Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Laew Lend {1x1x1}

Muffled chatter filled the tavern. Men and Dwarves and even a few Hobbits filled the seats at the tables and at the bar of the Prancing Pony. It was still early, so the rowdy crowd wouldn't be in yet, and the idle talk allowed the woman near the window to sip at her drink in peace. The liquid in the wooden mug left a bit of froth on her upper lip, but after a moment her tongue had licked it away. She tucked some stray hairs behind her ear (those nasty buggers just weren't long enough to stay in her bun!) and exhaled softly as she gazed over the papers spread out before her. She had managed to get a table to herself (the only table left unoccupied in the Pony), and she took advantage of this rare phenomenon to take a look at the various maps and such she had collected over the years.

Sylvryth was well-known in the town of Bree, so she would get an occasional greeting, momentarily pausing her work to reply with a polite nod. There was no telling what she was thinking, for her countenance was thoughtful but not very expressive. She had a very neutral composure, one of grace and dignity and yet humility and kindness... of course, it's hard to tell a person's character when they are just sitting there. She took another sip of her ale, realized she had reached the bottom, and raised her mug, calling for a refill. Sylvryth doubted she would receive one, but she had too much on her mind to go up to the bar and ask for another mug. It was only sunset, but the ale was weak--as usual--so Sylvryth had no worries about getting her wits muddled. With no response from the barkeep, she went back to studying her papers.

It was obvious that the man was a stranger in Bree-land. His clothing was almost similar to that of the Rangers that sometimes visited the village, and his accent was odd to those who heard it. He'd arrived on foot from the south, entering the village just as the sun touched the horizon. The inn had been his first and only stop, and after introducing himself only as Erindín, a room had been his first request.

A Hobbit that worked at the inn had shown him to his room, and now they descended the stairs together, the Hobbit trailing after the young man. The Man's dark cloak was gone, as were his sword and bow, which he must have left in his room. His boots were still caked with mud, and his leggings were dark up to his knees, as if a generous amount of water had splashed onto him from below.

"...only be staying for the night," he was saying. He spoke to the Hobbit, but his eyes were on the crowd, searching for a table to relax at.

The Hobbit nodded. "If you'll be needing anything else, sir--"

"A pint," the man said, almost desperately. He ran a hand through his damp hair, sighing wearily. "I will need a pint, and perhaps another after that, and perhaps one more. And a plate of warm food, if you will."

"Yes, sir."

Before the Hobbit could walk away, the man grabbed a hold of his shoulder.

"Actually," he said, eyes alighting on a young woman lifting her mug into the air. "Make that two pints. Please."

Not five minutes later, Erindín was making his way through the crowd towards the lone woman, a mug of ale in either hand. He eyed the maps spread across her table, interest replacing the fatigue in his eyes. Standing behind her, he paused for a moment, perhaps gathering a courage that was different from that needed in battle, and cleared his throat.

"Good evening," he said, stepping around to her side. He held out a mug, careful not to spill any sloshing ale onto her papers. "I wonder if you would mind sharing your table with a weary traveler? I bring a gift."

Sylvryth looked up towards the man, her eyes glancing over him briefly. His face was unfamiliar, and she couldn't put a name to it, or think of anyone that could possibly be related to the man in Bree. She assumed he was a stranger, and his describing himself as a traveler only proved her assumptions correct. After a brief moment of hesitation, she reached out for the mug.

"Aye, thank you," she said, her accent most-obviously Bree-lander, probably from one of the smaller towns to the north. "Please, sit. Your gift is sufficient enough payment for you to rest for a few moments." She offered a flicker of a smile, then set her drink aside for a moment as she shifted her papers together so that they weren't completely covering the table. Once they were arranged into neat stacks, she took a small sip of the ale.

Erindín smiled. He took his seat, reclining back and exhaling in a long sigh, shoulders finally relaxing. "My thanks. I've not had a chance to rest until now, you see." His voice was soft, but able to carry above the low murmur that hung about the room. He brought the mug to his lips and was about to toss half of the ale back before he jerked to a pause, considered the presence of the woman before him, and took a slow gulp of the liquid instead.

His eyes swept over the maps once more as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "A long day of travel through mud and rain takes a toll on the body. Your permission to sit is one of few blessings today, miss...?"

