In reply to Telric Traventor (msg # 19):

"Well, I's ald oprefer to talk" Berthold answered. "But if they are clothed or armored, they are not the natives from the forest.

In any case, I could advance following the road. If they attack me, we'll know for sure (and I hope my chainmail stands for it), I'll give you two minutes to close them by hiding in the Woods before advancing myslef along the road to act as a bait."

In reply to Berthold (msg # 22):

Falin slips into the woods after Mercury, doing his best to be silent, and keeping a wary eye out.  As he enters the canopy, the light changes.  The hard bright sun, and clear air of the open lands, is traded for a disffused, green gloom.  The air is thick with scent; fresh bark, wet moss, and underneath it all, a deep rot.  The dwarf pads along, bow in hand, feet seeking out safe places to tread.

OOC:  Steath roll is 6:  08:26, Today: Falin rolled 4,6 using d6+2,d6+2 ((2,4)).

Notice roll is 5:  08:27, Today: Falin rolled 4,5 using d8,d6 ((4,5)).

Through signing with Roclindhir, who seems to have a familiarity with the military sign language the fierce hobbit uses instead of words, the company understands there is a possibility of an ambush ahead, and they proceed with caution.


Despite, or maybe because of your precautions, no ambush appears, however, and though your pace is slowed, you eventually arrive at the Barley Corn Inn as the sun is setting.

Admina was glad to be off that horse, she took a few turns around the yard to get her legs looking and feeling close to normal. Then as she waits she prepares her pipe and a couple of other balls of pipe weed for good measure. As she worked she cast an eye over the building and it clientele as they went in an out.

Then it was time to make and entrance and find a seat or a booth close to the fire where they could all jostle in together and then to the important stuff of food and drink.


-

"It would seem the cautious approach has paid off well," Herubrand remarked after a blessedly quiet time had passed.

Then, later... as they approached the inn.

"As good a place as any to rest for the night, shall we meet the inn keep and tend to the horses?"

Well after the group has slowly passed any sort of reasonable ambush area Mercury materializes out of the trees, clearly having been following along with them out of sight and she does not look particularly happy.  Climbing up on the pony she rides along in silence, but this time a fairly angry silence, until they make it to the town.  Despite having held her grudge against whatever it was for far longer than most hobbits are able to she is very nearly back to a neutral state by the time they arrive at the inn, and seems perfectly willing to deposit the horses wherever is convenient to do so.

The inn seems bustling with locals stopping in for a pint after work and a handful of travelers like themselves. The ringing of a hammer announces the smith at work in the tiny forge, but as Admina stuffs her pipe the sound dies away and she is aware of being observed. Another dwarf, tall for his kind, and well made, wearing a leather apron much scarred with sparks, is watching her. Catching her eye, he nods and steps forward, wiping his hands on a rag.

"Got any more of that smoke weed you'd be willing to sell, or exchange?" he called to her, stepping out of the smithy. "I've half a cask of Southfathing still, but it's nice to have a variety, I find."

His accent is from Moria, but softened by the tones of Gondor as if many years have passed since he lived underground.

"I guess they were the woses" Berthold thought, when it became evident there was no ambush.

When arriving at the inn, Berthold unmounted his horse and tended it. checking its feet and state. "it's been a hard riding day" he told him, while taking his dagger and learing some dirt from a horseshoe.

THen it took out the saddle and harness and lead it to the stable.

"Should we set some kind of guard or we ca ntrust the landlord?" he asked to the others- "See that the guard would be as much for our belongings as to avoid the Warlock to try anything dirty..." he added with a whisper to the others, when Silence was sout of earshoot (or so he thought).

"I do my friend, "Willow's Wisp" its called and it has quite the "Zest" from Eastfarthing I believe."

She reached into her pack and after a bit of a rummage she brings out the package bound in brown paper and string. With a snap she breaks off enough for several pipes and hands it to the dwarf. Then holding out her hand she introduces herself.

"Almina, daughter of Dwalin at your service."



-

In reply to Admina (msg # 30):

Falin slides off his pony with a sigh.  More used to walking, the day's ride has left his body stiff and sore.  He crouches and stands, a few times, trying to work out the kinks.  As he finished, a bump from behind tells him the pony is hungry again.  He roots around in a pouch, but coming up empty, shrugs apologetically in the pony'd direction.  "I'm out", he explains, but the pony only gives him a doubting look.

Taking the reins, Falin moves towards the stable, hoping to find the hungy pony some oats, or other feed.  As he stiffly crosses the courtyard, he notes Admina talking with the smith.  Smiling slightly to himself, he passes by them.

In reply to Berthold (msg # 29):

"I will keep an eye on our friend." Telric volunteers. He moves next to the wizard, keeping out of arms range but insuring the man was well within spear range. That being said, he does not directly threaten the man with the weapon.

In reply to Telric Traventor (msg # 32):

”I’ll keep you company,” Herubrand added, busying himself checking over his horse. Satisfied that the animal had faired well in the ride, he gave her an affectionate pat on the cheek and added ”We wouldn’t want our travelling companion to feel lonely, would we?”

