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Logs

Catching up

Tags: Bardur,  Dorn

Short Summary: Bardur and Dorn hear each other's news.
Date (real-life): 2013-04-01
Scene Location: Hall of Nain
Date (in-game): July 3058
Hall of Nain(#5448RntU)

A wide, high arched hallway that curves around in a great sickle. The walls, set with minuscule gems, shimmer and sparkle constantly as they bathe in the light of ten lamps set on stands along the middle of the concourse. In the center of the hall is a large obelisk, five-sided, and sharpened to a point at the top. All of the sides but one are refined and hewn smooth, this last is to remind of the younger, unfinished dwarves, that have died in battle. Carved at the base are the names of those who have perished in the service of the uzbad, each side to a clan. The hall is a busy place, with noise caused by the constant treading of feet and the voices of those passing through.

Obvious exits: Northeast leads to Dain's Way. Southeast leads to First Hall, South End. Spiral Staircase and Stairwell (Up)


Erebor Time & Weather Service

* Real time is: Tue Apr 02 04:46:27 2013, GMT -8 *

Elendor time is: Mid Afternoon (1600) on Highday, Day 27 of July 3058.

In the outer world's rainy Summer sky, Tonight the moon will be full.


The Hall of Nain is the scene of many comings and goings, set as it is between the imposing Main Gates and the passageways leading to the heart of the Mountain. This afternoon the vaulted roof echoes with the sound of voices: a pair of merchants dickering over prices, gruff oldsters pausing by the obelisk to reminisce about battles of yore and the smaller forms of a trio of beardlings off on some errand or other, their lighter tenor exchanges occasionally cutting through the deep bass of their elders.

And, from the direction of Dain's Way, a muted mumbling that at first sounds somewhat like the buzzing of a distant bumblebee. Then the source of the noice rounds a corner and the buzzing becomes a low, tuneful hum: Bardur son of Mardur, lost in deep thought, is crooning a tune under his breath.

[Dorn(#13467)] Dressed in his nice(meaning clean-ish and not wrinkled!) town shirt, a simple pair of trousers and a vest, wearing no armor or weapons, Dorn Greyhand walks into the Hall. If nothing else tells that he might be a soldier or Warder or something of the kind, the Ravenfeather badge is attached to his vest, all neat like. Apparently these scouts need or want to be discerned from the rest of the population! Either way, the fellow doesn't look very busy or business-like and when he hears the humming, he walks toward it to find Bardur there.

"Evenin', Bardur. Making another song? Did the humans ask you to return for a second round?"

The humming comes to a sudden and abrupt halt and Bardur blinks owlishly at the person who's hailed him. "Huh?" is his erudite and scholarly initial reaction. Then he tugs in faintly embarrassed fashion at his beard. "Well, no they didn't, now that you come to mention it." Black bushy brows draw down in a disapproving frown. "Though I had thought I'd pass that way in the autumn, perhaps attend one of their harvest festivals. But I'm not sure I'd waste my best work on them, they have no appreciation for true artistry. I've prepared some lighter material."

Assessment of Laketown's musical appreciation over, he scrutinizes his companion more closely. "How fare you, Dorn? I've not seen you since we returned to the Mountain - you look different somehow." Is he about to remark on a month or two's worth of fine (well, anything's better than nothing, right?) beard growth? Alas, no: in the end he decides, "You're wearing a badge, that's it. A ... crow's feather?"

[Dorn(#13467)] A light chuckle escapes the scout as he leans against something while listening to the skald's explanations about his poetry and humans. "Oh yeah? Well, let me know. If I am around I might be able to travel there with you. There's no reason we should let the humans eat all that harvest feast and drink all that ale on their own," he replies with an easy smile - the day's been good so why not?!

Indeed Dorn's been slightly managing his beard situation! The hair's been growing terribly as ever but he's had a barber set it in small braids(and truly these braids are barely braids but the barber was good so there is at least SOMETHING!) and shaved the worse parts going awry. There is the beginning of a beard... pattern? Yes, that's it. Once it has had some time to grow in some more, it should at least look as if he has something that isn't a small dead animal on his chin.

But it isn't about the beard. For once! Glancing at the badge, Dorn nods enthusiastically. "Yes, I'm a Ravenfeather now. One of the youngest they have, too!"

"Quite, quite," Bardur agrees. "Someone ought to help them drink that ale." Someone other than him, if he has any sense - but ... well, we'll not go there.

