The Old Guesthouse

Seven Stars and Seven Stones and One White Tree.
Dúnadan
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The Old Guesthouse



Image


The Old Guesthouse sits on Rath Celerdain in the first circle of Minas Tirith. The barkeep, Haldecar, and his daughter, Ioraen are serving up a wide selection of food and drinks to strangers and the White City's denizens alike.

Rules
~ No OOC ~
~ Post responsibly ~
~ Feel free to god mode Haldecar and Ioraen ~
~ Have fun! ~


{Created for the sole purpose of giving Gondor a thread for everybody and their characters to meet up!}

Child of Gondor
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It had been some time, hadn't it?
The door of The Old Guesthouse swung open and as Arteris stepped inside, he felt oddly at home. Well, at home but also slightly embarrassed. How many years had it been since he had first stepped inside one of the famous pubs of Minas Tirith? Too long, too long.
Back then, he had been just a child. An implant, grown up in Lake Town, sheltered and trained for years with the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain and just a foolish boy with unrealistic dreams and an undeserved confidence in himself when he set out as an adventurer. Those adventures had eventually led him here, where the good people of Gondor had accepted him into their service. He had been silly, stupid, brash, reckless -- pick an adjective -- in his younger days. Yet, he had once risen up the ranks of the Rangers, even served as their commander for a time before stepping back from the post for other pursuits. He had taken a wife, started a family. Suffered one injury too many to convince him that running around swinging a sword like some hero was maybe past him.
Younger souls, with more to prove and more to gain could replace him. The Rhunish warrior Jevesh had served for a time too, served as somewhat of a protege for a time before rising to his own achievements.
Arteris couldn't say he didn't have good times, though, and the pub reminded him of that, as he took a seat -- first to arrive -- and hailed to the barkeep for a bottle of moderately aged merlot. What else? If he were to indulge in the nostalgia, why not do so with such randomly selected drink-of-choice.

High Warden of Tower
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Holding one side of her green linen dress up a bit to avoid stepping on it, as she made her way up to the door, Daeryn came to the door and let herself in. She hesitated by the door a moment, seeing that there was only one person within, and then gave a small nod to Arteris as she moved towards counter. She was not sure of what exactly she wanted to eat or drink; it would definitely have to fit within the limits of her daily allowance. Ever since her parents had made her learn how to start her own life (some four years, was it), she had not made too much progress in gathering wealth or choosing a proper path of life for herself. At any rate, twenty was not much of an age; besides, she could always rely on her parents if she came to lack anything.

"Uh, some cider, if you please," she eventually requested, pushing a few dark unruly curls out of her eyes.

Wainrider
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It had been what felt like an Age since Reikon had stepped foot within the encircling walls of the White City. Minas Tirith had never been the Silvan's home, but he considered several of its citizens to be close friends, and many more were business associates. The elf's chosen vocation was as a trader; he procured rare, valuable, and sometimes illicit goods for those buyers who had the coin to afford his services. Gondor as a kingdom was not quite as wealthy as it once was - the constant attacks from the orcs and other sundry creatures of Mordor had seen to that - but there were still those with enough gold in their purse and expensive tastes to have need of Reikon's services from time to time.

On this occasion, Reikon found himself venturing to The Old Guesthouse in the first circle of the White City to meet a prospective client of his. He had received word through a mutual contact that someone in the City was in need of some artifacts of 'questionable' provenience from the old ruins of one of the cities of Arnor to the north. Reikon had found himself venturing to the skeleton of the old Kingdom many times in search of trinkets and relics which could fetch a high price, so he already had a number of these items in his personal possession. If the buyer needed one of these more common items, it would be a quick sale for the Silvan without any additional investment of time or effort. That was always the preferred type of transaction.

After dropping his horse off at the livery stable just inside the City gates, the tall, somewhat brooding elf made the short walk over to the Old Guesthouse. The establishment was mostly empty, as it usually was this time of day. One patron (Arteris) was conferring with the barkeep about a drink order, followed by another (Daeryn), and Reikon used the opportunity to slip into the pub unnoticed and make his way to his usual spot: a dark corner at the far end of the bar with a clear view of the front door, and in close proximity to the rear door in case a quick exit was needed. The elf deftly pulled a chair back from the table and sat down, then pulled a pouch from his satchel and began removing small pieces of pipeweed from the pouch. He reached further into the satchel to remove a long, thin clay pipe, which he then packed with pipeweed and began to work at lighting the pipe. After a short time, the barkeep noticed the elf had arrived, and ambled over to take his order. He was pleasant enough, which Reikon couldn't fault him for, and the Silvan ordered a simple flagon of ale to drink while he smoked his pipe and waited for his client.

New Soul
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Many years ago Veowyn and her family had spent time in Gondor. Veowyn had brought some elven technique to the woodworking crafters of the White City. Then they had left again, as her husband had used the extensive libraries to find new clues for a quest to keep a promise he once made to a wizard. This led the family of elves all over Middle Earth, but mostly staying in the north. However, now was the time to check in on the city and the family and friends that still remained within it's walls.

This was also her first time back to the city since her brother's passing, so it was bitter sweet moment for her. She touched the arrowhead broach, that clasped her gray cloak as she entered the building. She then slid her hood from her head, revealing her medium brown curls that were worn in a way that left her pointed ears mostly hidden. Her blue eyes scanned the room. She noted a few patrons, she gave a slight wave of her hand if their eyes met. They all looked familiar but no one she could say she knew directly. She even noted another elf in the far corner, and smiled to herself.

She then turned her attention to the barkeep and his daughter. Oh my had she really been gone so long that Haldecar's little girl could have grown enough to be joining his work? "Welcome back to the city, Miss!" The barkeep said as recognition lit his eyes. "Thank you. It feels good to be back here. I'll have an ale, and a cheese plate, please." She took a small wooden flute from her satchel and considered playing a little merry tune fit for the return.

Éowyn
Éowyn
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It was a day of familiar faces and many returns.

After a few years' absence, Arnyn had found her way back to the city of her birth - the city that had stolen her heart and would keep it, always. The need to travel had now caught her twice in her life: once when she was a mere eighteen and she'd travelled around for about a year, and once more two years ago, when the loss of a dear friend and fellow Ranger had struck her so deeply that she'd chosen to resign from her post as commander. She'd left for the Rangers of the North then, to escape. Weak, perhaps. But it had been what she needed at the time.

Who knew what people would think of her now? Had she fallen into disgrace because of her resignation? Would someone even remember her? She'd shaken off the questions as the Great Gates came into view. The sight of those gates, of the White City itself... it had made her heart soar. The questions had no longer mattered. A twinkle had settled in her dark brown eyes the moment she'd stepped into the First Circle, and it hadn't disappeared by the time she entered the Old Guesthouse. The dust of the road was still on her black boots and cloak, but her waist-length golden hair probably drew more attention - instead of her signature braid back in the day, it now fell freely down her back and over her shoulders.

"Good day, good sir!" she greeted the barkeep. "A tall glass of water to start, if you please." Travelling was thirsty business, and it was always a good idea to start with water to quench that first thirst. Once she'd gotten her bearings a little, she might dare to look around for some company.

Khazad Elder
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”I don’t work here, Lady” with Arnyn

After years of service in the Gondorian military, Hirgond had finally settled down and opened the brewery of his dreams. His own little place to brew alcohol, beer, and meads. The tall and powerful man had sustained many injuries in his years with the military, but refused to hire any help. Carrying a barrel of mead on his shoulder, he marched down the hill of Minas Tirith to the Old Guesthouse wearing a simple brown pair of pants and shirt. This was his daily trek, each day he carried a barrel to a different inn or bar in town.

Approaching the door of the Old Guesthouse, Hirgond turned and pushed his way into the main floor. Slipping through he looked up and saw nobody was behind the bar. Marching across the room he looked in the back and saw Haldecar busy cooking some food for the locals. He shouted, Haldy, got your delivery here. No rush on the payment, Ill just grab myself a beer and sit at the barHaldecar shouted something back but Hirgond was already making his way to the bar. Turning the corner, he grabbed a shimmering mug and for a second looked at his reflection in shock. His deep brown hair had been invaded by shocks of gray running along his temples, like bird wings stretching on either side of his head. He shook his head and poured a dark brown stout from one of the taps, taking a sip. But his peace was broken as he heard a voice from across the bar. ”Good day, good sir! A tall glass of water to start, if you please.”.

Hirgond looked up, placing his mug onto the bar and smiled at the woman who had addressed him. She had beautiful golden hair, deep brown eyes, and an air of command about her. ”Sorry to say, I am not the barkeep, Ma’am, but I will gladly pour you a glass.”. Leaning back and grabbing another glass with his large hands He went to the water barrel and filled the mug before turning around and handing it to the woman before him. ”The name is Hirgond. He smiled and picked his beer back up, taking a sip before continuing, ”I just deliver the beer, but If you will have me, I’d love to sit and chat”. He walked around the bar and motioned towards the seat next to her. She was very intriguing and he was sure he had seen her face before.

Éowyn
Éowyn
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The barkeep had a nice smile. Only, he turned out not to be the barkeep at all. Instead of being embarrassed, however, Arnyn grinned. "Oh, apologies. You just look like you belonged." He had been standing behind the bar, pouring out some ale, after all. Apparently, it had been for himself. With renewed interest, she sized him up as he still procured her the water she'd asked for. She didn't question it. He was probably a regular or a good friend of the owners. And if he wasn't, the situation could still be rectified later. She'd pay someone for her order when they came out the back.

"Hirgond", she repeated, the thoughtfullness seeping into her tone. It felt like she should know the name. She frowned slightly even as she returned that nice smile of his again. When he explained he had been delivering beer, the aha-moment made her nod. "Please," she responded to his self-invitation, gesturing in confirmation at the seat he'd indicated himself. "I've been away from the City for a while and I could use some updates! It's a pleasure to meet you, Hirgond." She placed her right hand just below her left shoulder and dipped her head a little. "I'm Arnyn." She left out her last name, not feeling the need to sound formal with the man.

"Have you been a deliverer of spirits for a long time, then?" she ventured. She smiled. "If I may say so, you look like there's more to your story."

Khazad Elder
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with Arnyn

The face was so familiar that Hirgond barely noticed when the woman in black motioned for him to sit. He stopped and stared, almost too long, and then when she introduced herself as Arnyn recognition struck. This was the Arnyn who had commanded the rangers while he was a foot soldier commander in the military. He had seen her at meetings, and on exercises, even on a campaign a long time back but they had never worked together or fought side by side.

”Yes, you could say that I there is much more to my story” Hirgond asked, finally pulling out the seat and placing himself into it. He continued, ”I was a soldier in the infantry. Served twenty years as a spearman. Finally earned enough to settle and retire here.” He downed the rest of his beer and stepped back around the counter to grab another. Grabbing two more mugs, he filled them with the dark brown stout again and then sat back down. ”I have only been brewing beer for the last two years since my retirement.”

