An Evening in the Tavern....

The Sleeping Echo Inn

A dark oak door opens inward, and as you step inside, the smell of food and drink assails you. To the right as you enter, near the far wall, is a stairway leading to the upper floor where the common room and private room are; wide steps of dark wood, polished by the many feet that tread them. A bannister of the same dark wood, spindles carved as tree trunks, spreading at the top to join the rail.

At the far end of the room, near the kitchen, is a wide bar and behind it kegs with spigots full of the rich dark ale for which this house is known. Wooden tables sit about the room, glass windows near the door, chairs pushed under or still pushed back where someone rose to leave. Along the south wall, a fireplace with a wide hearth, tall and wide the firebox, so that travelers may warm themselves at need.

The windows rattle, and a incredibly loud whistling can be heard from outside, as a powerful wind hammers the building. Sprinkles of white snow can be seen on the outside of the glass window, melting quickly.

Though the lunch crowd has thinned out, the Inn still seems to be doing a brisk business. The weather alone perhaps is enough to explain it, frigid blasts of air, swirling with snow entering everytime the doors are opened. Yet, despite the gloomy day, the atmosphere seems more festive inside. Voices are raised here and there above the general din in good natured jesting, or intoxicated revelry. Brahm seems noticably delighted at the business he is doing this afternoon, jesting with the guests himself, at any opportunity.

Occupying a small table near the bar, a young woman sits, a glass of spiced wine on the oak before her. The remains of her afternoon meal still remain, pushed to the side and waiting for Brahm to find the time to retrieve it. Failindris watches the crowd quietly, though a faint smile is on her lips, the crowds jovial mood infecting her as well.

A elderly patron seated at the bar not far from her, and obviously a few cups too far into his revelry, remarks loudly, "Give me a pointed willow stick and one arm free and I could still take you, Adranar!" and looking at Fail, he winks, "Isn't that right, Fail, dear?"

"Whatever you say, Kal," she laughs, winking back playfully, before returning to survey the crowd.

The goatskin bound to the feet of the man padding towards the Inn act as a slight herlad to his approach. His hood cast back and hat off, allowing long golden hair to fall about his shoulders. The lack of helm hat or fastened hood is no sign of the rest of the man. A long green coat hangs low, past his knees and upon his back flecks of the snow cling, to his beard, in his hair and his eyebrows are all frosted. As the figure comes, he lets a low tune rise from his throat, sombre in pitching, yet lively in delivery.

Many may have missed the padding of feet, but none missed the loud creak of the oaken door as it lurches open and the figure enters. Mistimed to perfection - a gust of wind invitng, and indeed ushering a drift and a half of snow to enter with the lad - as well as a draught of bitterly cold air, which courses through the room, finger at the warm folk.

Without delay the lad turns, cursing to himself and sets the door firmly shut. He chuckles and looks up, "Forgive me folks, it seems the wind wants to join your fun.". Looking to the bar he calls out for a porter, even afore he has begun to undo his coat and scarf.

Returning her attention to the crowd in time to see the door burst open, accompanied by both an especially heavy gust of wind, and one whom she reckognizes. A soft chuckle escapes her at the sight, and she quickly reaches for her glass, perhaps to hide behind. The old man, Kal, calls out, "The wind is not invited, and knows it well enough." Failindris casts a disparaging look over her shoulder, recieving yet another wink from the elderly man. Shaking her head, a fresh chuckle escaping her, she turns then to the newcomer.

The scouts face is blushed from the cold and his folly. He takes his ale from the barkeep with a smile and he nods his head to the old man. "I know, I didn't invite it to gnawe at my bones either on my way, but I've ice in my bones in the stead of marrow." He chuckles and lifts the mug to his mouth and takes a long draught as he strides towards the table. He wipes his mouth of the wreath of foam and smiles at Failindris. "Hello there. I'd gladly sit, if you can bare the chattering of my teeth. He drops to the chair and shrugs his coat from his shoulder to reveal a ragged woolen cardigan and his tunic, which has become even more threadbare than of old, with a patch of red upon the side. He lifts his ale once more and drinks a small amount. A wide smile of content grows upon his face as he levels his gaze at the lady. "Well met M'lady. How have you been?"

Failindris raises her glass in greeting to the scout, then drains off the last of it. Setting it down with a satisfied thud, she says, "I am well, thank you." Looking curiously over the man's garb, a grin springing freshly to her face, she adds, "It seems we have met in only the nick of time." She indicates his clothing with a nod of her head, and can't contain a chuckle. Brahm arrives even then, taking up her dirty dish and empty glass. "Shall I fill her up, lady?" he says, holding the drained glass out as if for inspection. "Thank you, yes," she replies, offering him a friendly smile and a nod. Then turning back to Baradil she says in feigned reprimand, "Really, Bara, you should have sought me out. I have your garments ready, but you are impossible to locate."

