Logs-Hardworking Breefolk and Lazy Rangers

Large Field

This field takes up the majority of the southeastern corner of Bree, stretching
from the inside of the western hedge to the back of the buildings in the
marketplace; and from the south side of the Great East Road to the lower hedge.
It is large enough to comfortably accomodate a few hundred people, making it a
perfect place for social events in the village, assuming the weather is
suitable. The grass here is lush and green, and seems to be kept well-groomed
by one method or another. In the southwest corner of the field, just inside the
hedge, a large tree stands proudly, providing a large amount of shade to a
portion of the field in the daytime. Around this tree, the grass is worn down a
good deal, perhaps indicating that this is the busiest portion of the field.

The murky sky is overcast and dreary. The early afternoon summer air is very
hot and dry around you.

Obvious exits:
Alleyway leads to Bree Market - South.

================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Fri Feb 20 05:32:17 2004
Bree time: Mid Afternoon <3:36 PM> on Hevensday of Summer - June 29,1431
Moon Phase: Last Quarter Moon

Breelands Weather

The mid afternoon summer air is very hot and dry around you. The murky sky is
overcast and dreary.
===============================================================================

It is early afternoon- perhaps two hours after midday has passed, and there
certainly seems to be a lack of cheeriness in the air, this feeling not helped
by the heavy and grey clouds and the thick air which is hot and becoming rather
humid... The field, however is a bustle of activity.. well, about as bustling
as putting up rooves on legs can be! All the activity- the yelling and ordering
of workers seems to be centred around one man, although another figure- that
belonging to Megan Tasselberry-Thhatcher doesn't seem to be particularly busy..
more, surveying, or admiring the work done...Hands are on her hips, a
thoughtful frown on her face and every now and then, her head nods in
satisfaction.. (though such head nodding could be taken as drifting off to
sleep, it certainly seems unlikely that she'd be falling asleep standing up,
and with all this action around, too!)

The general chaos and bustle of the large and muddy field isn't helped by a
couple of small figures darting here and there through the throng - they would
seem to be playing tag or somesuch game, for the larger one, the boy, taps his
ginger-pigtailed companion on the shoulder and yells out "You're it! Bet you
can't catch me!" as he darts off again. The girl pouts and follows, only to
come skidding to a halt as two men carrying a heavy log on their shoulder block
her way. "Oh," she pipes in a frustrated wail.

The grass whispers with the wind laden cries of the workers through the long
curving line of shadow to where three figures sit at their ease. The fringe of
cooler shade is shallow for the westering sun is high still, but it is enough
to give some respite for Alaran and Dolenath who stretch out their long legs.
Unlike their companion their clothes are not flecked with sawdust, their tunics
rather dusted with the road, though what their conversation with the worker is
coated with might only be guessed. Besides, the sweaty labourer clambers
reluctantly to his feet now, leaving the two rangers whose grey eyes turn to
the man directing the building.

The man at the centre of it all is Carrick Thatcher, a tall, broad, man, with
dark, curly hair, and a red face. He has already arranged for logs to be set in
position for four of the shelters, with another two remaining. To the little
children, as they run about, he barks, "Hi! You two! Can't you see there's
important work to be done here? Go and play somewhere else, if you must play at
all!" He then turns to the two carrying the log, and laughs, and says, in a
friendly voice, and with an artificial smile, "Ah, yes, sorry about that,
there's some parents in this town without the first idea in how to raise
children. That one'll just come over here, if you please." He walks backwards,
watching them, going towards where two short logs already rest on the ground.

The little girl stares open-mouthed at Carrick. "But- but- we weren't
interrupting, and ... Johnny, come back!" Her call comes far too late, for her
companion is already halfway to the edge of the field, looking back with a big
grin on his face. "Ohhh, boys!" she exclaims, and takes off again, weaving in
and out of the antlike swarm of workers. "Hello, Megan!" she pipes up, waving
madly but not stopping.

Grey eyes following the progress of the children's chase, Dolenath seems to be
content to sit silently in the shade for now, though the hint of a smile plays
in the corners of his mouth. To the world it may seem he is interested in
nothing more than the mad race, though presently he leans towards his companion
to murmur a few words under his breath before resuming his relaxed study of the
field.

"We'll have more from him over a tankard," Alaran mutters in reply to Dolenath,
watching the labourer hurry the last few yards to his work crew as his mates
jeer him, jeers not unaccompanied by looks askance for the two resting by the
hedge. Alaran tilts his head with a insolent stretch in reply. "No matter the
matter regarding the hunt, I still say I saw that ill-favoured spy working
here. And watch, that tall one in the centre might trip." And he points to
Carrick walking backwards.

