The Prancing Pony Inn

[Ranger of Arthedain]

The Prancing Pony Inn (open) (anyone)
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The hour of foredawn was fast approaching the almost sleepy town of Bree. Resident windows were still dark, their occupants still nestled inside warm beds, deep in slumber. Save for one building, that is, where there was always a faint glowing of candles and a large, warm fireplace burning at all hours of the night most times. There were few people on the soon to be crowded streets, save for those who were beggars and had no home to go to. There were some who were just beginning to stir, those who liked to wake early and begin their day's work.

A figure clad in nature's colors, face hidden by a forest green mask and dark grey hood, stood just outside the door to the tavern, grey eyes averted towards the slightly dark sky. Snow was beginning to fall gently, snow as soft and white as feathers. The figure held out a gloved hand, watching as one of the flakes floated down, landing in the center of her palm. After watching the snowflake melt, the young woman walked inside the tavern quietly, shutting the door quickly in behind her so she did not let in any of the coldness outside. Barliman Butterbur wouldn't have noticed the ranger enter, had he not been looking in that general direction.

The innkeeper, watching as a few ruffians in a corner fought back a scowl, silently listened to the few other patronages that were in the tavern. It grew more silent, save for the few whispers that could barely be heard. Most were saying,"It's one o' them rangers, again." Ranger or no they were still business, no matter how dangerous they seemed to be. Barliman was busy wiping out a few mugs, preparing for the busy day ahead of him, watching the figure walk over to a remote, quite corner of the bar, taking a seat with their back to the wall. The fat inkeeper sighed heavily, pouring a mug of beer for the young ranger. He walked over, sitting it down in front of them. "The usual, I assumed sir." Barliman only assumed this ranger was a male, seeing as how he only had dealings with male rangers in the past. He thought nothing of it seeing as how this one never spoke to him. He grumbled incoherently to himself walking back over to the bar when all he received was a simple nod of the head.

The young female ranger liked it that way; things ran smoother when others assumed her to be male. Trouble rarely sought her, no more than it would any other ranger, that is. She picked up her mug of beer, sipping it slowly, her eyes scanning over the barely crowded room.

[Mirimaran]

"The young female ranger liked it that way; things ran smoother when others assumed her to be male. Trouble rarely sought her, no more than it would any other ranger, that is. She picked up her mug of beer, sipping it slowly, her eyes scanning over the barely crowded room."

(Tag Beth, anyone)

It had been a long night for Daelon. He could not afford a room at the Pony, much less anywhere else in Bree, so he spent the night and the last of his meager coin in the Common Room, listening to the drunken tales and songs of the locals and storing them in his head. He was a bard, of sorts, trading rhymes and songs for a meal or two, but these Bree-folk seemed too dour for his tastes. Still, he needed to eat, and perhaps find some others in the same boat as he to find a little adventure, and coin. He shuffled in his worn boots and shifted the cracked leather belt around his lean hips. He had no sword but did carry a large knife, and the rest of his gear was stored behind the bar, collateral for his drinking, no doubt. He ran a hand over the black stubble that covered his gaunt cheeks and then drained the rest of his ale.

'Time for work', he thought for himself, and then scanned the room. Though it was still early, or terribly late depending on your level of sobriety, some of the patrons were still active. He looked to the corner and saw the Ranger setting in the shadows. He had few dealings with the men of the North, but thought to give him a try,

"A good morning to you sir!", said Daelon, walking over to the Ranger, "might you be wanting a song, or perhaps trade a tale with me over a pint or two?"

[Peter Remling]

edited

[Ranger of Arthedain]

'"A good morning to you sir!", said Daelon, walking over to the Ranger, "might you be wanting a song, or perhaps trade a tale with me over a pint or two?"'

(Tag Ken, anyone)

Aeron looked up from in under her hood when the man approached her, an eyebrow arching in curiosity. Clearing her throat, the young ranger motioned for him to sit down in the seat across from her, using the toe of her boot, she pushed on one of the wooden legs of the chair, scooting it out for him to sit down. Wincing, she gave him a slight nod of the head, having almost forgotten her own manners.

"A good morning to you as well."


She attempted at disguising her voice, making it slightly deeper than it normally was. Aeron had to admit, though, she was taken aback by this man's sudden appearance. Be he a bard or no, it was rare that anyone wanted to converse with her freely.

"Surely my tales would be of little interest to you, good sir."

[Mirimaran]

(OOC- if anyone else is interested in making a character and jumping in, please do so! Just two people writing can sometimes lead to monotonous reading, so I am sure we use some rogue dwarves and elves in this tale!)

"Surely my tales would be of little interest to you, good sir."

"That remains to be seen, sir", replied Daelon, letting the last word stretch a bit on his tongue. All of the northmen that he had dealings with were tall and lean, and if this Ranger was a man then he was still quite young, or not a man at all, which seemed a bit disconcerting to the bard. He chose his next words carefully.

