Players:

Rhifaroth

Muirgheal

Toby temped by Nob

Acelen

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[Muirgheal(#32535)]

The door swings open, revealing deep night and a shadowed figure- tall, and unquestionably female with her long hair- cringes as her foot hits an ancient floorboard. She drops to all fours after shutting the door, letting her eyes adjust to this new darkness as she feels around with her hand. Evidently, the warrioress has misplaced something.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

There is a lantern left hanging over by the bar, turned down very low. The decrepit building seems to be silent, nothing but an occasional creaking of the boards of the building as the wind blows through the trees outside in the night. The dim glow from that single light left burning isn't very much to see by, but...

Tables remain scattered about the main room, empty. All seems to be as usual in this place except for a few empty drinking glasses left standing unwashed upon the bar. To one side of the room, to the left of the entry, one table has been shifted over to make room by the wall.

It is over in that area that there appears to be a man seated at the table, resting his head upon his arms. Another man appears to have thrown down a bed roll onto the bare floor and lays there, also presumably sleeping.

The Forsaken Inn

A medium sized room, completely formed of wood. Wooden walls, wooden floors, wooden ceiling, all clearly having been recently polished though dust has begun to gather on them again. It is a dark wood, perhaps entirely begotten of the nearby Chetwood forest. This room is a common room of sorts - a tavern as well as a small bar. There are pictures hanging on the walls of riders on horses, hobbit-folk, and various other peoples. On the far wall from the front entrance, a large opening which presumably used to frame two doors stands, giving the onlooker a perfect view into a kitchen. A swinging door obscures part of the view, made of a brighter, newer wood than the surrounding walls. Against the eastern wall rises a staircase which leads into darkness. Westward is another door, closed, but there is a small wooden sign which reads 'office' hanging above it.

Tables fill the floor of this room, perhaps ten in all, and stools surround each table. It is not fancy, but it is almost aggressively clean, save for the new layer of dust.

Table code is in effect here. Type thelp for table commands.

Contents:

Muirgheal

Obvious exits:

Kitchen, Side Door, Staircase Up, and Out to the GER

[Muirgheal(#32535)]

Muirgheal keeps a close eye on the men, and shivers, wishing for a fire. She is grateful they are not awake, but as she searches for her small misplaced purse of coins, her eyes linger on them. At last, she spies her prize- close to where the man lies sleeping. On her light thief's feet, she dances toward that spot.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

As the crouching woman draws closer to the two men, she can see that the one sitting at the table is a thin, vaguely older man in very simple, rustic clothes and coat. He does not outwardly appear to be armed except with a staff that lays on the table top.

The other may who lays on the bed roll is something else entirely. He lays mostly on his right side with his back facing the wall, his head propped upon a pair of saddle bags. A sword belt has been tossed just behind the bags and bears an empty scabbard long enough to have housed a long sword.

The reclining man has been seriously injured. The left side of his face, even in the dim lighting, is clearly damaged with caked and dried blood at brow, cheek, and down his nose and throat. Something large looks to have hit him soundly and there is much swelling. The man wears a studded leather jerkin that has been un-strapped on the upper side and pulled loose. His left shoulder is mostly free of the leather that gapes open, and that upper arm is splinted crudely with lengths of firewood and coarse rope binding.

Otherwise the man is garbed in much finer clothing including a long black woolen cloak that has an unfastened but ornate heavy, silver clasp. The man is filthy and disheveled as though he had been drug through the swamp recently. No one has bothered to pull of his tall black riding boots.

[+LOOK] Rhifaroth(#27282) glances at you.

Rhifaroth

STATUS: IC (0s idle)

Wyr is IC

Before you is a man who's height is just over 6 feet. He is fairly broad of chest, perhaps aging into his early middle years. Dishevled shoulder blade length black hair falls loosely. Strange, faded lines and dots make a tattoo pattern across his cheeks on either side of his nose, drifting down each side of his neck. Similar patterns lace up the backs of his hands and forearms - they resemble writing. This man's face has the bone structure of a man of Numenor, beardless and well formed. The man's eyes are a pale, silvery grey, wary of this world, and weary with pain.

Currently, the left side of his face looks like someone hit him with a boulder. Blood cakes his brow, outter cheek, and his nose appears to be freshly broken and slightly crooked to his right. Dried blood lingers below it and down his chin and throat.

A studded jerkin of thick, boiled leather covers a soiled and now torn off-white shirt. Grey woolen pants are tucked into high black riding boots which show signs of travel, but once held a fine polish. A plain long sword scabbard hangs from the man's left hip but is empty of blade. A wide banded golden ring is worn upon the smallest finger of his left hand. Set flush into the ring is a smooth, tear shaped rich blue stone.

Over all of this is a long black cloak that has become filthy with dirt, bits of dried grass, and blood from the man's face.

Species: Human

Sex: Male

Health: Poor

Weapons: Nothing

Armor: Wyr's Studded Leather <Studded Leather Armor>; Wyr's Studded Helm <Studded Leather Helmet>; Wyr's Bolted Shield <Studded Leather Shield>

Other Visible Equipment:

[Muirgheal(#32535)]

Muirgheal gets ever-closer to the man lying on the floor. Her desired object, the plain coin purse, lies just beyond him. As she nears, she sees his wounds and frowns, pondering. She casts her eyes down like a young girl so that she can hide the bloodlust there. She extends her arm toward the purse, aiming to reach across the man, snatching at the object with long, adept fingers. She's unsure whether he is sleeping or awake, and so she moves with haste, her lovely limbs capable of everything she demands.

