Pelargir: Hero's Common House - Main Room(#17008RVXahM)

        You stand in one of the oldest structures of Pelargir, filled with architecture of a more graceful, creative time. The entryway of the common hall is circular, and the room's expanse fills your sight with ancient granite and light wood. Four columns of oak wood climb upwards from a grey slate floor to melt into a painted ceiling and support a dark oak balcony. A spiral staircase along the eastern arc of the round wall rises to the balcony, built to curve along with the wall. Spanning the western curl of the room is a long stone bar with a wooden top with angled ends to hug the granite walls. Antiquated tables dot the room and arranged around a large hearth cut into the southern arc of the room are several couches and plump pillows.

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Weather:            Cloudy
Time:                Mid Afternoon <about 3 PM >
Season:              Winter
Date:               Sterday - February 17, 3015

Real Time:          Mon Aug 10 21:51:12 1998
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Though it is only mid afternoon outside the Hero's common room, as a man dressed in the black of the Guard stumbles in, one might think it had been midnight. He is completly ruffled in appearance, not a thread of his uniform straight and his boots, which he cares for most meticulously, are covered in dust and mud. Blue eyes are ringed as if from lack of sleep and are as rough as the stormy sea. He stumbles inside and sits hard at the uninhabited table nearest the doorway, calling gruffly to the barmaid for a brandy before collapsing onto the tabletop.

The cloudy skies cast a grey sheen on the city of Pelengir as the inhabitants make there way through the shadow filled streets. The heavens themseleves appear to be storing up for their next bout of furiously howling wind that bitterly blow through the nooks and holes in any cloak biting the wearer to the bone. Just as the midnight clad man sits another enters. Shivering once then smiling at the near by fire place, he walks to the Guards table and takes a seat. "It would appear that someone had a rough night." the young man plainly points out, smiling knowingly. His sea colored eyes also carry a tired look to them, but not to the point of the other mans.

Analdin raises a blond head, his hair rumpled and unorderly, glaring at Nials as he does so. No hint of drunkenness hints at all in his voice, not surpising, for it is rare that he consumes alcohol at all. "Rough miserable cursed..." he trails off into a string of coarse curses, the kind known well around the barracks, "life." he says finally at the end... at which point the barmaid cautiously approaches his table and sets the drink down before the wincing man, holding her hand out insistantly for payment. Fumbling with the leather pouch tucked into his tunic, the Lieutenant pulls out a few coppers and hands them to her before once more collapsing on the table, ignoring the drink.

Normally a smile would have graced his lips at hearing the Lt.'s random curses, but this is something more serious. "You were really foolish to insult the undead my friend," Nials replies in a voice louder than he intended, and notes people turning to stare at his ragged companion. Looking at each with an gaze that let's them know to mind their own business, He turns back to his friend, "Pardon my saying Analdin but you look like you have spent a month in Dol Amroth."

Raising his head once more, the officer takes a long swig of his brandy, only to cough it out and sputter a good bit. The result of this is a man who is much more awake than before. Setting the drink aside now that its purpose has been served, Analdin casts a gaze much akin to Nials's to those who turn their eyes his way in surprise. "I did no such thing, Nials," he says with a hint of defensive pride in his tone and the beginnings of a snarl on his rough face, "Insulting the undead is not high on my list of activities of late. I only... got angry with it." He finally shakes his head with a humorless hint of a smile, "And I certainly feel it now. Only a month in Dol Amroth could do this to a man."

Nials allows a brief smile at his tablemate's last remark, "I don't know the city does have it's ups and downs like any city." Then creasing his brow in thought, he frowns, "Though it does have noticably more downs than ups. Oh well," he mutters his last words with a shake of his head as if clearing his head of a thought. "I know your temper well my friend, and I will not lecture you on when you deem it necessary to display it, so how does Malahir fare?"

Analdin gives an almost uncaring shrug, though the look in his eyes, those blue orbs stripped of their usual defensiveness, reveals how deep his concern for his aide goes. "I've not seen him in a couple days. Been out helping load up the ship, I have, for we sail all too soon." He pauses here to rub his forhead and reach for the brandy, this time only sipping it slightly, very slightly, before setting it down. Swollowing hard, his features contort as the beverage runs down his throat, and he nearly shudders at it. "What has kept you busy, Squire?"

Nials thinks for a minute, then nods, "My duties as my Lord's squire keep me around and about the city in search of the suplies your loading on the ship as well as keeping his armor and weapon sharp, clean and oiled. Tis a most demeaning task, but it offers something to occupy my thoughts."