"I would think that one of your, let us say, persuasion, might be adept to using tales to disguise the truth of some private matters. Anyone who can do that can spin a good yarn, I reckon. He plopped down in the chair, his blue eyes fixed at the maw of darkness that hid the Ranger's face.

"I reckon that you might be out in the world for the first time, looking for some fame and adventure? Mayhap you might like to hear a tale that might want you to whet your appetite for such a pursuit?" He settled back with a smile, hoping the Ranger might take the bait.

[Peter Remling]

(Tag Anyone)

Eyes watched the exchange closely from the stairs leading to the attic storage. Barrett looked, to the casual watcher, as if asleep, his eyes opened to mere slits but his ears were sharp as a owl's. Normally at this time Barrett would still be wrapped in his blanket in the loft above the stable, but the innkeeper was a fair master and allowed Barrett to find his rest indoors in cold weather.

To most Barrett appeared a dullard with his mishapened head, an accident of birth it was called by the midwife. In truth he was quite bright but always looked for the easy way out. His fellow workers soon learned not to confide in him as secrets told, seemed to leak at the most inappropriate time to the most inappropriate person.

In the past Barrett had acted on his own, mostly for the sheer enjoyment he gleaned from the discomfort of others. This time he had a benefactor, a local farmer who often frequented the inn had promised coin for useful information. He was specifially interested in the movement of Rangers and any others that past through the area that had no normal business there.

[Ranger of Arthedain]

"I reckon that you might be out in the world for the first time, looking for some fame and adventure? Mayhap you might like to hear a tale that might want you to whet your appetite for such a pursuit?" He settled back with a smile, hoping the Ranger might take the bait.

(Tag Ken, anyone)

Aeron's eyes narrowed in suspicion as she began to watch the bard more closely. Perhaps this time she had been a bit too careless with her disguise.

"Nay, sir, I do not wish for fame."

Her voice was beginning to give away from being an octave lower than normal. She turned her face away for a moment to lower her mask, taking a drink of her beer. Aeron quickly positioned the mask back in its rightful place, before turning to gaze at the bard across from her once more. The young female winced, silently cursing herself; her actions were becoming far too conspicuous as she attempted to conceal her identity.

"However, adventure is an entirely different matter."

Aeron's voice changed; it became higher and smoother, though still quiet. Perhaps it would be safe if just one person knew. Since her attention was completely focused on the bard and his talks of adventure, she was not aware of their small silent audience positioned at the top of the attic stairs. That was her first mistake; allowing her guard to drop ever so slightly for the time being.

[Greg]

Eyes watched the exchange closely from the stairs leading to the attic storage. Barrett looked, to the casual watcher, as if asleep, his eyes opened to mere slits but his ears were sharp as a owl's. Normally at this time Barrett would still be wrapped in his blanket in the loft above the stable, but the innkeeper was a fair master and allowed Barrett to find his rest indoors in cold weather.

(Tag Pete, Anyone)

Dwamdil didn't care at this point who he upset. It was bitter cold outside, and he wasn't sure his head was on completely straight. His vision only swam a little, but he knew for a fact that the ale he'd drank on the way here had definitely been an authentic Dwarven draught, and he'd drank much too hastily. He'd been offered a ride by a friendly farmer on his way to bree, and the man had been generous enough to share his spirits as well. Dwamdil had a tendency to get carried away when drinking, and the potency of the Dwarven beverages was enough to get anyone going. But he was a true dwarf, and, as all dwarves know, the only cure for mild drunkenness is more Ale. So here he was, at the entrance to the Prancing Pony, anxious for some "medicine".

At least, it made sense in his head.

He slapped aside the door to the tavern, and made his way directly to the bar, drawing his broad-bladed axe and setting the head on the floor. He leaned the end of the steel-sheathed haft against his chosen stool and stepped on the blade to gain him the extra height needed for his buttocks to acquire the stool. He'd been here many times before, and had been asked not-so-kindly to leave on a few occasions, but he didn't hold a grudge. The innkeeper had business to attend to, and Dwamdil knew he was an angry drunk, so he couldn't blame him. Nevertheless, he bellowed loudly, making sure the urgency of his need would ring well within the innkeeper's ears.

"Barliman! An Ale! Quickly! Before ye' run out! And don't ye' dare pour that cheap stuff! Bring out that cask of Dwarven draught my cousin brought ye' from back east!"

[Peter Remling]

(Tag-Beth, Ken, Anyone)

Barrett's attention was distracted momentarily by the booming voice of that drunken ass, Dwamdil. In the past Dwamdil had unintentionally disruapted more than one of Barrett's little plans. In two of the instances Barrett was quick enough and Dwamdil drunk enough that the blame was placed squarely on the head of the dwarf, getting him thrown out on both occasions.

Conversation momentarily stopped at the small table as both the Ranger and the Bard took note of the newcomer.

[Peter Remling]

(Tag Anyone)
The noise level soon returned to normal at about the same time the Dwarf was served.

" Amazing the volume in a voice from someone of less then human stature," thought Barrett, " it's a wonder, they don't bring down the very walls of their mines with simple conversation!"