Muirgheal

This young woman is as tall as most Dunlending women are, standing at about 5'10". Her frame does not have womanly curves, but instead is thin, hard, and wiry: all muscle from being born into a fighting clan. Her Rohirrim-Dunlending cross has given her an abundance of long, beautiful golden hair, which she usually wears bound back from her face. Should she let it down, however, it loosely curls down to the small of her back. Her breeding also has given her a touch of exoticism: gently dark skin, just barely tinted, a shade or two darker than white. Her brows are just a little darker than her gold hair, and arch above sharp, dark eyes. The lines of her face are smooth and her cheekbones pronounced, high and regal. Her lips are full, but almost always unsmiling.

She wears a simple chocolate brown tunic. The material is flimsy, and not very warm looking, a cheap fabric. It does little to hide the pinkish scar that begins above her right breast and plunges down beneath the tunic's neckline. Her breeches are of a similar material as her tunic, but lighter in color, more beige, and end at the tops of her boots. However, the sable leather belt that encircles her waist is finely crafted and patterned with little flowers. From the belt, down along the length of her thigh, hangs a sheath, and peeking out of it, the darkly shining hilt of a longsword. Over the ensemble she wears a warm, lined travel cloak that swirls around her perpetually dirty boots when she walks.

Carrying:

Studded Leather Armor

Studded Leather Helmet

Longsword

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

There is no movement, no response whatsoever to the woman leaning over the man and making a quick grab for her dropped coin purse just behind his saddle bags. Even as some of her long, loose hair brushes against the man's face in her reach, there is no response in the battered, strangely tattooed face. Very possibly the man is unconscious, or drugged for pain, but he is breathing.

[Muirgheal(#32535)]

Muirgheal reaches and grabs her purse. She does, however as she moves back from her position of reaching over the man, study him closer. Her eyes widen- his tattoos remind her of someone she knows. Curiosity always gets the best of Muirgheal, and so she gently puts a cold hand up to the man's face to see if he might wake.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

The skin of the man's face is dry and hot to the touch. As the woman's slender fingers touch the undamaged side of the man’s strangely marked face, he still does not stir - but his breathing is shallow and regular, as one might expect in exhausted sleep. Shoulder blade length black hair partly covers his face as well as spilling over the saddle bags. But the disarray of the bed roll, it would appear that there had been some struggle recently. Perhaps in setting and binding his broken arm.

The man seated to one side and slightly behind the woman at the table does stir, but only to mutter something unclear in his sleep. That man's breathing resumes to rattle with a faint snoring.

[Muirgheal(#32535)]

Muirgheal glances around, dark intelligent eyes beginning to piece together things about this person. Unsatisfied still in her curiosity, she reaches into the deep pocket of her blue dress and pulls out something dark and dried. Quickly, her fingers work to crush the dried leaves, which give off a pungent aroma when held beneath the man's nose. "Might you need some help?" She whispers as she waits to see if he will wake. She almost jumps when the man behind her talks in his sleep, but her spine is as if made of steel, and she holds still.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

The strong odor, slowly, seems to rouse the man. There is a hint of his black brows drawing closer together, then slightly frown. Then he turns his head away and begins to shift over more to his back - but that movement hurts him so he stops abruptly.

As the persistent woman continues with the pungent herb under his nose, and speaks softly, the man's lips part and his breathing becomes stronger and irregular. His eye on the undamaged right side of his face opens and blinks, trying to focus, but the room is mostly dark. Something seems to be too close to his face. The man’s right arm awkwardly comes up and an equally tattooed hand brushes absently at the woman’s hand as though to push the foul scent away.

[Muirgheal(#32535)]

Muirgheal removes her hand, startled. "Are you awake then?" She asks, still whispering, but putting her lips to his ear now. "Hello?" She says next. Perhaps, with so many sleeping people in the room, this is a bit like playing with fire, tempting someone- perhaps even this man to whom she speaks - to harm her. But the golden-haired thief likes danger, and gently touches his good cheek again with her cold fingers.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

The man turns his battered face slightly and focuses on the figure that looms over him. In the dimness, she is likely backlit by the lantern that is over on the bar some distance away from them. One pale grey eye seems to look her over for a moment, the other eye being too swollen shut to open.

Hearing the feminine voice and feeling the light touch of those fingers, golden hair streaming down either side of her back to glow by the lantern light, the man is slow to respond. But he smiles, thinly, then speaks in a low husky voice of his own, "<Rohirric> Am I back in Edoras... or simply dreaming, lady?"

[Muirgheal(#32535)]

Muirgheal returns the smile, though she is cautious. "I don't..." She ventures. Then, recognizing the tongue, "Edoras?" She pauses, smiles again, "You are from Rohan? Are you hurt badly?" She now attempts to assess his condition with healer's eyes- a skill at which she is almost as proficient as she is in thieving.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Listening and becoming somewhat clearer headed as he continues to hear the woman, the man frowns vaguely that she is not speaking in Rohirric as he had expected. Her words apparently get through to him because he grimaces and changes to strangely accented Westron, "Do I look ... like a Rohirrim?" His words are thick, as though he has some trouble speaking. He tries to wet his lips again, but his tongue is too dry.