The scout smiles and shrugs, yet his blushing face does not fade. He wraps his arms about himself as if to ward off cold, or mayhap the scrutiny of the weaver. "I bet you didn't even check the Inn once, for it would have been a short search." He chuckles softly and smiles. "I am in no rush, I've my winter woolen on." He pulls a rather happles woolen cardigan up to show. "Knitted by my own self this." He smiles and lets it drop under the table. "You made the cloth? That was kind indeed, for the poor bow tutorledge I've tended you. Indeed you've not even seen me to be reminded of my want."

Failindris looks upon the cardigan, her eyes growing slightly larger than normal. "Well, it is...it's very nice, I suppose. That is to say, functional," and with that she laughs again. "As for the bow, well, I hold you still to your bargain, as time allows. My need is lessened somewhat by my brother, as he has begun to instruct me in swordsmanship." She says this non-challantly, but it is obvious by the look in her eye that she is quite proud of herself. Looking the scout in the eye, she is silent for but a moment, as if trying to read his reaction, then she continues, "As for the cloth, Ihave done you one better. I have cloth for mending as you asked, but I also have a several pieces already assembled. A pair of tunics and leggings, though they won't be 'tailor-fit', as they say. I found a guard in stature similar to you, and had them fitted to him. They should serve well enough, however."

The scout smiles and nods his head, the gratitude on his face is obvious. "You made them up? Well that was a kindness I could never have hoped for. I think it is best however that you cloth is not left to my needele for I'd not do it justice." He chuckles and drinks again from his mug. "Where did you find a poor chap set like me? I thought the guards would be better fed." He grins an chuckles. A soft glance he offer the mug of ale then, he turns back to Failindris. "Thank you, I'll not know what to do with myself. Warm dry and sightly, none will knot it is I." He grins and scratches his beard. "I hope this does not mean that I have to shave and look like a reasonable sort. A shave and bathe every day, I'll need to join the guard with such feminine habits." He chuckles softly

As Baradil speaks, Brahm returns, setting a fresh glass of wine before Failindris. With a brief nod and a smile, he heads off to attend other pressing matters. Looking about, Failindris seems relieved that there are no guards near enough to have overheard the scouts comment, though there are a few about the place. Taking up the glass, Failindris eyes the scout over the rim, a smile in her eyes. "I like the beard," she says quietly, before sipping from the cup. "And besides, you have not seen them yet. I have less skill as a seamstress than many, and my thought was more to function than form. AS to batheing," she pauses, setting her glass back down, "you may take your own counsel in that."

The man smirks and nods his head. He whispers jokingly, as he drains his ale. "Well I do bathe as it goes, but do not say so, it goes against the grain of a scout. Surely I've not made your nose turn afore." He chuckles and leans back in his chair. He scratches his beard and nods. "It is me I beleive, and without it I would feel a little bit bare now, for it has clung to my chin for a good few years now. Besides it hides a great deal thats is better hidden." He grins and stands waving his mug towards Brahm with a smile. The barkeep nods and begins to plod back towards the table. Baradil, still standing chuckles. "Sorry I was miles away, should have saved your legs when you brought the ladies wine." The barkeep chuckles and mutters something in agreement.

Failindris raises and eyebrow at the scouts remark. "You speak low of yourself, friend. You are a handsome man, beneath that beard, I'm sure." She looks for a moment at her glass, considering something it seems. Her lips are still curved in a smile, but her eyes seem far away. Looking up, though keeping her eyes slightly averted, a blush touches her cheeks. "So," she begins, slowly, as if trying to change the subject, "have you been out in search of these villians I hear so much about?"

The scout shuffles in his chair and coughs slightly, yet as Brahm comes he takes the ale gladdly and draws a great draught from the mug. With a long sigh he swipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks at Failindris once more. He speaks slowly and nods his head. "I've been out the whole while. And I tell you, I am stretched to try and even se4e a footprint, this cursed whether could cover the charge of a rampant cos though, so I am not aided much. I'll find them though, rest assured." His voice rings with surity rather than haughty bravado. "I hope you arent taking the road to your house alone. I know that they have een in that region and I would worry to think of you in peril."