Barrett's attention refocused on the two, with occasional glances at the Dwarf just to be sure his mere presence wasn't screwing anything up. He hoped something would be revealed shortly as it would soon be dawn and he'd have to go out to the stable to tend the stock. The mounts and pack animals were the only joy in his life. Picked on since a child, due to his deformity, Barrett grew into a bitter and petty young man.

The stocky hairy pack ponies, the long legged elegant horses of the elves, the big plow horses even ttheir cousins the donkeys, all were a delight to Barrett. Barrett talked to them as he rubbed them down, asking them questions of their travels. He knew who took good care to their mounts and who mistreated them. The latter often found something wrong with their tack, a frayed bridle or a too well oiled cinch strap. Small things would go missing from their packs, nothing of real value, but things that they would find missing when they needed them.

Why just a month ago a tax collector, who was a little too rough with his reins, found his bitstrap coming ondone. When he went to repair it he realized he must have misplaced his needle and gut someplace.

There also was the forester who found his fire kit missing when he stopped for the evening on a cold drizzling day. He spend a miserable night sitting up in the cold.

Barlimans' daughters took turns at serving and Brunald had just come on duty. Nothing wrong with the lass, not exactly easy on the eyes but she never picked on Barrett and was one of the few he could say he actually respected, except for that one fault. When Brunald was working she always sung quietly or hummed loadly. The latter of which she just started.

"First the Dwarf and now this, How in the bowels of the earth, am I supposed to hear anything?"

[Mirimaran]

"However, adventure is an entirely different matter."

"Barliman! An Ale! Quickly! Before ye' run out! And don't ye' dare pour that cheap stuff! Bring out that cask of Dwarven draught my cousin brought ye' from back east!"

Daelon was about to launch into a long tale concerning the Shadow'd Vale, a long dark stretch of the Misty Mountains, when the drunken cry of the Dwarf thundered throughout the Common Room.

"Oh look", he said dryly, "a drunk dwarf. There's something you never see."

[Ranger of Arthedain]

(Tag Ken, anyone)

"Oh look", he said dryly, "a drunk dwarf. There's something you never see."

Aeron couldn't help but chuckle at Daelon, her attention now being directed in the aforementioned dwarf's direction. Even after he had finally settled down she continued to study him for a moment, and those patrons surrounding him; taking in their actions and mannerisms. It was only after, when she was about to direct her focus back to the other occupant of her table, that her eyes swept over a man sitting at the top of a case of stairs. She studied him curiously, not because of his deformity, but because she had not seen him there previously, and perhaps this was due to the fact that he appeared to be asleep. Aeron, satisfied with her observation of the patrons, turned her attention to the bard beside next to her.

"Curious creatures, dwarves are. Their actions are far more brazen than any other race I've had the pleasure of meeting, howbeit they're still curious."

[Mirimaran]

"Curious creatures, dwarves are. Their actions are far more brazen than any other race I've had the pleasure of meeting, howbeit they're still curious."

"And industrious, mostly", replied the bard, "for their folk were created to delve and mine, forge and shape, and make the most marvelous things."

He leaned forward and cast his gaze into the darkness of the Ranger's hood.

"Have you ever been in one of their mines? Their delvings? What if I were to say to you that I know of such a place, in the shadow of the Misty Mountains, lost to them years ago in their great war with the Orcs? Can you imagine the lost riches that might be in such a place?" He looked over at the drunk dwarf and then said to her,

"What adventure that might await one so bold?"

[Peter Remling]

(Tag Beth Ken Anyone)

"What adventure that might await one so bold?"

Barrett thought to himself, " That's no way to involve a Ranger in anything, tellin em there's adventure to be had. Why if you want a Ranger to go some place, tell em someone died real horrible and they'll fall over themselves running to stick their nosey noses in it."

"That bard though, he walked right up to the Ranger and started talking like they was old friends. Well the Rangers have to be gettin they information from somewhere and where better than a storyteller travelin from town to town. Looks like I'll be gettin paid for my observations today."

[Ranger of Arthedain]

(Tag Ken, Pete, Anyone)

"An adventure that would most likely be my demise," thought Aeron to herself, her eyebrow jutting in the air once more. If the Orcs had driven the dwarves out of their caves, with aforementioned riches inside still, then surely there would still be orcs there. How many, she did not know, which did not bode well with her.

"I cannot say I have been inside one of their mines nor any of their delvings."

Her eyes shifted towards the quiet dwarf same as the bard's previously, watching him again. This adventure though had captured her interest; not for the riches that it possibly promised, but for the adventure itself; despite not knowing if orcs still lingered there or not. It was an opportunity for travel, and she lived for that; though oft such adventures led her astray from her duties in the wild.

"Such treasures do not interest me, my dear man; I've no use for them. You must take into consideration the possible dangers that would await one inside the mines; such treasures would not be left for ruins, should an orc or goblin know of it."

Momentarily, she had forgotten to keep an eye on the man at the top of the staircase due to the discussion of such a promising, yet dangerous, adventure.