On the road

[Rex]

Lotho

"Around back it is then, could I get a hot meal as soon as I am cleaned up and a warm bed does sound nice as well."

[Mr Stereo1]

""What's the rate for room and board, friend?" Lofar asks with a weary smile. "Can you have our dinners started while we clean up? Travel on a day like today builds a hunger in a Dwarf as much as a Man."

Carouse Haggling Roll [1d6] = 3 [1d6] = 4 [1d6] = 6

With the board for the night paid Lofar heads out to see to the ponies and wash up before enjoying what he hopes to be a hearty meal.

[OGRE MAGE]

Barwuf ducks in through the doorway last, drinking his mug of ale down in one swift pour.

He smacks his lips together loudly. “Aaaahhhh. Delicious. May I have another? Oh, and, do you have any rooms with...........big beds?”

The huge beorning spots the gaffers in the corner and smiles at them wildly.

[Leitz]

Dark froth and malty taste confirm that whoever brews the local should have a reputation indeed. There seems to be no lack of it, in the room, either.

After a few moments, and a few comments of "welcome", and "do you see the size of him?", the music returns. Tarabim recognizes something of a tune, and recalls that there's likely some festival or other about. The party isn't treated with any disdain, save that their cloths are dripping and muddy.

Around the back, a young serving girl opens the storeroom door and everyone enters. A single lantern sways in the breeze, but settles as the door is closed. Boots and capes abound, even the locals fear the wrath of the barkeep's wife.

"Rinse your clothes off, there." The girl pointed at a trough. Water seemed to run in from a drain pipe and out through the back of the buliding. "Then wring them dry as best you can. I'll set up a bench near the fire, so you can eat and dry off. There's plenty of food, Master Dwarf, eat your fill."

She gave Barwuf a shy smile. "We haven't a bed your size, I've never seen one that big. But we have blankets aplenty, and no one in the common room. I'll set everything up for you all, and start the fire there. There should be enough wood for the night, but I'll check to make sure."

With another glance at Barwuf, the girl was gone.

Lotho spied a stairwell on the far side of the room, and a quick check behind the door showed that it went up and down. Likely a root cellar, and beer storage below. The building looked stout enough to be waterproof. The upper two stories were likely the guest rooms, and the Keep's living area on top.

[tibbius]

Tarabim delicately unslung the oblong bundle of waxed canvas from his shoulder and placed it gently on the floor by the door from the storeroom into the main part of the tavern, next to the stairwell. Then he stripped and washed, gasping, "I guess ... they haven't heard ... of hot water maybe? Tis cold as the rain!" Mud removed, he cranked his clothing through the mangle in the corner, then dressed shiveringly in garments that were at least no longer dripping. Sparing a glance to be sure that his comrades were not over-exposed, he said, "See you in there, gentlemen," picked up his bundle, opened the door into the warm, and stepped into the firelight. As he moved to find a seat near the musicians, he began to unwrap his lute.

[Mr Stereo1]

Lofar thanks the barmaid politely then takes the time to wash himself as well as his clothes, working the worn in mud out of his bushy beard and the grime from his feet. In his business it was always important to present yourself as best you could, even if the burdens of the road often made that difficult. Once he has satisfied himself to be presentable, if damp, he enters the common room and eats gladly.

He tries to make conversation with any of the locals curious about a Dwarf in their village, asking about their village and the local goings on. When questioned about himself tells them of his trading and speaks of kin in Erebor and the Blue Mountains he must see about some recent family politics he'd rather not go into.

Carouse in the Inn [1d6] = 3 [1d6] = 4

[OGRE MAGE]

Barwuf watches as the others clean off their mud, waiting his turn at the trough. Once his boots and clothing are rinsed well enough, he wrings them out tightly and heads for the fire. If you thought the man was hairy with his clothes on.......