Failindris raises her hand dismissively. "I am staying here with Ela and Lindis for the time being. I am safe enough, I deem, though I thank you for your concern." She offers a tentative smile, though the blush invading her cheeks has yet to retreat. After a few moments, she grins more authentically, "I have had too much wine, I think." she says rather softly, in explanation. And yet, she raises her glass again, drinking deeply, as if she heard not her own words. "Ela says that someone within the House may be feeding the bandits information. Indeed, a maiden was accosted in the night a few nights ago, within the very walls. I wish that I could be of some help myself, though I fear I would be more a hindrance."

The scout chuckles and his face again takes on a blushed hue. The soft smile of the scout ceases not even as he speaks. "Ahh well, you speak well enough for the wine, so fear not." He nods his head as she continues, and his face wrinkles and turns in disquiet. "Ahh this is news to me" the scout begins, the tone of his voice changed and hard. "Please speak some more on this friend, I've been somedays from town, and news has not come to my ear yet." His frown deepens and he drinks his ale. "And I'd say again, take care of yourself when abroad, for if they are low enough to prey upon a lady, they are foul indeed."

Failindris shrugs, looking off into space as she composes her thoughts. "I know very little about it," she begins, leaning into the table, her voice low. "It seems that a man, hooded, or somehow disguised, was discovered about Galdor's house of a night. He accosted the woman at bow point, as she was up to relatch a shutter that had come free." Failindris leans even closer to the scout, her voice dropping to a bare whisper. "It seems he took certain liberties with her. Nothing too forward, but a kiss he gave her. This right before making his escape through that same window." She shuddered as she spoke this last. "The woman, Hiriel is her name, was quite upset. Understandably so."

The scout mouth a silent sound of exclamation and shakes his head. "Foul tidings indeed. Well I'll not spare my hand on the fellows if I catch up with them. It explains her mood earlier, and the mood of her fellow." He sighs and shakes his head, he lifts his gaze to Failindris and his frown deepens. "You must be careful." He sighs once more, and lifts his mug and places it back upon the table. "Where are you going this evening? I will walk you there, I know your brother wouldn't be happy to see you sitting alone. Or will he meet you?" He smiles and chuckles. "Forgive me to question so... I just wish to wensure you are not harmed.." He smiles and shuffles in his chair.

Sitting back in her chair, Failindris sighs. "I have no duties today, it seems. It helps my restlessness little." She considers for a moment, then adds, "I almost would welcome such an encounter as Hiriels. It would, at least, be something to take action against. The beast would not get off so easily with me, perhaps." She sighs again, a distant look in her eye. Picking up her glass, she finishes off the last of her wine. "I would appreciate your company, though, if you cared to walk me back to Hador's House. I should check on my horse, and see that he is stabled comfortably. And, I have your material there, in my quarters."

The scout nods his head and smiles. "I shall go thither with you, yet I'll have another ale first unless your are pressed, for I've been out for a good few hours and am not yet fully thawed." He chuckles and stands, ready to go towards Brahm. "Another wine M'lady? Or have you had your fill? You have yet to burst into song as you warned of afore time, so I'll feel cheated if this does not come." He grins and pauses for an answer.

Usual sets, for a bar that is. Or more accurately, a tavern. Conversations are being carried about within differing groups of men and women at tables and the counter. Most of the occupants of the tavern in groups. When the door of the inn opens a young man steps into the room, looking casually around. For a while he stands in the middle of the room, his eyes narrowing and trying to focus the bar. Once discovered, he walks slowly towards it and looks around, as if searching for anyone, but obviously he does not find whomever he is searching for and shrugs. Lifting his right hand, he drops the hood of the cloak, a brown one long ago turned grey with the powder of the road and the life outside.

The door bangs open again, is hurled back against the wall by a blast of wind before Halwin - for the sandy-haired figure standing there is unmistakably the tanner - can shut it. He gives an apologetic shrug to those nearest the door, then pulls it shut and leans his back against it as he dusts off snow. Like the other man, Halwin too glances round, but his reaction is rather different - a smile and a wave as he catches sight of the familiar figure of Baradil. He starts to thread his way through the tables towards the scout and his companion.

Considering for a moment only, Failindris smiles and nods. "One more will do no harm. Though do not expect a song." She raises her empty glass, to catch Brahm's attention, yet her gaze is drawn to the opening door and the accompanying blasts of cold air. "Everyone is coming in from the cold, it seems. Brahm's may be a wealthy man after today." And seeing the reckognition in the eye of the second man, she nods her head slightly in his direction, indicating to Baradil to look.

