Mutual complaints

Bain\'s Ring at the Promenade

The wide promenade continues from the west, where it meets the great Dale Archway, on east straight to the King\'s Garth and the heart of the city of Dale. Three permanent establishments have been raised along this stretch of the promenade, with brilliant fabrics of every color decorating the windows of the clothier, the sweet scent of fermented grapes flaoting to the streets from the wine shop, and flickering lights shining both day and night from the candleshop. But not only those three call this stretch their ground. Hawkers wander through the crowds calling out their wares, and beggars follow along not far behind in hopes of gaining a bit of spare coin from generous passersby. A plethora of smells ranging from horses to fruits to smoke and leather mingles with the buzz of gossip, discussion, and haggling that hangs in the air of the promenade.

Obvious exits:

Light Shop leads to House of Light.

Bain\'s Bridge leads to Bain\'s Ring near the Terraces.

Toward the Arch leads to The Great Archway of Dale.

South leads to Bain\'s Ring at the Markets.

Southeast leads to Bard\'s Ring at the Promenade.

=-=-=-= Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Real Time: Sun Aug 09 17:10:25 2009 MST

Dale-Lands Time:

Hevensday, morning on a clear summer\'s day, August 23 of 3047

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service =-=-=-=

It is mid-morning on a hot, sweaty summer\'s day, and the market of Dale is in full swing. Merchants hawk their wares, light craftsmen such as cobblers ply their trade, and the air is filled with a cacophony of shouting and banging. The nose, too, is assailed on entering the marketplace - the scents of leather and new-sawn wood, fresh warm bread and crisp roast meat do not quite mask the aroma of sweating bodies, nor do the perfumes worn by some of Dale\'s more well-heeled citizens. Here and there swift shadows flit amidst the crowd, picking up a discarded morsel or liberating an overfull purse.

The noise of the market all but drowns out the clip-clop of hooves as a cart and pony comes along the road. Its drivers, a trio of red-clad dwarves, seem to be in animated conversation about something - something that does not sit well with one of them, a stocky gnarled fellow with a matted black beard. \"What?!\" he roars to his companions in seeming outrage.

It is at this point that the cart draws to a halt, foiled in its onward journey by the press of (mostly human) bodies. Scowling, and tugging at his beard, the speaker, Broddur, jumps down, the reins still in his hand.

[Mobeorn(#22365)]

\"Trouble, Master Dwarf?\" A voice booms down from above. Mobeorn is at the side of the road, leaning on a pile of lumber and chewing on a piece of grass in his mouth as if he has nothing better to do in this world than to watch the hurried comings and goings of humans and dwarves alike. Broddur\'s plight draws a faint smile to his lips.

Broddur, it seems, is not best pleased with life. He tries to guide the pony through the busy marketplace, but his height puts him at a disadvantage, to say the least. He has limped only a few steps when he finds his way blocked by an immensely fat woman with a load of laundry. Irritably he yanks the reins sideways, and the pony lets out a whicker of protest, stopping dead. \"I said this way, you great lazy lump of a -\"

The words fade as the booming voice reaches his ears, and Broddur tilts his head back to view its owner. \"Oh, it\'s you,\" he says ungraciously, the dour expression on his face not lessening one bit. \"Wanting a word with one of your folk, I am. Been hearing things ...\"

[Mobeorn(#22365)]

\"Whoah!\" Mobeorn\'s voice is suddenly loud and angry as he steps forward to try to grab the reins out of Broddur\'s hands.\"You treat that pony like that again and I\'ll saddle you to a cart and see how _you_ like it!\" he growls ominously. \"Your pony\'s not so stupid to walk himself right into a woman carrying laundry or a barrel being rolled down the road that might break its legs. And if you had half as much sense in your head, you\'d listen to the poor thing instead of treating it like your personal slave!\"

\"Now...\" He draws an angry breath. \"What\'s this about the Beornings?\"

