LOCATION:

Summergate Square

A decent-sized, cobblestone-paved square spreads before the Summer Gate of Umbar, from where you can take the passage through the gate and come to New Town, or follow one of the two streets inside the city. Small shops are placed around the square, and more cling to the walls on either side of the gate. Relaxed guards stroll through the area occasionally in twos and threes, and the traffic mainly consists of people coming and going to New Town for recreation and enjoyment of its pleasures. Carriages are not allowed through that gate and have to take the road through the city, all the way to Eastgate.

The Sea Street climbs a hill to the north from here, to the castle and harbours, while the wide and glorious Gimilbatan, the Star Street, goes in the southeastern direction, towards the centre of Umbar.

OOC Note: There are +VIEWables here. Type +views.

Obvious exits:

* Blue Door leads to A Shop: The Scripted Page.

* Gate Out leads to Umbar, New Town: At the Summer Gate.

* North leads to Azrubatan: The Way of the Ships.

* Southeast leads to Gimilbatan: Shipwrights' Quarter.

[Inzilgadin:] It is quite dark in the early morning in Umbar. A few nightbirds skim across the Summersquare, noticeable only through the whish of their wings as they flitter in their pursuits. The Square is empty and only a room here and there in the surrounding buildings even has lights on.

From the east, a tall Man comes into the Square, walking thoughtfully, his gait steady but slow as he enters from among a tumble of buildings. His cloak is drawn about him, but the ends of several documents can be picked out as the cloak swishes by them.

[Barzag:] Even at this time, the Square is not completely deserted, however. The muffled sound of footsteps comes from the Shipwright's way, and a moment later a figure comes into view, shorter than most, broad-shouldered ... Despite the pre-dawn chill, he wears no cloak, and the vague outline of his form can be seen as he raises one hand to his mouth to mask a yawn. He glances incuriously at the quiet Square, the few buildings that are lit, the cloaked shape ...

[Inzilgadin:] In the general silence, the footsteps approaching him are clearly audible, and the man with the scrolls looks up, eyes not quite focusing at first. He spies the broad-shouldered one, smiling at the muffled yawn. He approaches him and pauses, considering who this might be for a moment and then quietly greets him.

"Hail, friend. Might I ask directions of you?"

[Barzag:] The walking figure freezes for a moment, then steps forward again with a shrug to meet the one who has spoken. The rectangular slit of light from a nearby window illuminates his form, revealing that this one is no Numenorean - swarthy skin, a mop of dark hair, features seeming oddly twisted by the sharp-edged shadows. The fellow is dressed in scruffy-looking tunic and trews - clearly a person of no importance. One shoulder lifts in a shrug, and he replies in a deep, yet slightly nasal voice. "Directions. Yes. I know some." He waits paitently for the cloaked one to continue.

[Inzilgadin:] Pulling back his hood, the tall one is revealed as clearly Numenorean, with a gold choker at his throat and what looks to be the high, stiff collar of some kind of uniform. No less Numenorean are the grey eyes that expressionlessly study the citizen. "I thank you." He looks up toward the west, in the general direction of the Castle. "I have an errand in the Castle, but the twistings and turnings of the streets seem to have defeated me so far. Know you a simple way through yonder...neighborhood?" A hand vaguely waves toward the mass of the city on the west side, where several alleys feed off the square.

[Barzag:] The other man, the Hillman, nods, and his lips twitch slightly - indeed the fellow does seem to suffer from some deformity, not just a trick played the shifting shadows. His speech is clear enough, however. "The castle, the ruler's strong-house, is north," he states firmly. "I work there once - did work there," he amends the words. "It is not so far." He glances at the eastern sky ... there is still no sign of the sun's rising. "I show you, if you wish," he offers, his eyes holding a flicker of curiosity now, probably wondering what manner of man does not know his way around his own city.

[Inzilgadin:] The grey eyes flicker at the coarse speech, but the Numenorean makes no comment as the citizen goes on to make his offer. He nods to accept it, but says, "It will be enough to tell me which of the ways leads there." He glances about, then seeing that they are still alone in the square, he turns to the laborer, "I would not need these directions had I been here long. I have just arrived and do not yet know my way about." He says this last as if regretful at even having to voice such an admission and seems ready to turn and depart at the least provocation.