Suddenly remembering certain recent events, the prone man tries to shift his right arm up to feel for his left arm, touching the wood and rope binding as though to be sure that they did not take his arm off. The he tries to shift the very uncomfortable splits that dig against his flesh. There is a grimace before he gives up on it and lays breathing, for a moment. Then he asks, "Water... do you have water?" The strange man seems dehydrated.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

A the table, the older, thin peasant man snores more loudly, totally and completely oblivious to the soft voices on the other side of the table, coming from the floor. The room is cold, chilly at least, but still far warmer than the wintry night outside.

[Muirgheal(#32535)]

"Not everyone shows themselves truly upon first glance. You might be Rohirrim...what would you call me?" She leans in closer so that he can see better her gleaming golden hair and her deep brown eyes. "Dunlending, or Rohirrim?" Her breath is sweet and smells like jam, so close is she. She draws back again. "I never come unprepared," she replies to his query, and produces a leather flask from her pocket. "I've brandy, too, when you want it," she tells him.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

The prone man listens to the woman's soft voice and is more than happy to look at her, even in the dimness. He tries hard to see her, hard enough that he manages to get his left eye open just a little bit now that the swelling of the past two days has subsided somewhat. There is a hint of that smile returning after a moment, "Beautiful." He says in his foreign accent.

But something she asks makes him frown once more just a little, "Dunlending?" This he thinks upon, considers it, "I … know them not." Those pale grey eyes watch the woman's movement and the flask, but he doesn't reach for it.

[Muirgheal(#32535)]

Muirgheal smiles at the first word out of his mouth- it's not one she often hears, when her reputation precedes her so in Bree. "Think of me as Rohirrim," she says shortly. Then she slowly, hesitantly reaches to put a hand behind his head- meaning to allow him to sit up enough to take some of the water. She holds the flask to his lips with her other steady hand, if he's willing to drink.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

The man does drink, but only a few sips. Enough at least to wet his mouth. He breathes for a moment, then drinks a little more if she'll let him. For the moment, he motions with his right hand that it's enough.

Drawing a slow breath, the man smiles thinly again, "My thanks." Closing his eyes for a moment as though resting, there is a long pause. But then he asks, looking at her again in the dimness, "Who are you?"

[Muirgheal(#32535)]

Muirgheal's lips twist in a grin. "I was going to ask the same of you. I am called Muirgheal. And you are?" Her hand retreats from beneath his head, and she sets the flask by his side. One hand drops lightly onto his arm, almost unconsiously as she listens for a reply. In the silence, she says quietly, "Are you in need of a skilled healer? I know the art well, and I've private quarters at the Pony in Bree..."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Resting his eyes again, the man listens as he lays still. Whether or not he is aware of her hand on his arm isn't acknowledged by any movement on his part. But at her mentioning Bree, he turns his head back again to look at her, "A healer... " He thinks on this and nods, "There was a man here... stable master from the Pony. Set my arm." There is another pause, to regain his breath before the man continues quietly in his strange, lilting accent, "Have quarters at the Pony... myself." He smiles a little.

Perhaps remembering that the woman in the night had given her name and asked his own, the tall man finally answers, "Rhifaroth... if I can …. get back to Bree."

[Muirgheal(#32535)]

Muirgheal tsks, and shakes her head. "Don't talk like that," She reprimands him. "I've had much worse wounds than that, and had to walk it off. And I suppose, I've inflicted worse." She grins, perhaps to set him at ease, but the gesture is a little feral. Perhaps it's the light. "Do you wish me to accompany you to Bree, to make certain of a safe journey?" She nods to the generously sized sword at her side. "I can treat you there, since that's where you are staying...How can I...help you>" The last words sound foreign on her tounge. She blinks; she has surprised herself.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Rhifaroth grimaces as he tries to shift off of his right side a little more, moving his right arm to adjust his splinted left off of his sore ribs somewhat. He frowns, considering her admonishment for a moment, "Lost ... my horse. Maybe few days,..... feel up to it." But, her scolding makes him chuckle faintly, "Been hurt ... As bad, or worse, true." His pale eyes glance past her, trying to see the room and whether or not master Acelen has stayed or gone. The figure sleeping at the table is not clear to him in the dim light.

The woman's offer to go with him back to Bree makes him refocus on her, trying to study her face, "Grateful... if you would."

[Muirgheal(#32535)]

Muirgheal shrugs her shoulders and says, "Of course. I've got nowhere to go. A few days waiting here would be well spent, I suppose." She smiles, then looks for a place to settle herself to wait for the dawn.

--------------------------Muirgheal Exits Scene - Nob temping Toby Enters --------------------

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Now that the mystery woman has slipped off, possibly to some other part of the run down inn's large room, Rhifaroth lays quietly. Closing his eyes he perhaps considers the low conversation just visited upon him and wonders maybe, if it was real … or only him dreaming.

Softly, the coals in the fire's hearth glow, the lantern left burning on the bar top lower still with the passing time. Snoring both from the table, and from some room upstairs, continues. The room is chilly.

[Nob(#16122)]

The door edges open slowly, and Toby slides inside, shutting it equally carefully behind him, and then looking cautiously around the room. Everyone, it seems, has gone to sleep. Still he waits a minute, then another - no one moves, and quietly, he pads towards the edge of the room where Rhifaroth had been lying earlier.

Muirgheal has disconnected.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Everything is indeed very still and quiet at this near dawn hour of the night. There is very dim light in the room from the one lantern lit, but it casts a feeble, fading glow. The stable master seems to be sitting at the table near to Rhifaroth's bed roll, sound asleep with his head on his arms, snoring.

