Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

Pynti-Peldot

darkangel76

.:The Vampiric Fae:.
Supporter
Joined
Jan 26, 2010
Location
Why do you care?
Pynti-Peldot

2d0jk90.jpg


Pynti-Peldot (meaning - hunting fields) is a large Lossoth settlement located in the area of Ita-Ma in Forochel. This village is located at the southern end of the Ice Bay of Forochel and boasts the Inn of the Snowy Eagle. As its name means, those Lossoth residing here are primarily hunters and fishermen, taking advantage of the waters and woodlands that surround it as well as the nearby main roads in which one can travel for easy trading.​
 
mb0n5k.jpg

Name (Nickname): Brynne daughter of Bastian.
Race: Human.
Attire: Black, empire-waisted, long-sleeved dress with red and gold trim; black leather boots.
Weapon: Dagger.
Location: Pynti-Peldot (inside the Inn of the Snowy Eagle).
Tagging: Anyone.
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.

 

The wind was howling outside causing the windows to rattle and shake. Though such weather seemed to be common in Forochel, Brynne was hardly used to the harsh climate. A shiver ran along her spine and she reached for a heavy shawl that was draped over the chair set across the way from her modest bed. Her room was so much smaller than the one she'd had back in her home in Dale... ah, to be back home... She truly missed her parents. Her mind drifted as she pined for them, her dark eyes welling with tears as she longed for a day when she might be reunited with them once more. But such a day seemed hopeless. Dale was so far away, the journey back treacherous. And after the unexpected attack, there was great uncertainty as to whether it was safe to even attempt returning.

If only there was a way she could receive word about Dale, her family... just knowing they were safe would set her heart and mind at ease.

Brynne pushed at her dark hair and heaved a sigh, her eyes shifting over to a pair leggings she'd been mending for one of the local hunters--one of the Lossoth of Pynti-Peldot--who frequented the Inn of the Snowy Eagle. She was nearly done patching them up, adding in a lining for extra warmth. Since arriving in the frozen wastelands of Forodwaith--after being so abruptly taken from all that was safe and familiar--she'd slowly been trying to repay those who'd been kind enough to help her and rescue her from the wildmen. She felt fortunate that the people of Pynti-Peldot were willing to let her stay, to prove herself a worthy seamstress.

Running her hand over the stitching, Brynne smiled. But it faded as she heard the windows of her room jostle against the window panes, almost threatening to break open as the wind continued to sweep through the village. Her hand dropped away from the fabric and she walked over to the window, biting down on her lip as she stared outside into the inky black. The sky was dark, starless, though the moon shone down in silver strands of light. Still shivering, she backed away from the window and turned to leave her room and go downstairs.

As Brynne headed down the dimly lit corridor that led to the open room where the patrons of the inn tended to meet and congregate, she could feel her heart begin to pound. Without realizing it, her tiny hands clutched at her shawl, pulling it tightly about her slim body. She could hear the voices of those already milling about, engaged in conversation, sharing a drink or three. A bit nervous as she always was, she stepped out into the midst of the crowd feeling out of place and so awkward. A hand reached up and began to fidget with a stray lock of brown, fingers twisting themselves within the strands as she made her way to where the barkeep stood. Slowly, she sat down and swallowed hard, her eyes darting about as she tried to blend in though she knew such a thing was impossible.
 

Name (Nickname): Celeste
Race: Elf
Attire: Leather, Tribal-looking, beige tunic (slightly low-cut), black pants, black cloak, beige boots
Weapon: Longbow (upon her back), Dagger (Sheathed near her right hip).
Location: Pynti-Peldot (inside the Inn of the Snowy Eagle).
Tagging: DA/Anyone.
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.

 

A pale hand weaved through light brown locks. Normally, Celeste didn't resort to drinking. But tonight, she was almost tempted to give in and have one. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? Actually, maybe it'd be best to leave that as a rhetorical question and not attempt to find out that answer. A few mental replies rushed through her head and made her lightly shudder. Her head shook no as the unknown princess finally agreed to herself to not see about getting that found out.

Matching hazel hues closed as a soft sigh passed her lips. The past nearly two hundred years had most definitely been eventful, if nothing else. But to some degrees, she wished it could have gone a bit better. All the same, the incident regarding the curse wasn't showing hints of improving. She'd ran not to abandon her home. That was the last thing she'd dare do. She left to grow up, to be able to help her kin ... and all those who were being affected which was likely everyone else.

You could have at least remained long enough to get better details ... She inwardly scolded herself, her eyes slowly opening as she took a moment to gaze around. Most of the patrons were familiar enough faces. But there was definitely what she was certain to be a new one, a human at that rate. It was certainly an interesting sight, if nothing else. There were often more elves like herself than male or female humans.

Standing up to her feet, she noted the woman seeming to be ... seeking something out? Being in front of the barkeep would usually suggest a drink. But .. dwarves were typically more fond of the alcohol. Besides, it wouldn't be fair to make an assumption like that without getting to know her, now would it?

Taking a seat beside her, she gave a polite bow of her head to the maiden. "You seem anxious and, lest I'm mistaken, new here. Is something troubling you, miss?" She wouldn't push for an answer but if the woman shared another trait like herself, Celeste guessed she would want someone to talk to.

Gods knew she certainly did, especially after being away from her family for so long. Hopefully they were still well ....
 

Name (Nickname): Vaemyr [Vae]
Race: Human
Attire: White and Gold Tunic, Cape and silver armor
Weapon: Sword
Location: Pynti-Peldot
Tagging: Everyone
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.



Vaemyr studied the settlement as best he could. The ominously starless night sky did little to aid him and the moon only fell in patches on the ground looking so much like a silent beckoning guide in the suffocating dark. He let out a long suffering sigh. Whenever his gaze fell on one of the inhabitants he was met with wary suspicion and over the last few days more than a few held open hostility. They certainly were not a very happy lot. Then again, having endured this cursed winter for so long; he imagined he himself wouldn't be overly happy either. He weaved his palfrey through the settlement with a deft hand and a natural ease that would have done credit to lords. The horse responded to the silent commands with a willing alacrity that hinted at the riders strength in some indefinable way.

Vaemyr kept his watchful gaze focused on the area around him and kept one hand near his blade. One could never be certain of when an attack would happen, so he lived by the simple rule "better safe than sorry". If it hadn't been for the fact that the sun had already sunk below the horizon he might have just continued to ride on northward. However, trying such a thing at night was foolish. This area was hazardous enough during the day, no telling what trouble he'd run into at night. So when the sun had begun to disappear he'd turned his horse to Pynti-Peldot in search of an inn. The wind whipped around him tugging at his shoulder length hair and the chill seeped through his armor and clothes. With a slight movement he pulled his warm cloak tighter around his large frame.

He'd come to Forodwaith weeks earlier and had more or less been wandering from settlement to settlement getting a feel for the area and it's inhabitants. He was surprised to find so many people still living in the frozen wastelands. He wasn't sure why, if they were all so un-happy here, they didn't just pack up and leave? He'd attempted to find out but no one would willingly talk to him and few had even reacted in outright fear. He didn't much like what that signified. Something deep in his gut had confirmed that there was something very wrong going on in the lands of Forodwaith. He wasn't sure exactly how he could help them either. They certainly did not look like they were willing to help themselves and that he decided was a battle in and of itself. The people were not willing to act and help themselves and he very much doubted they would welcome an outsiders help.

He shook his head and pushed those troubling thoughts aside. For now he needed an inn to spend the night in and something to ward off the chill that was clinging to his bones. His gaze swept over an old wooden sign and he could just make out the words "Snowy Eagle Inn". Well, at least they had one. Turning his horse he headed over to the inn. He came to a halt outside of it and dismounted it with languid ease. On the ground he stretched his stiff body until several cracks and pops issued from the vicinity of his back, shoulders and legs. Satisfied he walked into the inviting; or not so inviting depending on how you looked at it; warmth of the Inn. Several people looked at him as he stood in the door-way and swept his gaze across those inside and he causally rested his hand familiarly against the hilt of his blade. Most of them averted their gaze. Satisfied he found an unoccupied table off to the side and sat down.

And another night was going to be spent in the realm somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, with his sword tucked close to his body.
 
mb0n5k.jpg

Name (Nickname): Brynne daughter of Bastian.
Race: Human.
Attire: Black, empire-waisted, long-sleeved dress with red and gold trim; black leather boots.
Weapon: Dagger.
Location: Pynti-Peldot (inside the Inn of the Snowy Eagle).
Tagging: Anyone, Celeste; sees Vaemyr.
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.



"Some wine, please," Brynne spoke softly, almost shyly, to the barkeep. Her one hand tugged on her shawl while the other had its fingers furiously twisting themselves about tendrils of dark hair that flowed over her slender shoulders. She gave him a smile, her cheeks heating up slightly as she blushed a light shade of red. For nearly two months she'd been living in this Lossoth village, yet she still felt like an outsider in practically every way. She figured it would probably always be this way though many tried to make her feel at ease, assuring her that she was welcome and safe ever since they'd found her and brought her back to Pynti-Peldot.

Brynne's thoughts drifted back to Dale and her last moments back in the comfort of her home before her life had been turned upside down. She could still feel those hands grabbing and pulling, dragging her out of the quiet calm that was her room and out into the hard cold of night. It was a mystery as to how such an invasion occurred on the grounds of her father's estate. Bastian son of Balthazar had always been so careful, especially where his daughter was concerned. A warmth spread over her skin as she recalled the countless guards he'd hired specifically to keep watch over her, to ensure her safety and well being.

Just then, a glass of wine was set in front of Brynne causing her to jump. She giggled nervously and smiled, place a few gold coins on the table for the barkeep to collect at his leisure. Letting out a shaky sigh, she turned to reach for her glass. Bringing it to her lips, she heard a voice--soft, feminine--and shifted so as to see who might be addressing her. It was an Elf.

Brynne's eyebrows knitted together as she took a small sip of her wine, one hand still clutching tightly to her shawl. "No, well... yes," she began to explain, her cheeks growing hotter by the minute as she spoke. Feeling anxious, her dark eyes began to dart about the room, taking in the sight of the Inn's patrons as the came and went. "I've been living here for a couple months," she continued.

As Brynne further explained, her eyes caught sight of a newcomer to the Inn, his large frame and attire standing out as he confidently, yet silently made his way through the crowd. She sucked in a sharp breath as she carefully studied him from afar. She knew the garments well--that trim, the emblem... Even his face hadn't changed much over time, if she was honest. Though she knew he'd probably never recognize her let alone remember. She'd been but a child last he'd seen her, a waif who had little time for anything but sewing seams. Just what was Vaemyr doing this far north, she wondered. But then who was she to question a man such as he--a man of war.

