Logs-Is it a Bird? Is it a Plane?

Bree Market - South
This section of Bree is known locally as Market South. There are shops lining
both sides of the road, selling a variety of wares and services. Here, at the
southern end of Bree's Market two roads meet, one from the east and one from
the north. The market is rather noisy and filled with activity, as people
buy, sell, trade or simply browse the goods available here. Along with the
items for sale, different aromas from the foods being sold blend together to
add another dimension to the market.

Contents:
Pipeweed Stall
Food Cart

Obvious exits:
Alleyway leads to Large Field.
Sewing Shoppe leads to Sewing Shoppe.
Bakery leads to The Bakery.
East leads to Bree Market - East.
North leads to Bree Market - North.

================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Mon Dec 01 04:07:24 2003
Bree time: Late Afternoon <about 5 PM> on Mersday of Autumn - November 4,1430
Moon Phase: Last Quarter Moon

Breelands Weather
The late afternoon autumn air is cool but pleasant around you. The day sky is
cloud-filled and gloomy.
===============================================================================

It is late afternoon and the sun is dipping low in the sky. The air is cool,
but not so much that it's cold or unpleasent. The activity in the market has
begun to die down with a few stall owners calling out to prospecting buyers
though most folk have begun returning home...

Standing against the wall of the bakery is a tall man- tall by Breefolk
standards but not abnormally so. Eyes watch the goings-on from beneath a
mop-top of dark curls, a thoughtful look on his face- though occasionally he
will glance to the bakery- impatience in his eyes as though he were waiting
for someone.

Stephen trots along purposefully down the road from the north. Over his
shoulder is a lumpy sack, which he occasionally adjusts and grunts darkly
about; but other then this, he seems quite cheery. He stops in front of the
man leaning against the wall of the bakery, huffing and puffing, then
continues along towards a stall.

A little girl cannons out from the lane to the north, ginger pigtails streaming
behind her from the wind of her passage. Her eyes dart this way and that, her
head twists to look behind her, and then with a giggle she's off again - on
what will be a collision course with the sack-carrying Stephen if she's not
careful. She's already shooting past Jacob without so much as a blink ...

Dark, curious eyes watch as the man with the sack passes by. One eyebrow raises
in question and he watches him pass before a flourish of ginger-pigtails
calls for his attention. He takes a half-step forward, eyes widening and
raising a hand into the air. "Hey! Watch out there!" Whether is call is
directed to Stephen or the Ginger-haired girl is unclear, either way- it's
aimed to stop the oncoming disaster.

Stephen stops suddenly and turns around, peering at the man and shifting his
sack. "Hello? Yes?" he turns, sees the girl, and his jaw drops down. He
struggles to move out of the way.

The little girl - Betsy - skids to a halt at Stephen's feet, staring wide-eyed
at the swaying sack. "You're not - not gonna drop that on me, Mister, are
you?" she squeaks. Then, without giving the poor man time to respond, she
turns her head and adds cheerily to Jacob, "I was just hiding from granda. Do
you think he's noticed I'm gone yet?"

Jacob blinks, then lets out a sigh of relief as the girl skids to a halt and no
harm is done. Jacob's smile is gentle and friendly- much resembling Megan's
when she's in such a mood. "I don't know.. maybe he has, I don't think he
would have.." An amused smile and he glances across to Stephen with a smile.

Stephen blinks at the little girl. "Er. No. I won't drop it on you. I'd ruin my
carpentry. When running through markets, little girl, PLEASE walk."

Ginger-haired Betsy grins back at Jacob. "You're probably right. When I sneaked
away he was back there telling the hobbit with the cart about how the General
Store is unsafe and he's going to complain to the Council," she announces
breathlessly to the world in general, extending an arm and pointing vaguely
north.
Her smile disappears for a moment when Stephen speaks, though, her lower lip
extending in the beginnings of a childish pout. "But walking's no fun! What's
in there, anyway?" She eyes the sack suspiciously, as though she expects a
wolf to jump out.

"A troll," Stephen says dryly, shaking the sack. "It's my carpentry. I cut
little bits of wood with knives and then sell them."

Jacob laughs and says, "Ah... your Grandpa- Mr. Bramblefleece, yes? He's still
talking about that General Store? I was in there just the other day with him
when he went and knocked everything over..." the Tasselberry boy trails off..
"And that's right- walking's certainly no fun, and it's certainly a lot
slower than running!" Now, (perhaps just for Betsy's benifit) Jacob looks to
Stephen with a frown. "I don't know who would buy cut up bits of wood...
Doesn't seem to be much you can do with cut up bits of wood..."

