• Make sure to read the forum rules before creating a new thread or commenting on someone else's thread. The forum rules can be read on this page.

VENTURES INTO THE REMOTE (RP)

Captain Aasim

Captain Aasim

New member
V1 Lord
VENTURES INTO THE REMOTE

Welcome, roleplayers to a tale of adventures, misadventures, flops and stops. Here begins your tale or should I say, 'our tale', ah bah humbug? Nevertheless, on this grim autumn night, we find our, rather peculiar, heroes culminating at one spot where the most epic saga of the third age would occur. Now, let us take our seats and watch the magic happen.

-----------------------------

Bree remained, as usual, bustling with activity throughout the night. Traders arrived up the Greenway from southern lands to sell their wares in the market; occasional daring hobbits found their way into the wine cellars of Bree-citizens and managed to sneak off with the rare brandy bottle; travelers and locals alike spent their time betting, drinking and lording themselves about in the Prancing Pony; the blacksmith hammered away with his tools, crafting new arms; the festival was being readied for the annual 'foundation of Bree' festival and the stalls were, of course, disorganized yet still showing some semblance of professionalism. Thus, was the situation in Bree. Yet one would not be able to notice the unusual crowd that had seemed to find their way into Bree.

tumblr_nauf3n9XXE1rbu729o1_1280.jpg


--------------------------------------

Ah, dear roleplayers, welcome back. Now that you know the current affairs of Bree, I am sure you will choose the wisest option of where to begin. For those of you that would rather not wish to deal with the gate-guard, you may find yourselves in the: Prancing Pony, festival grounds, market-place or blacksmiths forge. For those late arrivals who like a challenge, you may begin directly outside the Bree-gate and have to treat with the gate-guard. So, begin roleplaying below!
(Hint: Make sure to detail your character and their approach to their surroundings!)
 
Daugo Burgins has been busy today. His wife left him to tend to the stall by himself for the day, so it's been up to him and Bob Newleaf to run the shop. (Bob's son Hal was down with the flu, though, so Daugo let him go a little early). It's by no means the first time--Pomona often leaves the store to him for months--but a man gets tired, or in this case, a hobbit, from having to cope with petty pickpocketers, stingy old men, sullen dwarves, belittling elves, and overall difficult customers. Dealing with con artists is the best, however. Just today, a few hours before, some clever man that went by the name of Monfast tried to trick him into buying fraudulent insurance. Long story short, Daugo ended up making the man believe he was some undercover law enforcement officer for Bree, and that he would turn a blind eye to the man's delinquencies if he agreed to pay him an annual stipend. The fool.

Now, Daugo is packing up his stuff for the day.Perhaps I will stop by the festival, he thinks, or have a drink at the Pony... Having not made any decision yet, he loads his mule and leads it into the bustling torrent of people coming and going.
 
It was a exhausting day for Thoruk Ironbeard. He was walking half of the day and also lost a bunch of his food due to a hole in his backpack. To make matters worse, it was raining, which made things even more worse. Luckily he met Dwargrim Argar, another dwarf, who described the way Thoruk should take to get to Bree. At the gate Thoruk had some troubles with the gate-guard. But as mentioned, it was raining and so the gate-guard opened the gate after some grim looks and a short look into Thoruks backpack.

I believe he stole something... if he took some food... well, it could be worse, atleast I'm in the village now Thoruk thought . I should really find the Prancing Pony right now, I'm all wet and I really need something to eat and drink, my cloak has some wholes and my shoes are worn out, a bed... that would be one hell of a dream for me right now, he thinks, as he walks through the muddy streets of the village. ((I'm quite new to roleplay-stuff, so if I made any mistake, please correct me))
 
Margöz enters the bar and sits down. Without hesitation, he says, "toss me a Barliman's Best, please. Thank you." This bar reminds him of his past. He remembers running a pub of his own, though not through legal means. A tear from his face suddenly crashes into the drink he was given. It's a wild splash, just like his background.
 
Elodrin would walk through the marketplace with a small on his, to long has it been that he had been with the busy flow of a city or the wild chatter of the people. Memories of Gondor flooded through him, good ones. Moving about he would look for a stall that sold seeds or farming tools. He had started to buy new ones as they would last longer than his old ones, he also made a bit of coin selling them. Finally he would see the stall, the man being waving and offering to people wile the small flag on his ten fluttered in the wind. "This should be good." I thought as I started to wade my way through the crowd to get to him.
 
All sorts of folk passed through Bree throughout the year. Dwarves from the Blue Mountains, hobbits visiting weed-smoking brethren, even Elves making their last journey to the west. Rare was it, however, to see a Man of Forochel with a voice like thunder and a arm of steel followed by a quiet Haradrim with a leg of iron and more gadgets than your average Dwarf smith. "I'm tellin' ya, Deslan. The Prancin' Pony has the best ale west of the Misty Mountains." Dimitri said. "Not to 'ention, some of the 'ichest townfolk in all of Eriador. Muggin' a man is 'asy in this 'lace."
 