He pushed the second beer over to her and offered it, while taking a big gulp of his beer. ”Have a drink on me. Don’t worry, Haldecar understands that part of my own brew is my own.”. He winked and then finished, ”But enough of me, what about your story? Arnyn, wasn’t it?”. He had a feeling that his initial intuition was correct and that she was the resigned ranger commander, but He would let her tell her own story.

Khazad Elder
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with Arnyn

The face was so familiar that Hirgond barely noticed when the woman in black motioned for him to sit. He stopped and stared, almost too long, and then when she introduced herself as Arnyn recognition struck. This was the Arnyn who had commanded the rangers while he was a foot soldier commander in the military. He had seen her at meetings, and on exercises, even on a campaign a long time back but they had never worked together or fought side by side.

”Yes, you could say that I there is much more to my story” Hirgond asked, finally pulling out the seat and placing himself into it. He continued, ”I was a soldier in the infantry. Served twenty years as a spearman. Finally earned enough to settle and retire here.” He downed the rest of his beer and stepped back around the counter to grab another. Grabbing two more mugs, he filled them with the dark brown stout again and then sat back down. ”I have only been brewing beer for the last two years since my retirement.”

He pushed the second beer over to her and offered it, while taking a big gulp of his beer. ”Have a drink on me. Don’t worry, Haldecar understands that part of my own brew is my own.”. He winked and then finished, ”But enough of me, what about your story? Arnyn, wasn’t it?”. He had a feeling that his initial intuition was correct and that she was the resigned ranger commander, but He would let her tell her own story.

Éowyn
Éowyn
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When Hirgond spoke of his military career, her pulse sped up. Well, that subject was coming around quickly. She shouldn't have expected anything else, really - she'd known it, but part of her had wanted it to take at least a while longer. And yet - when the man in front of her spoke so openly of his time with the Gondorian military, Arnyn couldn't deny the pang of regret in her heart.

"Sounds to me that you're speaking too modestly of your military record," she said a bit more quietly. If he'd earned enough to settle and retire, he either looked younger than he was or he'd had to have a high-ranking pay grade. She tilted her head, searching his features but trying not to be too obvious about it. "Just a soldier?" Something was tugging at the edges of her memory, but it couldn't quite pull out the right information. When he said he'd been retired for two years, however, Arnyn could do nothing else but smile again. His story had a surprising number of similar points to hers, although he had served much longer than she had.

She raised her eyebrows when he took the liberty of pouring out two more mugs of beer, after his first one, and presented her with one of them. Well, if he was buying her a drink (in a way), she couldn't feed him some nonsense story. She probably couldn't have fed anyone anything of the sort, if she was being honest - but a woman could dream, couldn't she? Shaking her head, she only grunted at first. She raised the mug to Hirgond before taking a good swallow. She'd learned to drink in her absence, something she hadn't done before. Even though she didn't indulge in it often, it felt like this occasion called for it. Today was a big day, and she'd been offered the beer kindly. "Hmm," she nodded before putting the mug down on the bar and looking at Hirgond with a genuine smile. "You seem to excell at whatever you put your mind to, Hirgond. Well brewn, indeed. I see why Haldecar allows you some liberties at his establishment."

"My story involves the Rangers rather than the Military," she said, choosing her words carefully. "I joined the ERC when I was about nineteen. Still can't believe they let me in as a trainee, either." A grin was unavoidable there. "Joined the Hyandaner Division as soon as I could." Out of habit, her hand travelled to the pommel of her longsword, which was almost always at her side. "Made my way up the ranks. And about two years back, turned in my resignation and left the city. Looking for some distance, I suppose." She couldn't say she'd been looking for peace. "Joined the wanderings rangers of North until I could no longer deny that this is the place where I still belong."

Arnyn smiled and raised the mug of Hirgond's dark stout to him, waiting for him to thunk his own mug against it. "What do you say? To Minas Tirith?"
Last edited by Arnyn on Fri May 15, 2020 9:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Sage of Khazad-dûm
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Pubs and dwarves. Dwarves and pubs. A dream combination that was almost as old as time itself. Nerwen stood outside The Old Guesthouse, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her time in Minas Tirith had been fruitful; she had met lorists, armourers, brewers, tailors and soldiers. She had spoken, she had listened, she had shaken hands. The queen was full of energy for new things to come, trade lines and relationships, allies and friends. But now, after all the business, she was thirsty for a drink. Nerwen smiled a little, with the sun on her face, as she thought of her partner, Balfur, who was surely brewing something, far away at home. Soon she would be back in her kingdom, but for now - to enjoy the delights of the city.


She put a strong palm to the door, and pushed to make her way inside. The pub was not full; a few elves, men and women - no other dwarves. The dwarfette did not mind; her company was excellent and she enjoyed being in it. She made her way to the bar, removed her purple woven clock to place it on a stool, tapped the bar with a finger sporting a rather ostentatious ruby ring and said, "I will take a mug of ale, barkeep, when you have a moment".

Khazad Elder
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With Arnyn

As he spoke, the woman smiled and looked into his eyes, attentive to his story, but He smiled inwardly when she started seeing some of the left out facts. She is good, he thought, probably should have given her more the first time around. He grew even more embedded into the conversation when she complimented his brewing.

But before he could even thank her for the compliment she dove into her own story. Hirgond’s memory was not mistaken, this was the Arnyn he remembered from the Ranger corps. He felt himself leaning forward, his whole body yearning to hear more of her story. Her career had ended in mystery, resigning at the height of her career. But no one knew what for. Hirgond leaned against the bar and sipped on his beer, not gulping it for once, although he sipped rather quickly.

The golden crowned woman had joined the rangers young, completed one of the most difficult sword mastering course in the world, and rocketed up the ranks. It was a story to hear, but she, like he, left many details aside. But this was the game of conversation, peeling the onion of the story and seeing the layers. At first the onion was produced as a whole, but then with questions and companionship the layers would eventually be revealed. For his part, Hirgond listened carefully and attentively, not distracted by the other patrons who were rushing into the establishment. It had grown rather busy through their conversation, but the large bull of a man had barely noticed.

As Arnyn wrapped up her story, he reasoning for resigning “looking for distance” didn’t quite sit well with Hirgond and while he wanted to know more, he did not let his face betray his feelings. He smiled when she spoke, knowing the need of those who serve Gondor to escape some of the horrors that their faithfulness to Kingdom brought. Raising a mug, he gently tapped Arnyn’s and in a quite voice chimed in, ”To Minas Tirith.”. It wasn’t due to distaste for kingdom that he was not rowdy or enthusiastic. It was more a humble silence, remembering all those who had been lost for Minas Tirith. All those who had given the ultimate sacrifice for king and country.

Taking a few long seconds to sip on his beer thoughtfully, Hirgond finally spoke, ”A common story. Sadly, very common.” He placed his empty mug onto the bar, as Haldecar strode past, ”Another please, good sir. And put two on my tab.”. He motioned at the beers in his own and Arnyn’s hands. Haldecar grabbed a sack from his belt and tossed it to Hirgond and then replied, ”You know I dont make you pay for you’re own beer, as long as you dont drink it all.” and with a nod refilled the extended mug and went back to his business. Haldy and Hirgond went way back, family friends from this very neighborhood. Sometimes Hirgond wondered if he had made the right decision by signing up for the military. Haldy had stayed here, worked his family inn and pub, and was happy with a child. But Hirgond quickly shook this off and looked back at his guest.

”Not much has changed here in Minas Tirith. It’s an ever changing and yet always the same city.” he looked into her eyes to see how much pain she too held within, ”If you catch my drift.. He put a hand on her shoulder and then spoke again, his first physical contact with another human being in a long time, but in attempting to comfort Arnyn he was also comforting himself, ”I served for twenty years from when I was a young boy til just two years ago.”

He paused, contemplating how to properly tell the basics of his tale, ”There are lots of tales that a bard would make sound heroic and a fool would tell you that i achieved much.” Hirgond took his hand off of Arnyn’s shoulder and quietly almost a murmur continued, ”But after all that time, all that war at the end of it all the only faces you remember are those that you lost. You can never push that out of your memory.” The big tall, jovial man who was almost always smiling reached up and put a finger to his eye, preventing the drop of a tear. His watery eyes still smiling but the memory of his lost companions was bittersweet in many ways. His hand came down and brushed through his short beard, something he had added after his military retirement having chose to remain clean shaven while serving. He spoke again, ”I am sorry for your losses.”. And lifting his mug again for a toast he said,

”For those who didn’t get to choose to retire or resign with us.”

Scholar of Gondor
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Findy lifted the dusty hem of her roughly woven dress as she stepped over the threshold of the Minas Tirith Brewery. It had been many years since she had crossed through the doorway of a pub, or anyplace with a roof for that matter. She straightened the worn lace collar that drooped from her neck to her shoulder, giving it a brush with the backs of her fingertips, no different than if it were a velvet garment of a queen. She had been surprised that the guards at the gate had even allowed her to enter the White City, but one had given her a knowing smile and swept his hand as he stepped aside to allow her entrance. He had looked familiar, but it had been so long….so long.

As she gazed up at the white stone walls they had seemed like old friends to her. She had spent many contented years here, running her Apothecary Shop in the Second Circle. She would visit the buildings there later to see if they even stood where they used to or perhaps been torn down and replaced. “But first things first,” she thought aloud as she rubbed her rumbling belly. “Ah, here we are.” She had taken to speaking aloud to herself, having lived alone in the wild the past few years, collecting and recording plants that could be utilized as medicine. There was no one there who could hear her anyway. But now…

She hefted her worn, leather-bound, misshapen journal to her side. It was as warped and bulging from carrying so many samples of plants, along with her own drawings and paintings. She could have left the book in her pack with her horse, but she did not dare risk losing it. She glanced around quickly before stepping up to the bar. The pubkeeper (Haldecar) was dealing with two folks at the bar (Arnyn and Hirgond). Both looked vaguely familiar behind the veil of smoke of so many pipes, but Findy caught the eyes of the younger woman barkeep, Iorean, and lifted an index finger. “A bowl of mutton stew, if you have it, and a glass of mead, if you please,” she requested as she placed the large journal onto the bar. Iorean set the glass that she was drying on the shelf behind the bar, nodded and set about ladling the chunky stew into a wooden bowl.

Findy eagerly spooned a chunk of the fragrant stew into her mouth and glanced prudently around the room. She spied someone that could not even be veiled behind the layer of smoke that hung in the room and stopped, mid-chew. Swallowing the first bite down, she expressed in a whisper, “My old friend.” She was staring at Arteris. In their younger years they had worked (and argued) behind the bar of a pub not dissimilar to this one. In those early days he had aggravated her to no end. He once was an annoying, egotistical, rogue and if they were not quarreling about one thing, it was another. But the years had softened them both, and they had shared a valuable friendship for quite a few years back in the day. She smiled to herself, shook her head and whispered again, “Old friend.” She dipped her spoon into her bowl as she said the second word, then reminded herself, “First things first.”
Last edited by Finduilas Faelivrin on Sat May 16, 2020 3:07 am, edited 1 time in total.

