she inquires, \"And I would assume you to be learned in the art of herb lore and not -just- a guide?\" One dimple showing in her right cheek as a smirk curves the corners of her lips. To Morrandir she says, \"Until the stitches are removed do try to keep as dry as possible. The lard in the salve will get you a modicum of protection, but I do worry about infection here in the wild.\"

[Sagan(#24836)] The woodman shoots Aearwen a dry look, watching her fuss over the other man with raised brows. He coughs to clear his throat, shaking his head. \"Herb lore? No.\" He stares at her coolly, crossing his arms over his chest. \"I wasn\'t aware one had to be a healer to be considered anything but a simple guide.\" Is that sarcasm in his tone? Ooooh, yes.

[Morrandir(#24549)] Looking haughtily away from the woodman, Morrandir sighs. \"Heathen.\" he mutters. Pointing to his eyepatch he says, \"Would that we had gained your company sooner, Lady. I do not doubt that your talents could have saved my eye.\"

The cerulean eyes of Lady Aearwen narrow to bare slits as she contemplates the guide and his words, snorting with derision she spits out, \"The art of herb lore is a time honored tradition with remedies and potions passed down from generation to generation.\" Folding her own arms across her bosom Aearwen smiles sweetly, a smile that does not warm the beauty of her eyes as she says, \"I\'ll tell you what. You attend to your job and I shall attend to mine and we shall get along famously.\", the tone of her voice clearly indicating nothing of the sort.

Sagan stands suddenly, plucking his spear from the ground and crossing the scant distance between himself and the woman. Flashing a smile-that-isn\'t to match her own, he holds the wooden shaft out to her, nodding in indication that she should take it. His free hand waves in a westerly direction, where the boughs of Mirkwood stand ominously.

\"Please, be my guest,\" he begins, his tone dripping. \"Return to my village, find someone who better fits your fancy of what your guide should be.\"

Aearwen dies laughing

Sagan is quite enjoying this. :)

Surprise flits across the brow of the noblewoman as the Beorning guide quickly covers the distance between the two. Tilting her chin defiantly, Lady Aearwen raises her eyes to his and then down to the spear in his hand. Devilment flashes upon the visage of the woman as she inquires cooly, \"And what would you have me do with that?\", distate clearly upon her lips as they curl in a most unflattering manner.

Glancing to the town and then back in the direction of Mirkwood, from whence they came she suddenly picks up the heavy folds of her gown, now sodden by the drizzling rain and gives him a mock curtsey. Bowing low before him as one hand gestures wildly as she remarks, \"By all means, I shall trek through the orc infected woods alone while the men of Gondor are in need of a leech.\" Almost hooting with sarcasm she adds, \"As I clearly stated before, you do your job. And I will do mine. And hopefully the twain will have little room to cross.\"

[Morrandir(#24549)] Morrandir looks at Sagan, with a horrified expression. Gripping the hilt of his sword with one hand, and slowly yet firmly pushing away the spear with the other he says, \"Excuse me, but where I come from it is not the custom to speak to a lady in such a manner.\" He eyes the Beorning sharply. \"Be nice.\" he adds, his words sounding more like a threat than a request.

[Sagan(#24836)] Glancing down at the hand upon his spear, Sagan rolls his eyes and laughs, snatching it away quickly. \"Where *I* come from, it is not the custom to insult those who have offered their help without any promised return.\"

His hazel gaze whips to meet the Lady Aearwen\'s, and he scowls devilishly. \"Or were you perhaps not aware that I have waived my people\'s usual toll for our assistance\" He storms back to his earlier seat, sinking down and again planting his spear-butt in the soggy earth. When he speaks again, he is not addressing either of them in particular. \"Should I go on to Thranduil\'s halls alone, aye? I don\'t have to be here with you.\"

The two Bragollach retainers step forth in protection of Lady Aearwen, hands upon the hilts of their swords as silvery grey eyes flash in anger as they gaze upon the guide. But the slender hand of the Envoy of the Prince waves them off, a gentle shaking of her head as she eyes both Sagan and Morrandir. Calmly she states, \"And from where I come from, the art of herb lore is a revered tradition that garners a certain amount of -respect-.\"

Droplets of water drip from the auburn locks of the woman as she ponders the Beorning guide, a hint of indecision upon her brow. Finally Aearwen admits, grudingly, \"I was not aware that you had waived the usual toll for your assistance.\" And then curiosity furrows her brow as she inquires, \"I would think such an undertaking would require twice the normal amount -not- one of no fee.\" Cocking her head to one side Aearwen asks simply, \"Why would you do such a thing?\" And then she adds quickly as if suddenly recalling the last words of the guide, \"Frankly, I would enjoy a visit to Thranduil\'s halls. I have not ventured into the village and would appreciate someone familiar with the town.\", her voice melodic and sweet as she offers a token of peace to the guide in the gift of a dazzling smile.

[Morrandir(#24549)] Morrandir glares at Sagan, and laughs dryly. \"No return? You have been allowed to come on a nice stroll through the forest with noble folk such as we, eat our provisions, sleep in out tents, and seemingly have the right to insult us whenever you so desire.\" After staring at the woodsman for a moment he bows to Aearwen, and says, \"I must depart now, and get out of these damp clothes. Good day to you m\'lady.\" With a final snort at Sagan he departs in a flurry of white.

Sagan has pulled a small bundle from beneath his cloak, a tightly wrapped package of brown cloth. Paying no mind to the others, he unwraps it, revealing several of the Beornings\' renowned golden honeycakes. Cramming one into his mouth and chomping on it, he glances up as the squire speaks, ignorant of the crumbs that have fallen to stick in his rain-soaked beard. His face red, he opens his mouth to speak, sending yet more of the cake to fall free. He simply scowls at the man instead, continuing to chew.

Then the woman speaks, and his eyes move to her. \"Why wou--\" He swallows his mouthful, then starts again. \"Why would I do such a thing? Not that it\'s your concern, but I had reason to return to the wood-elves. Your wish to come here simply happened to fall at a good time.\"

And then he laughs, shaking his head. \"Thranduil\'s halls are not in this village. This is Celebannon. I do not even know if the elves will let you near the hill.\"

He stands, grabbing up his spear and heading once more into the shadowed woods. His packet of honeycakes, however, has been left behind. Is it a peace offering? Maybe. Or perhaps he simply forgot them.

spear and heading once more into the shadowed woods. His packet of honeycakes, however, has been left behind. Is it a peace offering? Maybe. Or perhaps he simply forgot them.