[Barzag:] If the regret is noticed, the Hillman gives no sign of it. He does, however, regard the Numenorean with a little more interest, his tense stance relaxing slightly. "You are not of Umbar?" Without waiting for an answer, he continues, "Go up the hill, on the Street of the Sea." He points northward, to where the broad Azrubatan slopes steeply away. "Go on this street, then you reach King's Square. Then go west. The mouth of the Castle sits ahead. Or, part way up the hill, a small street, the third, turns west. It also goes to the castle, but it is ..twisting," he repeats the word used by the Numenorean earlier.

[Inzilgadin:] The Numenorean turns to follow the citizen's directions, as if he could see which streets to follow. Not looking at him, but nodding at each new direction, he can be heard to mumur, "King's Square...west..." then smiling to himself at the odd way the citizen pronounces what must be a new word to him. When he turns, his face is smoothed and again expressionless. The change is so subtle and seems so natural that it appears to be something the Numenorean never needed to learn and may not even notice he has done. He regards the citizen again for a moment, then says, "My thanks for your generosity. You are a craftsman, it would appear, but you also appear not to be any more native to Umbar than am I." A practiced but gentle smile creases his features, "Though you do have the advantage of residency on me." Perhaps that smile has a tinge of haughtiness in it as well, for the speech is slightly slurred and the more difficult words are emphasized. "What is your trade?"

[Barzag:] The Hillman seems to follow most of the Numenorean's speech well enough, though his lips soundlessly mouth the word 'residency', and a puzzled frown creases his brow at that point. However, the last question is simple enough. "I work with the stone," he answers, "Ur-ziran, the mason, is my master. We repair now the stone-work for one great house." He gestures westward, towards the narrow Summer Gate. "I start to work at dawn, then I may finish more soon." He hesitates a moment, then volunteers one last piece of information. "I have met one other who is not of Umbar, the teacher of weapons, Al-oric. You know of him?" He glances questioningly at the proud Numenorean.

[Inzilgadin:] The Numenorean only nods at the citizens' trade and then seems to darken at the mention of the other Numenorean. "A weapons-master?" He shakes his head dismissively. "I have no use for weapons, friend, and leave all that hacking and slashing to those who seem to find it fulfilling. As for your trade, however, that is good honest work, though none in my family ever put their hands to stone. My own kin are either as I am, negotiators and mediators, or they are woodsmen. My own ancestor sailed with Aldarion to the shores of Minhirriath 2,500 years ago."

[Barzag:] The Hillman seems surprised at Inzilgadin's response, his own lips parting slightly in astonishment as he listens to the other's dismissal of Aloric. His expression changes, becoming more guarded. The rest of the sentence is met with a shrug. "I know not the places you talk about," he admits. "And what does a ..negotiator.. do in this place?"

[Roziliel:] Arriving at the Gate under the subtle washes of the predawn light comes a figure covered in a cloak. Her movements are graceful and unhurried, though she stops to secure the contents of a large basket as she makes room for a cart to pass. Smiling and offering the cartmaster a good day, Roziliel continues through the gate and into the cobblestone plaza, her gaze at first given to the small shop that lies near the end of the row. Not many are her steps, however, when she sees two men conversing there in the Square, and as she recognises both a smile is coaxed to the woman's face as she diverts her steps towards them. "Good day, gentlemen," comes the cheerful greeting, even before her paces have joined them together.

[Inzilgadin:] The Numenorean smiles at the Hillman's difficulty with the new word. "It is a job with words, so I--" It is at this point that lady Roziliel approaches and greets them. He turns and bows slightly to her, an indication of greeting but no suggestion of status. "My lady, greetings on this.." he glances around, noticing that while he has been chatting, grey dawn has begun to break and a clear sky is being revealed. "..this fine morning."

[Barzag:] The Hillman turns to regard the new arrival, and indeed to cast a glance around the Square in general. Already Umbar is beginning to wake to life as daybreak approaches. Turning back to the Numenorean woman, he frowns, peering closely at her, and then recognition dawns in his eyes. His head drops for a moment, then with a shrug he raises it to look at the woman again. He acknowledges her with a nod, the flicker of amusement in his amber eyes at her use of the word 'gentlemen' plain to see. "It will be a good day," he responds, before automatically stepping back a pace as if in anticipation of a dismissal.