Licking her lips, Brynne looked back at the Elf and smiled. "And I am untroubled," she said. "Just needing some air. I've been doing a bit of mending and I needed to take a break for a while." Once again, her eyes shifted and she looked to the man she remembered as a young girl, the one who requested she sew him the tunic he was wearing right then.
 

Name (Nickname): Celeste
Race: Elf
Attire: Leather, Tribal-looking, beige tunic (slightly low-cut), black pants, black cloak, beige boots
Weapon: Longbow (upon her back), Dagger (Sheathed near her right hip).
Location: Pynti-Peldot (inside the Inn of the Snowy Eagle).
Tagging: DA/Anyone.
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.

 

Celeste's head couldn't help but tilt slightly as the woman finally did begin to speak back to her. She seemed a bit hesitant ... but still, Celeste didn't feel as if she were being lied to. Even with all the noisy patrons around, her keen ears had still picked up on the order for wine from the human. Maybe it was help keep her somewhat calm? That was easily another reason people drank sometimes, not only to forget memories. Besides, the possibility she was just adjusting to more or less a 'culture shock' was fair enough. With how much of a nomad she'd been, Celeste had to do the same routine every damn time she moved from new place to place.

A brief chill added into the inn as the door opened once again. Celeste held herself gently, turning in time to see a male human who looked in between exhausted yet unable to sleep. Moving her hands over her opposite shoulders a few times, she gave a light nod to Brynne. "Completely understandable. I'm not from here myself, if it helps. I've been quite the wanderer for ... a while now, actually. It just takes time." Whether the words would mean anything or not, well, it'd be up to the human. But she hoped it'd do something more on the positive spectrum.

She thought briefly on her own words. Time ... it was also supposed to be the answer for an array of other aspects and issues. It was like the old saying went, 'Time heals all wounds'. And yet her own she gave herself with having left home hadn't fully recovered. It was a work in progress though and at least improvements had been made. But it still didn't take away what sorrow remained. Her head shook no lightly. No sense dwelling on that ..

In between her own thoughts and still glancing at the human, Celeste observed she seemed to look towards the newcomer. It piqued her curiosity but she didn't ask of it. Even if the human did know the other, it likely wasn't any of her affairs. A polite nod would be offered as she looked to the bar in front of her, not wanting to seem as if she were staring at her. "Celeste. Even if either of us shift locations again, still a pleasure to have met you, briefly or otherwise." It was the least she could do, in her mind. And besides, it was just common courtesy. Didn't most races do such exchanges? Hers did, regardless, and damnit she wouldn't make herself look like a stuck-up child.
 

Name (Nickname): Vaemyr [Vae]
Race: Human
Attire: White and Gold Tunic, Cape and silver armor
Weapon: Sword
Location: Pynti-Peldot
Tagging: Everyone
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.


Vaemyr grumbled his appreciation when a pint of cheap ale was set in front of him. He took a long drink and set the cup down hiding a grimace. Stuff was certainly very cheap but it did what it was supposed to do and chased out the last remnants of cold that had persisted in clinging to him after he'd come into the warm lodgings. He felt the eyes of a few curious gazes slide in his direction before darting away to mind their own business. The light from the flames flickered over the hard unyielding planes of his face and over the breadth of his armored shoulders forming deep pools of shadows and creating an interesting play of light and shadows across his features. He looked every bit as dangerous as he no doubt was. None would ever imagine this man engaging in raucous laughter or be able to comprehend the simple joys and amusements life offered. None except for the fair few who'd been acquainted with him for more than a months time. For those who'd spent less than that time in his company they'd swear he was a man with ice in his veins instead of blood.

He lifted his ale and took another drink as his eyes drifted from table to table taking in the tiny details. Not many travelers were here, he mentally noted. They were all Lossoth. His eyes stilled and he slowly lowered his drink as his eyes fixed on a woman across the way. Well it seemed he'd been incorrect when he thought they were all Lossoth. His eye's flicked off to the side and he noticed that the woman was conversing with an elf. He hadn't expected to see any elves in Forodwaith. Just another surprise in the wondrous frozen waste lands. His gaze shifted back to the woman with with the dark hair; there was something very familiar about her. He studied her a moment longer and when it hit him he about toppled over in surprise. "It couldn't be..." he thought collecting his scattered wits. It was surely impossible. There was no way that Brynne, daughter of the nobleman Bastion would be this far from Dale and seemingly on her own. It had been two years since he'd last seen her. Two years since he had left Dale for the second time in his life. But there was no mistaking the striking resemblance between Brynne and the woman who now sat at the other end of the Inn. It was certainly the same person, either that or they were twins somehow.

Once upon a time he'd guarded the home of Bastion and his daughter Brynne. He had spent nearly three years guarding them. It was in the last year of his service that he'd asked if Brynne would sew him a tunic and stitch in a design on his cloak. In point of fact, he was wearing the tunic she had made him as well as the cloak with the embroidery design. They were both of excellent quality and he was sure she could have made a fair bit of money for her skills. He regarded the woman who looked so much like Brynne with thinly veiled curiosity. Well one thing was for certain, he wouldn't learn the truth this way. He downed the rest of the bad ale and set the cup down carefully before standing up.

He adjusted his cloak with a few impatient movements of his hand and brushed his windswept hair away from his face. With a little grunt he made his way carefully to the corner of the room that the two outcasts presided over. He came to a stop a few paces away and turned to the Elf "Evening." he said in a low voice that carried well over the low hums of conversation. He had never had to raise his voice in order to be heard, even above the din of battle he could make himself heard without resorting to shouting. There was a subtle power in his voice an indefinable masculine strength that could be recognized and heard no matter the condition, it wasn't something that he had cultivated over the years it was something that was inherent to him.

"It is a surprise and an honor to meet an Elf here in Forodwaith." he said bowing his head in respect. Turning he rested his speculative gaze on the other woman. "Good evening M'lady" he said. This close up he was absolutely certain that this woman was Brynne but he wasn't entirely certain she'd remember one of the numerous guards that had prowled through her home. That and one had to take into consideration time. Two years was a long time. "Might I ask what brings you so far from Dale?" he inquired. He noticed that she was twirling her finger in her and he hid a smile. He'd seen her do it often enough before when he'd strolled through the gardens. It was surprising finding out just how much he remembered from his time in service to Bastion.
 
mrv9rd.jpg

Name (Nickname): Teemu
Race: Human (Lossoth)
Attire: Hooded Jäkarhu skin cloak with a silver clasp. Furred coat, pants and boots, made of Poro skin, trimmed with Hylje skin and fox fur.
Weapon: Hunting Bow (on back), Hunting Spear, Long Knife (in belt).
Location: Pynti-Peldot
Tagging: Everyone
Time:TA 3018, March 1, evening


Ice and snow. Such was the Lossoth world.

To survive, you must be harder than ice and colder than snow. That was what Teemu's father used to say. The soft and the gentle were culled by the harsh environment, as mercilessly as a herd of poro being chased by a pack of susi. His wintry homeland wasn't a cruel world, no more than a susi was cruel for wanting to eat to live. But it was a harsh one.

His father, Ukko, though, he was both harsh -and- cruel. Teemu had endured his harshness, that was to be expected as Ukko was the Suri-Maja tribal chief and all chiefs were harsh. But his cruelty, legendary in the Lossoth tribes as the source of the Suri-Maja's warlike reputation, that had proved a tougher trait to handle. Teemu had suffered that cruelty his entire life until two days ago, when he had left his tribe behind. You thought me weak, Father. A coward. Softer than my brothers. Well, if you could see me now! Homeless, tribeless and alone, but not afraid. Some part of you must be proud of me, Father, as your other sons would not have been brave enough to defy you in public.

Teemu's mittened hand absently rubbed the bright white fur of his half-wolf dog, Reko, as his mind shifted back to the odd landscape before him. One of Reko' ever alert ears swiveled briefly towards Teemu, but the dog was focused on the strange sights and smells of Pynti-Peldot. The village was Lossoth, but one very unlike the traditional villages Teemu was used to living in. Besides the familiar yurts, snow huts and long tents that were scattered in the tracked snow, there stood actual wooden houses! And even the yurts had the look of permanent structures that were built with no regard whatsoever for needing to break them down to travel to another hunting camp. Teemu's villages were much further away from the corrupting influence of the warmlanders and he gazed at the strange buildings with both unease and some curiosity.

Teemu had sold the rest of his dog sled dog team, but he'd had to spend nearly the full day trying to find a fair price. Paid in strange coins instead of barter, Teemu had little comfort in what the prices meant until he'd gotten a half-dozen offers to compare and negotiate against. The fact that he was Suri-Maja, as clearly shown by the threads on his coat, had not helped. The Pynti-Peldot had little love for Teemu's tribe and no doubt the village had been the victim of many raids in years past. Likely anytime a hunting party didn't return or a maiden disappeared gathering firewood they blamed the Suri-Maja. And Teemu all too well knew the truth that indeed his people were not afraid to raid and take what they wanted from other Lossoth. They were the hardest and the coldest. Ice and snow. But, his father had been holding off on a large raid and Pynti-Peldot itself had not been touched in years.

Despite the relative peace, the distrust still ran deep. For a Suri-Maja traveler arriving in Pynti-Peldot there was no offer of fire or bed, nor even a spare yurt to be found. Without a dog sled, Teemu had no means to carry a yurt so buying a new one would be foolish. The icy advice he had been given had been to go to the largest wooden building, they called it an Inn, and pay with coin to sleep under the roof. The insult riled Teemu's pride and he had to restrain himself from demanding a duel from the first Lossoth who had suggested it. Killing a villager so soon when he was a tribeless guest would garner few friends and he begrudgingly knew he had to make friends to find a welcome somewhere. But, it seemed that unless he wanted to make a snow hut with Reko tonight and sleep cold, the Inn was indeed the only choice at this late hour.

With a sigh, Teemu walked the trampled snow of the village to the strange wooden building and steeled himself as he stood before what seemed to be the entrance. There was no hide flap, but rather a large piece of wood that appeared to swing open when pushed. He'd watched several foreigners enter, but he still felt nervous as his mittened hand touched the worked wood. With a grim set of his jaw, he finally pushed the door open and entered with Reko close on his heels.

The bright light of the large room blinded him coming in from the dusk outside and the din of conversation seemed loud at first, but suddenly dropped to near silence. As his eyes adjusted finally, Teemu realized that nearly all the foreigners in the Inn seemed to be staring at him as he stood by the doorway. Scattered around the odd wooden room were tables and chairs, luxury items that old people used in his village, and most of the strangers appeared to be eating or drinking while sitting. A large fire burned in the far wall and Teemu was surprised to see that it had been cunningly trapped in stone so as to not burn the wooden walls or floor. The foreigners had unusual clothing, thin and terrible for the wintry Forodwaith, but very colorful like their strange hair and eyes. Teemu had seen fewer than a dozen foreigners in his lifetime, mostly male traders, and his eyes widened as he noticed several women in the crowd. Were they wives of the men? They looked too old to be maidens. The shocked looks the foreigners gave him seemed to be partly because of Reko, who was showing his teeth and growling slightly as he sensed the unease their appearance had created.

