Courtyard(#30561Rnt)
An open air courtyard is enclosed in the center of the Prancing Pony's compound. The yard is ringed in by the north and south wing of the Pony, and the eastern section of the building, which is set back into Bree-hill. On the fourth side bordering this yard is an archway, beyond which lies the Great East Road. The stables, which comprise the lower level of the south wing are accessed through a set of large double doors.
Contents:
Hugh
Obvious exits:
Double Doors leads to Stables.
Archway leads to Archway.
================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Wed Apr 20 04:51:53 2005
Bree time: Nighttime <11:35 PM> on Highday of Winter - December 10,1434
Moon Phase: Full Moon
===============================================================================

Breelands Weather
The nighttime winter air is cold and dry around you. Moist snow, perfect for snowballs, falls down from the sky. The moon is above the horizon and in its full phase.

It is night- nearly midnight, in fact, in which case, it would be morning. But it isn't morning yet. Night will be lingering on for another five minutes, at least. All throughout the courtyard, the snow has begun to pile and neatly layers the ground in a blanket of white. Occasionally flakes tumble from thick, tumbling clouds, somewhere above in the darkness of the night (almost-morning).
In this courtyard, three figures linger. Loiter, if one were to use the Breeguard term, perhaps. Two are men, one is female. All are wearing hoods and cloaks, and are talking in low, hushed tones- laughing occasionally, though the laugh is humourless. Usually the laughs are cruel and cold. The woman holds a slender, hand-rolled cigarette between two long, thin fingers- the tip glows a dull red against the blackness of the wall behind her. So far, they seem to be doing nothing wrong (if you don't count loitering)- only talking, smoking and laughing.

The door to the Inn opens, letting out a cloud of warm, smoky air and a lone, staggering human figure. "Don't forget your stick, Mister Bramblefleece," a cheery hobbit-voice calls from behind him, and then it queries, "Are you /sure/ you're all right, Mister? Took me half an hour to wake you." The diminutive form of the speaker is silhouetted in the doorway for a moment, and then a call from inside draws him away.

"'Course I'm all right," old Hugh retorts as he grabs for his staff. "Was jist takin' forty winks - young folk these days, no common sense! Now - hmm." He stops in his tracks, stares at the sky. "Didn't remember it bein' so dark when I sat down," he grumbles to himself, too entranced by the curtain of falling snowflakes to notice any human company.

The voices, almost instinctively, fall quiet as the door opens. All three faces turn to look at the newcomer, and briefly they are even illuminated by the light from within. One or two, or possibly three, all wear malicious smirks as they look back to one another. The woman steps forward and mutters quietly, then the two men fade back into shadows.
Then, almost silently, and moving as a cat would, should they walk upon two legs and wear a long cloak, the woman circles about behind him, and soon appears over his shoulder. "G'evening, sir..." The voice is soft- flowing in quality; feminine. The cigarette drops, and is stepped on by a boot. The final cloud of smoke is blown toward Hugh's face while one hand reaches out to grab at the staff. "Lemme help you, with that.."
The door to the Inn slams suddenly (a gust of wind? Or someone inside turning a blind eye to the courtyard and its denizens?), and Hugh looks round, blinking like a startled rabbit. "Huh?" And then his bleary gaze falls on the tall woman with the soft voice. Immediately his features crease in a smile. "Why, that's mighty kind of you, Miss ... Miss ..." The words trail off, and a furrow ploughs itself between his brows as the old man tries and fails to append a suitable name. "So thoughtful of ye to help out an old feller like meself." Dazed as he is, it doesn't seem to occur to Hugh why he's being 'helped' by having his staff taken away.
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A cruel smirk appears on the shadowed face, and there drifts a chuckle from somewhere else in the darkness. Spider-fingers wrap around the wood, and carefully, slowly, the staff is lifted away and taking two steps from the man, she throws it lightly into the shadows. There is no clang, nor clatter as wood hits stone- as if it disappeared into thin air.
"Oh of course. Me and the boys are all for helping. All for it, aren't we?" More chuckles from the darkness. "But, you know- each service needs to be repaid. Nothing for free in this world, as they say. So how about it, hm? Any coins you've got.. jewels.. gold rings... anythin' at all... I'd be more than happy.. and by that I mean I think it's in your best interests if you let me... look after them for a while." Very persuasive she sounds. Very.
"Wha-?" It takes Hugh a moment to realize that his staff has disappeared, and when he does he teeters unsteadily, fingers reaching towards Scarlet's arm in a reflex action (should he succeed, Scarlet would find his grip surprisingly strong for one so aged). "B-but I thought ye said ..." Ah, poor old man. Suddenly his face is as pale as the drifting snowflakes that muffle and conceal, but after a moment he swallows and declares stoutly, "I ain't got no gold nor jewels. What d'ye take me for? I'm an honest farmer, not some wanderin' th- thief!" Despite the defiance, the old man looks a little shifty at those words.