[Roziliel:] The scribe shifts the basket in her hands before setting it down; her grey eyes glitter with the greetings given in return as she follows the glance of Inzilgadin towards the east. "It *will* be a good day?" she wonders, the curiousity buoying her words in timbre as she looks once more to the Hillman. "And what might improve upon it from what it is now?" The question is hardly interrogation, if the smile upon the maiden's face is any indication. Rather a window into Roziliel's inquisitive nature.

[Inzilgadin:] Inzilgadin steps back slightly, making room for the conversation between the Hillman and his fellow Numenorean, remaining silent for the moment. Taking advantage of not being on point in the discussion, he flicks back his cloak and begins sorting among his papers, none of which are sealed, then selecting one and slipping the others back under his arm.

[Barzag:] Roziliel's curiosity is not matched in the one she addresses. The Hillman frowns, perhaps unused to such light-hearted banter, before responding, "I do not know. Perhaps I say the words wrong?" Looking from one Numenorean to the other, he offers, "If you wish to talk in the way of your people, I will go now." However, at that point his gaze falls on Inzilgadin's papers, and he thoughtfully adds to the man, "But there is one thing I would ask - ". He swallows, head dipping once more as if he anticipates his request will be viewed as unpalatable.

[Roziliel:] The Hillman's frown coaxes the same from Roziliel, who clearly, herself, does not understand what she has said to cause the other uncertainty. "No one has invited you to leave," she then offers in some unstated apology, though seems to leave it at that as Barzag turns to speak to the other. Clearing her throat softly, she seems content to allow that other conversation, though her gaze lingers upon the other Numenorean and the papers he holds.

[Inzilgadin:] The male Numenorean looks up from his papers, noticing after the fact that, despite his attempt to slightly withdraw for the moment, he has somehow become the subject of the chat. "I--" He glances from one to the other, taking in what he can of their expressions and then appears to come to a decision, his eyes shading and his smile smoothing. "There is indeed no reason to leave, workman. I am myself well ahead of my time at the Castle and as a newcomer am not averse to being...taught the ways of this city. If you have a question, feel free to ask. It may not be that I can answer, but rest assured it would be only if you ask what is confidential and for which I have not been allowed leave to speak." He glances again at Roziliel, his head tilting slightly and giving her a look that asks her patience.

[Barzag:] The Hillman's head lifts once more, and he nods at Roziliel's words, though he still seems uncertain. He gazes directly at Inzilgadin as the man speaks, that faintly puzzled look on his face as the initially clear reply once again digresses into unfamiliar words. "I wish to learn .. this," he states, gesturing to the scroll. "The speech of no sounds, the word pictures. Can you teach it? I know the way of Umbar - I have some silver coin ..." He trails off, doubtless aware just how pitifully little he can offer, in Umbarian terms. His brows are furrowed as he awaits a response from the Numenorean man.

[Roziliel:] Still deferring to the conversation between Hillman and fellow Numenorean, Roziliel clasps her her hands loosely before her and watches on as unobtrusively as possible--though catches Inzilgadin's wordless entreaty of patience. Her smile is renewed softly, though by her outward composure the beckoning seems unecessary.

[Inzilgadin:] Holding up the scroll, the cloaked one half-smiles. "Ah, you wish to learn to read, as we say. A noble wish, for a craftsman. It would greatly ease your growth in your craft, I would think, for you could then direct the work of your fellows and thus gain authority." He glances at the scroll for a moment, partly unrolling it and scanning the first few lines. He frowns at the contents and then tucks it back under his arm. "I should be able to teach you, citizen, if it be your desire, but from these texts there could be nothing you would wish to read, nor could I show them to you. But," and here he turns fully towards Roziliel, "My lady Roziliel has a fine shop where we could obtain materials I could use to teach you with. If she please, of course." Here he bows more fully to her, in acknowledgment of her position.

[Roziliel:] Roziliel nods--even before Inzilgadin has made reference to her and her shop across the way. "Tis true," she answers upon the other's suggestion. "I own The Scripted Page..." A motion of her hand points the way to the whitewashed establisment. "In fact, I carry in that basket new parchments sorely needed." The scribe's gaze flickers with the seed of design--the grey gaze held absently towards the blue-painted door. "What if you were to conduct you lessons here. In my shop? I would gladly provide the necessary materials in trade for a strong set of arms to help with the store's stock now and then..."

