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Tags: Broddur,  Natter (Lo),  Imladech

Short Summary: A pair of disreputable fellows drinking in the Prancing Pony try to interest some Dwarves in the name of Imladech
Date (real-life): 2010-10-17
Scene Location: Bree: The Prancing Pony
Date (in-game): March 3051
Time of Day: Evening
Common Room
This large and rectangular room serves the purpose of Common Room for the Prancing Pony. Large windows along the western end of the room peek out over the Great East Road which runs outside the Inn. There are long tables with bench seats for the patrons in the centre of the room. Nestled into the wall is a large fireplace with several bundles of wood piled next to it. Overhead, lamps hang down from roof beams, but their light is dim and half-veiled in smoke. The corners of the room are wrapped in shadow.

<OOC> Type PHELP for help using the menu at the Pony.

Obvious exits:

================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Sun Oct 17 16:11:35 2010
Bree time: Before Dawn <05:34:45> on Mersday of Spring - March 15,1451
Moon Phase: Full  Moon

Breelands Weather                               
The before dawn spring air is cool but pleasant around you. A light drizzle trickles from the sky.

It is evening and the Prancing Pony is bustling as ever. The rain seems not to have kept people away - tradesmen and women eat hungrily, red-faced farmers argue over the price of bacon at this time of year and an elderly hobbit-gentleman, both feet on the table, is holding forth to a group of eager devotees (amongst them young Brandebras Bywater nodding earnestly at all that is said).

Pushing their way through the throng are a pair of sopping wet Dwarves, both red-hooded and with weapons at their belt. One of the pair stops to wring out his beard, whilst the other, the gruff and scarred miner Broddur, stomps toward one of the servers, a pretty hobbit-lass, muttering to himself.

Seated near the entrance-way, their eyes darting hither and thither among the crowd but ever and anon returning to the door, are two scruffy-looking men. The first, tall and lanky lounges back in his seat, a near-full tankard set before him, while his companion, a stocky, scar-faced fellow scowls and hunches over their table. Both turn their gaze immediately to the entrance of the Dwarves, and a sly, knowing glance is sent between them.

"-ales," Broddur is saying, quite oblivious to the fact that he's interrupted the flustered hobbit-lass mid-round. "'Nother thing, too. Heard someone was askin' for Dwarves. Who was it?" He stares round the room challengingly.

A few of those eating supper look up and hastily away again. One of the farmers turns round and scowls at the noise, then goes back to business. And the elderly hobbit doesn't even pause for breath.

Broddur's companion, however, notices the pair of men staring and clears his throat meaningfully in Broddur's direction.

And the lanky fellow breaks into a wide grin as he is spotted, though the scar-faced fellow is as sullen as ever regardless. Sending a wink to the Dwarves, the lanky fellow slides his seat around the table to make more room, and waves a lazy hand in invitation.

Broddur peers at his companion. "What is it now, Talin? Sounds like you've swallowed a frog - oh." He subsides at the sight of the lanky fellow's wave.

With a parting scowl toward the poor hobbit-lass to make sure she fetches his order (some coin might have changed hands to help with that, too) he stomps over toward the pair by the door. "Iffen you've got something to say, can say it to my face," he informs the two men belligerently. His companion, Talin, hastens to his side, shaking his head. "Easy there, Broddur," he murmurs; for his own part he has a bow and a polite, "Good evening," for the disreputable pair.

"That it is," agrees the lanky fellow, while his scarred companion merely grunts. "At least, in here more than outside. Got a bit wet, did yer? You'll need to dry yer beards by the fire a while, I expect. Maybe that'll cheer your friend up?"

Broddur, of course, bristles all the more. "Men!" he mutters under his breath. Staring the scarred man straight in the eye, he growls, "I'll tell you what would cheer me up. Planting this pick of mine in something other than rock. Been weeks since I had a good fight."

Talin, meanwhile, fidgets uncomfortably. He doesn't try to halt Broddur's words, but once the miner is done he adds smoothly, "Indeed, it is a foul night. But we Dwarves are hardy folk." With barely a pause he goes on, "Perhaps you gentlemen can help us? We had heard that someone was looking for Dwarves, and we are here to find out why. If there is anything you can tell ... with an ale to wet the throat for the telling, of course." He lets the sentence trail off meaningfully.

"Well now," says the lanky fellow, who seems to be the more talkative of the two, "If yer buying, then we'll have another round. But yes indeed, we can tell a tale or two that might interest you. I heard you lads have a bit of an itch to scratch when it comes to gold, and also a certain name in particular. Just so happens... we can lead you to both."

It is at this point that the hobbit-lass comes by with a couple of mugs of golden ale. Talin pushes them across the table, ignoring Broddur's strangled protest, asking the serving-lass politely for "another two of the same, please."

Broddur's gnarled face is so twisted it's hard to tell what he's thinking. But when he's given off muttering into his lopsided beard he manages to summon up the patience to enquire, "And just how would you be doing that?" His sooty gaze is filled with suspicion.

With a sniff, the lanky fellow leans back in his seat once more, and for once it is his scarred compaion who answers instead. "What does the name Imladech mean to you?" asks he, gruffly.

If Broddur were seated, he would have sprung to his feet. As it is, he clenches both fist and swells at least an inch in height. "That trai-" His words are cut short as Talin treads on his foot, hard. The miner's angry glare is turned on his companion, promising retribution to come.

"Perhaps I've heard the name before," Talin replies, striving for a tone of polite disinterest. "Is he a companion of yours, perchance?"

"Something like that, something like that," murmurs the scarred fellow, and he shrugs his shoulders. "We've been tooling around the wilds with him for a while now. Not fond of him, eh?" he leers then in Broddur's direction. "I bet yer itching to get yer hands on him..."

Broddur glares at the leering man. "Meanwhile, I've got you." He unclenches one heavy fist and flexes his hand as though readying to grab; the other rests now on his weapon-hilt.

"Broddur!" Talin's reprimand is hissed sharply, and no doubt louder than he intended. "Let me do the talking." Clearing his throat, he asks the two men before him, quite blandly, "Why would that be? And what exactly is your own role in affairs?"

"You could say we're trusted business partners," cackles the lanky fellow at this, though once more the scarred man grunts instead, and he himself replies: "We're henchmen, plain and simple. We've been doing his dirty work for a while now, including this. He wants us to tell you that he's been hunting orcs in the Trollshaws, and to bring in anyone who wants to help..."

But a knowing grin rests on his companion's lips, and the lanky mad adds: "Though, seems to us that no-one with half a wit would believe that. So, we're making plans of our own, before we get scuppered by his."

"Oh, he does, does he?" Broddur growls. "I'll give him help. I'll - where's those ale's got to?" Glowering at all of the present company equally, he turns away from the table and starts pushing through the crowded Common Room in search of the promised drinks.

Leaving Talin to deal with things. The second Dwarf eyes the pair of men shrewdly, then says at last, And such plans do not come cheaply, I'll warrant. So. Deliver us the one known as Imladech and you will be rewarded; play us false and the only reward will be a swift death. We will talk more of this, gentlemen. For now-"

Broddur's raised voice is heard across the room, and Talin winces. "Excuse me." Offering botht loutish-looking types a bow, he is gone.

Watching the Dwarves depart, the two men share another glance, ere they lounge back in their seats to enjoy their free round.

Date added: 2010-10-18 16:28:43    Hits: 38
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