Éowyn
Éowyn
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She nodded when Hirgond tapped his mug to hers. In a way, the tone of his voice told her more than could be said in words. This was a man who understood. He was not the only one to drain his mug after that, but Arnyn didn't make it clear she had finished it. She still preferred moderation, although Hirgond proved good company and good company could convince her to loosen the reins just a bit more. She smiled politely at Haldecar as he served Hirgond another beer, swallowing back a sigh as she did so. There was no point to wallowing in past misery, she reminded herself.

Hirgond's hand on her shoulder made her frown, but she didn't object. Instead, she watched him as he spoke. There was a lot going on behind those amber eyes. He served until two years ago. Two years ago...
When he brushed away an escaped emotion from his eye, she didn't comment on it, she just watched. Her own eyes remained dry, but they spoke volumes. She had never been good at hiding her feelings. He was sorry for her losses. "And I for yours."
Forgetting her mug was empty, she toasted with him. "May they live forever in our memories and hearts."

After Hirgond had put down his mug again, it was her turn to put a hand on his shoulder. "A true soldier strives for the very thing that will make them obsolete," she said. Putting a stop to all the dying was all they really wanted. "The only way is forward. I see that now. And that's why I came back here. My demons aren't any bigger than anyone else's." She dared to make a face. "Though I admit, you have many years of service on me. Wouldn't reach your elbows." Her free hand folded around the blue gem hanging from her neck. A gift she would never part with.

"My parents never wanted this life for me, you know. Hardly a surprise, I suppose." Despite her words, she smiled faintly. "They wanted me to find someone to marry, have a couple of kids and just go about living this thing called life. I still could do just that, but I don't think that's who I am. It's just not in the cards for me." She hesitated to ask the question that was burning on her lips, but in the end she took the leap. "Did you adapt well to your retirement?"

New Soul
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Morwen and Zev

Well, she had done it. They were here. She had made good on her word to Pele, and she could finally get rid of ... this. Her golden eyes glanced back for a moment, but she quickly turned them forward again, before her tag along could say engage in conversation.

She leaned heavily on the door to the pub for a moment before pushing it open. The irritating, overly happy, pointlessly energetic object of her promise to Pele practically skipped behind her. He was probably smiling. She didn't bother checking. She was sure they smelled a bit ripe, but there was nothing that could be done about that just yet. She was too thirsty for that. Traveling for weeks by foot would do that to even the most hardened veteran, and her boots were almost worn through. She had given her spare pair to the pup when he complained about the blisters. She wanted a drink.

"Uh, Morwen?" It was the pup. His bright green eyes stared out from under wild tufts of what used to be white hair, and now looked to be more of a dingy grey.

"What?" she grouched.

"Can we go inside?" Morwen stared at him for a moment, then her tired brain caught up with her tired body. She hadn't realized she was still standing in the doorway. She gave an affirmative grunt before limping (her right boot had given out earlier than her left) into the room with all the confidence of someone who didn't care particularly what happened to them. Zev watched silently. It was a sad sort of confidence. When she reached the bar, she leaned onto it, favoring the aching leg. She would have to visit the Houses of Healing. That brought a pang, and something she did not want to think about. Pele. She had fulfilled her promise, but now what? Where was Pele? She had some small hope that perhaps she would stride (well, limp) into that healing space, and there she would be. But she knew that was a senseless hope.

Her brain caught up with her then, and she registered the room around her, clocking faces. Some seemed familiar, but it had been a long time. One in particular stood out, not because it was familiar; in fact, she could barely see them (Reikon). That was why they stood out; sitting in the most shadowed corner, not talking or being social with any of the other patrons. It could be nothing, but a soldier learned to pay attention. Not that she was a soldier anymore. There were a couple others near her at the bar, ordering, even a dwarf (Nerwen), she was surprised to see.

"Something strong, I don't care what," she said to the barkeep, then turned to the dwarf. "You are far from home, no?" Zev saw this moment of distraction as an opportunity. A grin lit his face, and he leaned forward, unconsciously rubbing a hand across his dirty face.

"And I'll also have your strongest-" but Morwen cut him off gruffly.

"The pup will have a glass of milk. Or juice. Your choice, boy." Zev sighed, resigned to his fate. The barkeep eyed Morwen and the deep ugly scar gouged across her eye and down her cheek before nodding to himself and pulling out a dusty bottle of something amber colored. He poured a small amount in a glass, and paused, but Morwen's look made him pour until the glass was full.

"Try that on for size." The barkeep pushed it toward her. Morwen took a hearty swallow, enjoying the slow burn.

"Do you have apple juice?" Zev asked hopefully, before finally noticing the dwarf (Nerwen) that Morwen had begun speaking to, and giving a start. "A dwarf! I've never seen-" But that was all the further he got before the air escaped him with an explosive oof. Morwen had kneed him calmly in the stomach, while still taking slow swigs of her drink.

"What did we talk about? She asked, not looking at him. Zev slowly straightened, huffing a bit.

"Right. Er, yes. Sorry." He bobbed his head awkwardly toward (Nerwen). "Beg your pardon; I didn't mean to be rude." He scratched nervously at the beginnings of scruff on his chin. He was interrupted briefly when the barkeep slid something toward him.

"We don't have apple juice. But try this." He gave Zev a wink.

Loremaster of Gondor
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It had been a long time since he'd graced the streets of the city. He remembered frequenting The Horn Of Gondor Pub, but sadly, it appeared he'd gotten himself turned around and couldn't quite remember where it was. But there was a light flowing from a place he didn't recall ever visiting. The sign said ale was available, so why not?
The door of The Old Guesthouse swung open and as Turin stepped inside, he felt oddly at home. Almost reminiscent of days long passed. Well, home was far to the north now. He'd searched for his beloved in Pelargir, but alas, she was never to be found. So he had returned to his childhood home and rebuilt it. But, he had felt the call to return to Minas Tirith. How many years had it been since he had first stepped inside one of the famous pubs of Minas Tirith? He could not remember.
He had come to the city the first time back during what had been called the War of the Ring. His father and brother were killed. He was just a child at the time. He fled and spent years with elves in Mirkwood. Those adventures he shared with those elves eventually led him back to the white city, where the good people of Gondor had accepted him into their service. It was thanks to his tutelage under some great people he managed to survive for as long as he did. Yet, he did rise through the ranks of the Rangers. Making it to Captain of the Hyandaner for a time before stepping back from the post for other pursuits. He couldn't handle seeing friends die anymore. He feared he was getting to jaded. But who knows.
Turin surveyed the room. He saw familiar faces around. Some he nodded to. But one in particular caught his eye. He'd been a mentor, and an occasional foe in the pranks the man pulled. Shaking his head, he made his way to the bar. "Long time no see Arteris. I'm surprised I don't see a splash of pink, oh captain. But then again, we may be getting old for those times." He ordered himself a pale ale. "I'll pay for his drink too." Turin said placing a couple more coins on the bar.

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The sound of echoing footsteps rang aloud in Red's ear as he moved through the streets of the great white city, and haunted memories of days past always seemed to run through his mind. Battles and adventures mixed with times of joy and light hearten laughter all changed with time. The city was a reminder of those lost, and those far away. The old ranger no longer served under the banner of the Elite Ranger Corp his time had come and pass, though you may take the ranger away from his sword, you can never truly take the sword out of the ranger. The Dunedain had spent the last few years working with smaller groups out and about dealing with small dangers that presented themselves. It was a way to do what he could with what he had.

This wasn't the first time back in the city, for many times he would venture in though the ranger never stayed long. This was one of the few times a year he would find himself back in the place he once called home. The dusty brown cloak and all worn boots covered in travelers dirt swept across the stone till he came to a old stomping ground "The Old GuestHouse" for a second the ranger went to tighten his belt a check his ERC badge before time snapped back and with a tired heart he pushed through the door.

At first it seemed like images tricking the mind, but to Red's surprise they did not disappear and for what seemed like a long time life seemed to fill and quiet place as a large group of friendly faces seemed to return. Slipping in mostly quiet he found a seat at a table reserved to watch for the time being, as he spotted a few good friends Turin, and his old commander Arnyn as well as a few more that he couldn't say he knew overly well. It was a good day, and he sat back looking forward to what ever it might bring.

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Steeling himself, Hirgond brushed the last tears from his eyes and smiled at the woman sitting next to him. They may have never served in the same unit, never worked together, but they were companions from shared experience. It surprised him that Arnyn was so open with him. He found that many former military had a hard time expressing themselves and showing emotion like him, choosing to hide their emotions behind a steel wall rather than express themselves.

He snorted when she told him about the life her parents imagined for her, any true soldier had moments where they imagined life before the military and then they realize that they were forged by the combat, it made them who they were and they would not have it any other way. He leaned against the bar, feeling a slight buzz reaching his fingertips from the strong beer he had been ingesting like water. When the inevitable question came, the one that everyone asked “Did you adapt well to your retirement” he paused for a breath.

This was a loaded question, every solider hoped for their life to go back to normal, but when it does there is a loss of some kind. Age brings about both some physical and mental limitations that can be a liability on the battlefield, and that is why few remained in the military past a certain age, but Hirgond still had some of the best years ahead of him. He could serve as an instructor or a field commander, but after the last battle he did not know if he could hold himself together returning to service.

”As best as one can expect.” came his reply finally. ”I do well at it, but there is a hole that will never be replaced. The feeling of belonging and being in the right place. Maybe eventually Ill be used to being where I am and who I am.”

He shook his head smiling almost unbelieving at his own statement, knowing that that feeling of being a fake, wearing a mask was going to haunt him for many years, ”I suppose what I mean to say, is it is difficult but I think I can do it.”. He looked at Arnyn and then asked the question he supposed was natural, ”What do you plan to do?

Éowyn
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Ah. That small pit of emptiness that kept gnawing at the edges of your heart. Yes, Arnyn knew all about that.

"I hope you will, friend" she said genuinely. "If I may call you that." While Arnyn wasn't the most spontaneous person, she'd always been open and trusting of people who seemed of good character to her. That had never changed. And while her former comrades in arms had given her the nickname Axinecelume (steel stream), that had never meant she hid her feelings behind a steely exterior.

When Hirgond asked about her plans, she let out a single "Ha", and then paused for a moment, glancing at the bar before looking back at the man with a shrug and an apologetic smile. "I'm not as strong as you. I just can't help myself. Maybe I'm still too young to retire from a soldier's life. And I realize that after my resignation and my absence, I will have to start anew here." She frowned. "But that's good. I want to, actually. I need family again, instead of a loose band of wanderers. And there's no better way to gain family by starting out together at the bottom."

Looking behind her for the first time since she sat down at the bar, her dark eyes widened at the sight of many familiar faces. She quickly faced the bar again, her pulse suddenly racing. Had her excitement and nervosity at coming back to MInas Tirith blinded her upon entering the pub, or had they all arrived after her? She wondered what had happened to everyone she had left behind. Perhaps they wouldn't be all that excited to see her.

"I'm just not sure how old friends will react to seeing my face. My resignation and leaving passed all the necessary channels, but it was abrupt nonetheless." With a sigh, she put some coin on the bar. "Haldecar, a refill if you please." Yeah, she was going to need that second drink after all.

