Where\'s Lord Bifur?

[Frarin(#31050)] It is evening and rain spills in great gasps from the sky, a cold rain, made bitter by the later November weather. All around the two dwarven camps by the river there are glimmers of firepits and lanterns and the soft rumble of dwarven voices. Some laugh, some grumble, some even lift in homely songs.

Under a taut canopy beginning to sag with rain water sits a dwarf in a grey cloak and straggly beard. Frarin holds a pipe between his teeth and in his hands, a small silver cup, of the sort used for drinking brandy. Over it he runs a smudged cloth slick with polish.

[Brandebras(#25187)] From the depths of the Ered-Luin camp, a solitary figure emerges. No songs come from Broddur son of Brandur - he simply trudges along, head down and hood (which may once have been brightly coloured, but now has been dulled by the rain to an indeterminate grey-brown) up. And as he walks, he mutters, around the unlit pipe stuck in his mouth. \"Bloody rain. Bloody elves. Bloody wet pipewee. Bloody - ARGH!\" This last curse comes as he stumbles over an unfortunately placed guy rope and goes sprawling full-length in the mud, sliding almost to Frarin\'s feet.

Another of the stout khazad walks along, Ranon son of Ranor. He\'s another member of the Ered-Luin group. The dwarf has a sturdy build with green eyes and tan skin. His thick black hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, with some shorter bangs framing his face and hanging in his eyes. He has a black beard to match, neatly combed and silky smooth. His garb is a rich green shirt to match his eyes tucked into brown breeches, with a leather belt. He has a black hooded traveling cloak and a battle axe strapped across his back.

When Ranon sees Broddur trip, he moves up to give the other dwarf a hand. \"You had that coming, cousin.\" He says with a laugh.

[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin is intent upon his work, but when a figure suddenly flops in front of him and throws mud at the cup he is polishing, not to mention himself, he jerks back in surprise and looks up. \"Whoa,\" says the silversmith, instictively pulling back. He quickly sets aside his cups and polishing rag and reaches down to hook a hand under Broddur\'s arm. \"Mind yourself, cousin,\" he says gruffly. \"Up y\'come then.\"

[Brandebras(#25187)] Broddur grunts and starts to haul himself laboriously back to his feet, using Frarin\'s arm as a ladder (and sharing a little more mud, for good measure). \"How so?\" he mumbles, the words directed in Ranon\'s direction, the scowl on his craggy features only deepening at the sight of the other\'s immaculate looks. \"It\'s all the fault of whichever daft fool set that rope in the first place - oh, and those bloody elves. Think they arranged for this weather a-purpose? Now, where\'s that dratted pipe got to?\"

\"You be griping like that and the elves probably magicked that rope in your path.\" Ranon says with a laugh, looking around the ground. \"Ah, there it is!\" He says, reaching down to grab up the pipe for the other dwarf, offering it over. His green eyes wander to Frarin then, chuckling. \"I don\'t think the daft fool that put the rope there much appreciates your opinion, either.\"

[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin looks between Broddur and Ranon with raised brows. His gaze lingers on Ranon a second longer, but overall, he simply looks mildly amused. \"Oh indeed, you are mistaken, cousin,\" he says finally, glancing under his brows at Ranon. \"It is my pleasure to make innocent dwarves trip in the mud on rainy nights.\" He rises then and goes to the wagon behind him to which the canopy has been tied against. He retrieves a fresh rag, which he shoves at Broddur without ceremony. \"Sit down, wipe off some of that mud before you venture back out into more mud, if you will.\"

[Brandebras(#25187)] \"Wouldn\'t put it past \'em,\" Broddur mutters darkly, wiping muddy hands on his wet trousers and distributing the dir further. \"Ah ... thank you, /cousin/.\" The politer Ranon\'s responses and the broader his smile, the more surly the taciturn Broddur seems to become - he does reach to take the pipe, though, with one grimy hand.

When Frarin responds with aid instead of the expected return insults, he looks a little put out, but then shrugs and mutters, with what is for him a major effort toward courtesy, \"Might as well clean the worst of it off. You\'re with \'em as came from the Lonely Mountain, right?\"

\"Aah, you see? He even fetched a towel for you. That is Erebor hospitality for you. Not that Ered Luin isn\'t hospitable, but.. well, it\'s different.\" Ranon says with a grin, and the younger dwarf moves to help himself to a seat under Frarin\'s canopy. \"What news from the mountain, cousin?\" He asks cheerfully.