[Barzag:] At Inzilgadin's answer, the right side of the Hillman's mouth curls up in his version of a smile. He shows no desire to see the documents the Numenorean is carrying - after all, what can they possibly mean to one who cannot read? And Roziliel's response evokes a spark of interest in the Hillman's amber eyes.

He turns first to the man. "You will teach? What is -" he hesitates, "what is the cost?"

To the woman, he responds, "I can lift and carry goods, but in the day I must work for Ur-ziran. At the end of the day, or in the night I can work for these materials ... if it is accepted." He glances from one Numenorean to the other in a questioning manner, awaiting to see whether Inzilgadin will approve of the suggestion.

[Inzilgadin:] The Numenorean brightens marginally as Roziliel picks up the thread smoothly, his expression showing that she has followed it exactly where he would have wished it to go. He turns again to the citizen, smoothing his expression again. "Aye, I would teach, for to be able to read should be a birthright, not a privilege, as it sometimes is, from whence I come. I often have evenings free, so meeting you at the.." he turns somewhat towards the Lady, "The Scripted Page, you said?" and glances at the distinctive blue door, marking it in his memory and masking a smile at it, then turning back to the Hillman, "The Scripted Page would be my pleasure, not least for teaching, but not solely, either." Here his eyes slew slightly towards the Lady, gauging what might be her reaction to this allusion.

After a moment, he bethinks himself and smiles inwardly, his head slightly shaking at some inner disapproval and says, "Under the circumstances, it seems I have been rude, citizen. I am called Inzilgadin and am a...scribe, at times at least. My Lady Roziliel and I are already acquainted and as I see you and she know each other I am now at a bit of disadvantage. May I also know your name, workman?"

[Roziliel:] Likewise, Roziliel is given to a broadening of her own smile at Inzilgadin's words. "I assure you," she says in a continuance of the light tone she has used throughout this conversation. "You are both welcome to come to my shop. Anytime is it open." Her gaze flickers to both, though rests upon the fellow scribe as her smile warms. "And it turns out that evenings for teaching would be best for me, as well. I scribe for the Princess Miriel in the mornings and open my shop at noon. We may progress with the lessons after the shop is closed. I too, would not mind a hand at teaching, if Inzilgadin does not mind."

[Barzag:] Barzag's pleased smile deepens at the Numenorean's agreement. "I thank you," is his heartfelt response to the words. The smile remains as he hears Roziliel's own reply. "I thank you also." Any undercurrents between the two Numenoreans are either not noticed or simply ignored. At Inzilgadin's introduction he nods, though his brows crease in a tiny frown as he murmurs to himself, "In-zilgan ... zil-gadan .. no. In-zil-gad-in," he eventually manages. "I am Barzag," he answers simply. "And I do not know the name of the ..lady." His glance at Roziliel is questioning.

[Roziliel:] The scribe looks surprised by Barzag's last utterance, and she hastens to make the introduction. "I am Roziliel," she states. "I thought that you knew my name, but until this moment I did not, for truth, know yours, Barzag." She laughs softly at this declaration.

[Inzilgadin:] Inzilgadin smiles at the Hillman's efforts. "No, it is not a particularly easy name for...people who have not been to Andunie..to say. You may call me Inzil, if it come easier for you." On Roziliel's surprised comment, he pauses and the only reaction is an arched right eyebrow. He masks whatever internal response he might be having to Roziliel's suggestion, but he turns to her and says, "Mayhap we are all more cautious with who we are than we might be, yet caution is not always ill advised. Your offer is most generous, kind Lady. I have taught, but am only middling in my skills there. Perhaps we might find ourselves in a good position to know when to set these lessons, for I shall also be in the courts of the Princess upon most occasions, at least for now.

[Roziliel:] The sun's warming rays sift through the thin cover of clouds in the apricot sky as patrons and shop owners start to make their way into Summergate Square. Roziliel, not distracted upon her course of thought, ponders Inzilgadin's words a moment; her gaze once again is met with both. "Well...since I am free evenings to meet whenever is necessary, perhaps you should both tell me what evenings you might make time for lessons. I will accommodate whichever evenings you choose."