Brown eyes- observant now to the workers around, glance up and skim over
half-familiar faces.. Some perhaps more familiar than others..So she starts
forward; heading toward where the new hub of action seems to be- centred around
Carrick, as it were...Interupted she is, though, by several factors- the first
being her name called into the air and the need to reply. "Betsy!" Megan calls;
raising a hand but watching warily as the girl continues at high-speeds... the
second, perhaps, is her shift of attention to the two on the ground- and
recognition again. One hand is raised to wave at Alaran, and then (after the
initial shock and partial (and well hidden) delight at seeing him there):
"Hello!"

The children seem unaware of any Ranger scrutiny, absorbed as they are. The
boy, Johnny, streaks past the two seated men and dives into a hole in the
hedge. Leaves rustle, twigs snap ... and he's through. "Told ya, can't catch
me!" his taunting voice drifts back. At this the girl, Betsy, slows her pace,
red face screwing up. "You're /mean/," she proclaims loudly, stamping her foot.
"Fine then, I'm not playing any more." She starts to turn away, sharp eyes
catching the tail end of Megan's wave and following the motion - she stares at
the two tall, grey-eyed forms lounging there, then starts to walk right up to
them. "Why aren't you working?" she demands, hands on hips in the very image of
a scolding wife. "Everyone else is."

Carrick stares at the children and shakes his head, muttering to himself. He
instructs the two to drop their log, and to go back for another, then walks
slowly back to the center of the circle of huts-to-be, and looks around him.
His four sons have everything in order, so for the moment, he has nothing to
do. He looks around again, and at the two sitting there. He starts immediately
to walk towards them, and says, still from quite a distance (and therefore
audibly to many around), "I do hope you two are planning on working to earn
your keep, else you might find the Council's purses tighter than you may have
hoped." His tone is amiable, though laced with sarcasm.

The compass point of Alaran's pointing finger drops away to the south as Megan
waves and calls a greeting. The ranger calls his own in return, and his
momentary cool glance warms to a smile, "You have come to lift some logs? Our
little supervisor here," and here he waves to Betsy, "will come after you if
you don't."

To the little girl Alaran gestures to the slight hole in the hedge and
explains, "We are guarding the gate." Suddenly he looks saddened and murmurs,
"He didn't pay the toll." Then Carrick approaches with no toll, but a sarcasm
that kindles a hard look in Alaran's grey eyes though his voice remains
cordial.

"We aren't here to build stands, nor," the ranger adds with a slight smile, "to
indulge your company."

A dark eyebrow rises in what those knowing him well may interpret as slight
amusement at Megan's call as Dolenath looks over at Alaran, and seems about to
say something to him just as Betsy and then Carrick both in essence ask the
same question. His brow climbs higher, and he looks down himself and his
travelstained appearance, then up at the Breeman, his face placid. "Perhaps
there is something here that I do not know of yet. Your council is 'keeping'
us?" A quick glance at his companion follows this question, a second's flash of
a smile. "Why, you did not tell me this."

Curiosity gets the best of Megan, and her gaze now drifts increasingly to
Alaran's companion, and to him she offers a hesitant but friendly-enough smile;
one that serves as a greeting..At his comment, she smiles dazzlingly (and
proudly too) and then shakes her head- brown curls flying about her head.. "No!
I en't carryin' logs.. I'm helpin' organise the dance.. you /are/ comin' aren't
you?" This question is directed to Alaran's friend, also- for she doesn't want
to seem rude by leaving him out..

Now as Carrick approaches Megan's eyes roll skyward momentarily. "They don't
have to work if they just want to come sit, you know.. though," again she turns
on Alaran- a smile brilliantly friendly on her face- "It'd be nice if you
helped... We're puttin' up shelters, incase it rains.." as if he couldn't see
the hut-construction going on around them..

Andrick, the youngest of Carricks sons, comes up behind him, and says quietly,
"All the posts is in place." Carrick nods, and says, "Right then, erm, hold on
a moment." He then turns back to the two, and shakes his head, and says,
softly, but not so softly as to be inaudible, "I told them, didn't I? I told
them hiring Rangers would come to no good." Andrick grins, and says, "Aye, yer
did that." He stares coldly at the two, then says, "What're we to do next?"
Carrick eyes the Rangers, and his face reddens a little more, as he realises
this is one situation well beyond his control. He tuts, and turns to Andrick,
and launches himself back into business. "Right then, we'll have to get the
carpenter down, and he's going to fix the logs up as frames. The rest can get
started on bundling the thatch."