[Frarin(#31050)] \"That I am,\" Frarin responds with a gruff nod. \"Frarin, son of Forli, at your service.\" He does not rise again to bow then, only giving Broddur and then Ranon a brief nod. He takes a pull from his own pipe, sending smoke circling lazily about his person.

\"The mountain? A thousand things, we could speak all night. Quakes and whispers of war and every manner of drama. What brings the Blue Mountain dwarves this far east, mm?\"

Frarin has partially disconnected.

[Brandebras(#25187)] \"And Broddur son of Brandur at yours.\" The Ered-Luin dwarf gives the customary bow before he plonks himself down amidst Flarin\'s wares, and begins brushing ineffectually at his mud-stained front.

At Ranon\'s first words Broddur grunts, seeing the world aligned (or at least all two Dwarves who are its current representatives) against him. \"That\'s because - uh, nothing.\" The words trail off into sullen silence - why does making friends with the neighbours have to be so much /effort/? But then Ranon saves him the trouble of asking any questions, and he glances at the young metalworker with much less of a scowl - almost respect - before leaning forward eagerly to catch Flarin\'s answer.

Which is, of course, tantalizing. \"I\'d like to hear more of it,\" he murmurs, almost forgetting to sound grumpy. \"Specially the war. Could do with a bit of action. Oh, we\'re here for this and that. Trade, mostly.\" He pauses, then tries to sound casual. \"You don\'t happen to know where old Bifur got to? Last we heard he was headed your way.\"

\"Ranon, of clan Bundazanul.\" The traveler says, \"Well met, Frarin.\" He smoothes a hand through his wet beard, his green eyes widening at the talk of Erebor. \"A quake? War? Do share, cousin. We travel this way on trade, pilgrimmage, adventure. It depends who ye be askin. Some be seeking Lord Bifur, as Broddur says.\" He shrugs, then reaches under his cloak to pull out a pouch of leaf and his own pipe. \"Care for a spot of Longbottom Leaf? Straight from the Shire.\"

The swiftly brightening sky shows that the sun has risen behind the clouds.

[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin again nods to each of the Blue Mountain dwarves when they introduce themselves, but his brows rise in recognition at Ranon\'s greeting. \"Ranon, say you?\" he says. \"That would be son of Ranor, I imagine. And brother of Ranol. Well well.\" He leans back, crossing his arms and puffing on his pipe, appraising Ranon now with a narrowed stare.

Only Broddur\'s inquiry after Bifur brings Frarin looking back to their conversation and this time the silversmith\'s expression grows grim. He ignores Ranon\'s offer of Longbottom Leaf. \"I have just had news of him today. Or rather, a lack of news. Lord Bifur...has been absent from the Lonely Mountain for almost a year now. He was meant to return to the Blue Mountains immediately.\"

[Brandebras(#25187)] Broddur looks longingly at Ranon\'s pouch of leaf. \"Aye, if you\'ve the mind to share. I had some Old Toby, but it got wet. Bloody rain!\" No, the scowl never stays off his gnarled features for long.

He ignores the veiled hostility between the other two dwarves - after all, why /should/ folk get along? - but at Frarin\'s words he jumps up, his face like thunder. \"What? You don\'t think ... with trouble in the passes an\' all ... No! I won\'t believe it!\" Vigorously he shakes his head as though to banish all notion of Bifur\'s demise, sending drips of water flying from the tip of his sodden hood.

\"Aah.. Master Frarin, judging by your reaction, it must be my father that you know.\" Ranon says, offering the pipeweed to Broddur next. \"I assure you, cousin, I am not my father and would just as soon not be known by him.\" The young khazad says, a scowl on his face now as well. \"Any debts you have with him, take up with my brother. He is clan-karl to Thane Braldor.\"

He wipes a sleeve across his face when Broddur spatters him with drops of water, \"Lord Bifur neither here nor there? Maybe he joined up with some other travelers on the way.\" Ranon shrugs, not terribly concerned.