Dorn's next pronouncement causes the Skald's blue eyes to widen. "You?" he exclaims. "I had heard they'd taken on some new blood, but I didn't-" He cuts the words off before he can say anything he'd regret and then exclaims heartily, "Congratulations, cousin!" before attempting to seize the other's hand and pump it up and down. Then his face falls. "Oh dear, does that mean I need to alter my song? 'Wily Warder' isn't right any more - though I /did/ have 'strong-armed scout' in there too. What do you think?"

[Dorn(#13467)] "Ahh, so that is what I am hearing!" While he'd been present, Dorn had been... occupied with ale and pranks that particular evening at the tavern, to pay much attention to the masterpiece. But there were enough people who knew about it. Dorn chuckles as he lets his hand be grabbed and shaken, not about to make trouble over something that Bardur might have been meaning to say. Besides, disagreeing and making a fuss over something while he has proven himself already, was not very sensible. So while 'sensible' and Dorn did not go hand in hand all the time, this time he didn't let the surprise and maybe even doubt in the skald's voice get to him. The day was too good for it! "Thank you! For the song, too! Hmm," he reaches up to scratch his barely bearded chin and grins. "I was still a Warder when the events of your great poem took place so it is still very true," he finally says, happily enough.

"Ah, that's right." Bardur's unhappily contorted features smooth out in clear relief at Dorn's final words. "Good, good, I do so hate reworking things."

Once he's released Dorn's hand he fiddles with his beard as though nerving himself up to something. "Scouts know all about weapons," he mumbles at last, the words made somewhat jerky by his tugging at his raven locks. "Do you think you could ... well, help me with my sword technique sometime, cousin? Uncle says I'm as heavy on my feet as a sack of rocks."

[Dorn(#13467)] As he retrieves his hand, Dorn notices that re-writing a poem is not the only trouble the young skald is having. While not too much older than Bardur, the scout's life has revolved around weapons and training from very early age though so the hesitant question seems fair enough. They did have that one time with wooden swords training how to fend off orcs. Now Dorn wonders if it helped the Skald at all - he had gotten hurt pretty bad though mostly by arrows!

"Sure I can," he agrees with a smirk and reaches out to pat the other's shoulder comfortingly. "Most dwarves are heavy on their feet but it can be an advantage sometimes as well. Especially when fighting these smaller orcs. Most of the ones we saw in the Dales were bigger and not worn down by daylight. These you have to stand against not to be tossed aside like a hay-roll." Realizing he was lecturing and not replying to the bard's question, Dorn then shut his mouth and simply nodded. "Any time I'm in."

"I did!" Bardur nods enthusiastically at Dorn's instructions. "At least ... I did once. One of those big brutes; he had a drum in the way so it was hard to stab him, but I remembered what you said and went for the knees. If Skorri hadn't needed help I'd have felled him for sure." The beard-tugging stops; instead Bardur's chin lifts in misplaced pride.

Moment of boasting over, bushy black brows furrow. "How's being heavy on your feet an advantage? I don't quite see .." Dorn's offer to demonstrate hasn't saved him from being pestered with questions: the Skald clearly regards him as an expert on the subject, beard or no beard.

[Dorn(#13467)] A nod is given at the mention of how bravely the bard had fought. "I heard you did good," he says though embellishing the truth perhaps a little. 'Good' wasn't actually said 'Reckless and foolish' might have been. But nice boy that Dorn is, he doesn't comment on that. The most important thing is, the skald has experience now and he can envision what they were fighting out there.

"Well, the heavier you are, the stronger you stand, the less of a chance they knock you down right away and have their archers and those little orcs get you," he explains, crossing his arms and taking a relaxed stance. "It's good to know the basics and to know how to swing your sword or axe but in big fights like that you should probably stay at the back and try sniping at them with your bow?"

Bardur considers this, beard wagging slightly as he murmurs to himself soundlessly; then he nods. "I'm good with a bow!" he claims. It's true enough, even if the bow in question is used to play his viol. "But Uncle doesn't consider it a real weapon. 'The Battle of the Five Armies was not won with bows.'" For a moment his already deep voice takes on a gruffer timbre. "I told him it was won by then Eagles but then he said it was time I got my nose out of books and scrolls and ... well, never mind." There's a slightly sheepish look in the blue eyes.



Date added: 2013-04-03 13:45:51    Hits: 77
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