A bit farther down the bar, a curious collection of individuals was gathering. A Dwarf, and a grumpy woman (Morwen) who had just kneed a youngster (Zev) in the stomach for some reason. Arnyn's face clouded over. Not something she liked seeing. It seemed like it hadn't been too hard or painful, though - and that was the only reason why she remained seated.

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The broad shouldered man seemed small as he spoke about the emptiness of leaving the military and his companions behind. Turning with Arnyn he realized that the pub was gathering more and more people, busy for an early afternoon. “I hope you will, friend. If I may call you that.” A smile flashed back onto his face, as Hirgond’s eyes lit up, “Of course you can. And if you ever need anything, let me know. ”. Setting his mug back onto the bar he listened as Arnyn discussed her plans.

It was like many people who left a lifetime of service to their kingdom, there was very little they were good at besides war, and even if they were good at some job, they were often filled with loss and an inability to fit in with their counterparts in their village or town. Once you leave your town or city to fight the armies of darkness in the world, it is difficult to return back to a normal life.

At the mention of family, Hirgond looked away again, at the Bartender and those sitting around the bar before looking into Arnyn’s eyes, his warm golden brown eyes stern, “I understand that. Perhaps we can work on that together. I could always use a friend, to help time go by as I work in the brewery maybe eat lunch with”. He chuckled, his house and office was a small building in the middle of town with brewing components strewn about. But maybe he and the woman would find some solace in companionship and just getting to know one another could help them both heal.

Éowyn
Éowyn
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Arnyn

At Hirgond's words, Arnyn's eyes regained their twinkle as she shifted her gaze back from Morwen and Zev to the retired veteran sitting next to her.

"I could never have imagined meeting someone as open and kind as yourself today," she admitted freely. "It's a comfort. Really. Not even an hour's time into the city and I already have something to look forward to. You've given me a true gift." And an unexpected new source of courage to throw herself back into the city's life. She gave him a broad smile. "Is it strange for me to have difficulty believing we never crossed paths and started a friendship before this?" Perhaps they'd needed a shared blow to the soul, first.

*

Image

Bored. Out. Of. Her. Mind.


An empty house and no duties always spelled trouble for the redhead. It made her go look for things to do even more than usual. She'd even gone shopping already - the horror. The house was fully stacked with everything from firewood to food, the whole place was clean, she'd been training a lot, and still there were hours she just couldn't fill up. Thûllir's father had said something about a poetry collection he'd really enjoyed recently, but really - who was he kidding?

Kaylin was whistling as she entered the guesthouse, and didn't immediately recognize anyone so she cut a straight path to the bar. "Haldecar!" It had taken her a while to get him to play along, but meanwhile he'd warmed to her enough to grin as they shared a high five over the bar. "Surprise me," she said, just feeling so glad she was out and about among people instead of home alone. She looked around at the other people at the bar, and her jaw dropped when she saw a face she'd never forget. "Zev!" She approached him without even thinking about it, with a huge grin plastered on her face. "I'd recognize that face and that hair anywhere, even covered in dirt! You don't have any pies on you, do you?"

His eye movements made her look at Morwen next, and it took a few seconds to put the memories together. "Huh," Kaylin said. She frowned for just a moment, and then shrugged. "Haldecar, another round of whatever these three were having. I'm buying!" Kaylin didn't hold grudges, and she readily included the lady Dwarf who seemed to be in their company. She wanted merriment, and she'd be damned if she didn't get any.

Sage of Khazad-dûm
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The barkeep had just slid a deep flagon across the shining bar to her when two new arrivals entered the pub. Nerwen smiled to herself slightly; her initial analysis of the pub not being busy had simply been that it was just early and now the customers were coming. She turned back against the bar and lifted the drink to her nose, taking a deep sniff and enjoying the hoppy aroma that came to her. These men could brew to a passable standard, sometimes she even preferred the lighter drinks made here in Minas Tirith to some of the darker brews from her own people. She took a small sip as the newcomer, a woman (Morwen), ordered something strong and then turned to Nerwen and asked "You are far from home, no?". Before the dwarfette could even put her drink down, the woman had sharply cut across the conversation between her companion and barkeep. Nerwen hid a smirk behind a well placed hand. Youngsters in pubs never changed. Though it didn't seem that this pairing was parental or even friendly, as the woman hit the lad for noticing Nerwen's presence. Straightening her face at the apology, Nerwen gestured casually with a hand sporting several decadent jewels, showing a glint of more jewellery up her wrists, "Yes I am a dwarf, and yes I suppose I am far from home. And you both? Where do you hail from? "

Master Torturer
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Thea

For the thousandth time Thea ran her raw red fingers over her pocket, feeling for the now familiar small bulge of the two coins within. Another flash of guilt flitted across her young face, her green eyes flicking from side to side as she scurried along the street. Not once did her eyes settle on anyone or anything, her mind still occupied with what she had just done. Swallowing hard, she hissed under her breath "I had no choice! They will never know anyway!" and once more ran her fingers over the coins. With an angry swipe, she flicked away the stray tear that had run down her cheek, annoyed at the distractingly itchy tickle and again repeated through clenched teeth "I had no choice!"

She almost barged through the door before catching herself and stopping just outside. Taking in a ragged deep breath, Thea pushed the fiery curls away from her face and tried to coerce them into staying behind her ears before moving her hands down to smooth her long brown skirt, her fingers subconciously seeking out the coins. It was just as well that she had paused before entering, as her empty stomach decided this was a good time to let out an almighty growl, the painful twinge making her clench her teeth with determination as she pushed open the door. Everyone knew this was the cheapest place to buy a hot meal and while it was never rated as exceptional, it was still a good sized portion and you even received a chunck of freshly baked bread with every bowl.

Once again she came to an abrupt halt as she took in the amount of people within. She had almost forgotten that there had been an influx of people returning to the White City these past few days, something that would hopefully lead to a better job than the awful one she had now. For a brief moment she rubbed her red hands nervously, before she forced herself to move forward as she realised she was likely to garner more attention by just standing in the door than entering. Winding her way through the tables as inconspicously as possible, she made her way to the bar, as far from everyone else as possible and waited patiently to get the attention of the barkeep. She thought she was going to have to actually call out to him, when a young woman stopped before her with a questioning look "Can I help you, love?"

"Uh.. um.." she hesitated, swallowing hard as her fingers clasped the coins in her pockets, feeling them almost burn her skin. But just as she was about to chicken out and run back out the door, her stomach growled fiercely again. Trying to hide the sound with a nervous cough, she finally blurted out "Stew! Um.. please. And uh.. water. Please." Thea's face flushed fiercely, as if she had been caught redhanded, letting out a sigh of relief when the young woman didn't seem to notice and immediately set out to spoon some stew into a bowl for her. "I will bring it to you, love. Take a seat wherever is free."

Drawing out one of the two coins, Thea looked at it and winced, but as the smell from the stew reached her nose, she swallowed hard and slapped it down on the counter, likely a little too loudly. Thankfully the woman had not seemed to notice and merely gave a smile. Thea gave her a quick grateful nod and turned her eyes scanning the room for a spot to sit. The bar was too crowded for her liking and the table in the corner by the back door was already occupied. Pushing her unruly curls back behind her ear with one hand, she finally decided and moved towards a small empty table by the window. Thea had only just managed to slide into the chair before the young woman appared with her bowl of stew, chunck of bread and a tall mug of mead. Flustered, Thea tried to correct it "Uh.. I am so sorry, I asked for water.. I can't afford.." she did not get any further before the mug was placed before her.

"Don't worry about it, love. We just got a fresh delivery today and you look like you could do with something more substantial." Smiling the woman winked at Thea before turning and heading back to the bar. Realising she was sitting there with her mouth open, she cleared her throat and quickly looked around to see if anyone was looking before she grabbed the spoon and dove into the stew, forgetting everyone around her as the hot food entered her mouth.

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Thûllir

It had become Thûllir's tradition to stop in at one of the local pubs when he returned to the White City after having been gone for a while. Not because he was putting off climbing the road to his home, but because more than likely he would find his lady seeking conversation and other diversions surrounded by friends and strangers alike. If she was there, he would seek her out first rather than retracing his steps from a quiet house.
He was glad that she had so many friends in the city, especially when he was gone. Granted, now that the war was over, he was rarely gone for long. It helped to have a somewhat regular schedule and shorter missions. Half of the month he spent in the city, and half the month serving the Prince in Ithilien. It was a good solution that gave him ample time in the woods, whether scouting or simply hunting with his bow or spear to bring game to the Prince's table as he had done this time. It was pleasant to not have to use the hidden refuges anymore, although they were still maintained against future need. He thought idly of his cousin Ziranphel, who had chosen a different path after the war. She had served for a time, but upon hearing of the need in Pinnath Galen, she had resigned her commission and gone to help rebuild her home region. It had been some time, so he hoped her spirit had healed with the building of things instead of destruction.

Thûllir brushed the dark reddish brown hair off his forehead that was trying to curl into his eyes, as he glanced at the sign outside The Old Guesthouse. Yes, this was one of her favorite haunts. Might as well go in and get a mug of tea and maybe a bite to eat so that cooking would not be a required task later. It was worth a look, and whatever was cooking smelled delicious!
He brushed his boots off outside the door. It was good to enter town with only the dust of a few days travel on them, rather than weeks. The blessings of having people in the land again.

Swinging open the heavy door, he stepped through and to the side as he closed it, giving the room a searching look. Many vaguely familiar faces. A few individuals he had seen before, with a few he had not, and there...the unmistakable blaze of his wife as he heard her voice lifted to the barkeep. The lines of weariness eased around Thûllir's eyes as he relaxed subtly. She was speaking to some that he did not know, but they seemed an interesting gathering. Especially given the rare presence of a noble looking lady dwarf. Dwarves and elves were more common these days than before the time of the King, but still not a common sight, and Thûllir found he was interested in saying hello. First for the surprise though. Walking quietly but without any apparent stealth across the room, he tried to catch the eye of the young man (Zev) that Kaylin had just greeted, and laid a finger across his lips to ask for conspiratorial silence.
Having approached within a step or two, he calmly called to Haldecar's daughter, who had been dealing with the food and some of the drinks. "Ioraen! Bread, soup, and a mug of strong tea if you please. I'm parched...and my wife is buying." He hadn't been looking at Ioraen as he spoke, but rather watching Kaylin's shoulders. It was always worth seeing, even if he didn't always surprise her. She would have known he was returning sometime soon.
Last edited by Karis Ziranphel on Tue May 19, 2020 5:17 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Ziranphel of the Green Hills ~ Thûllir Bregedŷr of Ithilien

Melkor
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Balcheth

A hooded person hid within the alleyway as soon as (Thea) flicked her eyes side to side. When the latter briskly moved forward and stopped just before the door, the hooded person stepped out from the alleyway, casually looking at the same general direction, walking towards the building known as "The Old Guesthouse." About a minute or so after (Thea) entered, the hooded figure stopped at the entrance of the pub, brought her hood back to reveal jet-black hair.