The injured man himself seems to be sleeping though his position has shifted more to his back now than his right side. His breathing is regular, though maybe not as shallow and soft as it might be.

[Nob(#16122)]

Toby's silent journey across the old wooden floor pauses as his eyes fall on Acelen. A long whistling snore reassures him, and he soft-foots past, to crouch beside Rhifaroth. And for another long moment, he waits and watches.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

The prone man's breathing causes the shifted right hand cloak clasp half to move ever so faintly with the rise and fall of his chest. The other clasp is not visible, having fallen from his shoulder to the floor behind the man now that he lays more on his back. Rhifaroth's legs are still tangled up with the heavy woolen cloth, his tall riding boots still on his feet as before. Nothing looks particularly disturbed except...

Oddly enough, there is a small leather flask laying on it's side next to the man that was not there before at Toby‘s previous visit just a few hours before. The neck of it is damp as though it had been opened not long ago.

[Nob(#16122)]

The silence is thick and soft, filled with a hoarse rasp of breathing; finally Toby reaches towards the visible clasp of the brooch, touching it with gentle fingers. He pauses, then feels delicately about the edge, grasping it with fingertips and tipping it, oh so carefully, towards himself. A tiny tug to see if it comes loose. And a halt to see if Rhifaroth reacts.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

The silver clasp, though only the tree half of it, is not a thin and flimsy thing... nor the heavy fabric it is so well bound to. The binding is meant to be strong and last against the tug of wind and rain upon the heavy fabric. Hense the clasp itself is heavy and not frail. But the tug shows that there will be no way to remove it without cutting the thick fabric.

Still, that point is mute for Rhifaroth is not at all asleep as it seemed. Feeling the tug at the cloak, the man opens his right eye and turns his head to see the figure looming close by, crouched down beside him but barely backlit.

He frowns and asks in a low, husky voice, "Muirgheal?" the man tries to refocus, nearly having fallen back to sleep.

[Nob(#16122)]

Toby freezes, then unobtrusively withdraws his hand. He is silent for a long minute, then in a whisper, says, "No. Toby."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Still frowning, the man turns his head a bit more and manages to get his left eye open a little bit now that the swelling is slowly beginning to subside. He licks his lips, they being dry again, and he grimaces, "Toby..." There is a pause before he asks, trying to glance into the darkness past the boy, "Was there... a woman here?" That strange accent lilts the words but there is perhaps regret that the youth is not who he thought it was, "Or did I dream her?"

[Nob(#16122)]

Toby shrugs. "I dunno," he replies, voice low. "I never seen one." His face is shadowed; if there is relief that he wasn't caught, it can't be seen. He lifts his head, glances around the room again. "Still don't," he adds. "Looks like all men."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Rhifaroth's sleepiness seems to be fading as now he's been awoken twice in the past little while. He raises his right hand to rub his eye and face on the undamaged side and, against his will, yawns. It pains him and he tries not to stretch the damaged side of his cheek, but there it is.

The man blinks and then, carefully and with effort, he manages to lever himself up on his right elbow, glancing about the very dimly lit room. He takes note of the stable master asleep at the table, but sees no one else. Black brows knit together to contemplate this, then he glances down. There is the flask he remembered.

Resting his weight on the right elbow, Rhifaroth tries to ease his left arm over to reach the flask, but the arm is splinted too high and coarsely, inhibitting his effort. He grits his teeth, trying to reach it but his left hand is swollen from the injury higher up. "Get that for me, won't you?" Grey eyes flick back up to the young man next to him, "She left that. She -was- here."

[Nob(#16122)]

Toby looks down, squinting into the darkness; then he feels around on the floor until his fingers bump something. Grasping it, he holds it out - "This?" A shrug to the man's assertion. "Yeah, all right."

[Nob(#16122)]

And curiously, he adds, "She who?"

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Rhifaroth realizes that he still can't take the flask even as Toby picks it up for him and holds it out to him. Awkwardly, the man lets himself back down on the bed roll, now laying on top of the fallen cloak's clasps, in order to free up his right arm that he needs. Still, the angle is not very good as he tries again to reach for it, "A woman... long hair. Like ... a ... daughter of Eorl, she was."

Toby's not being helpful enough, Rhifaroth grits his teeth, "Give me it to me, please."

[Nob(#16122)]

Toby holds the flask out farther, putting it into the man's hand. "Right," he says, not bothering to keep disbelief out of his tone. "Y'seen some lady out here?" He waves his free hand to indicate the Inn - not exactly the environs one would find lady in.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

The injured man accepts the leather flask and puts the cork to the right side of his mouth to tug it loose... only he's laying back down and some of the liquid inside of it pours out unexpectedly on his throat and chest with the tugging.

Rhifaroth reflexively spits something out in Haradaic that by the tone, must be a curse, even if the words mean nothing to the boy otherwise. But he got it open and manages to shift it to his left hand in order to try and lever himself back up with his right arm enough to scoot and raise himself back a little. Finally, able to lean against his saddle bags, he switches the flask back to his right hand and takes a sip from it. The lack of odor suggests that it may only be water.

Finally, some of his thirst slacked for the moment, Rhifaroth let's out a breath and eyes Toby, "Thank you ... for the water." Those grey eyes do look over the room again as though he just knows that woman must be here somewhere, but...

