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.

Contents:
* Gimilkhad Silmarien, Prince of Adunie
* Coach

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.

[Gimilkhad:] Darkness covers the area like a raven blanket. The moon and stars, blotted out by cloudcover offer no aid. The only light in this square is what little can be provided by a single flickering lantern. Under this lantern, three young, and obviously drunk, men loiter about.

[Barzag:] A lone figure enters the Square, coming from the New Town, although judging by the shabby cloak he wears the fellow is no noble. Shorter than most, he is nevertheless of sturdy build. He crosses the cobbles to pause in front of the Scripted Page, which is closed at this hour, of course, apparently deep in thought.

[Gimilkhad:] The largest of the young men steps in the path of the cloaked man. "You there, vagabond, what are you doing in my city? We don't allow no bums here!"

[Barzag:] The lone man turns to look directly at the one who addressed him. Amber eyes gleam in the lamplight, and twisted lips press tightly together, but the Hillman - for such he is - makes no response to the question, other than a half-shrug as he takes a pace back, ready to leave.

[Gimilkhad:] The ruffian closes in a shakes the shabby man a bit. "I'm talking to you bum, don't you ignore me!" The shaking reveals a bit more of the man's face to the ruffian, "You...you're a bloody Hillman dog! Who let a slave like you out at night?"

[Barzag:] The Hillman's lips part in a half-snarl as the other's hands seize him. "This time is the only time that is my own," he hisses, attempting to twist himself free of the larger man's grip.

[Gimilkhad:] "Your own? You're a filthy Hillman, you have no time of your own! You don't belong here dog!" The ruffian erupts. Unable to contain his ignorant ways, the man takes a drunken swing at the Hillman as he tries to pull away!

Gimilkhad attacks you with his Bare Hands...

...hitting and slightly wounding you!

[Barzag:] The drunkard's sudden relinquishing of his hold takes the Hillman by surprise, and he fails to evade the other man's swing, which connects with the left side of his jaw. The Hillman grunts, but otherwise the only sign that he has been hurt is the flicker of anger in those amber eyes. His own response is tempered by years of conditioning. Rather than return the punch, he reaches forward with his left arm to grasp the back of the other man's jacket, aiming to lock his opponent's right arm.

You attack Gimilkhad with your Bare Hands...

...hitting and slightly wounding him!

[Gimilkhad:] The drunk youth's unbalance actually aids him as Barzag attemps to grapple. Falling back the manswings in a wide backhand for Barzag's right temple!

Gimilkhad attacks you with his Bare Hands...

...hitting and slightly wounding you!

[Barzag:] The larger man's weight proves his advantage, as he manages to stagger back out of the grapple. And once again, the drunkard's fist connects, this time with the right hand side of Barzag's head - he'll have a fine black eye in the morning. Disoriented by the blow, the Hillman nevertheless tries to pin his opponent's dangerous right arm again.

You attack Gimilkhad with your Bare Hands...

...hitting and slightly wounding him!

[Gimilkhad:] The drunkard's face contorts a bit as his arm is twisted. With a pained grunt, the man lurches forward and headbutts Barzag!

Gimilkhad attacks you with his Bare Hands...

...hitting and slightly wounding you!

[Galayle:] As the comotion in the night continues, it has apparently roused the attention of at least one passer by. Turning to see what goes on, his keen vision quickly notes that the hillman would appear to be simply trying to subdue the other. Rushing forward, his blade coming forth as he nears the scene, "Halt there, villian, lest ye feel my blade upon you." E'en as his words come out, he notices the headbutt maneuver. Shaking his head in anger, "Then so be it." Swinging the sword with the flat of the blade aimed for the drunkards elbow, the newcomer enters the combat.

Galayle attacks Gimilkhad with his Longsword and slightly wounds him.

[Gimilkhad:] The newcomer's attack frees up the drunkard, whose friends are now closing in on Barzag to keep him back. Roaring in pain from the elbow smack, the ruffian glares at the man with the longsword. "I'll cleave you in two for not minding your business fool!

Gimilkhad wields a hand-and-a-half sword

[Barzag:] The drunkard's head connects with Barzag's left shoulder, jarring it enough that he must loose his grip on the other man's arm. Preparing for another attempt to subdue the man, he notices the newcomer, sees the glint of steel ... and staggers awkwardly back, towards the heavy wooden door of the Scripted Page, as it happens.

[Galayle:] Galayle shakes his head as the flat of the blade hits and the drunkard shouts his warning. Moving the blade back to a defensive position, the guard stands still, keeping himself lite on his feet lest he be forced to respond again. "You are disturbing the peace, and are ordered to withdraw yourself, sar."

[Gimilkhad:] "Bah, you're not worth the effort or the trouble. Let's go boys." With that the three men depart.

[Finannriel:] From the gate of the New Town, a tall, cloaked, and almost ghostly-looking figure appears against the night's moonless pall. Moving in silent and graceful step, it soon becomes clear that this is the form of a woman, her bearing and the accompanying fragrance of perfume suggesting that she of the class of the gentle-born. The sight of a scuffle and the shouts that volley in the fray cause the woman to look to the men assembled in the square. Her steps slow as her hand grasps the neckline of her cloak; she hesitates there, where she watches in faint alarm.

[Barzag:] Barzag watches the three men leave, shoulders sagging in relief as he leans against the solid wood of the door - it would have been a bad place to be cornered. He hesitates in the shadows, reluctant to make another move until he sees what the remaining swordsman will do. With all of his attention on the man, he does not even notice the woman's arrival as yet.

[Galayle:] As the men depart the area, the guard turns around, his eyes scanning for others that would like to get a taste of his blade. Then, slowly, very slowly, he lowers the tip of the blade and finally places it back in its home. Nodding to the woman first, and then the man that had been assaulted, "Looks all safe now, good people."

