Logs-Another
Giant Eagle-Encounter!
Gatekeeper's Lodge
This sparsely furnished lodge is where off duty gatekeepers spend their
spare
time while not watching over the township of Bree. A few beds are neatly
arrayed against the far eastern wall near the large oaken weapons rack.
A
single desk sits near the northern wall. Papers are scattered over the
top of
the desk in a haphazard fashion. The room smells musty and small piles
of
trash are deposited in the room's four corners.
Obvious exits:
Out leads to West Gate.
================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Thu Jan 29 01:58:01 2004
Bree time: Late Morning <about 10 AM> on Monday of Spring - April
24,1431
Moon Phase: Waning Gibbous Moon
Breelands Weather
The late morning spring air is cool but pleasant around you. The sky above
is a
glorious pale blue/
===============================================================================
It is nearing lunchtime and the scents of spring drift from outside-
the door
to the gatehouse thrown wide open to allow in some of the cool breeze.
The
day is warm and sunny and bright and full of the feelings of spring! Inside
the Gatekeeper's lodge it remains rather dark, save for the sunlight
streaming in through the door- though this doesn't light the whole room...
Sitting just inside the doorway is Megan Tasselberry-Thatcher, and happily
she
is speaking to the Gatekeeper on duty- basket abandoned at her feet- sunlight
warming the back of her head though occasionally she shifts with impatience,
as if the conversation she's engaged in has taken much longer than
anticipated already, and doesn't seem to be showing any signs of finishing..
*thud* *grunt*
*shuffle* *grunt*
Someone is coming along the road, and slowly at that. Moments later the
'someone' comes into view - none other than Hugh Bramblefleece. The old
man
is still walking slightly hunched, and his steps are wavering and unsteady
-
the fact that he bears no staff for support could have something to do
with
that - but they take him slowly but surely towards the gatehouse. The
sight
of Megan's head seems to stop him short, and he pauses, windmilling his
arms
for balance as he calls out breathlessly, "Good mornin'." And
a little more
doubtfully, "Eh, I was lookin' for Sammy Appleyard, heard the feller
could
craft me a new staff?" Somehow that feminine head with its brown
curls does
not look like Sammy Appleyard.
Finally! A saviour! As the voice sounds from somewhere behind, Megan
turns her
head and sends a bright 'Goodmorning' smile toward Hugh, before this falls
into a look of concern and she stands. "Mr. Bramblefleece! Everythin'
alright?.. You don't look quite..." Stable? Well? Balanced?! "..
you should
take my seat.. When's Sammy gettin' back?" The gatekeeper in his
seat hasn't
budged, but watches the goings on rather amusedly before shrugging his
shoulders. "Soon. He weren't goin' for long..."
A fine morning it is as springtime shows its best side. The lovely weather
does
not seem to affect one slightly sourer visitor to the towne of Bree, though.
A large ruffianly looking fellow enters the guard's house, and certainly
he
is not a native judging by his garb alone. A hauberk, overtop an old
traveler's tunic and around his waist a bandage, stained by dry mud and
bloodspots. The brute limps a bit; seemingly his wound is not entirely
healed. His cold, dull eyes scan the interior of the lodge and he seems
less
than pleased by the inhabitants. "So its you who's protecting this
shanty
towne from the wilds?" He scoffs as he continues to examine the room.
Hugh's grateful smile towards Megan changes to a frown as Saevern puts
in an
appearance, and he turns his head to watch the odd-looking man stride
past.
With a snort of breath, he shakes his head and hobbles after, pausing
and
clinging onto the doorpost as he glances around the musty guardroom. His
mouth is already opening as though to say something - but then his nose
wrinkles and he gives a tremendous sneeze. And another ... "Eh, bless
me," he
manages at last, his free hand fumbling in his pocket now. "Good
mornin', Mrs
Tasselberry-Thatcher, and ta you, sir, and," *sneeze* "you,
Mister. An' Bree
ain't no-" Another sneeze forestalls further conversation.
Curiosity now spreads across Megan's features as Saevern makes another
appearance- one eyebrow raising slightly as she regards him. "Nah,
we en't
guards.. cept for Mr. Whitethorne here.." she explains- retreating
another
step into the room to avoid (perhaps) coming too close to the stranger..
"G'mornin', Mr. Bramblefleece.." a bemused smile now settles
on her lips as
she watches him be overcome with sneezing. "Everythin' alright? Bit
of spring
air giving you troubles?.. And Bree aint no shanty town." Megan finishes
with
a quick nod to Saevern- one matter-of-fact.