Frowning slightly, Teemu lifted his chin and gave a haughty glance around the room. He had, of course, learned the trader common tongue as a child and he spoke out in a commanding voice, annoyed at the reaction his entrance had caused in these outlanders. Who were they to look at him like he didn't belong? This was -his- homeland. They were the ones who had brought this curse of eternal winter on his people. They were the guests here.

"I am Teemu. I need food and shelter for the night. I have coin."
 

Name (Nickname): Celeste
Race: Elf
Attire: Leather, Tribal-looking, beige tunic (slightly low-cut), black pants, black cloak, beige boots
Weapon: Longbow (upon her back), Dagger (Sheathed near her right hip).
Location: Pynti-Peldot (inside the Inn of the Snowy Eagle).
Tagging: DA/Anyone.
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.

 

The poor human seemed, at least from what Celeste could only guess, at a loss of sorts. Well, it was only fair. They were all strangers in an inn -- one that was beginning to get incredibly cramped. The urge to have a panic attack then and there from her claustrophobia was desperately trying to work on dominating her body. Her head shook no slightly as she breathed in and out through her nose and mouth slightly. No no ... don't panic. Stay calm, stay calm ... Her eyes quickly closed as she let her memory drift back to home, remembering the good times and how it had so much more space. One last deep breath passed her lips as she got herself mostly under control, her eyes revealing themselves once again. It'd do, for now at least. Or so she hoped.

Sure enough, Celeste had appeared to gauge the reaction of the exchange between the two humans correctly as the male stood up and addressed herself and Brynne both. His tone seemed more curious and distinctly paying much more attention to the human though. It was as if they were lost friends .. maybe more? Her head lightly shook. Again, not your affairs ... She scolded herself, glancing back to better gaze upon Vaemyr. A small smile managed to cross her face as she bowed her head politely to him. "Thank you. It's a pleasure to meet you as well." The word 'honor' had made her cheeks darken slightly, feeling as if it were an almost unworthy compliment. But she wouldn't try to say he was wrong all the same.

"My name is --- " That was as far as the elf scout and huntress got before the door opened again. Her arms rubbed her shoulders and in walked what seemed to be another human male. This one, however, was clearly a hunter like herself; the bow and spear all but spelled it out. Her head tilted slightly upon the newcomer. How was he not an elf? While it was true humans were one of the most versatile races in existence, they often were more like Vaemyr, preferring swords and melee combat roles. To master the art of hunting, it generally took much time, effort, and patience. Ergo, more elves than humans took up these sorts of positions. But another thing Celeste noted was he carried much more than the two weapons with him.

He had a commanding presence and so very much pride. It was easily detected in his voice and the way he held himself. In a way, Celeste couldn't help but admire that. She, herself, often didn't have enough of those traits. So to see someone who could easily display them ... it was a way for her to try to self-teach herself, learning by example and sight. And then, it dawned on her that she had come incredibly close to staring at the newcomer, finally addressing himself as Teemu. Catching herself, her gaze lowered slightly as she remembered that prior to his entrance, she'd been attempting to introduce herself to Vaemyr.

"I am Celeste." She finally finished, tucking a strand of light brown hair behind an ear, lightly tugging on her cloak to better cover her skin. Teemu had a good idea; it was almost tempting to head up to her room and retire. But she decided not to just yet. Maybe soon, yes. But she would try to better the other skills that clearly needed improvement. Communication was definitely one. Shy as she was, Celeste knew that the trait couldn't remain with her forever. She was already two-hundred and twenty five. It seemed silly to still have a very childish trait within her and it was a long-term goal of hers. Eventually, she wanted to get rid of the rest of her self-deemed flaws that remained.

There were definitely other goals, of course. But those were nowhere near in her immediate sight and thus would result in a much longer wait. That was fine with her though. Some things were definitely worth the interval.
 
mrv9rd.jpg

Name (Nickname): Teemu
Race: Human (Lossoth)
Attire: Hooded Jäkarhu skin cloak with a silver clasp. Furred coat, pants and boots, made of Poro skin, trimmed with Hylje skin and fox fur.
Weapon: Hunting Bow (on back), Hunting Spear, Long Knife (in belt).
Location: Pynti-Peldot
Tagging: Everyone
Time:TA 3018, March 1, evening


Teemu met the stares after his loud entrance with a look of defiance. He had initially thought most of the Inn's patrons were foreigners, but he noted with some disdain that many of the faces were Lossoth in appearance despite wearing warmlander clothing. Truly, the Lossoth of Pynti-Peldot had fallen and become weak. They were becoming corrupted by the soft warmlander lifestyle; growing coddled and unable to survive in the Forodwaith without these wooden houses and Southern luxuries. While many of the Lossoth in the settlement still appeared to live in traditional ways, Teemu was now skeptical of how strong even that contingent truly was. His Suri-Maja would sweep through this village like a Jäkarhu in a field of baby Hylje!

"Tunngahugit, hunter," said a voice to Teemu's right. The Lossoth word for 'welcome' soothed Teemu slightly. The speaker stood behind a low wooden wall with stools drawn up in front of it. The top of the wall was finished like a table and several of the foreigners seemed to be drinking at the strange platform. "We have rooms and food for all peaceable guests," the man behind the bar said, stressing peaceable as his eyes lingered on Teemu's colored Suri-Maja tribal embroideries. The innkeeper then eyed Reko a little nervously. "And also assuming your dog is not dangerous... I am Naiq, the owner of the inn."

Teemu strode up to the man and inspected him. Naiq had facial features like a Lossoth and a Lossoth name, but his hair was dark brown instead of black and he clearly had warmlander blood in his veins. His clothing was completely Southern and Teemu doubted the man had ever hunted in his life. He judged Naiq as helpless as a newborn pup in the wild and less useful to a true Lossoth village than even a slave girl that might happily cook, clean and help raise the children. Well, Teemu must learn to not let his natural disgust at such a soft and gentle excuse for a man overwhelm him now that he was a tribeless wanderer. Who was Teemu to insult this disgusting man when he had not even a yurt to pitch anymore? No family fire to light or even tribe to call his own. Teemu decided to try and pretend this man was a foreigner and forgive his strange customs, rather than to think of him as a disgraceful Lossoth whose behavior made his stomach turn.

"I lay my spear down at your home," replied Teemu formally, the words sounding strange in the common tongue. "I will not willingly harm your family or guests, nor will my dog." It was a common greeting for a strange Lossoth to offer when spending the night in another tribe's hunting camp and the innkeeper seemed satisfied at his words. The smell of the cooked food the foreigners were eating reminded Teemu that he had nothing but frozen fish all day and his stomach growled. "How many coins is it for lodging here and food? Perhaps a drink as well."

Naiq gave a response that sounded reasonable, well less than the price of a good sled dog at least, and Teemu paid the man as Naiq indicated that he should have a seat at the bar. Teemu turned to look at the people nearest to him and his eyes widened at seeing these foreigners up close.

The closest one was not even a human. Teemu had heard talk of other races and he recognized the pointed ears that emerged from the woman's light brown hair as clearly the trademark of the race called Elf. And the Elf's beguiling hazel eyes had a different shape and light to them than any human eye he had beheld. Most shocking, though, was the bow she had strapped to her back! Women did not hunt! Perhaps they helped fish or maybe set snares, but no Lossoth woman ever used a bow. Teemu had to restrain himself from his natural instinct to demand that she put the bow down and stop pretending to be a man. Foreigners were soft and had different customs than the Lossoth; he must be tolerant. She surely could not actually use that bow...

The other two foreigners were human at least. One was clearly a warmlander warrior. Teemu had seen that type before, including once finding a warmlander warrior frozen astride his horse in a snow drift, both man and beast clad in similar armor to what this fool was wearing. Did they not realize that heavy armor made you sink into the drifts and bury yourself? That a horse had hooves too small for traveling long distances in anything but well packed snow? Besides that, metal grew cold and would suck the warmth from your body. Traveling in the Forochel meant carrying nothing more than you needed for survival and staying warm as your first priority; the harsh landscape did not trifle fools. And nothing struck Teemu as more foolish than a man who could fight but not hunt. Perhaps these warmlanders thought they could always have someone weak nearby they could threaten for food when they were hungry. In the Forodwaith, though, he would find quickly that his sword might not easily kill a Poro when his life depended on it.

The maiden the warrior spoke with seemed at least to know her place. She carried no bow nor wore leather hunting clothing like the Elf. She also had brown hair, although darker than the Elf's, and deeper brown eyes. Clearly a Southerner by skin and features as well. Teemu found himself studying the two woman, human and Elf, with growing curiosity. The Suri-Maja were active in raiding to acquire slave girls and many of the recent ones they had captured from the more Southern Lossoth villages had show evidence of warmlander blood with similar brown hair and eyes. Teemu's pulse quickened as he thought of Elikka, one slave girl in particular that had beguiled him with her own brown eyes. No, he must not think of her.

That all these foreigners were in his homeland, that should be his focus. Why were they here? What did they want? Why Forochel and why now of all times?

"Tell me, warmlanders," said Teemu, leaning closer to the trio next to him at the bar. "Why are you in Forochel?"
 

Name (Nickname): Celeste
Race: Elf
Attire: Leather, Tribal-looking, beige tunic (slightly low-cut), black pants, black cloak, beige boots
Weapon: Longbow (upon her back), Dagger (Sheathed near her right hip).
Location: Pynti-Peldot (inside the Inn of the Snowy Eagle).
Tagging: DA/Anyone.
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.

 

Celeste inwardly frowned, wondering if she'd done or said something wrong. Thus far, neither humans had replied back. Wasn't it supposed to be elves and dwarves with the racial tension amongst them? Not humans and elves? Or was it not even her fault? Her head shook softly. She may very well just be over thinking, a bad habit of hers. Hopefully that was the case. She was trying to better herself, not worsen. The two humans are likely focusing upon themselves ... She tried to reassure herself, hoping it would better assist her and make her feel better of herself. It did to some degree but then Celeste felt even more out of place. The temptation to push herself up to her feet only got stronger, feeling useless in remaining down here.

But then, Teemu spoke up and asked a rather intriguing question to all of them.

"Why are you in Forochel?"