[Nob(#16122)]

Toby watches all this dispassionately, though at one point, he makes a move towards Rhifaroth that might be an offer to help - but which is aborted. And now his eyes in the darkness are harder than before. To the injured man's thanks, he only nods. Watching his gaze roam over the room, he chuckles mirthlessly. "Look all y'want. Ain't no woman there. I'd've seen her."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Tired by his efforts, and having thanked Toby for his assistance, Rhifaroth then notices that of course he dropped the flask’s stopper and doesn't know where it got off to. The injured man grimaces and just holds the flask so not to spill it all over himself and looks both annoyed and in some pain.

Of the woman he frowns and mutters, looking down at his splinted arm, "Must have been a dream." But he scowls, "Or out of my head." He closes his eyes for a long moment before he asks the youth without opening them again, "Toby, what do you want to do with your life?"

Rhifaroth says the words slowly, taking a breath with every few as though he is feeling light headed or weak.

[Nob(#16122)]

The cork has rolled near to the boy's booted feet. Absently, he picks it up, turning it over and frowning down at it as if he has never seen one before. Rhifaroth's words mumble over him like a forest stream, until he asks a question and Toby's head jerks up. He stares narrow-eyed at the man for a while, then drops his head and shrugs. "Dunno," he says, tone evasive.

Acelen has connected

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Rhifaroth turns his head and reopens his eyes, definately getting that left eye open just a little more now. He frowns, his voice louder, "What do you mean... you don't know?" This answer is not acceptable to him. He takes a breath and makes a little more effort to speak clearly as he looks at the young man, "How old are you, lad?"

[Acelen(#32035)]

Whether it was because he suddenly lost balance and his chair landed back on all four legs, or whether the voices woke him - Acelen wakes up and looks about him in a confused way. Then he remembers and his gaze drops to the floor.

"Ah, there ya are," he says, "Feelin a might better yet? You had a little bit of a bouncin last night." He grins but it may look more like a smirk. "An lucky ye were that I came a lookin for ye too." He drops his voice and says, "There'd be some 'ere as would cut yer throat without a thought and no mistake.

As Rhifaroth speaks he notices Toby for the first time since the night before. "Old enough to...," he doesn't finish his sentence.

[Nob(#16122)]

Toby shrugs again, evading the question. "Ain't none of your business," he mutters, under his breath, then a bit louder, says, "Twenty?" There is an odd upward slide to his voice, as if he isn't quite sure himself. And then he falls entirely silent, glowering up at Acelen through the dimly lit room.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Hearing Acelen's chair thump down suddenly causes Rhifaroth to start very slightly, surprised by the clatter. The water flask slips out of his right hand and tumbles to the bed roll, instantly beginning to soak it. The man swears again in some foreign tongue and tries reflexively to sit up and grab it with his right hand. He manages to rescue it but he looks angry with himself.

Maser Acelen's commentary however is not entirely lost on him. Rhifaroth grunts and gives the man an unreadable and unfriendly look, "Terribly lucky, I'm sure." Just for the moment, he's not yet feeling terribly grateful since that particular arm is hurting a good deal more - now that Acelen had so roughly set and splinted it.

Toby's answer also gains Rhifaroth's attention, "Certainly old enough to... "

But whatever else Rhifaroth might have added, the man sighs instead, "I didn't mean to ..." but that trails off too and he just gives up. Instead he just leans back against the saddle bags and closes his eyes, still holding the wet flask in his right hand in his lap. Much to weak yet to get into arguments.

[Acelen(#32035)]

"Don't matter how old the lad is," Acelen says, "What matters is how much work we kin get outta him." He looks pointedly at the boy. "Ain't seen you at the Pony fer a few days lad. Is this where you come? Ain't a fit place fer a load like o' yerself," he sniffs, and then scans the room to see who is left as the first faint color of dawn shows through the windows.

"What I'm wonderin now is whether ye got the strength to lay in the back o' th wagon so's I kin take yer home to the Inn," the ostler says to Rhifaroth. "'Tis a long cold journey and it be perishin out there. Almost froze me manhood off comin here," he grumbles. "Ain't got no warm cloak or clothes like some have." He opens his shirt to show that he has stuffed it partially with soft hay. "Least it's free," he continues as he begins to rebutton his the patches that are his shirt.

"I got some o' that horse tonic left," the stablemaster says with a wink. "That'll take away the pain in yer arm."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Rhifaroth just nods his head absently to Acelen's goings on about the proposed trip back, how cold it is, how Acelen doesn't have thick warm cloaks and suchlike, and so on. When the stableman finally winds down, only then does the injured man open his eyes to look at Acelen.

The swelling going down on Rhifaroth's face, but sickly colored bruises are beginning to shadow in, "The pain won't like to kill me, but your wheedling surely will, master Acelen."

Taking a breath he adds quickly but in a very tired voice, "Take my cloak - it's yours. But for love of the Sun, … just help me get back to Bree."

[Nob(#16122)]

The look Toby gives the stable master in return is one of decided dislike. "Ain't none of your business," he says again, louder. A glance flicks across Rhifaroth, then returns to Acelen, mockingly. 'Thief,' he mouths, silently.

[Acelen(#32035)]

Acelen bends to reach into his pack and then hefts it suspiciously. "Seems a might lighter than it was last night," he says while untying the thongs that hold it closed. A great sigh escapes his lips, "Yep, someone made off with the bread n' cheese I had packaged up here. Lucky I kept the medicine pouch inside me shirt, or there'd be none o' that left either. Well then, We'll just have ta do without - won't be the first time." He eyes the cloak that Rhifaroth has partially wrapped around him.