The scout turns to cast his eye on the newcome man, and the scouts gaze hangs there a moment, yet the face of the tall scout does not change in expression. It is when cold touches his face once more and Failindris nods to the newcomer that the gaze of the scout finally leaves the other, yet slowly he turns to face the coming Halwin. "Well met friend. How are you? I saw you on your way out this morning, I saw Hiriel too." he frowns and speaks softly. "Is all well, I heard of her misfortune." the grave voice of the scout is soften perhaps by a kindly glance and a hand held out in welcome. "A drink friend, I am just bound for the bar now."

"Middle September and it already snows! What a weather do we have!", the man shouts, while shakes his shoulders just to cast some white shadows which cover them and removes a couple of very old gloves -but not the cloak. "An ale!" he shouts again, and once he grabs it, turns to the room and leans the back on the bar. A keen glance jumps from a table to other until it halts on one near his own place, a man and a woman seated on, another man, newly arrived, seems to join them. Grinning he moves towards them. "Well met, friends! Mind if I join you? The tavern is rather filled.."

"Good afternoon, Baradil - if weather like this can be called good." Halwin's amiable features twist in a brief grimace as he gazes out at the falling flakes of snow. "Not good for the remainder of the wheat harvest, that's for sure." At the offer of a drink he hesitates a moment, then nods. "Thank you for the offer, friend - may I join you?" He glances at Failindris then, his expression a puzzled frown, and admits awkwardly, "I'm afraid I don't know the lass here." He does not reply to the question about Hiriel, perhaps because at that moment the stranger speaks. Halwin's response is a nod of greeting, but he looks to the two /he/ has interrupted to make answer.

Failindris nods in greeting to Baradil's friend, but before she can speak, her attention is taking by the man shouting near at hand. She looks about at him, her face showing a touch of amusement. But as he requests to join them, she turns her gaze questioningly to the scout seated across from her. Still smiling, she turns back to the other, indicating a vacant seat with a nod of her head. "If it is alright with you," she says, looking back at Bara, the amused look still upon her.

The scout raises his voice, and turns his gaze back to the other. "Join us surely. What will you drink man?" He stands forward heading to the bar and to the wandered there leaned. Yet the scout draws himself fully standing, and looks towards the other with a face more sour than sweet. "Ale did you say? Ahh well, the question is, do you wish a winter ale or a summer ale friend. The winter brew is heavy and liable to loosen the tongue." He holds a hand out as a grin snaps on his face. "my name is Baradil friend, I'm a fletcher. If you need an arrow, tell me." He smiles and catches Brahms eye, an ale and a wine and fetch the tanner and the stranger what they will as well."

The man glances upon the pretty lady and offers her his best smile. "If m'lady has nothing against, of course. I have already my ale, a winter ale, friend" he fingers his goblet. "And Morlin is my name". A little bow of his head. "No, I think I will not need your skills tonight, or so I hope." He moves closer to the table and motions the empty chair. "May I? Sure I will not disturb you?" But he seats on without to wait for the reply. "It is really an odd evening, friend, I agree with you" he addresses now to Halwin.

"Ah, ale, Brahm," Halwin supplies belatedly. Then chuckles. "Just the plain old summer variety. I'd rather keep my wits about me, if it's all the same to you. Got few enough of them to start with. Good to meet you, Morlin. I'm Halwin, the tanner - or I will be, once I've got my workshop up and running." He nods to the stranger, gives a polite smile to Failindris, waiting for her to declare her name in turn. But in the meanwhile he lowers his voice, addresses Baradil quietly enough that the others hopefully do not hear much. "You saw Hiriel, you say? How was the lass? She seemed ... well, not best pleased with myself or the smith. I don't know why." He gives a helpless shrug and a shake of the head.

"Well met, Morlin," says the lady, indicating the empty seat again. "I am Failindris. Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," and she offers a tentative hand to the stranger. And turning again to face the tanner, she smiles kindly, "Good afternoon." She seems abit flustered at the sudden swelling of their numbers, and falls silent then, patiently awaiting her drink. Yet she watches curiously as the tanner and the scout exchange whispered comments, trying, perhaps to catch a word or two above the din. Yet, if she does, her contenance gives no indication.

The scout comes back to Halwins side and turns his back to Morlin. He mutters soflty to Halwin alone and pats him on the shoulder, as if to welcome him. He turns upon his heal and back to Failindris and grins. "It seems we are a little more merry than our fellows, let us get them to match our own mood." He slumps into his seat, taking his coat to sit at the side of Failindris, facing the newcome Morlin. "So what is it you do friend. Why with a cloak like that I'd not be suprised at anything in the open." He grins and shakes his head. "I mean no harm, why look at my own tunic if you think I speak in mockery." The scout pulls a ragged carigan back to reveal a grey tunic patched with red cloth, and other parts were threadbare without mending."