[Finannriel:] Seeing the threat of the brigands has passed, the cloaked woman ventures closer to the two men, looking over her shoulder towards the way the thugs have escaped. She looks out of place here, the rich silk of her dress shining as it catches the faintest glimmer of illumination from far-away lamplight.

[Barzag:] At the guardsman's reaction, Barzag does notice the woman, and his left eyebrow draws down in a frown as he gazes at her. He peers more closely, perhaps trying to distinguish her features. Then he returns his attention to the one whose timely aid has prevented him from being badly beaten. He surveys the man warily, squinting slightly, for his right eye is already starting to pain him. "I .. thank you," he manages at last, voice slightly hoarse. Carefully, he steps forward out of the doorway and into the faint light cast by the lamp.

[Finannriel:] The woman's winces as Barzag steps from shadows of the doorframe and she sees the reddening marks of the thug's blows. "What happened here?" she asks, moving forward without caution now. Reaching into a jeweled satin pouch, she removes a perfectly-folded handkerchief with embroidered edges and holds it forward to the Hillman; its scent, of the same perfume she wears, is noticeable. "Is there water about? A fountain surely. Dampen this and put it upon your bruises."

[Barzag:] Barzag's nose twitches as the scent of the perfumed handkerchief reaches him. He starts to shake his head, winces and holds out a hand instead. "I thank you, but it is not needed," he replies in accented yet perfectly understandable Adunaic, his voice deep yet somehow slightly nasal. "The hits will heal. And," he pauses, again giving that half-frown, "I do not think the other and his friends like .. difference." His lips press together stoically, even as he adds carefully, "You do not need to worry."

[Finannriel:] If the woman's gaze shifts to disapproval, it is not because the Hillman refuses the handkerchief, but because of the other words he speaks. "Who were they? Did you recognize them?" she asks in a terse tone as she slips the delicate handkerchief back into the silk purse. "They should not have gotten away. These streets here are usually safe...I shall bring the matter up with the Guild." A wan smile crosses the woman's face now. "It is not only bad for Umbar's citizens. It is bad for business." Her brow lifts. "Are you certain you are alright?"

[Barzag:] Barzag looks to the young woman, still hesitant in his reply. "I do not know," he tells her at last. "They were young, they drink ... did drink - it is of no matter." His voice turns pleading, as he continues, "Do not ask me to speak of this again ... to those who keep the law. I do not want to be exampled ... an example? No, that is not right. But I do not want to be given attention." There is a hint of agitation in his manner; now he adds more gently, "And yes, I will be well. I thank you for the concern." The right hand corner of his mouth curls up in his version of a smile.

[Finannriel:] The woman looks vaguely confused or concerned as Barzag seems to be agitated by her questions. Ever-calm herself, she does not look in the least ruffled, her dignity held aloft as her growing, comforting smile. "You need speak to no one. I shall address the Guild. It is for my own benefit as well as yours. Do see that you place cool compresses upon your wounds?" She offers the Hillman a smile and a graceful nod of her head. "I must make my way home now," she says with another glance about the square. "Good evening, then. Travel carefully." And then with a swirl of her cloak, and the scent of perfume, Finannriel retraces her steps towards the gates.

[Barzag:] Barzag on the other hand, turns southwards, towards Star Street. It will be a long walk for him back to the city's southwest quarter. Once Finannriel is out of sight, he gingerly raises a hand to his jaw, then with a determination in his face and a half-shrug of one shoulder, he continues on his way.

Participants:

GIMILKHAD

Playing trio of drunkards; not desced

BARZAG

For many, their first impression of Barzag is of a person of little importance in the world. His swarthy skin proclaims him a foreigner to Umbar, one of the race of Men known as Hillmen. At about six feet in height, he is taller than most of his kind, and this is complemented by a strong build; his well-muscled frame and calloused hands show that he is no stranger to hard work. Indeed, his shoulders are slightly stooped as if from carrying heavy loads. A mass of dark hair hangs to just above shoulder level, shadowing his face, and he wears a short beard, usually kept neatly trimmed. It cannot, however, hide this man's main distinguishing feature - a malformed lip, cloven and twisted so that his mouth appears to be set in a perpetual sneer. Above this, his features are evenly balanced - a long, straight nose, and a pair of amber eyes set beneath dark brows, bitterness all too often visible within their depths.

His clothes are scruffy, nondescript: trousers of some dark material, fading in many places, and a tunic of brown cloth that was obviously of good quality when new but is now worn and threadbare. The sharp-eyed might notice some sort of mark on his upper right arm, half-hidden by the short sleeve of his tunic. On his feet are a pair of scuffed leather moccasins. And he has one more item of clothing - clearly a valued possession. A grey woolen cloak, old but still serviceable, protects his form in inclement weather, and is carried rolled up and slung across the back at other times.

AALDAIN

Playing Galayle; not desced.

FINANNRIEL

Soft gray eyes like morning mist gaze out from the flawless features of a face well defined with high cheekbones, a narrow, delicate nose and full, rose-colored lips. Her long hair is a crown of glory, tumbling in rich cascades of darkest auburn which, when blessed by the sun's light, shimmer a fiery sheen of red. It flows free to her waist, and is never restricted from breath of wind or seaward breeze, except for two emerald and gold hairpins set carefully in place.

Aristocratic is her style, or at least could be presumed from what she wears. Nothing less than silk for this lady, and in colors that rival the richness of gems. A gown of deepest emerald is worn this day. Fitted tightly of its bodice, the rounded neck cut low is edged with delicate tucks of lace the color and irridescence of seashells. More lace is gathered in a narrow edging upon the wrists. The full skirt barely skims the ground as she walks, with a whisper of silk and the perfume of flowers left in her wake.