"No...I ain't takin the cloak of a sick un." Seems he has a few scruples after all. "But I'll tell ya what I would like when yer feelin up to it again." He sighs again and arises to look down on the injured man. "Travellin in the light is what we should be doin' fer sure," he nods, "But I think you'd better have a wee drop er two of the horse potion just the same." He pulls the small vial from his shirt and bends to press it to Rhifaroth's lips. "Expensive stuff this is," he grunts.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Listening to the man's continued ramblings on, because he has no choice in the matter, Rhifaroth doesn't reopen his eyes. He really hasn't rested well and just wants some quiet. But that's not what he's getting. Already there are sounds of the two men upstairs moving about at this hour, even as the first wane light of morning has begun paling the eastern sky outside.

Because Rhifaroath is trying to rest a bit more, and not really paying a great deal of attention, Acelen's thrusting a vile of some liquid to his lips takes him by surprise. The injured man reflexively tries to jerk his head back and raise his good right arm, getting the dose whether he wanted it or not. He grimaces at the awful taste, "Blasted, man! That's vile."

Wiping his mouth with the back of his tattooed right hand, Rhifaroth can't help but give the silent Toby a look, "Is he always this .. gruff?" Rhifaroth's own disposition is certainly not improving with the morning.

[Nob(#16122)]

Toby's mood seems to be improving - at least in a sardonically amused fashion. He quirks an eyebrow at Rhifaroth, ignoring the stablemaster entirely now, and leans forward a bit. "Come on," he says, having apparently made up his mind to help. "Got t'get you up." His eyes turn towards the ceiling, then drop.

[Acelen(#32035)]

"May be vile," Acelen says sternly, as he rocks back on his heels. "But if I hadn't given ya this last night..., well remember the pain of it all? Pr'aps ya don't and maybe that is all to the good." He rises, "Come on lad, you take one shoulder and I'll take the other. He'll rest well now. I got a half load a hay in the back that he can lay down on. You ride in the back with im, and cover the both of ye up ta keep warm. Let's just hope the horses are still there is all."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Rhifaroth isn't entirely ungrateful as the two of them move around to make ready to help him up. He gestures with his good arm to behind himself at the saddle bags, "There's food in my bags... hard cheese, dried meat... bit of waybread left." The ready hands under his arms, the tall man takes a bit of effort to lift - easily he must be close to 250 pounds or more with the studded leather armor still on him, though unfastened on one side. The rest is travel-lean muscle and long, dense bone.

The injured man’s unfastened cloak lays on the bed roll as he gets to his feet and leans on both men. Rhifaroth’s head suddenly spins, "Sun and wind..."

[Nob(#16122)]

Toby's arm goes behind Rhifaroth's waist - he is considerably shorter than the other man, but he is strong. With his foot, he hooks the saddlebags close to himself, then, keeping a hand on the tall stranger, bends to try and pick them up with the other.

[Acelen(#32035)]

Acelen bends to hook one hand under Rhifaroth's shoulder then lifts in tandem with Toby. "Ya got some meat on ya, and no mistake," he gasps as he rises with the injured man.

His weather beaten face brightens somewhat at the thought of having some food, his eyes fall on the cloak now, "Bring the man's cloak, Toby," he says, not unkindly.

"Ok then, away we go," he continues and begins to move slowly forward towards the door.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Rhifaroth hesitates to look back as Acelen begins to help him towards the doorway, "And the bed roll... furs... my bow … and scabbard!" Obviously, he doesn't wish for anything at all to be left, since he's running out of belongs left to loose! And indeed, the furs of the bedroll are thick, great big pelts of some mountain animals. The man's sword belt and empty scabbard, bow case and mostly empty quiver also lay upon the floor.

Walking on his own two feet, the Southern Dunadan can at least carry his own weight. Nonetheless he must lean some on the stable master for some support as they move through the doorway.

[Acelen(#32035)]

"Um...," Acelen hums. He glances towards the furs enviously, and then nods to Toby. "Can ye hold im fer a minute lad whilst I pick those up?"

[Nob(#16122)]

Toby grunts, muscles standing out on his arm as he hoists the saddlebags. "Some cheese," he says dryly, settling the bags against his hip and, as Rhifaroth seems able to walk with Ace's help only, he rolls his eyes at the stablemaster and stoops to collect the rest of the stranger's belongings. "I c'n get 'em," he answers, truthfully or not.

[Acelen(#32035)]

"Right ye are then", Acelen says, "Well done lad. Let's go."

Acelen exits the Forsaken Inn and heads out toward the Great East Road.

Acelen has left.

You exit the Forsaken Inn and head out toward the Great East Road.

East Road - Edge of the Chetwood

The ground is flat and lightly forested all about you, except for Bree Hill which stands just down the road to the west. From here you can barely see the houses which dot the side of the hill, giving it an almost scarred look. There is little traffic along the East road at the moment, although usually it is a bustling throughfare. The moment of peace allows you to enjoy the serenity of the Chetwood. Just off the road to the north, hidden partially in the shadows of the trees, lies a wooden building which would appear no longer so very abandoned, though it is still very old. Signs of recent work abound: branches have been trimmed away so that the Inn can be easily approached, the porch has new boards mending gaps, the windows are clean. Most telling of all is the light that shines through the window night and day.