[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin does not rise at Broddur\'s sudden outburst, but his expression is just as sober and grim, looking up at the gnarled dwarf from under heavy brows. Ranon does not actually get an immediate response from the silversmith, for he seems more concerned with the issue of Bifur than any familial connection to Ranon. \"Aye, troubles in the pass, troubles in Mirkwood. The world is sick with it. It is a possibility you must accept, cousin. I have no doubt that our Lord Gimli shall wish to send out messengers to determine where Bifur was last seen. Perhaps we may find him yet.\" Dead or alive is not specified.

[Brandebras(#25187)] Broddur twitches at Ranon\'s speech, but he\'s clearly not above taking pipeweed from a member of a rival clan, for he helps himself to a large pinch with a mumbled, \"Thank you,\" before handing it back.

At Frarin\'s answer he shakes his head again, though this time without the accompanying wetting. \"Not him. Not the King\'s Marshall. He\'s too canny to fall foul of some scrawny goblin.\" He pauses briefly, then adds, all fired up now, \"Too right they should send out messengers! Not like there\'s many travellers on the roads - those funny Ranger types, maybe.\"

\"Lord Gimli is here? I need to spend more time amongst the Erebor camp.\" Ranon says, black brows jetting up at the news. He tucks the pipeweed away after filling his own pipe and sets about lighting it while the two talk of Bifur. \"How many was Bifur traveling with?\" He asks, puffing at his pipe once the leaf has caught.

[Frarin(#31050)] \"Cousin,\" Frarin says, waving Broddur to take his seat again. \"Please, sit, shouting about it will do nothing.\" Now he looks to Ranon, again with that prying stare, appraising the younger dwarf. \"I do not know,\" he says finally, tone flat. Then with another breath, he adds, as if an afterthought, \"You should seek out your brother, Ranon. He is in the camp. And no longer a clan-karl.\"

[Brandebras(#25187)] Broddur grunts irritably at Flarin, but lowers himself ungraciously back down. There he follows Ranon\'s example and busies himself in lighting his pipe. Once it\'s done he takes a first puff, then sighs. \"Ahh, good stuff that. Take my advice, don\'t let your weed get wet.\" He lets the hostile stares go straight over his head.

[Brandebras(#25187)] (repose)Broddur grunts irritably at Frarin, but lowers himself ungraciously back down. There he follows Ranon\'s example and busies himself in lighting his pipe. Once it\'s done he takes a first puff, then sighs. \"Ahh, good stuff that. Take my advice, don\'t let your weed get wet.\" He lets the hostile stares go straight over his head.

Ranon notices the stare from Frarin and matches it with one of his own. \"Is he? Perhaps I will find him when I have a moment.\" The young Bundazanul begins, then chuckles. \"Oh? No longer clan-karl? What happened? Did he decide that forty years of service was a bad idea after all? I told him it was a fool\'s mission.\" The khazad mutters, shaking his head.

Broddur is given a nod, \"Aye, I have learned that. Wet leave doesn\'t smoke terribly well, cousin.\"

[Frarin(#31050)] \"You should ask him yourself,\" Frarin says, standing and stretching. He sounds bored now, as if a little annoyed with the young Ranon. \"He has stuck by his family, at least, however difficult that has been.\" He leaves it at that though and gives a formal bow to the both of them. \"Good night, cousins. And if I hear anything further regarding Lord Bifur,\" he adds to Broddur, \"I shall make sure you hear of it. Good night.\" With that, he sweeps up his silver cup and disappears into the wagon behind.

[Brandebras(#25187)] The rain is still pattering down on the awning above them, but it is definitely slackening. And more than that, from the Ered-Luin encampment comes a waft of cooking smells. Quite an appetizing scent, roast meat of some kind. Broddur looks up, sniffing appreciatively. Given the choice between dinner and dwarves glaring daggers ...

By the time Frarin disappears into his wagon, Broddur is already rising to his feet. \"Got to be going. Mind and have a word with Lord Gimli about old Bifur, eh? /Someone/ oughter track the old fellow down.\" With that admonition to Ranon, who\'s obviously expected to Do Something About It, he plods away. A last surly mutter drifts back. \"Hope \'tisn\'t Oskar on cooking duty.\"

Ranon watches Frarin move away, and then Broddur not long after. The young khazad shrugs, standing, but he neither follows the Ered Luin dwarf, nor does he move in the direction of the Erebor camp. Instead he wanders off alone into the rain, his pipe trailing a small line of smoke into the air after him.