"A tanner, yes? And tell me, is it yours a good work, worthwhile? I always thought that such jobs -tanner, smith- are really hard and not too good paid." He shrugs and puts his elbows on the table, the goblet still in his right hand, but motions with the chin to Fail's. "No drink, m'lady? Should I order whatever for you? Ah, the archer did already, sorry." Turns to Baradil "I am but a merchant, you know. Always living outside, always travelling... Ah, not too many times I have the chance to join a good hearth and a good company to deal with. Unfortunately for me of course. So, if you are an archer, why do you..?" His eyes narrow, examining the scout.

Halwin turns his head at Baradil's whisper, and starts to respond -then shakes his head. "Some other time."
He stiffens at Morlin's words, mutters, "Money isn't everything." He forces a smile and adds calmly, "I get by." The stranger's assumption that fletcher equals archer is met with a blink - though in this case, it's true enough. But like Failindris earlier, he falls silent, letting the other two get on with their verbal fencing match.

Failindris eyes the merchant as he scrutinizes Baradil, a touch of suspicion in her eye. The moment is broken though as Brahm arrives with their order. Taking the wine, with an appreciative smile to the barkeep, she sips gingerly at the scarlet liquid. "And what type of goods do you deal in?" she asks Morlin over the rim of her glass, attempting to change the subject, perhaps.

The scout looks to Morlim and smiles, shaking his head softly. "Archer, nay I'm more a vagabond and a fisherman. I fish where I live, near the fords, and make arrows for selling, though I've no real skill with a bow." he lifts his ale and swigs from it deeply, his brow furrows in anger. "I'm sick to my back teeth mind. These scoundrels with the robberin' it leaves me scared at night." He slams the mug down upon the table hard, yet it sends the vessel over on its side, emptying towards Morlin. He jumps to his feet. "Damn and blast, sorry friend, let me wipe that for you. " He jogs to the bar and then towards the 'merchant brandishing a cloth, stooping as he approaches the other."

"Well, money is not everything but helps a lot" Morlin chuckles. "Just try to life without it and you will see, tanner, how hard things turn to you. I am a sheep merchant m'lady. You can guess easily that my life use to be quite lonely." He explains, but when Baradil speaks, he caught his attention. "Yes... I have heard of some robberies and some merchants attacked.. Tell me, do you have any new? Have the guards any hint of their den? I have heard as well that the house of the lord was attacked?"

Halwin doesn't answer the merchant this time, other than with a slight shrug. Baradil's mishap is met with a chuckle, quickly turned into a cough, and to cover the scout's absence, Halwin turns to Failindris and wonders, "And what about you, lass? What do you do for a living? A trader, like the wine merchant I met the other night ... ah, what was her name? The short woman." He can't help smiling as he adds, "Begging your pardon, but you don't look like a handmaiden, somehow."

Failindris jumps slightly at the scouts outburst, raising her eyebrows in surprise. Yet she cannot contain a quick chuckle at his subsequent mishap, though she tries quickly to hide it behind her glass. This proves to be in vain, however, as she begins to giggle uncontrolably. "Forgive me," she manages to say, "the wine has gone to my head." After a few moments, she seems to have regained some control. "I am a weaver," she says, chuckles still punctuating her speech. Waving her hand, and bowing her head, she clears her throat and apparently tries to think serious thoughts. "I am a weaver," she says again, this time without laughing. And she sips again from her glass, still fighting back giggles, as her eyes begin to water.

"Hey, be careful you stupid!" Morlin starts to say when the cursed beer falls on him, casting an angered glance upon Baradil, all the courtesy vanishing from his voice, while he jumps to his feet in order to dodge the liquid. A glint of steal half hidden by the cloak appear for a brief moment. As if realising what -and how- he spoke, the man clears his throat, disgusted "I meant, of course, erm, such things happen every now and then.. friend.." He tries to manage a wry smile. "Weaver did you say, m'lady? We could work some business along.."

The scout comes plodding back towards morlin, his stride laboured as if heavy with drink and his arms lolling slightly. "Here let me wipe you friend. Your quite right I was a proper fool." He comes towards the other, holding the cloth out towards the other, yet he aims to wipe at the mans cloaked side. "Sorry friend, sorry. Don't beat me friend, you'd be in your rights surely, but I'm just a stupid lad." The voice of the man is ragged with fear and his eyes wide as he sways slightly on the spot with a cloth out afore him, almost as a shield and a sign of piece, aptly the cloth is white, or rather a soiled kind of white. "Sorry, sorry." he calls again his voice quiet and shamed. the scout seems to quail afore the other.