Betsy follows Alaran's nod towards the hedge and shakes her head. "It doesn't
need guarded, silly. Only children can get through - well, and Mrs Ferndingle's
dog, it was running up and down the other day with a whole string of washing
tangled round its middle. It was funny!" she giggles. "And I ain't paying any
toll," she adds firmly. "I've got a whole copper penny - but I'm saving it to
buy something at the Dance."

The tall men's interaction with Carrick bring a frown to her young features,
however. "Why are you here, if it's not to build things?" she enquires of the
two Rangers. "Granda says that folk like you are good-for-nothin' layabouts an'
furriners," her voice takes on a mumbling, countrified inflection as she stares
from them to the industrious Carrick, clearly without a clue what's actually
being said here.

"They told us that hiring you would make all the difference," comes the
quicksilver answer from Alaran for Carrick, and the tall man looks around
dubiously at the logs lying about. "Seems it has to Bree's misfortune." The
light tone belies the warning note weaving the young ranger's voice.

A warning note that fades before the young girl's question. Alaran quirks a
brow to match that of Dolenath whom he elbows, "Nothing could keep you lest it
wear a skirt. But what we do here," he raises his voice to Betsy, and others,
"is to rest for we have been practicing for the dance, and such is hard enough
work. For we will be there for sure." An eyelid droops momentarily towards
Megan. "No matter what grandads say."

If Dolenath feels any hurt at the words of either Carrick or Betsy, or
Andrick's stare, it would be impossible to tell for his continuously relaxed,
calm stance, though he does nudge Alaran quickly, murmuring, though not quietly
enough that he cannot be overheard, "We were hired? I told you not to make such
deals without me anymore, friend." Then he turns to the small girl, with a
brilliant smile lighting up his otherwise so stern face. "Your granda must be a
very wise man. But adults have to play too. That's what the Dance is all about,
is it not?" He looks up at Megan.

"I tried to hire you out but the council wouldn't take you because of the
smell," murmurs Alaran to Dolenath. Beneath the cool amusement and the scruffy
guise of the man there is a certain wariness.

Indeed, Megan too looks warningly toward Andrick and his father- her own cold
stare to match their, though hers is only brief and made when she won't be
noticed- when everyone's attentions are focused elsewhere..A tiny smile
registers itself on Megan's face at Betsy's story, though she is (apparently)
much too facinated by Alaran and his yet unnamed companion.. "Well I'm glad!
There'll be plenty of folk about, for sure..But I want everyone to be dancin',
so don't think you'll be able to hide away and get out of it!" Megan exclaims-
excitement and pride evident in her voice. "And.. Oh," she turns now to regard
Dolenath properly.. "Well, it was about summer, and dancin', and because
everythin' was growing.. and we wanted to dance.. I'm Megan Tasselberry," and
the second half of her name is hidden behind a cleared throat, though not
hidden so much that it seems suspicious.. "I'm organisin' the dance, if you
didn't know." She offers a hand to the other ranger- bright and dazzling smile
upon her freckled features.

Betsy seems to be considering the two Rangers' words, her head tilted to one
side as she tugs on a pigtail. "You're going to wear a skirt?" she wonders to
Alaran, peering from him to Dolenath, and suddenly giving a loud sniff. "I
don't know if Granda is wise," she admits. "He's old, and he's grumpy when it
rains. What do you think, Megan?" She turns bright-eyed to her friend, then
murmurs something to her with a little grin.

"I'd better go and look for Johnny. He'll be waiting outside the hedge, if I go
back through the alleyway I can sneak round and catch him." She giggles.

Carrick rapidly becomes more flustered, and pointedly turns his back to the
men, and strides off, his face blushing deep red. Andrick remains however, and
shakes his head. Whilst Megan's cold glance may go unnoticed, her fascination
with the Rangers does not. He looks at her, and his face now reddens slightly.
He turns away, looking at his father. However, her cough through his surname is
more than enough to provoke Andrick. He turns, and stares at her, a positively
angry expression on his face. For the moment, however he bites his lip and
waits.

A distant, urgent rustling in the hedge suggests that the boy has perhaps found
another tunnel to crawl through. Or perhaps it is Betsy who has run off
somewhere. It is well, for angry glances flicker like the silent clash of
swords, though Alaran's is sheathed for the nonce. He says, not noticing
Andrick's angry look, or perhaps because he does, "A fine dancer you would be
too I imagine, Megan. If you have the reins of it then save a dance for me if
you would."

Smoothly, Dolenath stands to take Megan's hand in polite greeting, a solemn nod
at her introduction. "It seems a magnificent reason for a feast, Megan
Tassleberry." He answers in the same calm, deep voice, "And we will be sure to
dance if you can finish the stands in time." A doubtful glance towards the
logs, then down at Alaran and he adds in an undertone, "Perhaps we should help
after all. It does nothing good for your looks if you get wet."