A soft swallow left as her hands rested in her lap. Admittedly, this was part of the reason she traveled around, to try to seek others who wanted the curse gone as much as herself. But Celeste had never easily revealed that information out, not until she got to better know people, which ones she wanted to consider asking, things of the like. Then again, if she kept being picky like that, she may never find anyone. Her head lowered as she thought on this, her eyes gently closing. Her heart raced slightly, bits of anxiety taking over. But even as her hazel hues reopened, the emotion of nervousness refused to be hinted in her orbs. Her self-confidence was another 'trait' she was in the midst of trying to get rid of. You can do this. Besides, others would have found out eventually, yes? Nodding slowly to herself, Celeste allowed her eyes to meet Teemu's.

"I cannot speak on the behalf of the others as I just met them. I, myself though, am - have been, for a while now, - traveling around to seek assistance. The curse laid upon the land has gone on far too long, and my kin have been trying to seek out a solution to make it disappear and bring everything back to the way it was." It was bad to lie, she knew, but Celeste didn't have it in her to reveal she only was in this very tavern due to having mustered up the courage to have run away. Otherwise, facts were facts and they would have stated there would have been no other way for her to be here at all. It stung and pained her, the cruel reminder of the sneaking and running away from the other elves and her parents rushing through her head. But alas, despite Celeste having regrets on the actions that had been taken, she didn't feel the same on the motives as to why she had bothered darting off in the first place.

It's for the best ... She heard echo in her voice, inwardly nodding to myself. "In the midst of my travels, I've been self-teaching myself specific skills I had been taught back at home and even a few new ones I never got to learn. So I suppose knowledge could very well be a sub-motive of sorts. I also have been helping the inn as a mercenary and huntress, though much more mainly the latter and providing them with food and supplies. But my true and best reason I give is to try to find aid."

A soft exhale passed Celeste's lips. She'd tried to make certain that each and every word which had left had been accurate. And .. a smile subconsciously formed. As far as she could figure, that had definitely been accomplished. Never once had her eyes left from the other hunter, except for maybe when she had to blink. Otherwise they remained upon his, sincerity and honesty firmly held in her tone and voice. Maybe it was only because she was trying to improve her communication skills, but the desire to make a good impression was nagging her inwardly. Hopefully, she'd done an ample job though in her own mind and eyes, she didn't see how it was bad. Then again, other races were often prone to misunderstanding at times and misinterpreting things the wrong way. Hopefully that could be avoided. And maybe even one of the other humans had come for the same reason? Or at least shared the same desire? If so, maybe her revelations could go even smoother and make her feel even better on having spoken out her motive for being here.
 
mb0n5k.jpg

Name (Nickname): Brynne daughter of Bastian.
Race: Human.
Attire: Black, empire-waisted, long-sleeved dress with red and gold trim; black leather boots.
Weapon: Dagger.
Location: Pynti-Peldot (inside the Inn of the Snowy Eagle).
Tagging: Anyone, Celeste, Vaemyr, Teemu.
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.



The blood rose to Brynne's cheeks as she suddenly caught sight of Vaemyr approaching. She hadn't expected her father's ex-guard to get up from his seat let alone meander her way. Had he remembered her after all this time? Not wanting to dwell on such things for fear of disappointment, her dark eyes went to Celeste and she smiled warmly, her fingers twisting themselves idly through her dark hair. But, her trace of thought was interrupted when the warrior's shadow engulfed both her and her new Elven friend, her head twisting, her eyes looking upward through thick lashes at a familiar face from the past. They were so far from home, from Dale, from comfort as the hustle-bustle hum of the inn seemed to grow about the small little group that was gathering... what brought her away from Dale, indeed. Truly, it hadn't been her choice to be where she was.

"Vaemyr," Brynne whispered shyly, giving him a nod and then gesturing toward her new Elven friend. "I..." but her words were cut off as another approached. Dark hair swishing, fingers twirling more furiously, she turned to see a Lossoth man standing nearby, only he seemed different from those she'd been getting to know around Pynti-Peldot.

Forodwaith truly was different from home, from Dale and Brynne felt like she didn't belong. But then, she knew she didn't. Her blood wasn't meant for the frozen wastelands of the north. It was thin and full of life and laughter, longing for pinks and greens of summer. No, she wasn't meant for deserts of snow. She'd been taken from her home by force, by wildmen who'd had the urge to plunder the nobility of towns such as hers and exploit their weaknesses and instill fear. Well, they'd succeeded there and now she was far from her family and everything she'd ever known. Whether she'd ever be able to return seemed unlikely and that weighed heavy on her heart, plummeting her soul into the depths of despair.

Brynne's eyes began to dampen slightly as the thoughts of that dreadful night swirled through her mind. But, she blinked them back and forced a smile upon her lips. She looked to Celeste and then Vaemyr and then nodded at their newest arrival. "I'm Brynne, daughter of Bastian and hail from the town of Dale," she began. "And I..." her voice faltered slightly as she tried to hold back the tears she felt threatening to spill. She took a deep breath and regained her composure, not wanting to break down out in public or in front of these new people she'd just met or in front of her father's ex-guard. "I didn't come to Forochel by choice." She paused a moment as she swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly feeling dry as desert. In vain, the tip of her tongue peeked out and licked at her full lips in an attempt to wet them. "My home in Dale was invaded and I was brought northward by my captors. I was fortunate enough to be found by a band of Lossoth and then brought here." Her dark eyes shifted, averting downward. "That was about a month and a half ago."
 

Name (Nickname): Vaemyr [Vae]
Race: Human
Attire: White and Gold Tunic, Cape and silver armor
Weapon: Sword
Location: Pynti-Peldot
Tagging: Everyone
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.


She remembered his name. Was his first thought as she greeted him. Did she remember who he was? Had she recognized her own handiwork in his clothes? And again, what was she doing in a place like Forodwaith? It was no place for any being of noble birth.

"It seems the winds of fate were blowing strongly across the Forodwaith winter-lands." the thought pushed it's way into his mind as the door opened once more to let in another who clearly did not belong to the Pytnti-Peldot settlement. In the time he'd been here he'd seen some similar -albeit not exactly the same - garb worn by others who seemed to be more tribal. A lot of those Lossoth had looked at him with more distrust and more disgust than he'd encountered in the settlements. He figured it was a good likelihood that this man would hold the same views as the others. With a mental shrug he nodded to the newcomer who called himself Teemu. He continued to rest his hand on his blade in a casual manner. It was an old habit. After so many years battling the Orcs around Gondor he had learned to keep his blade close at hand, very close at hand. Before he could say anything in any form of greeting the strange Lossoth had demanded to know what they were doing in Forochel.

What indeed, he wondered gazing at the Elf who'd called herself Celeste and then at Brynne. He wanted to hear their explanations.

He didn't have to wait long. Hearing Celeste speak he turned his hazel and gold gaze on her. "Interesting...." he heard himself say. So an Elf was hoping to accomplish the same thing he himself wished to accomplish. "Very interesting.." he murmured to himself. He was a little caught off guard, which didn't happen often. He hadn't expected to encounter anyone else who was concerning themselves with the supposed curse in these lands. He was about to comment when Brynne spoke up and all other thoughts blanked from his mind. He slowly turned to look back at her his eyes narrowing. "Dale was attacked and you were kidnapped?" he asked very softly. If Celeste's news had caught him off guard, Brynne's news had sent him reeling. Dale had been attacked? Why hadn't he heard any news of this attack? The last time there was anything even resembling an attack was when his mother had been killed.

A shadow passed across his features and something flickered deep within his eyes. He recovered almost instantly and whatever it was, was hidden behind his mask of calm control. "I see." he said neutrally. "That does explain a few things....were you harmed M'lady?" he asked his jaw flexing slightly. He knew her father was probably very frantically looking for his daughter. It was doubtful he'd had thought to look towards Forodwaith though. It was a land that was ignored for the most part. Not many would brave such a place, which in hindsight made it an excellent place for beasts and monsters to roam freely.

"I am Vaemyr, also from Dale. I am here for similiar reasons to you, Celeste." he said looking at her. "However, I am here alone. I do not have my people at my back." he said raising his brows slightly at her. He turned his gaze to look considerately at Teemu. "Although I was curious as to why Celeste and Lady Brynne were here..." he said pausing for a moment "I do think a bit more respect could have been used instead of demanding answers. They are not servants or slaves to be ordered about." he said. He kept his voice low and respectful. But there was no doubt as to it being a warning. Vaemyr did not condone disrespecting women, probably his mothers influence in his education. He had been in the snow-lands for almost a month and had not had many encounters with the Lossoth in the settlements and even less experience with the tribal Lossoth. "Whats done is done though." he said with a negligent shrug of his broad shoulders. He would like if there was no fighting but some things he found to be inexcusable.

He looked back to Celeste and Brynne and bowed to each of them. "I apologize in hindsight for any offense given." he said straightening up. He looked at Brynne. "I am sorry that you were not protected as you should have been. Still, everything considered, you have survived very well. Not many villagers would have and even fewer Nobles could have accomplished such a feat." he said. "You do the people of Dale proud M'lady." he said.

The fire burned low on the hearth and Vaemyr lapsed into silence for a long moment considering the options before him.

"As we are after the same goal, it could be beneficial to work together." he said looking back at Celeste. "I believe you and Lady Brynne could have some useful knowledge..." he said musingly. He looked at Teemu for a moment. No doubt but he was probably full of useful information. The only problem was if he would cooperate. It seemed doubtful but one could remain hopeful. "As you have demanded answers from us. I find myself curious as to why you're here in this settlement..." he said eying Teemu.
 
mrv9rd.jpg

Name (Nickname): Teemu
Race: Human (Lossoth)
Attire: Hooded Jäkarhu skin cloak with a silver clasp. Furred coat, pants and boots, made of Poro skin, trimmed with Hylje skin and fox fur.
Weapon: Hunting Bow (on back), Hunting Spear, Long Knife (in belt).
Location: Pynti-Peldot
Tagging: Everyone
Time:TA 3018, March 1, evening


The Elf spoke first. Her large hazel orbs caught Teemu's gaze and he felt like a poro staring at a torch at night, frozen in place as a hunter crept up behind it. But, before she spoke and snared him with those captivating eyes, Teemu had noticed her hesitate. A dry swallow, a brief flutter of her eyelids, and her head dropping as if gathering courage. Clearly there was more to her story than the simple answer she gave him in that earnest tone. The Lossoth had a word, Ukalikanijo, that translated to 'a white rabbit in the snow.' Sometimes you could hide the truth in the open and still have it not be seen. She wanted to help the Lossoth? But why? How did their curse affect her people? And why was this woman alone? What man had she stolen that bow from and why did she wear it so shamelessly? Or was it a decoration in her culture, like jewelry? Teemu pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes slightly. She was quite comely and exotic and Teemu's mind wandered, perhaps he should spank her over his knee with that bow until she told him everything...

The human woman called Brynne interrupted his fun, but unproductive, train of thought. It seemed she might know the warrior, but Teemu had apparently entered in the midst of their reunion. In his tribe, unmarried women lived with their family until they found a husband, so both the human and the Elf being alone in Pynti-Peldot were baffling to him. How could they survive without the protection of a man or a family? Who hunted for them?