At Failindris' outburst of giggles, the corners of Halwin's mouth begin to twitch. The amusement fades, however, as Morlin shouts, to be replaced by a cold stare. But if the glint of steel is noticed, it is likely not thought on much, for most wise folk go armed these days. The empty ring on Halwin's belt where his small axe used to hang is all too obvious, by contrast. Baradil's reappearance and oddly pacific response is met with a frown - then a snort. "I see I'm falling behind you all," the tanner mutters with a wink at the scout, swilling his own mug of ale in his hands. Indeed, Halwin has hardly taken a drop. Now he gulps down a few mouthfuls as if it were a medicine.

At Morlin's outburst, and, perhaps the glint of steel, Failindris' laughter dies abruptly. Several patrons, in fact, fall silent, their eyes going to those at the table. The old man, Kal, at the bar turns on his stool to watch in quiet interest. But seeing that all is perhaps well, they turn, one by one back to their own conversations. Failindris watches Baradil curiously, a look of concern flushing her face. "You're not stupid, Bara," she says indignantly. "And hardly a lad," she adds, more quietly, her eyes locking on Baradils for a moment. Adressing the merchant, she says a touch less friendly, "Perhaps we could do business, if your prices are right."

"Stop!" Morlin shouts. "You do not need to worry, /really/." He emphasises the last word, now very disguised with Baradil's work, and trying to avoid his hands. "Just let the cloak dry alone, it is quite soiled as you very well said before." The man tries to hide a grunt, but a couple of cold eyes pierce the scout. "Really...friend, it does not worth the effort, the cloak will dry with the heat of the room, trust me, and... I apologize for my harsh words, Baradil -that was the name, right?-. I am too quick to anger, I fear, and not too... used to a civilised life. M'lady, it will be my pleasure to deal with you. Perhaps we could appoint a meeting... tomorrow?"

Baradil backs away a pace and he rises somewhat with a soft smile. "So be it master, and thank you for being so kind. Not so many would tolerate such a fool. I'm no for slacks whits amongst my kin." He chuckles and places the cloth on the table, mopping the last of the beer not yet run to the floor. He steps back to his seat and drops down and turns to Failindris and smiles. "Thank you Miss, but your kindness is more than the likes of me deserves. He smirks softly and looks to Halwin. "So friend, what kind of day have you had?" he wheels distractedly back to Morlin. "Do sit friend, if you can stomach me any longer."

Halwin raises an eyebrow. "What sort of a day? A long and cold one," he says, nodding towards the window outside, where the occasional flurry of snow can still be seen in the gathering dusk. "And a frustrating one, I seemed to get nothing done. Didn't manage to see the smith, what with ... things, didn't manage to see young Belnar either, he was out on patrol." He gives a shamefaced smile and adds, "In fact, I was wondering about heading out again now, seeing if I had better luck, for I fear I'm poor company this day. Can I get you a drink before I go? Or anyone else for that matter?" He looks round questioningly, frowning slightly as his gaze passes Morlin.

Failindris sits quietly for a moment, considering Morlin's offer. "Very well. Tommorrow shall do nicely. WHere are you staying?" She raises a hand, palm outward to Halwin. "I have had my fill, I think," she says, smiling warmly at the tanner. Indeed her eyes do seem a bit glassy. Then leaning ackwardly, her elbow on the table to seemingly to support her head, she truns her gaze back to the wool merchant, awaiting his response.

"It is alright, Baradil, friend, worry not more." But despite his words, Morlin's forehead keeps a frown. "You did not reply to my question, by the way, with all the mess of the beer... the question regarding the bandits." Shrugging and speaking in a casual tone of voice, who knows if too casual even, the frown vanishes as he grins. "Really I would need to have some news... just I feel myself trapped here, waiting for the guards catching them to leave the town and ahead northwards... I did set my tent outside the city, m'lady." He motions absently to nowhere.

The scout frowns and shakes his head. "No more drink for me Halwin. My head will ache enough tommorow as it is. I cannot take my ale." He stands and staggers. "I fear my wits are gone, I must be off home. Will you come now Failindris or do you wish to stay a while longer?" He staggers again and nearly topples, bu t grabs the back of a chair to steady himself. He pulls his coat onto his shoulder with a very great effort and wraps his scarf thrice round his nexk at what might seems a restrictive tension. With a gasp and a gargled chuckle he loosens it. Once more he speaks. "Fare well friends." He turns back to Failindris once more even as he begins to pld to the door. "M'lady?"