A sinister grin whips across the ruffian's lips as Hugh struggles with
illness.
"Sounds like that cold will kill you, old man." He begins, turning
to face
him but keeping distance. "Shame, seems like its gonna' take my job
from me."
Saevern chuckles slightly, putting his hands on his hips, an action which
seems to pain him slightly. "And don't you be thinking you know your
towne
better than me, missy! I've been quartering here since before breathing,
I
reckon."
Triumphantly, Hugh draws out a large spotted handkerchief, and blows
his nose
loudly. "Ah, that's better. There's summat funny about the air in
here," the
old man claims as he looks past Saevern to the Breeguard. "An' thank
ye fer
askin', Mrs Tasselberry-Thatcher. Still a bit shaky without me staff,
but
once that's fixed I'll be right as rain. What brings you inside on such
a
fine spring day?"
Only then does he respond to the rest of Saevern's words. "What
were ye sayin',
mister? I don't rightly understand ye." After all, noone in safe,
honest,
sensible Bree would /ever/ make a death-threat ... would they? His expression
is one of mild puzzlement.
"You en't goin' to be killing no one, mister!" Megan replies
bravely (though
her voice squeaks once, giving away nervousness that is hidden underneath)-
apparently /she/ has understood Saevern's words, even if Hugh has not.
"I
were deliverin' some breads and stopped in to talk.." she begins
to Hugh- her
attention jumping again quickly to the stranger, "and I don't care
what you
reckon- you're no Breefolk if ever I saw one, so don't you go tellin'
me
about my own town..." Now she begins to edge toward the door. "I'm
late
already and wouldn't mind gettin' on with my deliveries before lunch sets
in
the folks find themselves with nothin' to eat.."
"Be gone then, missy! Make the fat even fatter! I reckon I oughta'
have one of
those loafs first, though." Saevern's grin has not yet faded; he
seems to be
enjoying himself quite a bit. He turns his attention and gaze back at
the
foolish old man he has selected to be his enemy. "Don't know what
I mean, eh?
Why don't we take a walk, old man, I reckon I oughta' show you."
Hugh peers at Saevern. "I'm not in the mood fer a walk," he
responds sullenly.
"'Case ye hadn't noticed, old back's bin actin' up." And then
something else
registered - Megan's words of killing. "What d'ye mean, killin'?"
he demands
suddenly. "Noone's goin' ta be killin' anyone in this town, are they?
That's
right, innit?" He peers questioningly at the guard, who presumably
wants
nothing more or less than the whole lot of them to be somewhere else,
out of
his sight.
"Eh, if Sammy's not here, guess I'll come back in an hour or two,"
the old man
ends with a sigh. "Long way home though ..."
A scowl is sent toward Saevern, and Megan seems to be sizing him up (not
for a
physical fight, oh no! But a war of words...), though, perhaps not in
the
mood or lacking in energy she doesn't snap at him as she usually would..
"Oh,
you do? Well, I don't reckon I feel like givin' one to you." and
with that,
she stoops to pick up the basket. The Breeguard, meanwhile- has been watching
the goings on- perhaps dumbstruck by the whole situation. "I don't
reckon Mr
Bramblefleece wants to-- See, exactly. He don't want to walk anywhere,"
Megan
says, with a sharp nod- stepping out to Hugh's side. "That's right.
No one's
going to be getting killed, nor robbed, or mugged, or assulted."
the guard
replies- eyes fixed on Saevern warningly..
"I'll help you back home if you'd like, Mr. Bramblefleece.."
Megan offers,
eyes glancing briefly and worriedly at the stranger before flashing a
dazzling and confident smile- lifting her chin and preparing to set out-
with
or without old man in tow.
Saevern's grin disappears as the local constable makes his presence more
clear.
While certainly no match for him, the ruffian doesn't want to make too
big of
a fuss...yet. "Mayhaps that's best, old man! You oughta' be off to
bed to get
well, I don't want that cold to be having all the fun with you, see?"
The
sell-sword begins to limp towards the door as well, his hauberk clinking
and
his figure slowly overshadowing the young lady.
Hugh frowns, shaking his head again. "There's somethin' not quite
right about a
man that wishes ill o' another," he states pointedly, staring at
Saevern.
His gaze shifts from him to the nearby Megan, and his frown fades. "Why,
that's
awful nice of ye, Mrs Tasselberry-Thatcher, but I don't think I could
manage
walkin' all the way home and then back. Think I'll just sit out by the
well
in the sun an' watch the world go by ... or take a turn past the
Constabulary, see if old Billy's there. Course, if yer goin' ta help me
that
far I'd not say 'no'".