Brynne's tearful story seemed honest enough, although the names and places she mentioned made no sense to him. In Lossoth culture, unmarried men might capture women as war brides during raids, but such acts were common enough that women accepted them and built their lives in the new tribe. Indeed, Teemu's own mother was a war bride, the daughter of a rival chief taken by his father in a daring raid many years ago. Being captured and forced to be a slave, however, was much worse. The Suri-Maja traded for slaves from foreigners and Teemu was accustomed to the slaves being well-used to captivity already. Escape wasn't possible as they couldn't survive without the protection of the Lossoth. They were worked hard, but treated with some respect as servants that aided the tribe greatly. Some slaves were even eventually taken as wives, although that thought brought a surge of emotion that Teemu struggled to hide. Some, but not all. And not by the son of a chief. Teemu was more sympathetic to the plight of slaves than most Suri-Maja and knew that for Brynne, captured older in her life, the experience must have been terrifying. She was lucky she was rescued by kind Lossoth. If the Suri-Maja had happened upon her captors she might still be a slave in one of their camps. Teemu gave her a rare smile and nodded at her story. "May you find your village and tribe again."

The warrior spoke and Teemu found himself bristling. Vaemyr's accent was strange and some of the words he used were confusing, but Teemu caught the edge in his voice despite the low tone and could see the challenge in the rival's eyes. He had given some sort of reprimand to Teemu... for asking questions too rudely? In the Lossoth world, rude was denying your yurt or food to a freezing hunter, not asking strangers what they were doing in your lands. Teemu was unafraid to stare down the warrior in return, the smile that had been on his lips for Brynne fading quickly into a frown. At his side, Reko let out a low growl as he sensed the tension growing between the two men. Teemu casually reached down to stroke the big dog's head. "Easy Reko, he is no threat to us." His fingers thrummed along the wood shaft of his hunting spear in response to Vaemyr's casual touch of the hilt of his sword. Teemu had promised Naiq no harm to his guests, but self defense was always his right.

Vaemyr shrugged suddenly and turned to speak with the women. Again, more strange words and an odd bending at his waist to each one. Was that some show of respect or flattery? Was he wooing them? Perhaps the warrior knew Brynne from before, but why would he make that gesture to Celeste as well? Teemu's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the strange customs and he felt annoyance surge at his ignorance of the warmlander ways. The Lossoth were a utilitarian people. They spoke directly and wasted no energy on meaningless words. You showed your appreciation for another Lossoth by doing something for them or giving them something, not by bending over. But Vaemyr's gestures left him feeling like the barbarian he imagined these warmlanders thought he was. Like a small child that couldn't understand the fireside conversation of the adults.

Vaemyr's question made Teemu's annoyance flare and a grimace came to his face as his fingers clenched his spear tightly. His voice was sharp and loud as he replied, "I am Lossoth. This is my homeland. I am where I should be. You warmlanders are the ones that are out of place." It was more than Vaemyr's manners that sparked his anger, Teemu realized, it was all the pent-up tension and anxiety of the last two days flaring up at the first outlet available. And there was the shame as well. He was a tribeless Lossoth now. In many ways, barely above these foreigners in his standing. Vaemyr's question hit him hard as a truthful answer was difficult for him to say out loud. Was he scared to say it because it would make it official finally?

Naiq, who had been listening, suddenly leaned in as Teemu's angry response had created a momentary silence. His voice was stern and he spoke to Teemu firmly, like a father berating a child, "Hunter, you are Lossoth, yes, but you don't tell them that you are Suri-Maja. The question is a good one, Suri-Maja. Why is one of your tribe, known for raiding and war, visiting Pynti-Peldot? I can't remember the last time a Suri-Maja came here in peace and I've lived here for ten years. Why are you here?

Teemu stiffened and blinked at Naiq's words. Shifting he glared at the innkeeper, this soft and helpless man who spoke to him like he was some ignorant pup barking too loud. How he wished he hadn't promised Naiq no bloodshed. But, Teemu knew he would have to control his anger and shame to forge a new life apart from his tribe. A life where he might have to associate with people such as Naiq or even these foreigners.

"I am a Suri-Maja no longer. I have left my tribe. I am alone and come to Pynti-Peldot to find a new life." Saying the words made Teemu shiver suddenly, though the wooden room was overly warm. He felt as if he were an ice hut that was collapsing upon itself. Like the structure of his very being was suddenly crumbling and he had no shape. What was he now? Who was he? Despite that, he lifted his chin up again and eyed the group defiantly. "I am still a Lossoth though. And don't know why we need warmlanders to help us when legend has it you gave us this curse to begin with."
 

Name (Nickname): Celeste
Race: Elf
Attire: Leather, Tribal-looking, beige tunic (slightly low-cut), black pants, black cloak, beige boots
Weapon: Longbow (upon her back), Dagger (Sheathed near her right hip).
Location: Pynti-Peldot (inside the Inn of the Snowy Eagle, inside her own room [5th door on the right]).
Tagging: DA/Anyone.
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.

 

Everyone else had taken their turn and Celeste was both content but astounded that Vaemyr was also like herself, seeking out the same goal. She smiled, incredibly proud at having been able to speak up and reveal herself to the others. Finally, it was Teemu's turn ... and his words made a fury within her begin to emerge. Each phrase made the desire worse, even more, and finally - like a twig that had been snapped upon and broken, she stood up to her feet. Her arms instantly went over her chest as she made fists, a firm set of resolve and determination in both her eyes and voice now. Even if she had wanted to turn back by this point, it was way too late for Celeste to begin doing that. He hadn't just insulted her, she had little doubts on that. Vaemyr, she doubted, would have taken these words much more better himself. Even if she'd kept her calm, he wouldn't have or so she guessed.

"Later, Vaemyr." She murmured softly to him, hinting she had indeed heard his words and suggestions. Allowing the pause to linger in the air between herself and Teemu, she controlled herself enough to where her voice was still firm but not sounding as if she were threatening him, merely stating facts. "It's true and not. Yes, an individual that does not reside here did send the curse over the land. However that does not begin to mean none of us would wish to help. As Vaemyr said, along with myself, we both seek to fix what has been wronged. Why? Because we know things shouldn't be how they are now. It's as simple as that, really. We have given up much to work hard on even beginning that. You would really say such harsh words to those who are trying to aid out?"

Another pause hovered over them as she allowed him to think over all he had just said and what she was doing so to him. A slow nod to herself was given and then Celeste continued, "I will let this one slide. Like yourself, I'm honestly a bit weary also. It would likely be best if we both headed up to our chambers and got some rest. But next time .... I will not give this generosity out. My kin might be known to being deemed 'frail' but when we find our fortes, we excel at them. Mine is hunting and it's like the old saying goes. You can't hit what you can't see, now can you?"

To her, it had been much more of a warning than a threat. The latter would have involved her pulling any of her weapons out. But Celeste hadn't done that and thus, to the elf, she wasn't going quite that far. But like hell if she was just going to sit there and listen to the rudest words her ears had ever heard! No! That wasn't her way! The sudden burst of courage and energy made her shake the very slightest, but certainly noticeable if anyone paid enough attention. Her eyes gazed up to Brynne and Vaemyr as she bowed her head once again.

"As I said to Teemu, I'm going to go up to my room for now. I'll speak with you both later though it is definitely glad to have found another with the same goal as myself." A weary smile managed to cross her face and her arms finally moved off from across her chest. Giving them all - even Teemu - a polite bow of her head, she slipped out from the crowded bar and began heading up the set of stairs. She counted into her head, stopping at the fifth room and turning to her right. A still semi-shaky hand grasped the knob and opened it, walking inside and gently closing it.

The more Teemu's words echoed, especially on why it seemed ironic that people who 'brought the curse' wanted to help out was ... almost wrong ... made her shake more. Her head quickly shook no as she began to exhale swiftly and deeply, assisting with calming herself once again. "Don't think on him ... " She murmured softly, pulling her bow off her back and gently resting it against the wall beside her bed. It was simple, not having anything overly fancy. Still, it had given her many nights worth of rest and now she likely needed it.

Celeste pushed herself down until she was down on her side, her head finding the pillow with ease. Hazel hues slowly closed and yet ... what bits of anger had dominated her, even for the brief time, had made her awake once again. "Damn ... " she cursed softly, continuing to take steady breaths. If nothing else, just remaining here and the calm thoughts would, hopefully, help her fall asleep soon enough.
 
mb0n5k.jpg

Name (Nickname): Brynne daughter of Bastian.
Race: Human.
Attire: Black, empire-waisted, long-sleeved dress with red and gold trim; black leather boots.
Weapon: Dagger.
Location: Pynti-Peldot (inside the Inn of the Snowy Eagle).
Tagging: Anyone, Celeste, Vaemyr, Teemu.
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.



Brynne felt her cheeks grow warm as Vaemyr looked down upon her, his face kind despite the clear concern she saw etching the lines about his mouth and eyes. From the tone in his voice, she could tell that he'd been through so much and was attempting to ease her by taking on the burden of having not been back in Dale as he'd once been several years back. Yes, she remembered him. The way he used to be at her father's side, doing his bidding and protecting their home. Vaemyr had been an asset to her entire family. She might have been young, a mere shadow to most, but she noticed... even as she busied herself in the gardens whether it was reading or working on a project requiring needle and thread.

Immediately, Brynne's fingers began to twist and tangle themselves through her long, dark curls. Her thoughts drifted to lighter times. Times before she was ripped away from a life of comfort and familiarity. She remembered that day in the gardens, the air smelling especially sweet as the breeze wafted in the scent of the freshly blooming honeysuckles. Vaemyr had found her in what she'd always thought to be one of the more secluded areas of the gardens, the paths like a maze where one truly could get lost if the light was right. She'd been so focused on her embroidery, an elaborate piece she was planning as a surprise for her mother, when the light of the sun was suddenly blotted out. Looking up, her dark eyes trying to focus, there he was--Vaemyr. It had been the first and only time they'd ever truly spoken without anyone else around. He'd been kind and complimented her, praising her skill as a seamstress. It was in those moments that he'd made his request...

Brynne's eyes focused on the crest that Vaemyr donned, her cheeks growing warmer by the second. Yes. She remembered him and the heaviness she and her family felt when he'd left. Blinking rapidly, she drifted out of her small reverie, her ears listening to the banter between warrior, Elf and Lossoth. Her muscles tensed and her fingers tugged on her dark curls. As she shifted in her seat, mustering up her resolve to speak amidst the heated discussion, Celeste finally stood up. She swallowed hard, her dark eyes fixing themselves upon her Elven friend. She wished that things hadn't gotten so out of hand, though perhaps Celeste was right. Perhaps everyone needed to rest a little and realize that everyone was on the same side. Truly, there were no enemies at The Snowy Eagle... not like that gruesome night in Dale.