The inn is a surprisingly busy place, though it is just about a day's ride away from the High King's throne room. As you settle your mounts in the stable, chat with the staff and ease your aching backsides, your look around and take in at least three groups of people. The largest is at the main table and sounds to be locals arguing over the damage that someone's pigs have caused to someone else's crops, and what compensation should be made. In a side-room is a rather more sedate group of travelers who have come on a coach, those of you who entered the stables would have seen it. They are attended by the landlord who sees the lady and her companions as prize customers. The coach driver and his probable companion are nowhere in sight. In a booth in the main taproom is a pair of fellows, an outlander or some kind and a hobbit deep in conversation, who barely glance up when you enter.

Seeing you arrive, the landlord hurries forward. You're a large group and he looks to already have guests.

"Lords, ladies," he greets you. "Come in, come in. Sit by the fire. Ale I have, and wines. Game pie, mutton stew, baked potatoes, fresh greens. And the bunkhouse has plenty of beds for all of you."

Falin nods his thanks to the innkeeper.  "Ale", he requests.  "And stew", he adds.  Pie sounded good, but the stew would be warming after a day on the road.
 Settling himself by the fire, he stretches his toes towards the warmth, giving a pleasurable groan of satisfaction as he rests his bones.

While he waits for food and drink, he draws out his pipe, and begins packing it, scanning the room.  The locals seem local enough, and the fancy crowd were keeping to themselves.  The man and hobbit were a bit interesting.  Falin kept a curious eye on them as he lit his pipe, and puffed contentedly.

Rather than replying to the inn keeper with words Mercury holds up first four fingers then five, indicating the so numbered stew and potatoes on his list of things on offer.  She then points in the general direction of the tap room to indicate where to find her

Content that her message is sufficient she sets about the task of finding a comfortable place in the tap room just outside what most people would think of as a polite distance from the obvious pair, and listens intently to their conversation.

Roclindhir nodded to the barkeep, ordering an ale and a stew. After the time they had spent traveling, he wanted just to get a room, a bath, and some warm food - not to mention a cold drink. Sure, he had traveled this path many times before, whether going to Rohan to visit family, or coming back to Gondor - he never enjoyed how he felt after long days of riding though.

Admina wanders into the the main tap room a little later then the others seeing them already at a table she takes a seat and orders one of everything the Inn keeper rattled off adding "Dark ale, a pint and a flagon Good Sir."

Then she sets one of the pipe weed balls alight and is surprised by how quickly she had a mug in hand and a stone jug before her. She downs the first in one and then half the second before sitting back and obscures herself behind a cloud of smoke.


-

After leaving the horse in the stable, Berthold answered to Roclindir and Telric.

"I'll do th esecond watch" he said. "So, please, wake me at midnight, so I can relieve you"

Then he entered at the inn. He went to the landlord:

"Some stew and an ale for me, please" he said. Then he went with the others of the team, tryin gnot to quit his eyes from Silence without making it too evident.

Mulciber also exerts the inn, allowing others to tend his mount. All day he has acted if you are an honor escort. He discusses wine with the landlord and settles on a bottle of red with the game pie and fresh greens.

As your party eats the discussion at the main table becomes more heated.



As your meal is cleared, the hobbit traveling with the outlander leaves his booth speaks to Roclindhir, the Knight of Gondor who is angling your finances.

“My master observes that a crime is about to be committed here,” he says. “He does not want to interfere, but he thinks you should know.”

In reply to Incantrix (msg # 40):

Overhearing the exchange between the outlander and Roclindhir, Falin raised an eyebrow.  Not that enforcing the law was their responsibility, precisely, but they weren't entirely disintrested either.

He subtly loosened his axe in his belt, and tamped out his pipe.  Looking around the room, he idley wondered who would be breaking the law, and what law they'd break.

Admina turned her head slowly to watch the table, but continued with a rather disinterested demeanour. She had her pipe and a full flagon and was troubled to get involved in anyone's else's business so soon after finishing her meal.

A large cloud of pipe weed issues forth from her nose as she watches the goings on.



-

In reply to Falin (msg # 41):

Rochlindhir moved his hand on his sword, his eyes glancing around to see what crime might be committed.

Berthold also heard what the halfling said to Roclindhir. He raised his alertnes, and, without making it ostentous, checked his sword, but decided not to intervene.

"That's no good" he thought to himself, while scouting the zone and people, ready for anything, and chewed his stew. "Roclindhir is a Knigt of Gondor, and cannot look aside if warned of an incoming crime, but he's also in a special misión for the King nonetheless, and it should not be delayed... I don't envy his position  now. Let's see how he acts. After all, he's now a camarade, and I should support him, whatever he does..." he kept thinking ,rying to hide his concern about the situation.

In reply to Incantrix (msg # 40):

Telric stays by the wizard's side, making sure not to touch him unless needed. Granted most Inns don't want open spear use in their establishments. As a result he has the weapon on his back, put away so no one raises a fuss. Truth be told Telric was just as comfortable using a bar stool as a weapon as a spear. Granted the spear was a better weapon, but you could not use it in every situation.

Rather than draw even more attention to where the outlander is sitting by doing something obvious Mercury just keeps eating her food, something that nobody who knows anything about hobbits would think odd.