Mobeorn has the element of surprise, not to the elements of height and reach. Broddur\'s bushy brows shoot up, and he stares, almost mesmerized, as the reins leave his hand. \"Now, now, Master Beorning,\" he screws up his features into an expression that\'s perhaps meant to be placating, \"there\'s nowt need for such accusations. Who do think gave the beast fresh oats just before we left? Who pays for a stableful of hay at days end? I tell you, yon beast has it easy compared to some.\"

His defensive manner drops away and he sticks his thumbs in his belt as he addresses the other topic. \"Now about those tolls ...\" He pauses to draw breath, then continues in a near-growl, loud enough that a few folk nearby turn to stop and stare. \"It\'s an insult! An outrage! If I hadn\'t been up visiting clan-kin beneath the Mountain, I tell you I\'d have had a thing or two to say. What do you think it will do do trade?\"

The pony, meanwhile, stands stock-still under the change of handler, and snorts softly over at Mobeorn. Perhaps it is indeed holding some form of equine conversation.

[Mobeorn(#22365)]

Mobeorn puts out a surprisingly gentle hand to scratch behind the pony\'s ears, the beijabar nodding to the animal\'s snorts. \"Tear at her mouth again with the bit like that and I will personally see to it that you have no teeth left to chew with--do you hear me, Master Dwarf? If your pony isn\'t doing what you tell her to, it\'s for good reason.\" His words are said quietly enough, but there\'s a low threat to them.

That said, he turns to the buisness at hand, listening--and then breaking into a loud laugh. \'The High Pass tolls? You\'re complaining about the High Pass tolls now--as if they\'re a new thing?\"

Broddur scowls, but this time he does not make protest to Mobeorn\'s statements regarding the pony, though his hands, still at his sides with the thumbs through his belt, ball into fists. Perhaps he still remembers a certain .. incident at the High Pass.

The Beorning\'s laughter brings forth a grunt of protest. \"I may be half-lame, but I\'m not deaf, Master Beorning. Heard the Beornings was dropping the toll for dwarves of Dain\'s folk. Which is all nice and dandy for /them/, of course. But what about the folk of the Blue Mountains? Our caravans make the journey just as often. My folks have a right to the same treatment as they!\"

The pony, of course, leans against Mobeorn\'s hand, and no doubt if beasts can talk the little whuffs of breath speak of the injustice of dwarves rather than just the stifling heat of the town.

[Mobeorn(#22365)]

\"Oh...THAT!\" Mobeorn laughs even louder. \"Well, yes...if your folk want to rebuild an entire stone fortress for us or the equivalent thereof, since Dain\'s folk are doing such--then we\'ll consider dropping the toll for you, too, yes?\" He grins toothily at the dwarf. He glances to the pony--his gaze dark--and then back to dwarf, his good humor gone. \"I warn you, Master Broddur--do not toy with me in the mood that I am in. I\'ve had an earful from your pony here about how you treat it, and I am in no mood to hear your whining or anger.\"

\"And I\'m in no mood for your threats, /Master/ Beorning!\" Broddur is clearly losing patience. Almost, one can see the steam rising from his ears. \"Meet me in the training ground, and we\'ll see who toys with who.\" The miner does not lack for courage, one has to give him that. Just common sense ...

\"As for work - who d\'you think\'s been supplying the iron ore for tools lately? Not much of /that/ left beneath the Mountain these days, you know. Who d\'you think will be sent west when there\'s need of more? Not to mention who\'ll be digging the ditches and shouldering arms when it comes to a fight. There\'d best be equal treatment, mind - or my folk will rethink their assistance in the project.\" Ahh, so the Ered-Luin dwarves /had/ been planning to get involved ...

At this point, Broddur runs out of words. Taking advantage of a head-toss from the pony as a fly buzzes between its ears, he twitches the reins away from Mobeorn and stomps off through a gap in the crowd, muttering, \"Come on, Fancy. Stables are /this/ way.\"

With a last whicker, the pony follows.

[Mobeorn(#22365)]

Left standing without the reins, Mobeorn snorts. \"Training grounds it is then, sir. And if you want a break on the tolls, then work it out with King Dain--what your proportion of the work is. This is a Dwarven matter, not a Beorning one.\"