Contents:

Acelen

Obvious exits:

Decrepit Wooden Building, West, and Southeast

Nob has arrived.

[Acelen(#32035)]

There is a stricken look on the stablemaster's face as the trio emerges from the building. "Me wagon!" he wails, "Tis gone!" If ever a man looked like he had lost his best friend, it is him at this moment. His shoulders slump a little as he looks at Rhifaroth. Then he puts his thumb and finger in his mouth and lets out a shrill whistle.

There is a muffled nicker from someplace nearby.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

The tall man comes along decently well enough with someone to keep him steady. There is no sign of the woman from the night before. But, the drug that Acelen has given to him may already be starting to work as Rhifaroth suddenly sways the last few steps, leaning a good deal more on the stable master, "Ehm..."

[Nob(#16122)]

And last of all comes Toby, nearly buried beneath the masses of Rhifaroth's belongings. He manages not to stagger, quite, coming to an abrupt stop behind the other two.

[Acelen(#32035)]

"Somebody's moved them horses," Acelen says warily. He looks pointedly at Toby. "Drop 'is things and go take a look where that horse is callin from. That's my beast unless I'm a hobbit."

[Nob(#16122)]

The look Toby gives Acelen is somewhat beyond unfriendly; just as well his face is mostly hidden behind the rough furs. "Get 'em yourself," he says shortly. "Got m'arms full."

[Acelen(#32035)]

"I'm guessin you wants ta walk home. Is that right boy?" Acelen grunts to Toby. "Case ya hadn't noticed, I kinda got me arms full too."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Rhifaroth seems to be getting a little dazed, dislocated from what is going on around him. He stands leaning on the stable master's shoulder with his good right arm, his left dangling with the uncomfortable, crude splint. Swallowing as though he had some nasty after taste in his mouth, the man looks towards the morning's glow as the sun is rising in the east.

Looking at that red light that paints the sky and more or less unaware of the conversation going on, he says, "Damned mountain is spewing forth it's filth again... boys."

[Nob(#16122)]

"I walked out here," Toby snaps. "Unlike you." But he looks at Rhifaroth, sagging visibly now, and with an undertoned snarl drops his armload and goes to hunt for the wagon; throwing an odd look over his shoulder as the injured man babbles.

[Acelen(#32035)]

Acelen waits, bearing the brunt of Rhifaroth's prodigious weight. "Eh, hurry boy, this un has been feedin up lately and I can't hold im much longer."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Taking his own weight back a bit more to stand up straighter, Rhifaroth glances at Toby as the boy drops everything to go and look for the wagon. The tall, injured man snaps an order, "Inform the Captain!"

[Acelen(#32035)]

Acelen reaches over and pats the stricken man's shoulder. "You bet I will, ...uh, sir," he says to humor him. "And ye'll be tellin im soon too, I wager if that boy ever gets back 'ere with the wagon."

[Nob(#16122)]

Just before Toby disappears, fading into trees and twilight, he looks back again - as confused at this comment as at the first.

Time passes.

Then there is a whinny, and the creak of wood and leather - the sound of wheels crunching over fallen branches; and the wagon comes into view, narrowly passing between two trees.

[Acelen(#32035)]

"Well done lad," Acelen grunts under the weight of his burden. "Tie up them nags and help me boost im into the back. Then you and he can rest under them furs for the trip back. Only pass me up some o that bread n' cheese for my stomach is eating itself," he continues, as he half walks, half drags Rhifaroth towards the back of the wagon bed.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

The injured man's straighter stance is not long lived as he turns his head back to look again at the red glow in the east with a critical eye. Rhifaroth wavers a bit on his feet but the fingers of his right hand tighten down hard on Acelen's arm as he mutters, "They'll be using th' smoke..." and as he hears the wagon approaching, he nods once, "We better be mov'n out." His normally distinct words are becoming slurred.

As Acelen begins to walk him around to the back of the wagon, Rhifaroth comes along but is dragging his feet a little as though a drunk'n man, the drug doing it’s work.

[Nob(#16122)]

Toby mutely wraps the reins around a handy branch and comes around the wagon bed to help heave Rhifaroth into it.

[Acelen(#32035)]

"Get up in the wagon bed, Toby," Acelen grunts, "and I'll push im up as ye pull. Mind 'is left shoulder and arm, though. Arm's broken and shoulder was outta place. Try pullin on th' right un, if ya can."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Rhifaroth's head slumps a bit as he leans more heavily on the stable master. The drug is getting out of his head, so to speak. No wonder Toby thought that his mutterings about some woman having come to see him in the night were dismissed - let alone ridiculous claims about having run into a troll.

Even so, handling him as they are, both of the men likely can feel that the injured man's skin is overly dry and hot from a fever that likely began in the night.

[Nob(#16122)]

Toby jumps into the wagon bed, worming his hand under Rhifaroth's right armpit, and taking a fistful of cloth in the other, and waiting to heave when Acelen pushes. Still, he has not said a word.

[Acelen(#32035)]

The stablemaster turns Rhifaroth around so that he is facing away from the wagon bed, then he hooks one hand under his thigh and the other around his waist as he counts, "One, two, three!" Acelen half hoists and half pushes his burden up onto the wagon bed.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

As they push and pull him up into the wagon and lay him down within it, Rhifaroth's grey eyes blink and look at the two of them without clarity, his voice thick with his native accent, "Am I hurt? I can't leave the field... " he closes his eyes, so tired, "I must give my report..." his voice is less clear and softer, "Narakshi Outriders... they'll attack ... Prince Imra...il's ... "

But whatever report Rhifaroth was trying to give simply trails off. There is no cry of pain, nor struggle, nor assistance. Rhifaroth mutters something in another language and lays where they dump him in the haybed.