"Don't be stupid," Betsy reproves Stephen. "Everyone knows trolls are ... big."
She extends her short arms as far apart as they will go. Then giggles at
Jacob's words. "I was just about to ask him that," she whispers so loudly
that Stephen probably hears every word.

A hand digs into his sack, and Stephen pulls out something. It is a
beautifully carved eagle, 'cut up' in great detail. It's head and neck has
been painted white, and the body brown, but the paint cannot hide the work
that has gone into it; it seems every individual feather is carved out.
"People buy these."

Jacob's eyes widen slightly at seeing the eagle and for a moment his jaw drops.
"Wow... that's amazing..." for a moment, he seems speachless.. "Well, yes.. I
can see why- that makes sense..." he trails off, biting his lip. "And yes,
trolls are big. Bigger than that, even!" he says, motioning to Bety's
outstretched arms

"Ohhh." Betsy lets her breath out as she strange object is revealed, and stands
on tiptoe to view it. "That's so pretty! What is it?" she adds with innocent
curiosity to Stephen. "It doesn't look at all like a chicken to me." Not that
her wonderment stops her from asking Jacob, without looking round, "Have you
met a troll then?"

"-I- haven't," Stephen murmurs, "And I'm glad. I'll stick to carving wood
instead of being carved by trolls."

A gentle shake of his head, "Well, no... but I've heard stories about them;
I've met people who have fought with them..." Jacob replies, glancing between
Stephen and Betsy.

Betsy peers up at the two 'adults', and lets out a disappointed-sounding sigh.
"But you didn't say what the bird is!" she reminds Stephen, tilting her head
on one side so she can view it again. "It's definitely not a chicken or a
duck - it's so fierce - an' it looks like it's /meant/ to be that way ..."
The words trail off, and bright eyes focus on Stephen again.

Stephen clears his throat. "It's an eagle. Eagles are the largest birds of
prey, and the fiercest, and it is definitely NOT a chicken."

From the bakery steps another boy- looking almost identical to Jacob save for
being a tad shorter and having a more toruble-making look about him. "Ready?"
he asks, giving a tug on the taller brother's sleave. Jacob nods in reply-
turning his attention quickly to Betsy and Stephen. "I must be off, Adrian's
ready to leave.. Say hello to your grandda for me.." an amused smile is cast
to Betsy, then he looks to Stephen. "Erh.. Good afternoon!" And with that, he
turns and strides ahead of his shorter brother, and within a moment, they're
gone.

"Eagle," Betsy's childish voice repeats, and she nods suddenly. "Bird of prey -
you mean like a big hawk? I've seen a hawk once." She beams proudly at
Stephen, before turning to look after the departing twins and call out a
cheery, "Goodbye".
And then it comes - the countrified voice of old Hugh Bramblefleece raised in a
shout from the lane to the north: "Betsy? Beeetsy?" Then a muttered curse,
"Confound these rheumatics!"
Betsy hesitates, flushing, then offers a subdued, "I'd better be going, I
suppose." She starts to make her way back to her grandad, scuffing her feet
as she goes, and stopping just long enough to call out, "Anyway, it's a very
nice 'eagle'. Byebye, Mister!"

=== Jacob's DESC =============================================================
This man is tall, though not so tall that he would stand out in a crowd of
average-sized Breefolk. Dark brown eyes peer out from beneath a mop of wild
brown curls which fall to his eyebrows and have begun to cover his ears. The
eyes shine with a thoughtfulness and mischief- as if he were always planning,
thinking.. plotting. Dark lashes surround the eyes, and freckles lightly
cover his cheeks and nose.
There is a startling resemblance between this young man and his younger sister
Megan, as well as another Breefolk, and it's obvious that he could be none
other than one of the (terrible) Tasselberry twins.. But which? Judging by
the facial expression and perhaps even by the height, should one know the two
well enough, this is Jacob- the "ring leader".
==============================================================================
=== Stephen's DESC ===========================================================
Standing four or five inches below five feet, this unassuming, middle-aged man
of Bree is far from hulking. Excluding his somewhat abnormal height, the man
is not a marvel to look at. His brown hair, while clean, is perfectly normal,
hanging somewhat messily down just above his ears. His brown eyes, though
they possess a somewhat sleazy look, are of the same size and color typical
for a man of Bree, and would only be considered to close together by -very-
picky old ladies.

Thankfully, the man's clothes are a little less on the perfectly normal mark;
his brown breeches appear impossibly clean, with nary a wrinkle to its woolen
name. His grey woolen shirt, belted and tucked into his trousers, are not
quite as clean, due to their color; but it is still obvious their owner has
made a valiant effort. Over this is a brown leather vest, which has been
allowed to grow relatively dirty.