"Sylvryth," she completed for him. The woman had noticed his hesitation. A bit of a smile tugged at the edge of her lip when she saw him restrain himself. "If you're trying to warm yourself up with ale, I'm afraid you'll have to get the special." She nodded to the barkeep. "He doesn't put the good ingredients in the normal ale. You'll have to ask specifically for something stronger, sir." Just to show him that she didn't mind his presence at all, she took a few hard swigs of her own ale, in a very unladylike fashion. She set down the mug and licked her lips.

{Time for bed! Night!}

((G'night! ))

Erindín blinked at the display, eyebrows raised. After a moment, he realized he was staring quite unabashedly, and blushed. He took a deep swig, hiding his face.

"I--forgive me," he said, clearing his throat and setting his mug back down. "I am not used to--ah, well, you see, ladies of Gondor are not quite as--" he gestured at Sylvryth then her mug of ale, stopped, and dropped his hand. He cleared his throat again. "I am Erindín. Son of Durlach."

He tapped a finger repeatedly on the rim of his mug, a sudden nervous tick. "Thank you for the tip, I will certainly order something stronger." He turned in his seat, to search for the Hobbit and perhaps to regain his composure as well. "Where is that Halfling..."

Sylvryth grinned, only just barely holding back the urge to laugh.

"My apologies, son of Duriach. I didn't meant to make you uncomfortable." She now took a more civil sip of her drink. So the man was from Gondor? How exciting! She had never met a Gondorian before... But she was also unsure what to think of him, because he bore the clothes and look of a Ranger, those folk who often caused mischief in town for the guards. She wouldn't kick him out, but she would be wary of him, just in case he tried to pull anything.

"Please, the fault lies with me," he said, raising a dismissive hand. He was still facing away from the table, his blush fading, when he finally caught sight of the Hobbit heading for their table. The curly haired lad held a tray almost too large for him, with a bowl of steaming stew and a chunk of bread sliding precariously from the center of the tray to one edge.

Unperturbed by the sliding bowl or Erindín's frantic face, the Halfling set the tray upon the tabletop and deposited the bowl, bread, and a spoon next to Erindín's mug.

"And another two ales, for myself and the lady," Erindín said before the Hobbit could take off. He held one finger up before adding, "And make it the strongest you have."

He turned back to the table, blush gone and composure gathered once more, and breathed in the wafts of steam rising from the bowl. He smiled and sighed and eagerly dug in. After a spoonful, he nodded, satisfied. "It's not how I would have made it--far too watery--but it will do. Anything hot is welcome, in fact, after the traveling under the horrid weather of these lands." He dunked the bread in to let it soak and immediately realized that he may have just insulted his host yet again. He chanced a wary, apologetic glance at her. "I mean no offense, m'lady, but, ah-- are there ever any days when the sun is actually visible here?"

Sylvryth returned to her studying of the maps, drawing her finger along a marked road. At his question, though, she couldn't help but smile. How typical of a stranger to ask such a thing.

"Aye, sir. A lot of days the blazing sun decides to heat up the fields so that you can smell the vegetables growing on the farms." She smoothed back her hair and made a slight sound of affirmation, seeming to have come to an agreement with herself on something. After half a moment, she stacked all the papers neatly together and rolled up the maps that weren't meant to be folded, and began to put them all away into a satchel at her side. The way she arranged them seemed very particular and very neat, hinting that she may have been overzealous with organization. But she did look up at him. Once her things were put away, the table clear so that nothing could harm her precious papers, she resumed her statement made a few moments earlier.

"It's just a shame that you've chosen to come during such a rainy spell. It can be nice here, sometimes, if you can learn to enjoy the puddles and potholes in the road. It's absolutely miserable inside the gates, though. Too many people crowd into taverns and inns to escape the rain." She glanced at the window briefly, where the red rays of sunlight that managed to slip through a break in the dark clouds had now disappeared, and more storms were brewing, promising for a wet, windy night.

The door open and in walked a dark shaggy haired Elf. He looked around with his golden eyes before he walked over to the Bar and sat down. " your lightest drink please" he said. Kethual was not once to drink much, being a traveler mostly he was use to mostly water, or Milk is he could get it. " And a warm meal as well" he added. the young man has a soft voice that was sweet like honey and soft silk.

Biting into his bread, Erindín nodded thoughtfully. "A shame. Perhaps I may enjoy it another day, should I ever return here." He smiled at her and turned to once again look for the Hobbit and his drink. He spotted the servant by the bar filling two mugs to the rim. He was about to turn back to his meal when he paused, eyes swerving back to the customers at the bar.