"What do I think?" Asks Megan, looking to Betsy for classification. "About your
grandda? He's wise on some things, I suppose, but not always..." she comments,
before shrugging her shoulders just lightly.. By this time, Betsy has already
run off and Carrick, too has made his exit. Eyes glance only briefly to
Andrick, and he recieves a bright smile- one not so much full of facination and
curiosity as that which is directed to Alaran and his companion, and certainly
she doesn't appear to see the expression- or, if she does, she ignores it..

"Oh! I'll save you a dance, certainly! I do love dancing.." the Breegirl pipes-
quite obviously delighted. "And they'll be finished, mister..." a pause, where
the name is lacking.. "I know.. I hate it when it rains and my hair goes all
flat.. There's plenty of other folk helpin' out though- them which aren't from
Bree..." she explains, first tugging at a curl and then nodding eagerly.

Andrick stares at Megan, indignantly, and then at the two Rangers,
suspiciously. He bits his lip once more, but then, says, clearly, and
pointedly, "I'm goin' to 'ead off fer 'ome, now, Meg, my dearest. I'll go by
the baker's an' pick us up some tea." He takes a step towards her, but then
clearly thinks better of it, and turns away, crossing the field towards the
marketplace.

Alaran watches Andrick stalk off before he stands, brushing grass from his
legs. "It isn't my looks that Megan might have to forgive, but my feet. Though
I trust they shall prove light enough with enough inspiration. Perhaps
beforehand we can meet again Megan to talk about how your plans and yon work,"
he nods to the field, "progresses. And how these strangers to Bree fit in.
'Sides us of course." And the ranger spares a smile for the lass.

Megan offers a brief and rather distracted nod to Andrick- one lighthearted, as
if still not picking up on his discomfort. "Alright... I'll see you when I get
home then, after I finish up workin' here..." she says, though if her work is
anything like she's been doing so far, she's likely to be dozing or finding
more rangers to chat with..One eyebrow is raised to Alaran, and then her gaze
moves to his feet. "I don't mind if you en't perfect at dancing! I can teach
you! And, oh! You're leaving?" she says- and her face falls in momentary
disappointment. "Well, we can meet again, certainly! There's just more rangers
who're workin'.. there're other men about, but they don't help; they just
threaten Breefolk.." Megan says; her brow falling into a frown again. "But I
can tell you about that later, I suppose."

His expression not changing at this last bit of information though he turns
towards Megan instead of looking after Andrick, Dolenath keeps his silence,
eyes sweeping the field almost boredly. Whether he is judging the progress of
the building and whether or not the pair's assistance is yet needed or
something else is hard to say.

"Threatening Breelanders? That is not well. I trust that you will tell us about
them so that Dolenath might be able to protect himself better. He worries
frequently about such things." Then, speaking more quickly in the manner of one
rushing to finish before someone else can open their mouth Alaran says,
"Perhaps tonight at the Pony if you will. Until then, good day."

With an easy movement the ranger bends and scoops up two long cloak wrapped
bundles, one of which he thrusts towards his friend Dolenath. A nod to Megan
and the two set off along across the green blaze of the field, blazing for the
clouds overhead have parted for a moment to the summer sun. It is not long
before the two tall men are obscured by passing labourers, and lost to view.

=== Alaran's DESC ===

This one appears to have been both whipped and tidied by contrary winds at
once. He is a tall man with a lean strong frame that betokens many miles
wandering the mountain crests and deep forest paths. His dark hair seems ever
tousled by some careless hand, unruly and cut short of long. The wild wind of
the endless road glimmers in his grey eyes though youth still smoothes the hard
planes of his face.

A glance tells that he is dressed simply, his clothes faded with a patina of
dust and flecked with mud, though a deeper look might discern the quality of
his gear and the care with which it is kept. A coarse woolen cloak woven with
the greens of conifer and pine fall away to his oiled leather boots laced to
his knees. A linen shirt is open at his throat beneath a leather tunic, golden
brown and stained with patterns of falling leaves, clinched with a studded
belt. His breeches are a loamy black. Tarnished silver glints amidst the folds
of his cloak over his heart.

=== Dolenath's DESC ===

This is a man of tall stature and bearing, touched but gently by years past.
Subtle lines on his earnest face may tell that he is no longer a youth, though
his dark hair is yet without silver lines, his grey eyes keen and clear, and
his posture upright as a young man's. He is dressed in shades of brown and dark
green, a forest-dark tunic belted over a linen shirt and brown breeches, soft
leather boots covering his calves. A green hooded cloak, stained, faded and
frayed by weather and wind, is held closed on his throat by a brooch of silver
shaped like a rayed star.