[Nob(#16122)]

The boy hops nimbly over the side of the wagon, and heaves the furs onto the bed, then returns to hoist the other things up beside them.

[Acelen(#32035)]

"Off 'is head," Acelen mutters as he moves to clap the boy on the shoulder. "Well done, lad. Tuck yerself under them furs and take a snooze. Just hand me up some o' them victuals before ya sleep, will ya?" He turns and climbs over the wagon bed, jumps to the ground and releases the horses. "They ain't had nought ta eat, I'll wager," he continues his muttering as he gathers the reins together and mounts the wagon. "Hey there! Gee up now!" he calls, and the wagon crunches over the frosty road towards Bree.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Rhifaroth's breathing is a bit ragged in the cold morning air, his breath coming steaming from his partly open mouth, his nose busted up as it is. He lays on his back in the wagon bed, apparently agitated and concerned that he has some forgotten responsibility he must urgently attend to. Continuing to mutter to himself both in Westron and some other language - or mix of languages, the man is indeed quite out of it, eyes now closed.

The wagon jostles forward with Acelen's snap of the reins, and off they start their journey....

[Nob(#16122)]

A strange humorless smile crosses Toby's face as he sits in the back of the wagon, legs dangling over the side, and begins to open the saddlebags. His nimble fingers unbuckle the bags, laying them open, and he begins to hunt through them. Something hard and rounded... a steel and leather helm. He knocks his knuckles on it, and sets it aside. Underneath is some dried meat and fruit, bread and cheese wrapped in a cloth. Putting a piece of meat in his mouth and chewing at it, he turns and tosses the bread towards Acelen - "Catch." It's a soft throw, easy to catch.

[Acelen(#32035)]

The stablemaster grins and turns as Toby tosses the food. It is caught neatly in the air. "He mentioned cheese...and maybe meat," Acelen says hopefully. "Make sure yer careful with 'is stuff. Don't want im comin after me with that pig poker he had on t'other day," he says, and then waits for the other food to appear.

[Nob(#16122)]

From the glitter in Toby's eyes, the picture of Rhifaroth chasing Acelen with his sword is a pleasant and amusing one. "Wish he would," he mutters to himself, then reluctantly sends the meat sailing after the bread. Well, some of it anyways. Meanwhile, he is busy unfastening the small round shield from the other bag.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

There is a muttering from the prone man as the wagon moves and he turns his head, "the treaty... th'... , collect the dead..." and something else that makes about as much sense, "Orcs'l have th' ballista..., ... b'careful of... " he mutters.

Rhifaroth's eyes are closed and he otherwise seems to be dreaming, his mind in some distant time and place, some battle he thinks he remembers.

Nevermind that the man's sword belt and empty scabbard make it plain enough that his long sword is missing.

[Acelen(#32035)]

The meat is also caught, but not without some effort this time, as Toby's throw is more in the general direction of the ostler. Nonetheless it is caught, and soon Acelen is munching happily on breakfast as the horses trot briskly down the road.

"We'll rest trot em and then walk em and then trot em some more," he calls back. I want ta make sure we reach Bree by nightfall, the the sun fades rapidly this time o'year.

Acelen glances back and smiles at Rhifaroth's ramblings. "'E's off in another world. Wish t'were me," he says, as the wind picks up and the cold bite of it pierces his meager clothing. "If ya kin spare it, pass me one o them furs," he says to the boy.

[Nob(#16122)]

The boy rummages through the bag, passing over sundry unimportant items, and finally pauses at a small purse. He pokes it tentatively, glancing over his shoulder to see if Acelen is looking, just as the man asks for a fur. Almost eagerly, Toby drags one of the furs over to the front, then staggering back and sitting down again, his back to the driver. And his eyes go swiftly to Rhifaroth, before returning covetously to the small pouch. The top is folded back carefully, and a glitter of coin reflects in his eyes.

[Acelen(#32035)]

Acelen accepts the fur with much gratitude and shoulders it around himself with a happy sigh. He hunkers down under the fur and wastes no time getting into a sleep like state himself, knowing the horses know their road home very well.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]

Rhifaroth himself is completely oblivious to the pillaging of his things... but he did tell them he had food to share in his saddle bags, so it's not like they weren't invited.

The tall injured man grows quieter as the wagon travels on, his breathing settling to a more regular, restful state as he slips deeper into a drugged sleep.

[Nob(#16122)]

For long minutes, Toby just sits and stares - at more money than he has ever seen in his life. Then he begins, with great care to be quiet, to turn over the coins; his mouth moves as he counts. The gold coins hold his eyes and his fingers the longest, but he leaves it behind, palming instead a number of the silver dimes and pennies. There is still half of the money left when he begins to fumble through his own pouch. The coins are secreted there, and strangely, the boy takes out several rough-looking pebbles, setting them inside Rhifaroth's coin purse and starting to close it up again. Then, unable to help himself, he twitches out one of the gold pieces. The remaining money is tied up safely again, stuffed deep into the bag, which is buckled back up. And Toby sits on the back of the wagon, staring blankly at the frozen road behind, trying not to be bounced off, and growing colder by the minute.

---------------------------------------------- End of RP Log ------------------------------------------