Halwin shakes his head at Morlin's question. "News? You know as much as I - more, likely. Seems I'm always the last to hear gossip round here." He scowls, then adds to Baradil, "I'll head out too, then. Goodnight, Morlin - safe journey, since you seem eager to travel. Goodnight, ma'am." He nods to Failindris, darts past Baradil and is on his way, holding the door open a moment for the scout.

"Good night, Halwin," the lady says, "It was a pleasure to meet you." Looking then at the scout as he stumbles about, she smiles. "Perhaps I should walk -you- home," she laughs, though a hint of concern haunts her eyes yet, as she looks upon the scout. "You go, I'll be along shortly, and I have not far to go." And looking about for Brahm, she adds, "I need to settle my tab anyway."

"For sure I could escort the lady if she agrees." Morlin hurries to say. "And if she does not mind to walk beside a man with a soiled cloak as me, smelling to beer even." He smirks at Halwin's words. "Eager? Yes. Able? Not for now, at least until the bandits be captured and sent to the dungeons. He searches for a comfortable position in his chair while nods to both men, Baradil and Halwin. "It was nice to meet you, friends, have a good night.."

The scout smiles and nods his head. "Thanks for a lovely evening M'lady." The scout rocks into the door and knocks it open. "Enjoy the rest of it." blinking into the cold of the evening he step out into the flaking of snow, and closes the door firmly.

Noticing that there remains half a glass of wine before her, Failindris smiles to herself. Carefully retrieving it, she drains the glass in one long draught. With a contented sigh, she sets the glass back on the table. "No need, no need. As I say, it is not far, and the guards are out in double shifts of late." Wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, she falls silent, as if forgetting what she was about to say. Staring into the bottom of her glass, rememberance dawns on her face. "Where did you say you were staying exactly?" Her speech is beggining to show the slightest touch of slurring.

"Ah, the guards... I understand, m'lady. Aye, I saw a good bunch of them around the city, both, guards and scouts. They seem to be very busy, especially after the incident in the manor." Grabbing his own ale, he takes a very long drink. "I did not say, m'lady... really I am not used to the places around Hadorsford. How could I explain you? Somewhere out from here, towards the mountains. But if you want to visit my humble place, you are more than welcome to do it, delighted I will show you the way.." there is a glint into his very black eyes.

Failindris seems more interested in the bottom of her empty glass, than things taking place about her. SHe continues to stare into its depths for a moment, before chuckling. "Ah, well, " she says, looking up at Morlin, "I think I am in no condition to barter at the moment. But, perhaps we should at least walk to the gates, and you can point me in the proper direction." Without waiting for a resonse, she hails Brahm. "How much do I owe you, friend?"
Brahm regards the lady for a moment, and the man seated with her, before waving his hand dismissively. "Pay me on the morrow, miss," he says, turning back to his work.

The man looks sidelong at the lady, now his eyes gleaming as he bends his body closer to the weaver. "I am but an honest merchant, m'lady, and never would dare to deceive you" he whispers to her ears. His right hand swirls to his pocket and drops some coins on the table while he raises to his feet, pushing back the chair. "My pleasure to invite you, m'lady. Should we walk now?" Morlin wraps on the cloak and wears his gloves, very slowly, but his eyes do not leave the face of Failindris nor a moment.

If the man's behaviour concerns her, Failindris does not show it, though she seems unable to hold his gaze for more than a moment. "I do need some fresh air. It's warm in here," she says, rising unsteadily from her seat. Using the table to steady herself, she looks about for her own cloak, confused by it's apparent abscence. Then, noticing it draped upon the back of her chair, she grabs it, clumsily about her. The color seems to have flushed from her face and her eyes have taken on a decidedly glassy appearance. "Leaving, Fail?" asks the old man at the bar, a look of concern on his elderly face. She forces a smile in his direction, "Good night, Kal," she slurs, "keep out of trouble." Kal looks at the merchant for a moment, before replying, "I say the same to you, missy." Turning to Morlin, Failindris nods to the door, "Lead on."

Pulling open the oak door, you leave the aromatic ale house and step outside.

Marach's Way

A cobbled path leads from the marketplace to the west, soon turning to hard packed dirt as it wends between the buildings here. Houses line it, small cottages set in barren lots. The dusty paths to their doors well worn, and further on, the workshops where wool is dyed and loomed. The sound of activity is seldom quiet here.