Iver had a wanderful day, he sold his salt almost in almost a doubled price because it seems the dwarves of the blue mountains were late with their delivery and, sold all of his sugar in a single day and had some invites for dwarven tools from the iron hills. His charisma did not fail him, not today. With nothing good to do he decided that paying a visit to the festival grounds would be great but then he saw that its gonna rain soon ((someone wrote it is raining)) and so he changed his plans and after paying a visit to his caravan he left there the guards and with a pouch full of coins he headed to the Prancing Pony to gamble a little but most likely to hear news about the local market and see if there is something interesting around.
"Give one glass of liquore my good sir" he said to the bartender and then looked around, searching for loud or interesting men, dwarves, hobbits or elves.
 
As Thoruk Ironbeard waded his way through the moving crowds that cluttered the streets of Bree, the rain continued its downpour upon him and left him soaked, the wind picked up and ahead of him he saw a large sign shake in the breeze which read 'Prancing Pony', some of the letters barely visible without the torchlight illuminating them. Before he could make his way forward towards the bar a little body collided into him. Looking down he would notice a small hobbit carrying a couple of items.

Daugo would look up to see a dwarf, with a magnificent beard and a grizzly face staring back down at him. The hobbit had been clumsy, his feet slipping in the muddy streets as the rain packed on. [user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/KingTraitor/74.png" name="KingTraitor"]13615485[/user] [user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/CluckmanTheDerp/74.png" name="CluckmanTheDerp"]13527980[/user] ((Your characters are now able to RP with one another.))

----------------------

As Iver sat down he saw the bartender move to fetch his drink. All around him were the raucous sounds of men, women, hobbits and other folk dancing, shouting, screaming and drinking; to some, this was horrendous, to others, this was paradise. Just as he settled into his seat he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Next to him sat a queer-looking fellow, yet familiar, this man stuck like like a sore thumb: his clothes, dark tan, apparent apparel, and other features were completely different from those Bree-landers that surrounded Iver in the bar yet the man looked quite distinct and familiar. Iver would notice a tear fall from his cheek into his drink and then it hit him. An Easterling. Just like those that came to his Dale business.

Margoz sensed someone watching him. To his left, there was a man staring at him, quite awkwardly in fact. Why was this man so intent on watching him? [user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/assassiniv/74.png" name="assassiniv"]14628767[/user] [user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/Grissum1/74.png" name="Grissum1"]16191695[/user] ((Your characters are now able to RP with one another.))

----------------------

Elodrin passed a scuffle between a dwarf and a hobbit. They were merely a glimpse in the crowd a hurdle away from him before they disappeared into the moving body. The rain continued unabated and turned the streets of Bree into a muddy thoroughfare. As he was about to reach the stall he saw the man closing up. He shrugged at Elodrin with a look that indicated, 'Bad weather', as he pointed up into the night sky. The festival seemed to be ending rather prematurely and everyone was rushing towards buildings and other shelters. Elodrin could see that he needed to find a place to rest and warm up quickly as he was getting drenched rather fast by the torrential downpour.

[user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/DeathValley105/74.png" name="DeathValley105"]15756962[/user]

--------------------

Deslan and Dimitri found fortune in the weather. The rain provided a perfect cover for pickpocketing, the noise was high and the crowds almost as dense as the jungles of Far Harad. Yet it too was going to affect them. Their metal appendages were becoming pooled with water. They needed to get to shelter quickly before a mini-sea formed inside Deslan's tool-kit. To their right, they could see the faint image of a pony dancing upright on its hindlegs on the backboard of a large sign with the words, 'Prancing Pony' outlined beneath in black flecks of dried paint. There was their haven.

[user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/DimitriP_13421/74.png" name="DimitriP_13421"]8861015[/user] [user avatar="https://assets-cloud.enjin.com/users/6427581/avatar/small.1500927951.jpeg" name="Riko son of Pdor son of Kmer"]6427581[/user]
 
(I never saw this post, my bad.)

Grimniir wades himself to the marketplace, and bought some goods, only to find out the weather's condition to be abysmal. He tries to make his way towards the Prancing Pony, to try and stay rather comfortable near the warmth, while the storm rages on.
 
Sigeric looked around the dimly lit common room of the Prancing Pony one last time, before shaking his head in frustration. The ranger was hours late, and the Dalishman was compelled to assume that the diplomatic meeting would not occur. But surely, he could not return to the King a failure! His reputation would inevitably suffer. The King's court already looked down upon this backwater noble from the eastern border. Sigeric resolved that he must not return to Dale with nothing to show for his efforts. But for now, he might as well have a drink to ease his anxiety. He hated the boisterous noise of this dingy tavern, but the drinks were said to be the best in Eriador. Outside of the Green Dragon, of course. He ordered something or other without really paying attention, and sat back down at a table near the back of the room, setting his halberd to lean against the wall.
 
"E-excuse me, my friend, I am m-most sorry..." sputters out a blustered Daugo, his mouth full of rainwater. "It's this damned weather, y'know, turns the roads well nigh into mud pools..." He gets up shakily, straightening out his suple green coat and picking up his things.
 