He smiles kindly at the serving girl, glad she isn’t frightened by his size. He then sits quietly until he is dried, staring at the fire and watching the people around him while he drinks another mug or two. He tries to get a “feel” for the room and the politics of its patrons, looking around intently to notice if anyone there appears sick or injured.

[Leitz]

More than once the serving girl paused near Barwuf, more than once a shy smile. His mug was never empty, and a large plate found itself in his lap. An elbow brush his now and again. A teen boy snickered and wandered off. Conversation picked up as the fire warmed him. People talk of fewer travellers and poorer ones at that. The Entwash is near flooding, but Barwuf noticed a strength in the building. Not a single floorboard creaked under his weight.

A few of the younger patrons shied away from Lofar; seemingly in confusion more than hostility. No mind, the food is plentiful and hearty. It might not make a hobbit sing praises but a Dwarf that wanted to keep muscle on their bones could eat here often. The conversations, with the older humans, are filling as well. Fewer traders come this way, and those that do are sometimes a rougher lot. Lofar knows the type; not bad of themselves, just not longing for civilization and softness. It's a hard world to live in, and it takes hard people to live it.

One of the musicians nodded to Tarabim, and the others made room. The man was tall, and lean, with wavy black hair and a worn face. He held a long flute, of middling quality. It wasn't new, however. He and the others had been playing a few simple country songs, the same tunes carried different words across Gondor.

"This has to be an improvement!" One of the old gaffers called out.

"Sure, as long as he can find a bucket!" The other said. Both men laughed.

The lead musician seemed to not hear the old men's complaints, and in truth, the small crowd looked at Tarabim expectantly. They hushed, and leaned forward.

Tarabim knew he could play better than the others, and they would likely enjoy it if he did. Their welcoming nods put him at ease, the woman with the drums fetched Tarabim an ale and set it on a stool within his reach.

Everything seemed perfect for half a minute.

Tarabim tuned his lute. The crowd looked on expectantly. The lead musician sat with bread and cheese in hand, and smiled. Tarabim had seen him before. Feasting, in Minas Tirith.

[Mr Stereo1]

"Give us a song lads!" Lofar cries out over his ale, his belly full and now ready for an evening's entertainment before bed.

[tibbius]

Tarabim blinked, and smiled uneasily while trying to make it look easy. "Well met," he said cheerily. His mouth was dry. He flicked his nails across the strings of the lute, twisted a peg, glad the wrap had kept the guts dry and bright. "I think you know this one," he said, and started the intro to Gardens of Osgiliath. It was a newer tune by country standards - in fact, Silvertongue his mentor had written it sometime before Tarabim was born.

In the gardens of
Osgiliath, my love -
The lilies lie on little lakes
where flowing water slakes
our eyes' thirst for beauty.
Between the lakes are
wa-aa-aterfalls
where we make pledges truly.
The turning seasons never
make the flowers shiver -
oh, they pass by smoothly.
In the gardens of
Osgiliath, my love.

The other musicians picked up the harmony easily, leaving Tarabim to sing the haunting melody. He relished the opportunity. Finishing his picking with a rapid ascending arpeggio, he flung out his hand and swept it back to rest again on the strings. He waited for the crowd's response. (singing the Gardens of Osgiliath [1d6] = 1,[1d6] = 6,[1d6] = 2)

[OGRE MAGE]

Barwuf enjoyed the company as much as he did the food and drink. But feeling the folks brush against him in the crowded room, he didn’t let his guard down. Once he was warm, and his clothing dried, he redressed and continued making merry.

He listened to the music with the others, always enjoying a nice melody, though he didn’t hear it often. He paid close attention to the grumpy old gaffers, enjoying their comments nearly as much as the entertainment.

[Rex]

Lotho

Once stuffed and dry Lotho sat back and enjoyed the revelry.

[tibbius]

The crowd cheered their appreciation for Tarabim's singing, and demanded another. He stood, bowed, shook his head, and wrapped up his lute. As he did so, he said cheerfully to the minstrel he vaguely knew, "Olomir! I'm surprised to see you so far from the Shining City, friend."