An elf. He hummed to himself. An elf in an inn, and a woman with more maps than most common folk should care to have. This little wet village was turning out to be far more interesting than he'd initially thought.

He turned back as the Hobbit brought the mugs. Taking up his mug, he gestured at the neat stack of papers. "Are you a scholar, Sylvryth? I do not know many villagers to own such a collection of maps."

"Scholar?" Sylvryth laughed lightly. "No, no, far from it. Just a bit of a hobby of mine, collecting and studying maps." She, too, had spotted the elf sitting at the bar. She quirked a brow in curiosity; elves rarely ever came to Bree, much less stopped for a drink in the Pony. She could only see the back of the elf's head, but she would watch him carefully to see if he was there for a reason, or just to rest.

Besides the fact that an elf was so interesting, he was alone, as well! Any elves Sylvryth had seen (albeit, she hadn't seen many elves in her lifetime) would travel in groups of four, perhaps even as many as six or seven. The reason for the elf's visit in Bree intrigued her, but she forced her attention back onto her new acquaintance, realizing it was rude to speak to him yet have her eyes elsewhere.

Kethual sat there quietly, glanceing around the room a moment he brushed his shaggy hair from his eyes before he pulled out an old looking book from the bag at his side and open it.

"Ah." Erindín scooped a chunk of meat out with the last of his bread. "A useful hobby, that."

After a moment and another dip into his ale, he cleared his throat and leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "Actually, I was wondering--I've not been able to find a good map of these lands, and I was wondering if I may take a look at yours?" He blinked. "Your maps. I mean. Just a quick glance."

He'd never been so far North before now, and though he was apt at navigating the wilderness of his own lands, he was at a loss here. He might have been able to visit his Northern brethren for aid if he wasn't trying to avoid them.

"Ah, of course." Sylvryth sorted briefly through her maps, then pulled out the one that would be clearest for a stranger to Breeland to understand. She slid it to him. "Now then, seeing as I'm giving you information, I expect you to repay me... it's only polite, of course." She smiled at him, taking a breath and put her elbows on the table, resting her jaw against her fists on either side of her face. "Tell me, Erindín, man of Gondor... What are you doing in Breeland, and more specifically, what are you doing in Bree? If you don't appreciate rain, there must be something important for you to do here in my fair homeland."

Kethual sighed as he looked at his food and was about to start eating when a drunk knocked his food away " hello elfy boy." he man said with a laugh. Keth looked at him calmly" back away now and i wont put a dagger threw your head" he said in a calm voice.

Erindín pulled the map closer and ran his eyes over the expanse of lines and elegant lettering. Ah, perfect.

"There is," he muttered, eyes still on the map. He touched a spot north of the village, a sizable forest beyond a line of hills. "And perhaps you can help me further. I'm looking for someone, Sylvryth. A man." He furrowed his brow and clenched his fists, glaring at the map as if the innocent sheet of paper was the object of his ire. "You needn't know what he has done, only that he--"

There was a clatter of plates and a drunken voice rose above the murmur. Erindín turned, straightening from his slouch and locking his hard gaze on the man standing over the lone elf at the bar.

Sylvryth instinctively stood as Erindin did, watching the two men at the bar. It was a bit early for a bar fight, but she supposed anything was possible, especially on a rainy day in which nothing could be accomplished and men were idle. She moved slightly around the table, taking a few slow steps forward, then stopping. As a former guardswoman of Bree (though of course, guardswomen were hardly ever taken seriously), she would do her best to stop the fight if one broke out, but perhaps the elf could dismantle the situation before it heated up too much.

The man laughed and went to grab Kethual but he moved to quickly for him and keth pined the guy down " Look you bloody drunk.. iv been traveling for three days now.. and you just knocked my food into the floor. You dear anger a warrior of the elfs.. Get out of here before i threw you threw a window" he growled. Once let go the man fled hearing the danger in the young male elfs voice.

When the man moved to attack, Erindín reached for the small dagger at his waist and moved forward. But before he could take a second step, the Elf had turned the tables on the drunkard and pined him down.

He listened to the Elf intently, still poised to move in, and watched with narrowed eyes as the Man made his hasty exit. After taking a moment to make certain that no other drunk would decide to jump in where the fleeing Man had left off, he slid the dagger back into its leather sheath and stepped forward. At the same time he held an arm up before Sylvryth, both as a protective shield and as a barrier to keep her from moving any closer.

To the Elf he spoke warily. "Are you well, Master Elf?"