A shiver ran along Brynne's spine as she smiled at Celeste, giving her a nod 'good night' as she left. She then turned to look at both Vaemyr and Teemu, her mind spinning slightly as it drifted to darker thoughts of Dale and the night she was taken, the night her life was altered forever. She had to admit, that seeing Vaemyr gave her comfort. It was nice to see a familiar face, especially his. Just then, she bit down on her lip, her hand releasing her twisted lock of hair.

"I will do my utmost to be as useful as I can be. I've been staying here in Pynti-Peldot for the past month." Brynne smiled, her dark eyes glancing over at Teemu and then again at Vaemyr. "And, it's nice to see a friendly face once again. I haven't seen one in quite some time." She paused a moment, her hand reaching for her hair once again. "The people of Pynti-Peldot have been kind, but..." her voice trailed, going soft, a mere whisper. She looked down at her lap, her free hand playing with the fabric of her skirts. "I don't feel so alone now." It was an admission of sorts, but one she felt compelled to state. With reddened cheeks, she looked back up at the two men standing near her. "Anyway, I shall do my best and continue to make Dale proud."
 
2cok5cm.jpg

Name (Nickname): Bremven, Ven
Race: Human.
Attire: Thick, hooded, black woolen robe, undyed leather-buckled pack and belted sheaths, leather cuirass and sandals, black linen trousers.
Weapon: Twin Daggers & Knife.
Location: Pynti-Peldot (Inn of the Snowy Eagle).
Tagging: Everyone.
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.


The stifling halt of hooves could be heard as one of Bremven's Lossuth companions spoke. "We have arrived, warmlander. Dismount." he spoke, more of a grunt than actual speech. Considering how many scars the man had, it wasn't difficult to attribute whatever damage his vocal chords had sustained to yet another battle. And while Sh'thaar may have been a warrior once, he was too scrawny for that kind of lifestyle anymore. After all, this was no warband. Sh'thaar and the others, and for the time being, Bremven, were, to put it lightly, scavengers. They were a small, agile, four-man team, each with a sack slung over their horses - mostly furs and the property of long-dead avalanche victims - but today was different. Today they came back with a particularly special find. An old Forodwaith caravanserai, probably second-age, right along the base of the Misty Mountains, back when these lands knew the embrace of summer. Of course, being made of wood meant there was little left of the place aside from scattered stone idols, primitive, brass swords and axeheads and, of particular interest to Bremven, an ivory flute that, like any good bard, he had called at the first opportunity.

While such weapons would be obsolete to the men of the south, the hunting, nomadic Lossuth made little distinction between brass and iron - both could rend flesh and fur. It was only when two metals struck one another that it mattered which was tougher, and their nomadic nature meant even brass was not a common thing - a forge, after all, could not move with them. The afternoon was spent trading. Well, for Bremven it was mostly watching: Lossuth tended to grant better deals to fellow Lossuth. By the evening they had traded what they could and, rewards split, made their way to the inn. It was then, upon entering the Snowy Eagle, that he saw her.

Everything from the calm devotion she gave to her craft to the particular shade of brown in her eyes, an oakish hue not of the muddy earth but of the skyward-reaching tree, shimmered with that singular, familiar twinkle. Miira. Every muscle in his body wanted to collapse and fall at her feet, to tell her how sorry he was, kept back only by a paralyzed nausea. It didn't matter how many times he told himself she was dead and gone. He couldn't help but stare for as long as it took for one of his companions to shove him on his way, toppling forward, catching himself with a raised, apologetic hand, and making his way to their table, every ounce of his will consumed to fight the temptation to look back at the seamstress.

When a shy person retracts into thoughtful silence, nobody really notices because they're always silent, thoughtful or not. But when someone like Bremven does it, it's more than a little obvious. Of course, obvious or not, the rest of them were minding their own business getting sozzled until one shoved the bard's shoulder and asked for a song. The request was returned with a plastered smile, and an inward acceptance that if he was going to keep going he couldn't keep looking into the past. Learning from one's mistakes is never a bad thing, but living them again and again was nothing short of masochism. Regret, after all, is a road paved with sorrow and good intentions.

And so he raised himself from his chair with a nod, slipping out the Ivory flute he had spent most of the previous night polishing in camp, taking a few steps back as moved away from the table, taking a slow, deep inhale. As his thumb creased along the underside eyes flickered shut, as if the flute itself imparted to him its wisdom, its story from ages past and lesser legends long forgotten, faded from prominence and memory, existing only in the grooves and curves of a single tube of carved ivory.

And so he played.

The first note breathed into that ancient artifact played long and deep, running through each and every crevice and corner of the Inn like a shivering snake, and as the second fell upon the first the snake lashed, danced, echoed, running through hearts and minds with a tale of joy in every sorrow, of loss in every pleasure, of fascination in every uncertainty, of self-doubt in every heart. Of what it meant to be mortal. What it meant to be alive.
 
mb0n5k.jpg

Name (Nickname): Brynne daughter of Bastian.
Race: Human.
Attire: Black, empire-waisted, long-sleeved dress with red and gold trim; black leather boots.
Weapon: Dagger.
Location: Pynti-Peldot (inside the Inn of the Snowy Eagle).
Tagging: Anyone; Celeste, Vaemyr, Teemu; sees Bremven.
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.



The silence between them all was deafening, though the hum of the bustling patrons was more than enough to cause anyone's ears to ring. However, Brynne didn't find herself feeling that way. Instead, she felt out of place. Alone. The tension was certainly thick and growing by the second between both Teemu and Vaemyr despite the fact that her family's ex-guard wasn't out to cause harm or troubles for those in the northern wastes. Vaemyr was a good man, had done well by her and her family all those years ago... before he left them. Before he left Dale. She never knew why he'd gone, but from the way he stood there, his face drawn, his eyes dark as if they'd seen too much, she was certain it had been for good reason. Glancing back at Teemu, his fierce eyes seeming to scour and scrutinize, casting judgment upon anyone with blood too thin to deal with the harsher climate of the north, she shivered.

As the chill ran along Brynne's spine, her hands worked their way back into her lap, fingers intertwining themselves nervously as she leaned closer to where the fires burned across the way. She rubbed her palms together to stave off the sudden chill seeming to engulf her, though perhaps not all of that was a result of Teemu's icy glare. The door to the inn had opened not long ago, the brisk air's bite making its way across the crowded room until it caressed her flesh, causing it to break out into goose bumps. She looked over to see who'd entered the establishment--so many came and went and though having stayed at the inn for nearly a month, she still didn't know all the locals as so many hunted or had left on various expeditions, not yet to have returned. It was a dynamic place, Pynti-Peldot, not much different from Dale in some ways. Only Dale had been familiar, warmer, safer...

Just then, Brynne heaved a heavy sigh. Safer. She wasn't sure she knew the meaning of that word any longer. Dale, the one place that had always been a haven to her, its walls steadfast and strong, had proven not to be safe after all. Her dark eyes watered slightly as she thought about her parents, her gazing shifting down so as to hide her eyes sudden dampness. Would she ever see them again? Would she ever be warm again? They were certainly things to ponder. Blinking rapidly, she fought the urge to cry, sucking in a sharp breath when suddenly she heard the haunting tones above the droning voices of the patrons as they went about their business.

Brynne looked up, her neck twisting so that she could peer through the crowd to where the sounds were coming from. It was a distinct melody, the sounds pure and ethereal as they beckoned... almost as if to her, so she felt. The tunes they forged came together so sweetly in such lush tones, a song that could make her forget her troubles for a time... Biting down on her full lower lip, she slid off her seat, her black skirts clinging to her slight body as she gracefully stood up and excused herself from the two warriors' presence. She gave them each a nod followed by a curtsy before moving through the sea of people toward that delicious harmony that called out, its melancholy song reaching into her heart, her soul so it could tug her ever onward.

Finally, Brynne could see where the music was coming from. The sounds rising above the people as it filled the room. The notes danced with the flames of the fire as she listened, her eyes transfixed upon the one who played the flute. She stood back a bit, partially obscured by people as the pushed and shoved, one patron elbowing her smartly in ribs as the area started to become congested with onlookers.

"Ooofff..." Brynne gasped as she winced, a delicate hand moving to rub at her side. The dull ache was enough to jar her, but she didn't want to leave the scene. The music lured her in, the sounds hypnotizing as they made her forget her worries about being separated from her family, her home, being lost in the frozen north of Forodwaith.

More and more onlookers began to crowd into the area, Brynne's tiny body becoming swallowed up as they pressed against her. Bigger, taller, stronger. She scowled as they obstructed her view, her eyes connecting with those of the flutist before they did so completely. Cheeks red, she frowned and gripped her skirts firmly in her hands causing her knuckles to go white. She so wanted to enjoy the music, to watch the man as he played. But these patrons didn't seem to care about that. She was a warmlander, an outsider. To them, she hardly mattered at all.
 

Name (Nickname): Vaemyr [Vae]
Race: Human
Attire: White and Gold Tunic, Cape and silver armor
Weapon: Sword
Location: Pynti-Peldot
Tagging: Everyone
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.


It was becoming crowded. As the night deepened more and more people sought shelter from the harsh cold that brought death to so many. Even the Lossoth who were native to the land would seek out a respite from the freezing winds. No matter how many generations had lived in the climate, none could claim to be "used to it". It wasn't a cold you ever got used to. Some may have adapted to deal with it better but never could they get used to the cursed cold. So as the night wore on more and more entered the inn for a few hours warmth and comfort before trekking back out at the break of dawn to make their living.

At the back table a crowd had gathered and the tensions were rising and so were tempers it seemed. He bowed to the Elf as she left and turned his gaze on Teemu. He really wished people would get a better hold of their pride and their tempers. So many things could be avoided if they just did that. It was a lesson he'd learned slowly. It had taken him through a long winding path full of senseless destruction and mindless death. He'd witnessed many things and had been part of so much violence. Much more than he'd care to think about. His gaze came to rest on Brynne as she spoke. She certainly was a surprise he had not anticipated. Seeing the face of a noblemans daughter whom you'd served was not something you could ever really count on. Still, he had to respect her cleverness and resourcefulness at having survived. "I am sure you have been. You have my respect M'lady and if there is anything I can do to aid you in future, please let me know." he said bowing to her. "I am sure you will continue to do Dale proud. Dale and your family." he said showing one of his rare smiles.

