Prologue: A Royal Proclamation, A Call to Arms!

[silverfoxdmt73]

Turning to the elf, Arn replies, "You'll not get any trouble from the Ranger, I can assure you of that - unless you bring your own."

"I have no idea if he would accompany you, that's for him and you to decide I would guess." He adds.

He looks over to Dobbin, still obviously a little embarrassed by his earlier mistaken assumption. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance Mr Woodbridge and my humble apology good Sir."

[Vardaen]

Torwald nods to the barkeep without glancing into the corner of the place. He turns to his companions that he's only just met and knows next to nothing about, just now learning the halfling's last name himself. "Perhaps I and Eofor should go and speak with our contact first, we can wave you over. I wouldn't want to spook him with so many out of towners converging on his table all at once." He motions for the barkeep to give him another drink, whatever Peregond likes to drink, and he puts it on the dwarf's tab.

[Bounder]

Eofor's eyebrows rise at the gnarled wanderer's suggestion. He nods and follows Torwald to Peregond's table, his mind racing to remember social conventions of this new, strange place.

[silverfoxdmt73]

The man identified as Peregond by the barkeep is sat alone at a small table in a darkened corner of the taproom, drawing on a small clay pipe, a cloud of blueish smoke drifting out of the shadows before him.




As you approach, you see his eyes narrow and his free hand move out of sight. Before you reach the table you hear his voice, quiet yet steel edged. "Why don't you sit down and state your business gentlemen, you are about as subtle as a cave troll."

[Omenstar]

Dobbin returns to his stool. Obviously, the tall folk want to sort things out among themselves first, so he asks for another ale on Orin's tab. However, ever since the man, Peregond, was pointed out, the hobbit can't stop staring at his stupendously ugly nose... "No wonder he sits in a dark corner," Dobbin whispers to Orin, "Look at that nose! What do think happened to his face? Could he have been so unlucky as to be born like that?"

[Vardaen]

Torwald takes a seat moving into the far seat, "Only burglars and thieves are subtle, we are honest decent men with a writ from the Steward." Torwald sets the mug of ale down for the man at his table. "That's for you and so is this." He produces the document and lays it on the table, but never removes his hand. "We were directed to seek you out. I am Torwald and this is Eofor."

[silverfoxdmt73]

"Ah, not always the case. There are some with a noble aim that prefer to stay in the shadows too, for not all foe can be defeated by the direct approach." The man counters, "Some require guile and cunning to overcome." He smiles, taking the offered ale and looking to the unrolled scroll and back to Torwald and Eofor.

"I see the old fox Olvard has sent you my way." Peregond says, relaxing a little. "Well, I do have a task for you, if you are willing."

"Why don't you invite your friends over and we can discuss the matter properly?"

[Bounder]

Eofor looks to the others by the bar and motions for them to join in the discussion at Peregond's table.

[Olligarchy]

"Looks like a brawl." Orin opinions to Dobbin. The mans noise was quite misshapen, but he could see no cuts or bits missing so he figured it had either been forged in the shape from birth or then by blows from too many tavern brawls.

Noting that the blonde manling introduced as Eofor was motioning for them, Orin grabs his tankard and heads on over to the table, taking a seat with a studious glance at the man. A warrior by mannerism at least, with at least a dash of rogue. Maybe a misspent youth?

[Omenstar]

Dobbin turns to his new friend, the barkeep and says, "Well, Arm, looks like I'm late for the meeting. Cheers!" and he hops down from his stool once more and joins his new companions at the corner table.