Blinking once or twice, as if in disbelief, the young Lieutenant casts Nials a most curious look, "Keeping his armor and weapon sharp? How do you sharpen armor, Nials?" Yet that quick jest on the squire's words is quickly put away as he asks more intently, "Is he incapable of sharpening his own blade? Or cleaning his own armor? Must he have another do his work for him?" His question ends with a good bit of disgust in his tone.

"As I said it is a most demeaning task, but it is mine to perform." Nials replies lightly, "His preparations with Lord Boromir keep him busy throughout the day and well into the night"

Analdin shakes his head slowly, "That I can understand, then, at least at this time. They have been quite busy preparing and planning of late. Still..." he trails off into silence a moment, sipping once more at the brandy and managing not to look quite so sour at it. "I can imagine that takes some time, but do you do nothing else?"

Nials nods, "I have little time for most things sometimes, I just have to use my mind most of the time." Looking at the cup of brandy, Nials frowns, "I think you have had enough of that friend." he mutters, then turns to the waitress ordering a cider and a water. Then paying her on her return, "To much of that won't make you feel any better."

Glancing down at the glass of drink, that same brandy that he ordered minutes ago but is still almost full, Analdin casts Nials a questioning look, "Too much? I have yet to touch the thing, Nials. Strong drink is not" he rather emphasizes the negative "one of my favorite things." Running a calloused hand through his rough hair, he shakes his head and pushes the drink away. Looking down at his own appearance, from rumpled tabard to muddy boots, he lets out a long and loud groan before reaching for the drink again and taking another small sip.

"So it would seem from the look on your face," Nials remarks. As Analdin looks himself over, the quire waits patiently. His eyes looked on the fire burning in the pit, the shadows dancing there. . . so tempting and alluring. Then with a shake of the head he snaps back into the world around him, yet his eyes remain on the burning logs with the orange light reflecting in the blue orbs which look upon the fire itself.

Analdin continues in his slow drinking for a few long moments, each time the brandy slips down his throat his face contorts than before... But it is quite obvious that he does this almost against his will. "What look on my face?" he demands of the squire, his tone returning to its normal gruffness. "I see no look on my face."

"That is because you do not look upon your face," the squire retorts softly. "You look as though you have been run through with each sip of that 'stuff'." His voice rising at the word stuff so that once again other look upon the two sitting there. But this time he care's not for their eyes, nor does he take note of them for his eyes are staring at teh burning form of destruction that is housed with in the hearth of the inn. The flames dance before his eyes, with all the charm and alurring motion of exotic dancers, or the look of a beautiful woman. Images and faces appear in the random movements of the flame, sites both fantasy and truth unfold with in the flames. The shadow tell a story, a story which quickly enraptures the man's thoughts blocking out all else.

The young officer shakes his head once more, "That is, I meant to say, I didn't think there was such an obvious look of distaste about me." Staring down into his drink, he adds more quietly, almost as a whisper to himself, "'Tis all that will keep my thoughts straight." With a quiet shake of his head, Analdin follows the squire's gaze to the fire, but his eyes do not linger long for, to him it is no more than the crackling blaze that keeps the room warm and lighted in the cold winter months.

Nary a word finds it's way to the mind of the squire, his eyes locked his mind lost in though. Is it a memory that makes him this way or just the effects of warriness of their travels. For his face is drawn and worn, retaining only the boyish flare that is present in one who plunges headfirst into situations without thought for himself, only thinking to protect others. Tired, his eyes look so tired. And unsettled, as if just below the surface exist a beast tearing to break free of it's chains and run rampant throughout his body. But for all of this there is a sense of controll about him, a cool calming sensation that could tame the maddest of beast while never letting himself fail in a duty. Questions abound, but no answers can be found, always searching . . looking. . probing. . . A sudden jerk brings him back to the present, "I am sorry to have drifted like that," Nials says in apology, "Did you say something?"

Analdin watches Nials with something bordering on amusement in his eyes, the guarding fire of anger that usually resides in those dark blue orbs returning with each passing moment. It is as though the fire of the strong drink and the all too familiar smell of fire and smoke bring him back to his old self. Straightening his tabard a bit, dusting some of the dirt from the black, he shakes his head once more, "No... Not a thing, Squire."

Nodding once, taking in the fires within the eyes of his friend the squire rises, "Well I have been to longaway from the duties of a squire," Nials says with a smiles, "fare well my friend." His eyes look upon those watching the Lt. with suspicion, and those looking upon him in fear and anger, but knowing the man can care for himself, the squire leaves quietly.

Analdin nods, reaching once more for the drink before him as Nials leaves, not speaking a word to the departing squire as his own eyes seek out the dancing of the fire.