She was Balcheth. She was tall (an inch or two greater than 6 feet) with pale skin. If one looked closely, one would've noticed something... strange about her appearance. As if a dim light always reflected off her face, even in the dark of night. It would not be easily seen in a well-lit establishment like a pub, and it could be written off for her skin, but the barest hint lay in her eyes. Forever a glint in each one, as if scars on a window letting in both sun and moonlight. Once she brought her hood back, Balcheth breathed, hiding her scowl into a more neutral expression. She entered The Old Guesthouse.

She quietly stood two spots (Thea) as the latter paid for her food, as little as it would be. Balcheth eyed an empty table by the window, determining that there would be a good place to eavesdrop on the entire pub. Information was what she needed, after all.

When it was Balcheth's turn, she requested, "half of the roast chicken with artisan bread and your cheapest wine, please." After she placed the required coins, Balcheth looked towards the empty table she eyed earlier, realizing that it no longer was empty. It was occupied by that young woman (Thea). Balcheth scowled quickly, but hid it immediately after with a neutral gaze.

Balcheth walked towards the table, seeing that the young woman was occupied with her stew as if she had not eaten for two days. The former, realizing that just standing there would likely not rouse attention, grunted.

"May I sit here? It is so very busy in here and I couldst not find an unoccupied place that easily," Balcheth said to Thea with a small polite smile.
Last edited by Rivvy Elf on Sun May 17, 2020 5:53 am, edited 1 time in total.

New Soul
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Zev & Morwen

Morwen pretended to not notice when the Barkeep handed Zev a glass of ale instead of juice. She felt his smugness radiating off of him, and chose not to acknowledge it. Pretending to be irritated with Zev was starting to make her... actually irritated at Zev. And, given the task at hand, that would be a distraction they couldn't afford. He wasn't really all that bad, she reminded herself, minus the lost pair of boots. Besides, the drink in her hand made up for a lot, at the moment.

She vaguely noticed as someone nearby (Arnyn) tensed and gave her a sharp look in response to her kneeing him. Good. Then focus would stay on her. She would remain the threatening one. Zev was just an untried youth. He would be pleased about that. It had been his idea; he thought it would make it more convincing. The angry unwilling guardian and the useless youth. She hoped he enjoyed his aching gut. She had told him the scar and her grumpiness would be enough, but he always had to take things too far.

"Uh, Morwen?" She looked up, golden eyes meeting youthful green. But he wasn't really that young. He just seemed young, even after what they had been through. And he did play the part well; she had to appreciate that. Maybe because he had been a silly little fool at some point. Not anymore though, that much was certain. At least not all of the time. But as long as his uncle still believed it, that was all that mattered. She snorted as she gave him a good look for the first time in a while. He looked like he had gone for a roll in the mud and then slept in a haystack for three weeks. She probably didn't look much better. Her once long black hair now hung in a ragged off kilter chop above her shoulders; she had been forced to get rid of it after it refused to untangle anymore. Ah well. With that, the (relatively) new scar, and the passage of time, she figured she wasn't particularly recognizable anymore.

A throat clearing near her broke her from her thoughts. Zev's eyes crinkled briefly in concern before returning to their usual frivolity. "What? she snapped half-halfheartedly, in keeping with their roles. Ay, but she was tired.

"Maybe you ought to have some water?" He played it excellently, the youthful follower, just uncertain enough, almost timid... but not quite. She saw the glint in his eye. It hadn't left since the moment he stared her down and told her in no uncertain terms he was not returning to Minas Tirith with her. She hadn't thought he had the guts, not to speak like that to her. After all, she had gained a bit of a reputation in her time in the corps. She wasn't exactly known for keeping a level head. But she had aged a bit, and grown a bit more... perhaps self aware was the word. Getting your face sliced open could do that. Her hand unconsciously reached up and traced the raised edge of her scar, lingering at the bottom of her face. Zev was still staring at her intently, like something was wrong with her, and she realized she hadn't responded.

"Aye, water." She repeated, in a slightly raised voice, not bothering to play act grumpiness at him. She needed rest, but Zev seemed to never run out of energy. Not for his mission. Why had she agreed to help him again? Oh yes, to fulfill her promise to Pele. Well, she was going to have a word with that woman... If she ever saw her again. Zev gave her a sharp look, obviously irritated and perhaps a bit surprised at her carelessness in relaxing her put upon attitude. Morwen almost rolled her eyes at him; did he think no one would notice if he started behaving differently? Her relaxing a bit was one thing; she had a drink. But if he suddenly started behaving as though he had a brain in that head of his, and more experience than his youth let on... Their quarry would never show its face.

She turned her attention to the dwarf as she asked where they hailed from. Zev looked suitably in awe of all the jewels she wore, his mouth gaping like a fool as they glinted in the light. Maybe that would assuage any suspicious parties watching him too closely. But before either of them could respond, they had a new problem.

Someone all but shouted across the bar for Zev, and approached them both, spouting something about pies. It took a moment, but she recognized the face from several memories she was less than proud of, and the name followed. Kaylin. And now the woman was buying them a round of drinks. She took this all in quickly, and for a moment, she tensed, but then relaxed again.

"I guess I won't turn down another drink." she grouched, back in character. Zev, for once, was speechless. His mouth was still gaping like an idiot. Come now, they were in one of the most frequented inns in Minas Tirith. They knew there was a chance of being recognized. Certainly, she hadn't thought it would happen so quickly; she had hoped to maybe wash first. Or at least sit down for a moment, but, well, they were here now. She realized Zev was still staring at Kaylin, apparently dumbfounded. What had gotten into him? He had been desperately focused since the moment she found him, unshakable in his determination to smoke out his uncle. Perhaps he was as exhausted as she was. She elbowed him in the ribs, and muttered something to him about manners. That's what a grouchy mentor would say, right? He grunted, and then stammered something mostly unintelligible that sounded like 'most beautiful pies in Gondor'.

The blush was a nice touch. He was too good at this. She glanced at him again, as he had fallen silent, and realized that maybe the blush wasn't intentional. She bit her cheek to stifle a grin, instead furrowing her brow in apparent irritation. Oh, she was not going to let him live this one down.
they/he/mischief

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Softly, Hirgond responded, “I did not expect to have these conversations today either.” He paused, looking down at the bar, his vision sliding over to where a group had begun a conversation at the end of the bar. Then he turned back to Arnyn, “We may have never met, but we have long been family.” His voice cracked, emotion flooding his heart and he held back tears again. This time stronger, his deep voice softly whispering, “There have been many Arnyn’s on my road, and Hirgond’s on yours.”

Then turning to look her in the eye, his hand scratching at his short bushy beard, “And while we are not those people, it makes it easier to understand why we feel like family already.” Hirgond’s motioned to the bartender, and then whispered something in his ear. Off ran Haldecar quickly returned with a small piece of parchment and a quill.

Taking the small quill in his large hand, Hirgond quickly jotted down a note and then turned back to Arnyn. “This is where my brewery is located. Frothy Beard Brewing is the name. It isn’t far from here. Please come by and spend some time if you would.” Turning to Haldecar he nodded, “Thanks for the beer. It was delicious.” He laughed heartily at his joke, seeing as he brewed the beer, and rotated on the blonde with whom he had shared something today, and spoke, “Well I have to be off to work, the Horn of Gondor Pub is expecting a shipment of my beer.” And nodding to her, with a wink he turned and made his way out the door.

Éowyn
Éowyn
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Arnyn

That comment about many Arnyns and Hirgonds jarred her for a bit. He was exactly right, but she'd never thought about it that way. Maybe that was the insight more than twenty years of service gave you. But it was such a sad statement, she had to process it for a while. She only snapped out of it when Hirgond handedd her a note.

It had the location of his brewery on it. She smiled at it before looking back up at the man. Frothy Beard Brewing. She chuckled mentally. "I will." The smile remained as she watched him leave. Her eyes fell on Red. He was sitting alone as was as of yet without a drink. She didn't spot any insignia on him from her vantage point, but she could very well be missing it.

She requested an additional mug of the dark brown stout from Hildecar, and with a mug in each hand, she approached a friend, who she hadn't seen in - what felt like forever. Arnyn quietly made her way to Red's table, and put both mugs down on the surface. Her dark eyes took him in first. Still, she could see no badge where it used to be. "Hey, Red," she said finally. "Does your table have room for an old friend?"

( @Red Daghul )

*

Kaylin

Morwen said she wouldn't turn down another drink. Well, alright then; it looked like Morwen and Kaylin had a mutual understanding that the past was the past. Nothing needed to be said of what had happened, or almost happened, between them. That was good enough for her.

Meanwhile, Zev was just sort of looking flabbergasted.

"What's wrong? Didn't think I'd recognize you?" Kaylin laughed, her eyes sparkling at him. "I never forget a mischievous face." She winked and clapped Zev on the shoulder. At his mumbling about beautiful pies, she raised her eyebrows. She supposed the pies had looked pretty delicious. Maybe the young man had matured a bit and now thought it was a shame they had wasted good pies on a food fight instead of eating them - you know, like proper adults would think.

"Ohhh... Look here," she said, lowering her voice and leaning in a bit, "I do hope you haven't lost your knack for trouble?" She couldn't afford to say that too loudly, of course, being a master at arms. "If so, however, maybe this second drink will loosen you up a bit, hmm?"

The voice suddenly coming from right behind her made her grey-blye eyes widen. What!? A grin made its way to her features, lighting up her face even more than before, but it was clear his intention (or hope, maybe) had been to surprise her and get a reaction out of her. He'd definitely surprised her, but maybe she could deny him the satisfaction of her reactions from the past. Taking a breath, she tried to calm herself down (outwardly at least) before glancing over her shoulder.

She'd been intending to be calm and collected. But once she saw those red-brown curls and that face of his, her intentions gave way to an honest, simple kind of joy; the kind you couldn't stop even if you tried. "Bregedyr," she said, grinning broadly again by the time she got to the last syllable. She turned around and threw her arms around his neck, giving him a spontaneous kiss right then and there. Thûllir would probably object to that, but since he was the one leaving her all the time, Kaylin thought he had little say in the matter. "Welcome home," she whispered into his ear, before letting go a bit reluctantly.

"Yup, I'm buying," she grinned, turning back to the others. "With his money."
Arnyn ~ Honor & Valor
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength

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Thea

Utter bliss. Thea's eyes rolled closed with pleasure as the thick gravy ran down her throat to her growling stomach. But she was way too hungry to savour the fragrance, the taste, the tenderness of the meat, quickly shoving several spoonfuls into her mouth. There was no thought for proper manners, or that she was definitely not acting like a lady, it was all about stifling that horrific pain in her gut that had been torturing her for days. Mouth too full to force in more, she finally chewed and swallowed, though grabbed the chunk of bread and dabbed it in the stew. Almost choking on a piece of meat she had not thoroughly chewed, she bit off a large chunk of bread unaware that the gravy had dribbled down her chin. Letting out a content sigh, she grabbed the spoon again to continue shovelling more of the stew in, though before it could reach her lips she was startled by a grunt that sounded like it was right next to her.

