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A quiet farewell

Tags: Nurenhir,  Brev

Short Summary: Two who have helped rebuild the Shepherding Village go their separate ways
Date (real-life): 2010-06-10
Scene Location: Shaws: Shepherding Village
Date (in-game): February 3050
Time of Day: Night
Shepherding Village

This is the home of a small, proud, and independent people who live primarily by herding sheep in the open lands south of the Great East Road. Once driven from this region by troll depredations, they have returned and appear to be prospering, perhaps because they can also profit by trade on the Great East Road.

Or rather.... we should say it /was/ the home of these people. The many sturdy houses and smaller huts clustered on a hill here have mostly been burned. Some are yet standing, more are nothing more than charred timbers. Once, they were safely ensconced behind a deep ditch and wall. The ditch is filled with the ashy ghosts of thorn bushes ... and the gate hangs crookedly, black as charcoal.

But a stone wall is being built by a group of industrious dwarves, and many of the buildings that were still standing have been repaired. The village is now a mixture of the charred, skeletons of houses, and shiny new ones.

A long, low, smoke-stained building, sprawling along the hillside below the caravanserai, appears to the south. Its thatched roof has miraculously escaped burning - though there are black patches across it. Thick lead-paned windows are dark. A group of industrious men and dwarves and a few elves are camped in the open area.

Obvious exits:
Gathering House, Caravanserai, and Great East Road

                           | Yfelwydan Time (YST) |
** Real time is: Thu Jun 10 14:42:36 2010, GMT -8 **
Elendor time is: Late Night on a Cloudy Hevensday, Day 23 of February 3050.

Note: It's nighttime out, so it's safe to wander outside.

It is night, and many lanterns peek out of their new windowsills as families have begun to settle into the rebuilt houses. The camp has dwindled to a single fire, which burns low with no one to tend it.

That is, until Nurenhir approaches the ring of tents and deposits an armful of heather by the coals, reaching for a stick to poke at the fire.

It is that flaring of the fire that causes a cloak-covered hump tucked out of the way in the lee of the wall to stir suddenly. There is the brief gleam of amber eyes, and then Brev uncurls himself from the awkward-looking position in which he appears to have dozed, dagger glinting in his hand. "What-" he murmurs, squinting at the black figure outlined against the flames without recognition.

Beside him lies a smooth new spear-shaft with a leaf-shaped blade lashed to it, and not far from that a whetstone.

Nurenhir turns slightly, so that he is not completely darkened by the shadow. "It's Nurenhir," he murmurs. "Few others have stayed."

Dragging a stone near and sitting upon it, he grins and puts down the poker. "It seems you were busy. Come and sit by the fire? It's quite warm."

That tense, suspicious look disappears from Brev's features as the other identifies himself. He sheathes the dagger in silence, then rubs his neck with a groan. "Must have dropped off. Kiern, I'm getting sloppy. Need toughening up." One corner of his mouth twitches up in a tired half-grin. He moves toward the fire, bringing spear and whetstone with him - and if his position makes it hard to look into Nurenhir's eyes past the brightness of the dancing flames, at least his own face is clearly illuminated.

He glances round, as though checking for others' presence, then murmurs quietly, "Figured I might head on soon myself. Place is fixed up - again." He hesitates, then adds, "And I don't fancy getting trapped behind these stone walls. Might bring back unpleasant memories."

"I was thinking the same," answers the Elf, twirling a stem of dried heather in his fingers. "The task of the Elves is finished here, except what guarding the village will need against the orcs. I suppose this is a farewell."

Looking out into the brightly lit village, Nurenhir shrugs. "This is not a place for strangers. I have the feeling they are wary again."

Brev lets out a soft snort. "Oh, they /like/ strangers. Just the right kind. I fancy someone or other in town's making a nice little living from strangers' belongings. Well, each to his own." He shrugs philosophically. "They're not getting mine."

He watches the heather twirling in silence for a moment, then wonders awkwardly, hesitantly, "Where will you go, Nur?" That much of the foreign-sounding name he can manage, at least.

Checking his pockets quickly, Nurenhir smiles ruefully. "Going home. Have you seen Elladan, who came with us? His father is the lord of that house, and I live there as well. By the Loudwater."

"Eldan?" Brev repeats, brows furrowing. "That is - the lordly one? Seen him in passing." A shrug suggests that his lack of acquaintance does not distress him. "And I don't know the Loudwater. East? West? Figure I'll head back to the Breelands, check on Gidon - could use some company."

His gaze, which had lifted almost to eye-level despite the flames, drops suddenly, and he lifts the spear and gives it a couple of inattentive strokes with the whetstone before speaking again. "Goblin-men are still out there, massing it sounds. One was boasting of crushing walls. Warn your folk, eh?"

"They cannot accomplish that without a troll," replies the elf warily, his gaze darting momentarily to the wall. "I shall tell them. And the village folk have rebuilt their siege weapon," he adds, gesturing to the spear-launching ballista.

Nurenhir marks the rising, then falling glance, and smiles. "It sounds like you had another encounter with one of them. Be careful when you return to Bree, yes?"

Troll. At that word Brev shudders slightly. "Could be. Wasn't about to hang around long enough to ask. Valued keeping /my/ skin whole more than scratching its. 'Sides, not like I'd have got truth from the beast anyway."

At the final warning he chuckles softly, "Oh, I intend to be. And Mescan's careful enough for two. Just need to figure out how to get him to take me with him when he's running off." A wry twist of his mouth. "You're not headed that way yourself then?" Brev actually soliciting the company of one of the 'Forest Spirits'? My, how things change.

Nurenhir's glance runs over the man once, concerned for the possible presence of new orc-scratches. "No, my home is in the east."

After a moment's pause he rises and puts more brush on the fire, letting it crackle greedily over the new fuel. "I will tell my companions that we are leaving soon, then. May the stars light your path, Brev."

There are no new orc-scratches apparent on Brev - if he has any, he's keeping them to himself. At the word 'east' he sighs softly. Something flickers across his features for a moment - disappointment? In the dancing light of the new-fed fire it's hard to tell.

He looks up after a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching. "And you try not to put any of your limbs in the way of goblin blades for a week or few, eh?" The twitching becomes the flash of a grin. He is silent, and at first it seems no more is forthcoming, but then he adds softly, the nearest he'll get to praise: "Found you easier to talk to than most of your folk." His mouth quirks. "Better watch out - spending time with mankind must've corrupted you." Chuckling softly, he drops his gaze and returns to his spear-honing.

Date added: 2010-06-14 15:46:55    Hits: 60
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