[Barzag:] "That is ... more easy," Barzag volunteers at Inzilgadin's suggestion of the shortened form for his name. "Inzil ... Rozil-el." Then the Hillman looks once more to the east, where the faint grey on the horizon has long since given way to a rosy glow, paling to gold and then to eggshell blue. "I must go," he announces. "Day is here, and I must work. When do I - will I - come back to this place? I may come on any nights." He gazes at the blue door of the Scripted Page, then back to his new acquaintances, his eagerness to begin the lessons apparent.

[Inzilgadin:] Inzilgadin chuckles behind his hand but covers that by rubbing under his chin. "This evening I must work, but tomorrow will be better for me. Perhaps I might seek you, my lady and we could then meet young Barzag here in the Square. For this first lesson, perhaps I might find some dinner for us, so we can study without interruption."

[Roziliel:] "Tis settled, then," Roziliel says with a grin to the other Numenorean, happy at the setting of a time for the first lesson. "Inzilgadin shall provide dinner? I may surely provide tea and perhaps wine." She looks to the Hillman. "Go then, to your work, Barzag. And worry not over payment for the meantime, at least on my part. Opportunity will present itself soon enough, but I have not need of any help at present."

[Barzag:] 'The evening of tomorrow,' Barzag repeats. 'Yes, it is good. I come then.' But at Roziliel's suggestion that she perhaps does /not/ need help, his smile fades. Twisted lips press tightly together and he says, 'I do not take if I cannot give. I will work - or I work in some other place so that I have coin to give.' Drawing a deep breath, he adds more calmly, 'I thank you both - many thanks. I see you tomorrow.' And with a nod, the Hillman turns and walks across the square, towards the narrow Summer Gate, murmuring to himself, "<Mannish_H> I need no man's pity."

Participants:

BARZAG

At first glance this man appears a normal specimen of the Hill-Folk. He is tall for his kind, perhaps about six feet in height, and his shoulders are slightly hunched in the manner of one who spends much of the time looking downward. His skin is swarthy, weather-beaten from long days spent outdoors, his build rugged. From the man's slightly stooped posture, you deduce that he is used to carrying heavy loads. His feet are encased in crude leather moccasins, worn and scuffed. He wears trousers of some coarse greyish material, although it is hard to tell whether this is the cloth's original colour or the result of fading. Several tears in the material have been painstakingly if inexpertly mended. A mass of unruly dark hair hangs to just above his shoulders, loose strands brushing the top of his tunic; the soft brown cloth must have been of good quality when new, although now there are various marks on it and it is becoming threadbare in places.

Your gaze wanders upwards, towards this man's face - and halts, for therein lies the reason for the distrust and fear he inspires in many. His chin is hidden by a short, dark beard, carefully trimmed. But his upper lip, upon which only a few sparse bristles grow, is cloven in the manner of a beast, and twisted slightly so that his mouth appears to be set in a perpetual sneer. Above this, his nose is long and straight; amber eyes generally regard the observer coolly from beneath lowering black brows. Were it not for the wrongness of his mouth, he might even be considered handsome, but his disfigurement prevents this.

INZILGADIN

A tall man, somewhat slender with long arms and legs. He usually stands apparently easily, even seeming negligent, but that is betrayed simply by observing the wiry muscles.

He prefers to wear tan shirts, slightly bloused and tucked into dark brown trousers, sewn up the sides with leather thongs. The trou are tucked into black leather boots, which have stamped designs on them. Only the toes are unadorned. His trousers are girt with a black leather belt and over the shirt he wears a dark brown vest.

ROZILIEL

Tall and fair of features and complexion, the maiden before you possesses a look of inquisitiveness not easily concealed in her grey-blue eyes, which sparkle as fields of ice touched by rays of the winter sun. Her long hair, lustrous and sable-dark, falls in natural waves to the small of her back, and is most often left unbound.

She wears a gown of dusty blue, of a fine fabric that rustles softly with each step and shimmers faintly in the light. The curved neckline is embroidered in a pattern of intertwining silver and golden leaves, pale and perfect in their ornamentation, so that the only jewelry worn in addition is a small teardrop pearl necklace held by a tiny silver chain. When needed, a dark grey cloak is worn; long and lined with silver satin, it is held in place with an elegant sapphire and silver swan clasp.