And that just leaves the Breeguard. "Good day ta ye, sir. I'll mebbe
see ye
later," he offers to the man, turning away, and taking a scuttling
step or
two back from the door before Megan - or perhaps Saevern? - knocks him
down
in passing.
As she is overshadowed, Megan cringes just slightly and hurries out through
the
door, turning to wish the Breeguard farewell, and he in turn waves to
both
Hugh and Megan- nodding his head once. Saevern gets no farewell (from
Megan
or the Breeguard), but a scowl instead from the curly-headed girl. "Well,
I
can certainly take you that far, indeed." she says- offering an arm
out to
Hugh, before looking back at Saevern. "Good day to you." Though
this is said
only to keep up the appearance that she's still polite.
The ruffian seems to grow tired of the teasing of the simpletons. He
continues
his leave and finally exits the watchmen's lodge, leaving Hugh helpless.
Grimacing slightly at the pain, he walks away slowly with only a quick
farewell to the native. "I reckon I'll be seeing you."
Helpless? Well, fortunately for Hugh Megan's outstretched arm is nearby.
Hugh
seizes it gratefully, and as he and his companion move off down the road
-
slowly, oh so slowly, given his lack of staff - the old man's voice can
be
heard raised in conversation. "Strange fellow, that. Oughter be watched,
he
should ... Now then, Mrs Tasselberry-Thatcher, about that dance ..."
=== Megan's DESC =============================================================
This young woman is not unlike many others in Bree, but to most meeting
her,
her face would be memorable. A tangle of tick brown hair falls just below
her
shoulders and is tied there with a bright green ribbon, though the rest
frames her face; wild and apparently untameable. Wide, almond-shaped brown
eyes peer out, often cheeky and mischievous though at other times thoughtful
and reflective, sometimes even cold and uncaring. Her face is lightly
dotted
with freckles along her cheeks, and this gives her a somewhat childish
look
though she would be about 17, this and the fact that she's somewhat shorter
than the average Breefolk.
Green is her colour of choice for this season, though the material is
quite
simple, it suits her well- tunic coming halfway down her calf, light and
perfect for warmer weather. On her ring-finger sits a small gold band,
with a
small, well polished, and smartly cut, green gem set in it.. On her feet
she
wears simple leather sandals or small boots and occasionally she has a
rust-red coloured wool cloak over her shoulders, depending on the state
of
the weather.
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=== Hugh's DESC ==============================================================
A first glance at this man reveals that he's broad of shoulder and girth,
and
perhaps an inch or two shorter than average for a Bree man - though that
could simply be the burden of age, for his shoulders are slightly stooped,
and his gnarled hands are most often curled about a stout crooked wooden
staff. Despite that, his movements are sprightly, and the twinkle in his
brown eyes bespeaks a lively mind. His face, what little of it can be
seen,
is seamed and weathered like an old oak from time spent outdoors ... the
remainder being hidden by a bushy beard. This, like his hair, is snowy
white,
and tangled as a bird's nest.
He's clad in simple homespun garments - dirty linen shirt tucked into
a pair of
oily brown trews, in turn tucked into strong leather boots. A fleece rests
across his shoulders for added warmth in all but the warmest weather.
==============================================================================
=== Saevern's DESC ===========================================================
This man is certainly an imposing figure, for he is tall and well-built.
Youthful aspects are present about him, though for as many youthful marks
there are just as many old, making this man's age hard to decipher. His
dark
hair falls only to stop just before his shoulders, a few renegade strands
also curl down his forehead. His eyes seem almost colourless, for they
are a
gray-green hybrid that compliments his oftimes cold facial expressions.
He is
obviously unshaven, for a heavy fermentation of stubble dots his chin
and
lower cheeks.
He is quite tall with large and well-built shoulders. He is attired as
one may
suspect a man of travel may, as he wears a brownish tunic that is well
stained by mud and scarred by tearing and protrusions. The bottom half
of the
right-hand sleeve is missing, and a bandage covers part of this arm. Beneath
his tunic something less orthodox for a traveler is worn; a suit of
grime-filled chainmail. A heavy pair of brown leather boots, heavily stained
by dried mud and other travel staining, adorns his feet while his pant
legs
cover the upper part of his boots, they too are well marked by travel
stains.
There is an axe that is tucked securely in his belt, the blade of which
can be
seen protruding from his tunic. A shield and a bow are strapped to his
back.
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