His gaze switched to Teemu and he studied him for a moment. "Some friendly advice. When starting a new life, it's best not to make an enemy of those around you. It's a poor choice." he said with a bit of frost to his tone. "If you can't be agreeable and pleasant, staying silent is always a good choice." he added as an after thought. "As for our help? Well it seems to me you do. You certainly haven't managed to get rid of it yourself, have you?" he challenged in a soft voice. "If you had, we wouldn't be here now." he said narrowing his eyes. "I think at this late date "who" gave you the curse is a moot point. It was a long time ago and it can't be proven either way. But between you and me, us being the cause of the curse is ridiculous." he said his voice still low and soft. "If I'm wrong on that account, please, feel free to correct me." he said raising his brows expectantly.

It wasn't like he was trying to cause a fight or more trouble. He hated trouble. But he also hated attitudes like that. Although he guessed it was something to do with being Lossoth. Most of them seemed to share similiar attitudes. He couldn't say about the Suri-Maja since he hadn't, had dealings with them but he was sure it was even worse for them.

The silence stretched between them, growing heavier and deeper with each passing second. Before he could say anything though, the doors to the inn opened once again and he turned his gaze to the troupe of men who'd just entered. He saw one of them fix his gaze on Brynne for a moment before being shoved forward again. They all bundled inside and the din of conversation continued. After a few moments the sounds of music reached his ears and he looked over to see the man who'd watched Brynne playing a flute. The music was sweet and enchanting in it's melody. Soft but easily heard throughout the inn as he played the conversation quieted until no one was talking anymore. He was a good bard to quiet an entire inn with his music. After a moment he noticed that people were beginning to crowd around them, trying to get closer to the bard. He looked over and saw Brynne looking annoyed and shook his head a bit. He edged his way around the table, moving people aside. With his size and presence it wasn't an overly difficult task.

When he reaches her side he glanced at Teemu and the bard quickly "What is wrong M'lady?" he asked her quietly. He had an idea what it was. His gaze continuously switching between the two. Even with all the crowding, he could still see the bard fairly easily. Being larger had it's advantages. He paid particular attention to Teemu, in case he decided to cause trouble. With this many people packed so close together, a lot of people could easily get hurt.
 
2cok5cm.jpg

Name (Nickname): Bremven, Ven
Race: Human.
Attire: Thick, hooded, black woolen robe, undyed leather-buckled pack and belted sheaths, leather cuirass and sandals, black linen trousers.
Weapon: Twin Daggers & Knife.
Location: Pynti-Peldot (Inn of the Snowy Eagle).
Tagging: Brynne; Everyone.
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.


Bremven was no stranger to crowds. Life as an entertainer had accustomed him to them, so there was no surprise when closed eyes slowly eased open again to find himself at the center of an ever-growing circle. They were bustling yet silent, each pushing past one another as silently as possible, following the serpent's winding, labyrinthine lure to the snakecharmer. He had little regard for any individual listener in the crowd - folk tended to bustle and shove no matter where he went, so he had grown accustomed to not letting it bother him, eyes sailing over from one face to the next without the faintest memory of the last one. If he had stopped for every face to be pushed back behind others, he would never finish a song. Ven wasn't a hero. Hell, he was one step away from being a graverobber. Ideas like righteousness and valor existed to make people believe in things they held no stake in, and Ven had no place for lofty motives. Survival was its own reward.

Sh'thaar and the others, the troupe he had arrived with, were enjoying themselves back at the table. They had listened to Ven perform before, and while this was his debut performance on the flute, they were comfortable enjoying from their seats, their curiosity of where this enchanting music came from sated by past exposure. So the ones who flocked to him, who surrounded him, were all strangers, a sea of foreign eyes on foreign faces that blended into one another like a maelstrom as he entranced them, the eye of their hurricane.

And then he saw her again. Those impossible, wonderful, intoxicating eyes locking into his as they simply stopped and watched. That singular, pristine moment felt like an eternity as he simply watched her in a yearning, clenching disbelief, fingers only continuing to run into the already running breath out of muscle memory as his mind simply went blank, watching, remembering, years worth of smiles and tears and hugs and whispers echoing through his mind, barrage after barrage, drawing closer and closer to that inevitable, dreaded moment, the end of their story, wishing it would never come, knowing it would have to once their happy memories were exhausted, fingers loosening as the pristine ivory fell into cupped palms, hoping effortlessly that he wouldn't relive that moment, that he wouldn't relive losing her...

and then they swallowed her.

"MIIRA!"

A harsh, brutal roar sounded the end of the tune like a thunderclap. There were no thoughts here. No hesitation. He would not, could not lose her. Not again. Not again... throwing himself into the crowd, the flute tossed aside like a torn rag, as a hooked punch connected with the first man in that direction, flooring the massive Lossuth instantly, more out of surprise than because of the severity of his punch, arms pushing through the crowd as wide, desperate, crazed eyes finally met hers, standing there for mere moments before he collapsed to his knees, every muscle in body falling in on itself as eyes lidded back down, a face of emotionless, choking marble. He was too close not to recognize her at this point. He had performed for this woman. He had performed for the princess of Dale. And yet the only thing upon his face now, the only thought echoing through his mind was defeat. He had found the strength to save her, to save his beloved, but it was too late. She was gone and trying only to fail simply made him feel like he had lost her all over again. There were no tears, no wails of sorrow, only the horrified, helpless, strangled eyes of hopeless, worthless, absolute defeat as he simply, blankly stared.
 
mb0n5k.jpg

Name (Nickname): Brynne daughter of Bastian.
Race: Human.
Attire: Black, empire-waisted, long-sleeved dress with red and gold trim; black leather boots.
Weapon: Dagger.
Location: Pynti-Peldot (inside the Inn of the Snowy Eagle).
Tagging: Anyone; Celeste, Vaemyr, Teemu, Bremven.
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.



The sounds echoed off the walls, that haunting melody filling the room as The Snowy Eagle's patrons gathered closer to the man responsible for the pretty tunes that had entranced them all. Like a piper beckoning his flock to follow, nearly all--even the most brutish of men--were transfixed upon this strange man whose fingers deftly played the flute he held so easily. All of them swayed and whispered, clearly taken with this interesting form of entertainment. But Brynne could only hear the sounds now as the giant Lossoth pushed and shoved at her tiny frame, careless and selfish as they moved to get closer still and enjoy this atypical amusement that was most certainly causing a stir, waking and riling the blood of all who listened.

Brynne scowled as she rubbed her side, the sting of the jab slowly ebbing into a dull ache. How she longed to watch, to see the man play. It brought her comfort, reminded her of home, her family... of Dale. She enjoyed music--always had--and it wakened the memories of long ago, times of comfort and safety when she sat along side her parents and listened to many a tale and many a tune.

How she missed them--her mother, her father.

Fighting back the tears, Brynne tried to peek around a Lossoth who barred the way. But it was no use. With a heavy sigh, she resigned herself to her fate. She would get no further enjoyment this night and the tiny peek she'd gotten was all that she'd be granted. It was cruel and so very unfair! As her face grew hot, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching, her dark eyes catching a glimpse of Vaemyr as he neared. She smiled weakly, trying to emanate the strength the ex-guard claimed to see. But it was no use. She wasn't feeling strong any longer. Instead she felt like the out of place warmlander she knew she was and always had been since arriving in Pynti-Peldot despite the kindnesses she'd been shown.

"I cannot see..." Brynne began to answer Vaemyr, her words clipped as the music suddenly stopped.

The silence was deafening before being broken by a shout, a roar so loud Brynne felt a shiver run along her spine at the call. She bit down on her lower lip, her hand immediately reaching to tug on her dark hair falling in massive waves over her shoulders. Her heart began to race as the crowd suddenly parted, a Lossoth falling with a grunt and a thud causing her to both wince and take a tiny step backwards. Her dark eyes turned toward Vaemyr, brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of what was happening and why. Swallowing hard, her mouth dry as the ashy wastes of Mordor, she turned back toward the parting sea of patrons. There before her stood the flutist, his eyes half crazed, wild with a frenzy of emotion she couldn't read or interpret.

"I..." Brynne stammered, her dark eyes locked to the piper's as he collapsed to his knees before her. She quickly glanced at Vaemyr and then back over at the piper. Unsure of what to do, she let instinct take over. Curtsying, she smiled, her trembling hands reaching to clutch her black skirts to help still them. As she averted her eyes, her body lowering slightly as she curtsied, she could feel her cheeks warming. Her mouth still dry, she licked her lips and dared to peer out at the strange flutist before her just before rising back up to full height. "You... you play beautifully," she said, the smile still tugging at the soft corners of her lips. "I am Brynne, daughter of Bastian of Dale, sir." She bit down on her lower lip, a shaking hand--though she tried to hide her nervousness--moving to tug on a stray dark curl. Fearing she'd said too much, she nodded her head, a soft sound passing over her lips as she shifted her stance. But once again her eyes found his--that strange piper's who had bewitched the crowd with his playing--her expression soft, full of uncertainty as she looked upon him, her mind wondering just what sorts of tales he had to tell.
 
gyUBtqevW7o.jpg


Name: "Quick-Step" Racoan.
Race: Dúnedain
Attire: Traditional attire for his sect of the Rangers.
Weapons: His bow, machete, axe, and long sword.
Location: Pynti-Peldot (inside the Inn of the Snowy Eagle)
Tagging: Anyone
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.



With a tired sigh, Racoan had approached the sled. It's team had eyed him and growled at him, baring teeth, more out of uncertainty than hate. Whoever these raiders had been, they hadn't been good trainers. A smart person would have trained the dogs to be loyal more through compassion than through the rod. They distrusted him as they distrusted their own masters but they had lacked the fear of him. Their driver lay dead with an arrow buried deep in his skull not a few meters away. Near him was his sole companion that had ridden with him, while another sleigh of two in their own sled were turned over in a drift another fifty yards off. Using the closest man's furs after he'd finished pulling his blade from the man's stomach, Racoan had wiped his blade clean of blood. A glance over at his own six-dog team laying dead on the snow preceded Racoan heading over to the sled with its dogs still alive. He had looked it over and had found it stripped down to only its barest essentials: nothing for shelter or long-term survival. The Ranger suspected that if he were to follow their tracks he might find the camp that these four had come from. The gamble was that it might be abandoned, or it might be filled with more of their ilk, and that was something he didn't have time for. Yet that didn't mean he was at a total loss since they'd killed his dogs. It took some time since he couldn't afford any sort of sudden moves lest he encourage the dogs to attack him, but eventually he'd moved his own belongings onto the sled. His own yurt, food, supplies, and the food for his own dog team.

Racoan had watched the dogs as he'd opened one cloth sack in particular. Their ears had perked up and he watched them sniff at the air before their eyes had settled on him. It was hard to tell if the creatures had ate recently or if they were simply regularly fed enough to keep them from being ravenous. Either way trust had been quickly earned when each of the six animals had found fresh meat laid before them on the snowy ground. All that was left by the time Racoan was finished moving his own belongings were small divots in the snow where the dogs had been perhaps a little too enthusiastic. A few grateful barks had told him the team was pleased with his little peace-offering and they didn't fight when he took the reigns. From there, despite it not being his own it was not difficult for Racoan to make himself comfortable. Being for all purposes native-born meant that he was no stranger to this sort of transport.