Looking, she jumped when she saw someone standing there and had to fight to repress the surprised squeak while at the same time her mind was trying to make sense of the words spoken. Sit with her? Why would someone want to sit with her? Oh no.. they couldn't have found out, could they!? Panic filled her emerald eyes as she looked at the person before her, finding it immensely difficult to swallow the bread in her mouth. With guilt written across her face, she coughed slightly to stall for time, her eyes flicking around the room to see if there were any easy escape routes, the thought of the place just being too full and there being nowhere else to sit not even crossing her confused mind. With a slow growing despair, she realised she cold not run. If they knew it was her, then there would be nowhere to hide, no way to survive. While her job was awful and the pay too meagre to fully pay for lodgings and food, it was still better than nothing.

Resigned, she gave a slow nod, her hunger now completely forgotten. Leaving the woman to take her seat, Thea looked back down at her bowl of stew. There was still half of it left. Putting the bread back on the table, anger lit her eyes. Stupid stew. How could she be this stupid? All she had to do was wait a few more days until payday, but no, she had to go and do something so stupid. Father would be so disappointed in her. Angrily she swiped at that familiar itchy tickle on her cheek.

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Balcheth

(Thea) coughed and flicked her eyes around the pub, but Balcheth maintained eye contact and seemingly ignored these actions.

"Thank you," Balcheth responded, as she took a seat. She first quickly at the food of the person sitting across, stew and half-eaten bread. Then Balcheth's eyes traveled away from the window towards the pub in general. Balcheth blinked a few times, and her brow furrowed in concentration, as if listening in to all the concurrent conversations in the room. Which conversations were important to her; be it Hirgond's brewery, the discussion of "pies" and other matters by Kaylin and Zev, or the whispers of plots both small and big; was information Balcheth kept to herself. As the server brought forth the cheapest wine and a drinking glass, she blinked again, smiling at the server.

"Thank you, I will handle it myself," Balcheth stated cheerfully. She placed both on the table, and began pouring the wine in the glass as she looked once more at the stew and bread. Noting that the stew and bread were still in the same shape, Balcheth frowned. The glint in her eye seemingly sparkled for an instant.

"I'll not mince words," Balcheth said, as she looked into the eyes of (Thea), "I know what you did."

Balcheth paused, then added, "But you need not fear me... yet, at least." She sipped the wine and gave a short sigh of disappointment, "would you like some wine?"

Whether or not (Thea) desired wine, Balcheth continued, "as far as I am concerned, we never had this conversation, and that is what you will tell others if they ask. I require information. For you see, I am not exactly... human. Have you heard of the Sons of Fëanor?"

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Thea

Thea's gaze had dropped from the stew down to her hands in her lap, she couldn't bare to look at the food that had now gotten her caught. As the woman slid into the chair opposite her, Thea absentmindedly began picking at a dry spot on one palm of her raw red hands. How could she have been this stupid? Why would she have thrown everything away for just a bowl of food? What was going to happen now? Would this woman call the guards on her? Would she go to the dungeons? A slight shiver shook her body at the thought of going there, remembering the horror stories she had heard growing up. But before the panic settled more deeply, the young female barkeep brought over the stranger's wine, Thea's head shooting up to look on in surprise. That the woman would have ordered a drink for herself came as a complete surprise and it showed on her face. Though that was immediately flooded by fear at the woman's words. Thea had only just locked eyes with the stranger when she said the word's that scared Thea the most. "I know what you did."

Thea's face flushed hotly with guilt, before it went deathly pale with an almost faint tinge of green as the sudden nausea ripped through her. She almost didn't hear the woman's reassurring words, her mind spinning and trying it's best to come up with an excuse for what she had done, almost blurting out 'it was my money' though managing to keep her mouth from spilling the words out. It took her addled mind a moment to catch up with what had been said, blinking furiously in an attempt to clear her mind from her confused thoughts. The woman needed information? What? From her? But she did not know anything! Letting out an almost inaudible whimper, Thea started shaking her head, only then hearing the question which kept her shaking her head.

"I don't know anything! I swear! I know nothing about these sons of Fëanor or what you called him, is it like a gang? A guild? Please miss, please! I swear I won't do it again, please just don't report me, I will do anything you want, just please don't report me!" Her words came out in a rushed breathless tirade, her voice growing more desperate with each word.

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Red Daghul

Sitting back he idly watched the room move with life and he got a small grin enjoying the simple joy of old memories content with letting the moment flow around him as a silent observer in the current of friendship. Red had always been a bit of a loner in his younger year, yet this place pulled him out of his shell and lead him on some of the most amazing adventures. As a older man he had found himself enjoy the slower moments. Sitting back some and rubbing his stubble on his face he grinned and just as he was thinking about getting a drink his grey eyes caught sight of a old friend making her way over to him (Arnyn).

A grin came a cross his face as her golden hair glowed in the light, her brown eye alight with what he could only guess was joy being back in the white city around so many friends from the past. Honestly it was such a odd surprised that so many of them had returned, and knowing them it was going to be quite the time.

"Hey, Red," she said with that voice that reminded him of such a strength "Does your table have room for an old friend?".

Rubbing his black scruff one more time he sat up a bit and gave a friendly fist to chest as he opened his mouth "For you Arnyn always" he gestured for her to take a seat as he sat back in his seat his black hair falling a bit in his face before he moved it out of the way. "It has been a long time, your gonna have to catch me up on your adventures?" his smile open and easy going.
~Red Daghul~
Hyandaner for life!

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Balcheth

"How about being silent right now?" Balcheth tersely responded with a frown as she slightly raised her hand as if bidding (Thea) to stop. The former shifted her eyes left and right, quickly adding, "you are lucky no one else heard what you said. Otherwise you would be stuck in the dungeons without that tasty stew and bread to fill your body!"

Balcheth blinked, and said more calmly, "perhaps you should eat while I continue. The roasted chicken should be coming out eventually. Would not want to raise any suspicions with your lack of appetite, wouldn't we?"

She sipped more of her wine mulling it around the glass as she placed her hands on the table to continue.

"I should not be telling you of my organization, but you remind me of myself when I was young. Fresh off of the boats in this new land and immediately conscripted to fight against an army of innumerable beasts straight out of your legends. There were no fortresses with nine circles to hide under, just our spears, swords, shields and fellow soldiers to hide behind."

Balcheth leaned closer to (Thea) as she looked into her eyes with a steely gaze, her voice quieting to a whisper "this does not have to be your fate... if you listen to my words closely.

Technically the Sons of Fëanor is a paramilitary organization to redress the wrongs staining our honor and integrity. Once we redress these wrongs, re-obtain our 3 jewels, and exact judgement upon all who slighted us, our organization will disband. Do not believe what others say about us! Most of the elves, and by extension, human lorists, have wrongly slandered our name. Traitors like... that animal Tavari, the pasty-faced snake Erfaron, and bastards like Ohtarien are forever on our list."


Balcheth's steely gaze relaxed, as her fists unclenched. She drank a little more wine, relaxed more on her chair, and stopped whispering. Her voice was still relatively quiet, however.

"I doubt you fully know what all of that means, but that is not important. What is important is that we require sources of information, informants if you will. That is where people like you come in... What is your name, anyways?"

Balcheth paused to sip more of her wine as she waited for (Thea) to respond.

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Thea

Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling the panicked sob as the stranger berated her. The fear of the dungeons was so real it made her stomach roil uncomfortably, making her anxious that she would lose the little stew she had eaten. Trying her best, Thea drew in a long deep breath through her nose and swallowed hard, willing the contents of her stomach to stay where they were. At the mention of resuming her eating, she let out a strangled whimper, first looking at her food then around the room. But if she were to keep this woman from getting even more angry or annoyed, Thea had better do as requested. Gulping hard, her shaking hand moved from her mouth and went to the bread. It was the safer bet right now and she slowly pulled a small chunk free and put it in her mouth. She chewed slowly and almost choked on it as she tried to swallow, quickly grabbing her mead and taking a large swig, almost spilling some as her hands were still shaking.

The moment the woman leaned forward, Thea froze. Locked in the stranger's gaze, Thea's fear exploded again. Breath caught in her throat, she was as if she was mesmerised, unable to tear her gaze away from this woman's oddly glinting eyes. It was more the passion when speaking about the organisation the woman was in, rather than what she was saying that left her mouth agape, as Thea had never heard of them or the people she mentioned. Though as soon as the woman relaxed, it was if an invisible grip was released and Thea drew in a ragged breath, finally placing the mug back on the table before spilling any of the mead.

"I doubt you fully know what all of that means, but that is not important. What is important is that we require sources of information, informants if you will. That is where people like you come in... What is your name, anyways?"


Informants? But what could Thea possibly tell this woman that she likely didnt already know? But before she could state just that, Thea was asked what her name was. A small niggling confusion grew at the back of her mind, wondering why this woman didn't already know it, if she knew what Thea had done, but with no way of finding out as she was not about to openly ask, she merely provided the answer. "Thea.." she said softly and immediatly blurted out "but I don't know anything!"

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Balcheth

She looked at Thea's closely as the latter gave her response. Balcheth raised an eyebrow at her words.

"So you have no memory of any streets here? No favorite shop, nor a favorite pub?" Balcheth asked in a low voice, "No knowledge of friends, family, family friends? No favorite shortcut to buy fruit and grain?"

Balcheth gave a knowing smile, quickly glanced towards the bar area, as she placed an elbow on the table and leaned her cheek against an open palm, "No, you have good instinct, good survival skills. Reminds me of myself when I was young back when there was no Sun nor Moon in the sky. So eat a little bit more of that stew as my roast chicken arrives."

Soon enough, she turned her head as the roasted half chicken with artisan bread was placed next to her on the table, "oh my," Balcheth turned to the server, beaming, "thank you very much. This looks ravishing, and I am quite famished."

With that, she grabbed and easily pulled out a golden herb-crusted leg, the aroma wafting in small inviting vapory tendrils. The ripped leg revealed meat as white as snow, contrasting with the golden-red skin of the surrounding area, yet glistening with the summer dew of juices marinated in the rich earth. The juice dripped slightly onto the plate, as Balcheth lifted the drumstick to her mouth, ripping a meaty chunk out of the leg. She chewed slowly, nodding slightly in approval, and cast a glance at Thea.

"Come, eat some of this chicken. It is delicious. The artisan bread looks good too. Even information like secret recipes would be useful. Mmm," Balcheth said as she ripped another chunk out of the leg, "I sometimes marvel at humanity's ability to cook. People like me, well we cannot get sick eating even the most spoiled of food, unless there is poison involved, so some of us are horrid at this hobby.

Anyways, before I was distracted by this lovely chicken, you have good instinct. After you did that completely shameful act, where did you go? You rushed into this pub so that no one could see you amidst all the cacophony. If you lacked the ability to 'know anything,' you would have barged straight into the guard station on this circle."

Balcheth, who by this time gnawed all the meat out of the drumstick, bit into, cracked, and spat out part of the bone. She began sucking the fractured bone, eating its marrow. She gave an amused look at Thea,

"Tell me more about why you would be a bad informant. Convince me otherwise, Thea," Balcheth said, almost in jest.