Amassed in the sky are harrowing clusters of shadowy clouds. Fluttering snow begins to fall, lightly dusting the land.

The cold wind carrying the snow tempest beats the face of those who dare to wander the city so late in the night. Soon both, man and woman, left Hadorsford on their back, although they still can see the roofs of the marachian's houses. The cloaks move harshly around their bodies as they walk, and removes Morlin's hood, but little attention does he pay to it. "Do you have family here I wonder? A husband, for example?".

The brisk air seems to be helping Failindris. The color, at least has returned to her face and she seems, thanks to the alcohol, unaffected by the cold. Her steps are, however, still somewhat faltering. "Family? Yes, my brother and his wife are here in Hadorsford. And my father is away south," she says, indicating with a hand somewhere in a general southerly direction. "But a husband, no." She adds then, in a conspirital tone, though there is no one nearby to overhear, "Though there is one who interests me. Frankly, he seems to take no notice of my flirtations, but that is perhaps because I lack skill in such things." She considers her own words for a moment, before shaking her head, "No, he is just too thick headed to notice, I think."

"I see" the man chuckles "Well, sometimes we need to be beaten just to notice what is happening around us. We the men, I meant. This way, m'lady." He points a narrow path that goes southwards. The couple continues the walk for some minutes, but Morlin remains silent, his eyes scanning around continuously, as if watching over. Sometimes his gaze slips towards the lady, up and now, always the odd glint into the eyes. "I think I saw you before, far in the north. But I can be wrong, of course. It was during a festival, in Coronost, if I well remind.."

"Coronost? Yes, that may well be," she says, taking a noticable interest in the conversation. "My brother is often there," She chuckles to herself then, adding, "Well, of course he is. Elagil, he is. Do you know him?" She looks expectantly at the man beside her.

"Sure I know him, m'lady Failindris" Morlin's grin grows wider and nods. Sudden, there is a thunder of hooves punishing the ground, coming from south. Slowly, the sound becomes closer. Then, out of the darkness of the land, some grim riders appear. They pull back the reins of their mounts, and the horses halts raising dust as they come to a stop beside the wanderer, surrounding them. Looking down at them, a rider lets hear a laugh. "I would have betted, Morlin, that you have some in mind" "Yes, but what I had and what I bring, are quite different, Galvir" the man replies, but his voice sounds now with a dark malice. He nods courtly to Failindris but his face is a mock "I do hope you will enjoy your stay in my camp, m'lady"

As the sound of hooves approach, Failindris looks ahead curiously. "That's odd," is all she has time to say before the riders come into view, circling the two of them. Looking briefly at Morlin, the lady's fears are momentarily alaid by the merchants lack of concern. Indeed, she begins to smile. Until Morlin speaks, that is. And even through the alcohol induced fog, realization dawns upon the young woman, her face pailing. She takes a step away from the man, looking about for an opening in the encircling riders. Her look has changed from shock to anger, and, undoubtedly, fear. "You had best not dare this thing, sir." she says, spitting the words at Morlin. "The price will be more than you can bare!"

All Morlin does is turn to the lady, shrugging quietly, while his heavy hand comes down over the head of the maiden. "You will speak when you be asked". He shouts after the hit, grabbing harshly her right arm. Then he turns to the men. "Take her and cover her eyes. Bring the wench to the camp and watch over her day and night. And NOT harm her if you do not want to meet me. I will return to the city right now." He commands plainly, in a grunt. "And you, m'lady, pray the One to be as precious as I think you are for your brother." With that, Morlin throws her towards one of his men.

Though perhaps she tried to take the blow without flinching, she failed miserably. Letting out a huge rush of air, she was nearly knocked from her feet by it. She tries also to shake off his grasp, this too to no avail. She listens as orders are given, eyeing those about her venemously. While her entire contenance speaks of unconcealed anger, even still her eyes begin to water. An unbeckoned tear spilling down one cheek. She stumbles then, as Morlin shoves her toward one of his waiting men, falling to her hands and knees in the dirt. Spitting defiantly upon the boot of the man nearest her, she heaves herself back to her feet. Turning an icy stare toward Morlin, she yet holds her tongue, fearing another blow. At last she says in a low voice, "No sheep, but plenty of wolves, I see."

A black cloth is the last thing that the lady sees before to sink herself in a world of darkness. Some hands, gloved but harsh, grab her and puts on a horse, while some laughs and jokes can be heard on the night. Morlin steps toward Hadorsford once more, resuming his way to the city -now alone. Nor once he turns his head to see what is transpiring on his back, and soon he vanishes among the shadows of the night, humming and old tune.