[Leitz]

"And I, you." Olomir said. He had a slight nasal intonation common to the nobility. "Though I was convinced I was wrong, until you played. I have listened to you often, and with a little bit of jealousy, if I'm honest. Perhaps we can speak, later?"

Tarabim had a gut feel that something was off, but nothing came to mind. Olomir's playing certainly wasn't up to par for the capital; these sorts of places, though, he would be welcome. While body language suggested he was the leader, the other players seemed more skilled. They welcomed Tarabim into their music.

Barwuf's plate never managed to get empty, nor his mug. Lofar and Lotho had much the same experience, save perhaps without the same alacrity. The warm fire and the good food amply replenish ill mood from the trip. Each of the three get the usual polite barrage of "Where are you from?" and "Where are you going?", along with admonitions to be wary of the Entwash, she's flooding something fierce.

A woman noticed Barwuf being noticed by the bar maid. After the bar maid had curtsied and left, the woman leaned over and whispered. "She's a Brown." With a knowing shrug, the woman went back to her table's conversation. Whatever a Brown is, family or label, it seems less than ideal.

[OGRE MAGE]

Once Barwuf realizes that there is no malice in the young girls actions, he settles in a bit more. Though he isn’t exactly a socialite, his limited time spent with others has taught him that most folks like to have someone to point fingers at and gossip about. And that person was usually him.

Nodding his huge head, the mountainous woodsman leans back towards the woman who made the comment for some simple conversation. “A Brown, you say? Tell me more. It would seem that you don’t like the Brown folks around here?”

[tibbius]

After playing only a few tunes, Tarabim put away his lute and got a plate. It was custom that a bard should sing for supper, not that he was short of cash.

Food in hand, he approached Olomir during a set break. "What brings you here?" he asked the man, whose nasal speech reminded him that Olomir was some kind of nobility. "I myself am traveling to visit Silvertongue, and fell in with this rough lot as traveling company. They are good sorts, despite their manners and appearance."

[Rex]

Lotho

Listening in on Barwuf's conversation. "I think every settlement has a "Browns" if you know what I mean."

[Leitz]

The woman stared at Barwuf for a moment, huffed, and stood. She shouldered people out of her way, and whispered something to the barkeep on her way out.

"Browns are the scum of the earth and the scourge of Gondor, if you ask those who might be viewed as slightly well tanned." The shorter, and more white haired of the two old codgers had walked over to the bench.

The man's clothing was threadbare and patched. A russet colored patch on one trouser knee, and the outer elbow edges of his woolen jacket were in need of repair. He scowled at Barwuf, lifted his cane, and smacked the larger man's shoulder with the cane.

Patrons gawked at the two of them, and conversation seemed to quiet. For his part, had not Barwuf actually seen the cane hit him he might have missed the event altogether. The old man lifted his cane again, and poke Barwuf in the chest. "A lady, thinking you might be a gentleman, has tried to get your attention for some time. A gentleman would respond in a gentlemanly fashion. Get to it, Boy!"

[Mr Stereo1]

"Why don't you ask a man's circumstances before asking such a thing?" Lofar asks the old cane bearing man gruffly, giving Barwuf a meaningful look to hint at the way out if he wanted it. "He could be married for all you know! It's a hell of a thing to tempt a married man like that, and the life of a traveller isn't one for the common woman besides. It's hard on the road and the men who take to it often don't return, even we honest few!"

[OGRE MAGE]

The huge Beoring stands up to address the tiny old man tapping on him.

"My friend here is correct. Perhaps I want nothing to do with this lady of yours. Did you ever stop to think of that? Or are you better at judging folks than thinking?"

Without trying to make a scene, Barwuf just shakes his head and tries to downplay the whole affair.

"Since I dont think any of us are actually looking to break any hearts tonight, why dont we all just share another mug together and forget about this whole thing? I'll buy. If the lady would like to join us for some innocent conversation, the more the merrier."