Éowyn
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Arnyn

A genuine, broad smile made its way to her face at the familiar gesture of respect and at the tone of friendship in Red's voice. His words made her heart swell with gratitude and the feeling she was extremely lucky to have such a friend. Having put both of the mugs down on the table earlier, she could touch her fist to her own heart as well, returning the gesture.

Red looked scruffy but happy, and still wearing her big smile, Arnyn took a seat at his table and slid the second mug of dark beer over to him. "Here. I hope you like it - just got to know it today, and it's pretty good as far as stout goes." When he inquired about her adventures, she shrugged her shoulders. "I've been up north with the remnants of the rangers over there. It had its periods of intensity and its stretches of calm. Living a wanderer's life was fine for a couple of years, but in the end, it just isn't me." She peered into her friend's eyes. "Have you been gone, too? I don't see an insignia on you. That seems uncharacteristic." Even after two years, she had to admit not having a badge on her shoulder was still something she had to get used to herself.
Arnyn ~ Honor & Valor
Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength

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Another woman (Kaylin) filled with what can only be described as boundless energy and vivaciousness of life had also joined them and seemed to know the other two (Zev and Morwen) who had engaged Nerwen in conversation. Nerwen chuckled and shifted herself to make more of a circle for the group, she was also eager to hear stories and glean news from locals. "Yes thank you," she said in response to the invitation to join them for another drink, "I started on the pale ale but now I feel a touch more adventurous. Barkeep, I will take whatever you feel is fit to serve to a dwarf of good standing".

The chatter of the group rose and swelled as people got reacquainted. The lad (Zev) seemed to caught in a perpetual cycle of either staring at the newest additional to the group or at Nerwen. Nerwen nudged the woman (Kaylin) who had flung herself with fervour at a rust-headed man (Bregedyr) and was now handing out the drink, "Would you care to do the introductions? Or shall I start?"
Family Stealtharm | Sil's #1 Property | Knowledge of a woman, pride of a dwarf | Khazâd ai-mênu!

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Thûllir Bregedŷr

There had been the briefest of pauses before Kaylin turned around, so he wasn’t at all sure what type of greeting he would receive. Had something happened while he was gone, or was she just composing herself? It was the briefest flash of thought, wiped away as soon as she turned with a grin, the light of joy in her eyes and his name on her lips. His return grin was captured by her kiss, which was welcome if unexpected, as he reflexively caught her. For a second the noise of the now busy pub faded out with her welcome, but then Kaylin stepped back and the rest of the world returned as he let her slip away. He couldn’t summon words in reply immediately, with a smile hovering around his lips, but when she declared to all and sundry that she was paying with his money, a laugh escaped. “Aye. Of course.”

Stepping closer to the bar, he motioned to Haldecar, whom he knew was paying attention, and handed him a small purse. “As she said. Take what is needed as my lady orders and let me know if you need aught.” The barkeep nodded tersely but with quite happy acknowledgement as he began sliding mugs full of the chosen drinks across the bar to the varied recipients.
Moving back again, he overheard the lady dwarf (Nerwen) asking about introductions. This time he was a bit more timely. Laying his hand over his heart, he bowed towards her and the rest of the small company with grace and a smile that lit his dark eyes. “Allow me to begin. Thûllir Bregedŷr at your service, and I have the honor of being the husband of this fiery lady.”
Ziranphel of the Green Hills ~ Thûllir Bregedŷr of Ithilien

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Thea

Thea was taken aback with the stranger's response. Why would this woman want to know about what Thea knew of the streets, her friends, family and where she bought her food? There was nothing special about any of them, none had done anything noteworthy, she did not come from a rich family, nor was her only friend Tilly from any kind of special background. If Thea had to describe herself or her life, it would be.. 'boring'. So why was this woman so sure that Thea could provide her with any noteworthy information? With a sigh and a small shake to her head that set her fiery curls spilling from behind her ears, she decided to let it go. If that was going to be all this woman wanted for keeping quiet about what Thea had done, surely that was a small price to pay, right? That and half the time Thea did not know what the woman was talking about. How could this stranger have been alive when there were no sun or moon??

Confused and worried, Thea watched on as the young bartender brought over a plate of chicken and bread, the smell almost enticing enough to rekindle the hunger in her own belly, though the niggling worry still gripped her guts tightly. But she did as bid, though stuck to her own food as she picked up another chunk of her own bread and dipped it into her cooling stew. However the piece halted halfway to her mouth as it dropped open in surprise as she watched the woman ravage the piece of chicken, cracking the bone and sucking out the marrow. Realising she was staring, she quickly lowered her eyes and bit off a piece of the bread, slowly chewing it so that she did not choke on it.

"Tell me more about why you would be a bad informant. Convince me otherwise, Thea"


The question caught her off guard, her brows knitting tightly as she racked her brain to try and find a reason other than that she did not know anything worth knowing, at least in her mind. "But what do you want me to tell you about? I work all day and when I go home I almost always fall asleep straight away.." that she was physically tired was only part of the reson for going to bed so early, the other one was to sleep from the constant hunger that followed her day and night. With that, her stomach growled once more and she finally relented, picking up the spoon and scooping a large spponful into her mouth.

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Balcheth

"And then you lack even the time to eat, becoming malnourished, making you even more tired in the next day. Your concentration and stamina suffers, and you would likely die an early age probably due to the horrid 'job' you have. And so on and so forth," Balcheth seemingly added to Thea's response, "I am not anticipating such key information now, but in the future." The former then grabbed the chicken's wing, bending until the wing drum popped out of the chicken, carrying part of its tender breast. Balcheth promptly ripped the chicken wing into the flat and drum. She cleaned all of the flat's meat in one swoop by placing it into her mouth. Once she withdrew the flat, there was only the wingbone. She crunched the chicken's wing with her teeth.

"I have a two possible solutions for your problems; you may choose one but not the other," Balcheth responded, and she pulled out two bags that was attached to her body, one big and one small. She unwound the string on the big bag.

"The big bag contains enough Gondorian currency for you to solve your problems in the short-term. It's not enough to completely change your life, but perhaps you can get out of your current sticky situation with this money, or at least negotiate for much less hours. Consider it a long-term loan, we would have another conversation soon to see your potential as an informant, and should you fail, I will send you to the Gondorian dungeons."

Balcheth then unwound the string of the small bag, motioned Thea closer so she could whisper to her,

"This small bag, however, would completely change your life. Eregion currency from the Second Age containing a small percentage of mithril. Look up 'Eregion' and 'mithril' in the Gondorian library if you are not familiar. There's an artifact marketplace on the second circle. If you negotiate well, while not bankrupting the buyer, and if you are financially prudent, you could live off of this small bag for the rest of your life."

She paused, grabbing the drum and gnawing all the meat off of it. After only the drum bone was left, Balcheth continued whispering

"But if you choose this small bag, your life will be ours. You will answer to our organization through an oath, and when we request assistance, you will obey our every command. Should you betray us..." Balcheth bit the top part of the drum clean off and spat it on the table with a quiet thud, "let us just say my hands are much stronger than my teeth."

With that, Balcheth leaned back, sucking the marrow of the drum bone, and eyed the artisan bread "so what do you say, Thea? Any questions? Take your time if you wish. We have an entire meal to eat, after all?

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Kaylin

Thûllir had the good sense not to fight her on her statement, and she was grinning broadly as he agreed he would be paying. He behaved then as the man of action she knew him to be, handing Haldecar a purse and arranging what was necessary. Well. Very good. It looked like Thûllir may even be in a sociable mood!

When the Dwarven lady nudged her and inquired about introductions, Kaylin gave her a sheepish grin. She supposed that, since she was the one who'd joined the little group, she'd been remiss not offering her name. Her mother would scold her, if she were here. Luckily, it was hard to scold all the way from Linhir. Kaylin wanted to remedy the situation by going first, but Thûllir beat her to the punch, introducing himself and explaining his relationship to her. "Aye," she confirmed. She leaned in to the Dwarf, speaking a bit softer. "So, etiquette isn't my strong suit, I'm afraid. It wasn't for lack of upbringing, though - simply a lack of interest on my part. I hope you'll forgive me." Since the Dwarf had said she was of good standing, Kaylin hoped she wouldn't fault her for forgetting about introductions or other little things she was sure to still do wrong according to whatever was the custom. Kaylin had yet to find major drawbacks about her chosen ways of communication, however. It took some people a little getting used to, but most tended to appreciate it in the end.

"I'm Kaylin, and am very pleased to meet you," she said with a bow of her head (while etiquette wasn't exactly her thing, that didn't mean she was rude). "Is this your first time in the city, or do you travel here often? How are you liking it so far?" Having received her drink and being absolutely parched, she took a good swallow and felt the burn go down her throat. She had to cough once in surprise. Haldecar had chosen one of his more potent drinks. She'd given him free reign in the choice of her order, though, so she could hardly object - and she didn't really want to, either. She laughed as her eyes found the barkeep's. "Nice," she said, a slightly hoarse tone to her voice still. It would probably be best not to drink it too fast.
Then again, she was thirsty.
Last edited by Arnyn on Wed May 20, 2020 11:34 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Kaylin ~ Joy & Strength

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Helzîr was paler than most Haradrim, no doubt as a result of intermingling with the people of Gondor, and that was his primary qualification for this job. His cousin Khaulzîm had egged him on, saying he was certain to blend in if he managed to track his quarry all the way to Minas Tirith, that his lightly swarthy skin could be passed off as a tan, and all he had to do was pick a different name, it would all be fine! He wasn’t completely inept- others had attempted to take down the targets on the road, and been thwarted. Helzîr was at least smart enough to hang back and study them, and keep out of sight while tailing them. Besides, he hadn’t picked his new name yet. Nevermind that he wouldn’t have needed the new name at all if he’d managed to pick them off on the road rather than in the city. Helzîr waited what he felt was an appropriate amount of time after they had entered the tavern to follow, and strode with an unfelt confidence across to the bar. He was peculiarly garbed in an odd mishmash of Gondorian clothes (mostly scavenged from dead bodies and strategically sewn back together in places where arrows had gone through), but that could be attributed to being on the road for a long time! He wore a dirty brown cape tied under his right arm and draped over the left shoulder. On his right hip rode a slim dirk, which was nothing unusual- it was the assortment of knives on his left thigh, concealed by the cloak, which might have been considered odd.

“What can I get you?” Haldecar asked genially- no doubt stranger figures had appeared in his tavern over time. “Why hello my good man!” Helzîr said loudly, trying entirely too hard to sound like a ordinary citizen of Minas Tirith, and determinedly not looking at Morwen and Zev. “Your finest ale! Ha! Haha! Thank you!”
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Evil is a lifestyle | she/her

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Durien briskly crossed the steps in front of the Old Guesthouse, grasping skirts the dark gray velvety overdress and light silver kirtle with one hand, raising the hems just enough so they didn't brush against the filthy steps and twist about her riding boots in an effort to trip her. Pushing back yet another errant strand of ebony hair into the thick braid twisting it away from her face and covering the tops of her ears, she swung the heavy wooden door just enough to slide her lithe figure through the narrow crack before allowing it shut again with the dullest of thuds. She had only been back in Minas Tirith a few days, but already her days were packed full. This morning she had given some long overdue attention to her cartography shop. Granted, Ranadil, her assistant/apprentice/the lad who actually did almost all of the functional tasks the shop needed to survive, was more than capable of running it on his own in her absence, but he although he embellished her wares, she was the one skilled in creating accuracy for which her maps were known. She'd spent all of the morning hard at work, and would be still, if the pangs in her stomach had let her. Considering her sleight build and almost gaunt features, she couldn't afford to ignore her body's need for sustenance...it would eat itself until she was barely more than a wraith.