From there it had been on to Pynti-Peldot. While the town wasn't completely new to him, it had been a while since he'd set foot there. Maybe ten or twelve years and the last time he'd come it'd been accompanied by fellow Rangers to deal with a problem caused by local raids. A few choice deaths and some stern negotiating had eventually solved the problem and while he hoped that the city still enjoyed it's safety he knew the politics of the land were as ever shifting as wind-blown snow. It wasn't far from where he'd come under attack by the bandits at no more than a mile at best and he was able to make good time. While they may not have been trusting of their master's the team was good and kept an excellent pace by the standards of a man known among his fellow Rangers for his speed both on skates and at the reigns of a dog-team. His arrival in town had come quick and silent with only the panting of dogs and the sound of fresh-carved wood and bone meeting packed snow.

While the more permanent looking buildings were new to him, travels taking him to a wide variety of places meant that he wasn't so surprised as to be lost for navigation. Familiarity with even some warmlander customs meant finding what he had presumed to be the inn from a distance had been little trouble. Seeing the sign as he'd guided the dogs to a roofed shelter where a few other such sleds and teams were kept he'd unhooked them and ushered them in to the pen where they quite happily made their homes. A few passing barks were exchanged with those teams kept in the other pens, those of other travelers who had arrived to call the inn a home for the night. Soft but quick steps to the door brought him just that much closer to warmth, and not spending another night camped alone in the snowy wastes.

When the door had swung open - nobody had really cared. Racoan was no lost foreigner. He'd always wondered that as he'd grown older. He'd seen many from the south who would come to places like this and every eye would be drawn to them, yet short of walking in ablaze he'd hardly be worth a note of attention unless he did something unusual. As he'd opened the door he wasn't disappointed by a lack of routine when he'd glanced about and seen - well familiarity and routine went out the window right about the time that a Lossoth man hit the floor when what he gathered to be a musician decided something of the man's face must have offended him. He'd paused just inside the door as the bard had paused in front of a rather dainty looking, pretty little thing. Next to her stood a not-so dainty but admittedly handsome-looking fellow who he pondered might have been the lovechild of a fortress wall and a glacier given his stature and the armor he wore.

A dead silence filled the air after the two had spoken.

Racoan still stared from the doorway, observing for a moment as the cold air slowly came against his back.

- THUD -, - THUD -

- THUD -. - THUD -

His boots met the wall and loose snow was cast down. In that silence he suddenly found eyes on him. Reaching up with one gloved hand he cast his hood down and pulled down the earthen-colored scarf that wrapped around his face. Anybody who looked at him could tell that despite the pale skin, lighter hair and hazel eyes betrayed him as not being of Lossoth birth. Yet those who were familiar with them might recognize the demeanor and equipment of a Ranger of the North. Simultaneously one of the most distrusted but ironically respected groups in some places.

"Balls." If he was hesitant to use harsh language around a young woman it didn't show, because right now wasn't the time for flirting, but for work, "You'd think somebody died in here."

That, and the Walking Palisade next to her might already claim her as his.

Only a few steps in he took note of the barkeep in a double-take, surprise flashing across his face along with a smile, "Naiq? By Eru boy, I remember you when you were a pup only yay high." His hand didn't even raise to his shoulders, "Good to see your father got this inn idea of his working."

Now with that sidetracking mission handled he turned back to the three standing there on the floor as the Lossoth man rose and retreated to his friends' table lest he be caught in this trouble.

"What seems to be the matter here?"

If anybody were to look, he didn't seem aggressive, at least to perhaps the lady, and the bard. His arms were crossed and he was regarding everybody with dark hazel eyes. To the warrior perhaps, it might be seen the tension just under the surface. Even without a hand at one of his several blades or even on his bow, it might be betrayed that he was more than capable (and confident) of acting if it was necessary. It was in the way that he had displaced his weight equally between both feet, and the way that his arms weren't quite so fully crossed to prevent him from quickly reaching one of his blades. It was subtle things like that.
 
9ie7up.png

Name (Nickname): Maranwe Winterborne (Maran).
Race: Elf (Noldor).
Attire: Grayish-blue, empire-waisted, long-sleeved dress; dark blue cloak; brown leather boots.
Weapon: Dagger, bow/arrows.
Location: Pynti-Peldot (inside the Inn of the Snowy Eagle).
Tagging: Anyone.
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.



Maran's heart pounded, her tiny hands shaking as they fumbled for the door handle to the inn. She glanced upward at the somewhat rickety sign--Snowy Eagle--her chest heaving as she pushed all of her weight against the door as she pushed it open. The heat that kissed her pale skin was welcoming as she entered the glowing warmth, the fires roaring, the people milling about with drinks in hand as she all but staggered into the place. Pausing, she glanced behind herself, unsure if the others she'd been with had followed. Not wanting to leave the door open for too long given how cold the air had become as the wind howled outside, she closed it tightly, her smallish frame--especially for an elf--slumped against it.

For several moments, Maran clamped her eyes shut, trying her best to calm herself down. When she fluttered them open, she stood up and shivered the residual chill that lingered in her bones. Standing fully upright once more, she swallowed hard and looked about the room, the patrons gathered about a tiny group that had formed in the main room's center. She bit down on her lip, hoping that she hadn't walked into local drama or worse. Not wanting any trouble, she remained on the perimeter of the crowd, slowly making her way toward an empty table in the corner where she could sit and rest for a moment before, warming herself before asking for food and a room for the night.
 
2cok5cm.jpg

Name (Nickname): Bremven, Ven
Race: Human.
Attire: Thick, hooded, black woolen robe, undyed leather-buckled pack and belted sheaths, leather cuirass and sandals, black linen trousers.
Weapon: Twin Daggers & Knife.
Location: Pynti-Peldot (Inn of the Snowy Eagle).
Tagging: Brynne; Everyone.
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.



It was common to be happily fascinated by how soothing and exciting laughter and music could be. The less popular flip-side was that silence, barren silence, could be just as deafening as the most terrifying of screams. And so it was; a horrible calm so ear-shattering that it almost seemed as if it sucked away all sound, replacing it with the splitting ring of void. Even the mellow creak of the door found itself unconsidered as new faces came at a time for which the term inopportune would be a grave understatement.

The sound of rhythmic thuds, like a drum or a heartbeat, found itself awakening some, but most remained locked in that strange paralysis of a confusion that only spread faster the further it spread from its origin like a plague, tempting with a clueless curiosity that would drive all walks of men to stare. All but the man who was only beginning to unleash himself from a daze of a different kind, open palms thumping against the floor, ruining the rhythm of the thuds as the massive, downed Lossuth rose to his feet.

"Nothing of importance to you, stranger." the Lossuth grunted, a rough, firm handful finding itself clenching the thick, black wool of Bremven's cloak, wrenching him up with a single pull, the bard's gaze no longer parallel to those of the princess as he stared into that same oblivion that rang through his ears. "I simply have something that this minstrel here has misplaced..." he continued, pushing the shoulder around to turn Bremven to face himself; glassy, unfocused eyes looking right through the tower of a man. "...and I seek to return it to him." Teeth clenched as the Lossuth swung his hips back, a closed fist moving back, and then forward like a springboard, plummeting towards the bard's face.
 
mb0n5k.jpg

Name (Nickname): Brynne daughter of Bastian.
Race: Human.
Attire: Black, empire-waisted, long-sleeved dress with red and gold trim; black leather boots.
Weapon: Dagger.
Location: Pynti-Peldot (inside the Inn of the Snowy Eagle).
Tagging: Anyone; Celeste, Vaemyr, Teemu, Bremven; sees Racoan, Maranwe.
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.


Brynne stood there, her dark eyes wide yet blinking rapidly as she stared at the man before her on his knees. She glanced over and up at Vaemyr and then at the rest of the onlookers as they crowded around them, their expressions and silence causing her muscles to clench. Biting down on her lower lip, she rocked back on her feet, her hands reaching to grasp tightly to the fabric of her skirts as she stood there feeling uncertain and feeling the uneasy tension building among the patrons as they stood there. To think that only moments ago everyone had been enjoying the warmth of the fire and the merriment of the music.

Unsure of what to do, but unable to move from where she stood, Brynne's dark eyes darted about the room. As the deafening silence grew in its intensity, her gaze shifted from face to face of all the patrons that had gathered about the unfolding scene. Fingers twirling through long, dark locks, she could feel a nervousness rising deep in the pit of her tummy. She cleared her throat just then, a soft sound amidst the quiet, her mouth drier than the ashen wastes of Mordor. In vain, she licked her lips, a chill running along her spine, made worse as the door opened letting in a biting wind from frigid air in the black night outside. She shivered, watching the burly man rise up from the outer part of the crowd, making his way toward the piper on his knees.

Before Brynne knew it--thwack! The sound of fist against jaw, knuckles hitting jaw, rung in her ear. She let out a tiny yelp and stumbled backward almost losing her footing. Everything was happening so fast, her heart racing at what had just happened, her anxiety rising as the crowd about them let out a roar, their voices breaking the silence that had entranced them all.

9ie7up.png

Name (Nickname): Maranwe Winterborne (Maran).
Race: Elf (Noldor).
Attire: Grayish-blue, empire-waisted, long-sleeved dress; dark blue cloak; brown leather boots.
Weapon: Dagger, bow/arrows.
Location: Pynti-Peldot (inside the Inn of the Snowy Eagle).
Tagging: Anyone.
Time: TA 3018, March 1, evening.



Maran sat in her chair, her body shivering from the residual cold. She blew hot breath against her hands in an attempt to warm them, wringing them together to help circulate the blood as her heart pumped and her body soaked up the heat of the fires she sat next to. Sitting quietly, she was a stark contrast to the patrons milling about, her lithe elven form so different from the Lossoth. She wondered if any of her kind had ventured into the frozen wastes given the news that had reached Rivendell. Considering how close Lindon was, her curiosity on the matter was piqued, however given the tension in the room and the people crowding about at the moment--and the strange silence--those were questions for another time.

Suddenly, Maran's ears perked up, hearing the sound of a crack of flesh against flesh. She gasped loudly, immediately standing up as her thoughts were plagued by the slaughter of her family by the goblin horde. Her face contorted as fear and panic set in, her one hand clutching at her cloak. She looked toward the nearest window, her eyes peering out toward the sky. Silently, she longed for the stars, for peace to find its way to the inn, to these people.

No more blood... no more violence.

Maran's eyes clamped shut for a moment and when she opened them they stung with tears threatening to spill down her her pale cheeks.
 
Back
Top Bottom