((idk why the italics didn't work in my last post. It is there now.))
Margoz takes his last sip of his barliman's best ale before asking for a refill. After he gets his refill, he turns to the Dalish man slowly, "You seem to have a bad idea of me, tall lad. What do you want?"
 
"Ay, jea the weather is quite annoying, but it's not your fault, little friend" Thoruk said calmly. "I should be sorry, I was too lost in my thoughts." With an exhausted look, he saw the hobbit trying to pick his things out of the mud "Let me help you buddy" Thoruk said and bent down to help the hobbit. They picked everything up and although some things still where full of mud and it was raining like hell, both looked quite calm. "So.... Mr Hobbit, are you also heading towards the Prancing Pony?" Thoruk asked the Hobbit. "If you want we can have a drink together, I really need a beer now and a good conversation with someone while drinking won't hurt anybody."
 
Daugo sighs, a look of weary friendliness on his face. "Yes!, that would be most welcome. Thank you," he adds, taking the stuff picked up by Thoruk. "What would a fellow like me call you?" he says, while walking toward The Pony. He holds the door for the dwarf as they enter.
 
"Aye, thanks buddy" Thoruk says as they enter the Prancing Pony. "Thoruk Ironbeard" he says between all the noise of the people around them. "But my friends used to just call me Thoruk, so just call me Thoruk." Finally, Thoruk sees an almost empty table where only two drunk men have a seat. "Let us take this table buddy." he looks at the Hobbit, "and don't worry bout those guys, I'll handle that" Thoruk says with a small smile on his face. "Ay fellows, is there some space for me and my new friend?" Thoruk asks them kindly. But the two men look at him and start to laugh. "What kind of mud monster are you,hahaha?" Thoruk grabbes hold of his ax and asks them to leave, this time with a lower voice and a bit grim face. The men look at his ax and finally start to stand up. "Why dont we stay Fred?" one guy asks the other, "I'd like to get some fresh air outside, besides that, it's dull boring in here." he answeres. After the two guys left the table, both sit down and Thoruk looks towards the Hobbit, "And you, what about you fellow, what's your name?"
 
The hobbit observes his drinking companion's little show of strength there with a keen eye, deciding that he is currently in the presence of what he would've called, in his old days as a conman, a Hound-type person: friendly enough if approached nicely, but quick to anger and not afraid to take advantage of his brawn to get what he wants. He likes Hounds.
"Names... They're such fickle things, wouldn't you say? I am, by birth, Daugo Burgins of Buckland, but I might as well be called Bob or Hamfast or Mungo and it would matter very little... Forgive me, I've gone off-topic. I am Daugo, at your service."
He looks around, searching for an employee. At the same time, he takes in the characters currently inside the inn. With a passing glance, he notices a swarthy man that has evidently endured a great deal of pain recently, but, before continuing his quick analysis, he sees a waiter, and orders two pints of beer, "for me and my bearded friend here."
The beer arrives, frothing and full of promise. "Cheers," says Daugo.
 
"Cheers my friend," Thoruk says as he takes a decent sip from his beer mug. He looks around and sees a man with his woman and his two sons on a table near the window. He looks at the two children and starts thinking "I wonder where my brother is... or if he is still alive" Thoruk shakes his head and turns to his friend, who looks at him questioningly. "Oh, I was briefly lost in thoughts, I'm sorry. Are you hungry? Oh, what a question lad, of course you are." He looks around for a waiter and sees a young elf lady with an apron walking around with some dishes. "Excuse me lady, two times the steak please, for me and my friend overhere, hehe."As the waitress leaves, Thoruk turns around and looks at his friend, who looks at him a bit skeptical, and laughs at his new friend. "Haha, don't worry lad, if you can't eat anymore, I'm hungry for two people." Thoruk grimaces his face "Ah that was stupid... hungry for two.." he thinks. "I should better change the subject" Thoruk says to himself. "So as long as we wait, my friend, tell me something about you, do you actually live in this town?"
 
Daugo regards the somewhat over-the-top dinner bought for him by Thoruk, takes a sip from his mug, and exhales in satisfaction. "I live 'ere, yes. Ten years this Fall." He grimaces slightly and looks elsewhere while he decides that it'd probably be for the better if he left out his unlawful past. "Got a wife, Pomona, her father owns a couple shops 'round these parts. You married?"
 
Thoruk turns towards Daugo "Nah, haven't found the right one yet" and takes another big sip of his mug. "Ten years... aye, hell lot of'a time my friend." He looks around and sees the two kids he looked at earlier, fighting for the last piece of meat and remembers the times when his brother used to take the last piece of meat away from him. In this moment he sees the elf waitress walking towards them with their meals. "Here ya go" Thoruk says with a bit of a smile in his face. After they ate a bit Thoruk turns back dowards Daugo "Hm... does it feel good to have someone that loves ya?" he asks him with a slight look of sadness. Trapped in weird thoughts Thoruk tells himself "I need to find my brother... and if it's the last thing I do" before he continues listening to Daugo.
 
"oh sorry, it's just kinda rare to see one of you easterlings here in the west" Iver replied with a small smile because of his pun. After a moment he also ask him "tell me, what are you doing so far from your home?"
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top