Approaching the bar where it was easiest to get quick service, Durien waited for Haldecar's attention. After she ate, she needed to make a quick stop at the library before heading to the Houses of Healing in the sixth circle. Even so, she refused to be rushed. It had been so long since she had stepped foot in the White city, and she planned to thoroughly enjoy the refreshing feeling of being welcomed back. Part of that welcome was greeting old friends, and she was hoping to see a few familiar faces. Haldecar suddenly appeared in front of her. She ordered an ale and a pork pie. Ale wasn't her favorite, but it was one of Gondor's most popular beverages and what was that old saying? When in Gondor... Little details like ordering popular local dishes were second nature to someone who had spent her life learning to blend in with cultures and races not her own. As far as the Gondorians knew, she was a Gondorian woman just entering the prime of her life. In truth, she'd lived off and on in Minas Tirith since Elendil and his sons had built the White city and therefore had spent the equivalent of several lifetimes of mortal men in Gondor. Even without her knack for learning dialects and languages, cultures and lands, she could have passed as a Gondorian simply from experience. It had been crucial to her survival to be able to blend in with almost any race and any culture in Middle Earth, and she had gotten spectacularly good at it.

She was not so good at cooking however. She could cook. She also was more than capable of brewing tinctures of varying degrees of strength and difficulty. However, she sorely lacked the artistry needed to elevate a dish of food from edible to delectable. Hence why Durien was now making her way, plate in one hand and glass of ale in other, towards an empty table along the wall, far from the door. As she passed, she nodded and smiled to familiar faces, but it seemed most were already in conversation, and she was reluctant to intrude. She despised drawing attention to herself and loathed barging in on other's conversations. She made sure to leave room at her table for any who wanted to join her, settled into her chair with her back to the wall, and then settled in to devour her pork pie. She had plenty of time to sit and chat before she headed to the library and afterwards onto the Hosues of Healing.

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Thea

Thea had to conciously remind herself not to stare at the odd woman before her, the way the stranger was devouring the chicken incredibly fascinating for some reason. She could not put her finger on why, only that is seemed a bit 'off'. It was not like Thea was unfamiliar with ravaging the food you were given, in this case it seemed more like something strange, like the woman was unaccustomed to eating. Which of course couldn't be the case. Shaking her head ever so slightly, she spooned another large bite of stew into her mouth, briefly enjoying the now almost cool gravy, that still tasted like heaven to her. It had been far too long since she had had a hot meal.

Busy dipping a chunk of bread into the bowl and scooping out some meat and gravy onto it, she tore her eyes from her food to watch as the woman pulled out two bags and set them on the table between them. The chunk of bread never made it to her mouth, her brows furrowing as the woman explained what was in the bigger bag. Thea almost didn't believe what she was hearing, until she leaned forward and saw the coins within. However at the threat of the dungeon again, she swallowed hard, forcing the shiver that ran up her spine to stop from making her hands shake. And even though the fear was growing in the pit of her stomach again, she still leaned forward when bid, to hear what the woman whispered about the smaller bag, letting the chunk of bread drop back into the stew.

The woman was correct that she did not know anything about Eregion, but she had heard of mithril, though granted had thought it more of a myth that real as she had never seen any. But even though she did not know half of what the woman was talking about, Thea managed to get the gist of it, her eyes almost bulging when she looked back down at that bag. Surely it really must be valuable, if something so small could set her up for life. Nervously, Thea flicked her eyes around the room, looking to see if anyone was looking. Thea's attention was quickly returned to the woman as she added the 'small' caveat and this time she could not stop the shudder from visibly shaking her body and gulping hard.

Pulling back, Thea slumped back into the chair, her eyes moving fearfully between the two bags and the woman. Whichever choice she made, seemed to have a bad outcome if things went wrong, including not making a choice. While the woman hadn't said, Thea was sure that if she declined either, she would be reported, which meant she only really had two choices as she did not want to end up in the dungeons. Though to be honest, neither of the two choices appealed. Give over her life to this strange and slightly threatning woman or risk not performing satisfactorily and ending up in the dungeons.

Lowering her eyes to her hands, she picked at a dry scab, once again noting how red and sore her fingers were. With that money she could leave her job, she would never have to endure anymore of Ms Irma's smacks, or the horrendously long hours or not getting her full pay. But was the trade off better? Would this woman treat her better than Ms Irma did? Of course she had no way of knowing, but there was one thing she knew and that was that she would never have to go to bed hungry ever again. She could even get a proper place to stay, maybe even a bed and not a pile of sacks in the back of Mr Finn's storage room.

"What kind of oath?" she asked meekly, her voice barely audible.

Melkor
Melkor
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Balcheth

She drank a little more wine, as she waited for Thea's response. Balcheth eyed the dipped chunk of bread just laying there, and a slight frown appeared, as if she was struck by a memory of sorts. The moment faded, however, and Balcheth turned her attention to Thea, who's focus was on redder-than-normal hands.

"What kind of oath?" she asked meekly, her voice barely audible.


Balcheth smiled, though it did not reach her eyes, leaning towards Thea Balcheth whispered "there are people within this pub now, that if they recognize one phrase of this oath... Well, I will let your imagination conjure up what would happen."

At the same time, in one fluid motion, Balcheth placed a carefully folded parchment note containing the oath in front of Thea. One side of the note read, "MISTRANSLATION, TRY AGAIN NEXT TIME." Meanwhile, the other side read the following:

"Be they foe or friend, be they foul or clean,
be they loyal servant or despicable traitor,
brood of Morgoth or bright Vala,
Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,
or Humans upon Middle-earth,
neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,
dread nor danger, not Doom itself,
shall defend them from the Sons of Fëanor,
whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,
finding keepeth or afar casteth
a Silmaril. This swear we all:
death we will deal them ere Day's ending,
woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou,
Eru Allfather! To the everlasting
Darkness doom us if our deed faileth.
On the holy mountain hear in witness
and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!
"

"Any questions?" asked Balcheth once again as she casually ripped the chicken's thigh from the breast.

Sage of Khazad-dûm
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Haldecar had taken a purse from Thûllir and seemed to be arranging what was necessary; resulting in Nerwen holding a large-ish glass of plummy wine. She sipped. It was rich, smooth and very satisfying. The lady Kaylin introduced herself and Nerwen nodded, sharing a small smile with her, "truth be told", she responded, equally softly, "I am thoroughly sick of etiquette. I am up to my axes in etiquette back at home so here, I breathe free. You do not have to ask for my forgiveness, there is nothing to forgive".

Putting her wine glass on the bar, Nerwen gave a small wave, "Kaylin..."she tried out the name, and smiled again, "I am Nerwen, of houses Meneldur and Stealtharm, from the kingdom of Khazad-dum. This is not my first time here in Minas Tirith, but I am always thankful to return here. The city of men are so interesting, so many good stories, so many deals to be had". They both took a drink, which went slightly more smoothly for Nerwen and Kaylin coughed, looking at her brew and laughing. Nerwen liked that, a woman who could take her drink, she felt in very good company. Perhaps the evening wouldn't be such a waste of time, "Is it good?" she asked, gesturing at the woman's drink.
Family Stealtharm | Sil's #1 Property | Knowledge of a woman, pride of a dwarf | Khazâd ai-mênu!

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Thea

Thea managed to open the note without her hands shaking, which wouldn't have made it easy to read the text inside. Aware that she was holding her breath as she read the oath, she let it out in a relieved gush as she saw there was no mention of sacrifices or dying in it. Not that she had heard or read many oaths in her time, but this one seemed quite innocuous. Flipping the paper around, she read the text on the outside, frowning slightly at the words, though quickly deduced it must have been written to throw people off if it fell into the wrong hands.

Was she ready for this, ready for a life serving this group? Could she really dedicate her life and future to these people who seemed almost fanatic about these lost stones, Silmaril's or whatever they were called. But honestly what was the alternative? Spending the rest of her life washing soldiers dirty clothes? She was too old to still dream of being swept away by a handsome merchant son, though still young enough that it was something she yearned for. For someone to sweep her away from this miserable life. She had just not expected it to be this way. Looking up at the strange woman, she chewed her lip for a long moment, before finally speaking, "do I say it here?"

Craftsman of Gondor
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Red Daghul

He listened to her talk about the rangers in the north, and of her living their life style something that Red knew well having grown up with them. It was a life of excitement at times, but not for everyone. The last few years of his life closely resembled that very lifestyle, though he had finally fixed ties with his family in the north, and found himself working closely with them the last few years.

Taking a sip of the beer infront of him he smiled and offered "They are something up there in the north, I'm sure you showed them how it's done" he offered a small laugh "I left shortly after Turin, I guess I felt like I had some things I needed to make right with my family". The need to touched where is rank once stood felt like a itch, but he forced himself to still his hand "The last few years I have spent working with my cousin and sister roaming here and there doing what we can" he laughed "it has been a adventure for sure". A small silence seemed to stand just after he said it as he wondered where his family was at the moment, and his eyes fell over on his brother Turin. There was a bit of guilt in not visiting his friend for so long, and he hoped he get a chance to hear his story before the night was over.

Turning back to the lovely lady in front of him "So is this just a trip back to the white city or will it's walls once again be graced by the great and powerful Arnyn Dealedwen?"
~Red Daghul~
Hyandaner for life!

Horse Trainer of The Mark
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Lôkhî Axantur
He slipped into the Old Guesthouse, quietly as was his wont. Some habits were hard to break, and he’d given up trying. It was his first night back in the White City and the crowds and noise pleased him. Axantur had gone home to Pinnath Gelin, spent time reuniting with his family. He could not bring back the years lost to time, but he had made a start on rebuilding the life that had been taken from him. And now, despite the protests of his parent, he was back in the City that had changed his life. A year, he thought with a smile, a year spent in his family’s home was long enough. He needed the crowds, the noise …and a glass of ale with adult company.

He glided through the shadows to the bar. A quiet murmur and exchange of silver had a frothing mug appearing before him. He sipped gratefully, then scanned the crowd. He was pleased that he’d been able to order his drink before assessing the room. He was changing.

A figure near the back caught his eye, and he smiled. He paid ahead for a refill, then slipped to the nearly empty table. “Durien,” he said gently, his voice deep and smooth. “Perhaps it is you do not remember me, but we met … I actually don’t remember where. I’ve only just returned to Minas Tirith, may I join you?”
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Once a Rider, always a Rider

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