Scarlet Greythorn frowns. Apparently she doesn't like the word "no." or "Don't." Or at least in this case; "Ain't got no..." From the shadows- her two companions emerge and tower threateningly nearby. Scarlet takes this opportunity to shift to the man's opposite shoulder- moving behind him, not before. "Must I have a reason?" A pause, and slowly, she shakes her head. "Money then. Or you must have a gold ring hidden somewhere, hm?" Another pause, and the gaze shifts two her two thugs nearby.
"Remember a few weeks past, a house burned down? We-ell.... it'd be a shame if someone else's house burnt down. Maybe while they were sleeping, cosy inside... safe." The word lingers as a sneer on her lips, and soon it fades off into the night.
Staggering a bit as his arm meets empty air, Hugh eventually manages to regain his balance, but the old fellow is starting to get really scared. Or so one might surmise, as his fleece-clad shoulders tremble like an aspen in the wind. He cranes his neck to follow Scarlet's movements, but doesn't reach toward her again (or look for his vanished staff, for that matter). "I ain't got nothin' of value," he pleads in a whisper. "Jist got a few coppers on me-" One hand reaches into his pocket and pulls out a rather empty-looking money pouch, suggesting that for once Hugh Bramblefleece not exaggerating. "Please don't take it against me ..." And then an idea comes to him. "I ain't got no gold nor jewels, but I know where ye might find some," he offers in a thread of a whisper.

One of the thugs plays happily with the staff- swinging it about so it makes "woosh!" noises. Threateningly, of course.
One hand from the woman snakes out- presumably to pluck the coin pouch from him, though she doesn't seem particularly enthusiastic about it- probably she only wants to check to make sure.
One eyebrow raises at this last comment. "Oh?" /Now/ she sounds interested. "Do tell, please. Enlighten us."

Hugh knows better than to protest as his coin pouch is snatched away - perhaps he still carries unhappy memories of a past encounter that left him rather the worse for wear? His mouth opens then shuts again as he glances towards his staff, so sadly out of reach, then he pulls himself together.
"Right here," he announces in a dramatic whisper, and then (maybe he's expecting to be scoffed at?) launches into a hasty explanation. "Remember last summer, that Greenbriar woman - she that's head maid in the Pony - led folk gallivantin' into the Chetwood in search of some supposed treasure? An' how they came back without a thing? I thought about it a bit, an' then it came to me: the real treasure is /here/. All that chasin' around was just a ruse." A pause for a ragged, nervous breath. "Some o' these cobbles look newer than the rest, there's a patch jist over ..." Words fade, and a suddenly panicked Hugh stares round the featureless courtyard and its snow-coverlet. Just where was it again?

And Scarlet looks briefly through the pouch, then drops it on the ground before the man. "Here, you say?" A pause, and she kicks at some snow with a boot. "You won't be catching me digging up this courtyard. Perhaps we can convince some people to it for us though, hm?" And this question is asked more to her friends than the old man.
"But if there is treasure, as you seem to believe..." She regards him a moment, and clicks her tongue against her teeth, "Then we shall certainly be thankful. But for now... the night is only young." Whatever that means- more terrorizing of people out and about... burning down houses... who knows- at least they appear to be leaving. As Scarlet passes the man, she bows low. "Until next time, Mr. Bramblefleece." From the hands of one of the men, the staff is dropped- landing, and sinking into the snow. Moments later, with the sweeping of black and grey cloaks, and they are all gone- disappeared into the night.

Hugh lowers his gaze to follow the trajectory of the kicked snow, and doesn't dare raise it again. "I'll do whatever-" he starts to mumble, perhaps thinking Scarlet's question is aimed at him, then falls silent again as she goes on.
They're leaving! For now, at least, an old man is safe! Abject relief washes across Hugh's features as he looks up, just in time to see his staff being dropped. Without a word, he waits for the greyblack trio to go, then shuffles across the courtyard to retrieve what from now on will be his most treasured possession, hands trembling as they close around the smooth wood. Somehow a man feels much better once a staff is in his hand. "What a to-do," he murmurs, flustered, and takes a deep breath. Then, a little more firmly, "but I ain't beaten yet. It'd jist take a little diggin' ..." Then, breath regained, he scuttles on his way.