Adventures of Caelereth

Archives => The Kann Kemruhnt => Topic started by: Galein on March 12, 2009, 04:46:11 AM

Title: Stables
Post by: Galein on March 12, 2009, 04:46:11 AM
This is the Stable area. A large room cut out of the rock with walls dividing several stalls. Each stall has a layer of hay put down and a trough in the back with half being filled with water.

Title: Re: Stables
Post by: Thorgas Ironforge on March 18, 2009, 08:47:43 PM
Thorgas arrived to the stables and found his pig lying on his side, his right hoof raised, expecting a good scratch. The dwarf chuckled softly to himself and used the end of his staff to rub the pig's belly. These were the moments he loved, the time spent alone with his pet. Sure, there were many dwarves in this community who thought him weird for loving a pig more than his own community, but that is not the case. If he was given a chance by those dwarf ladies, he would have gotten himself a wife (or two!).

Yet destiny seems to have something else in store for him. Everything was planned by the Stone Father, from that incident in the smithy to his training as a mage and finally here today, with Buri at his side. The others think that he's weird, but they also acknowledged that dwarven magi are usually that way, eccentric and odd.

It took Buri a few soft grunts to bring Thorgas' attention to him. He looked at the trough then on the stall where his boar currently reside. The stable boy certainly took his threat seriously. The stall was freshly cleaned and there were leftovers from Buri's breakfast. Reminding himself to give that boy -- what was his name? Anghang? Whatever his name is -- a small tip for a job well done.

Title: Re: Stables
Post by: Mika on June 18, 2009, 06:39:29 AM
Softly had paced steadily through the woods, apparantly not put out by the speed, nor the load she was carrying. Admittedly she had carried far less with Mika, but with him wearing his full cavalry armour, the ballance was admittdely a little differant but not greatly, she had after all been trained to carry him. Mika was his usual stoic self, gently rubbing her neck every few minutes, reins loosely held giving her full freedom to lead her own way. He occasionally gave her direction, but unlike most of the trainers she'd had in the past he didnt like using a bit'd bridle, so it didnt hurt.

Mika Samual's, once a Cavelryman a lance commander, now a roving part-time Musician and Mercenary. He paid his way with his strength of arm and presence, and often had to pay his way out of debts with the other skills of his hands. He swung a hand back to touch the Lyre, wrapped carefully in sheepskin and oiled leathers. It was held gently next to his recurve bow which itself was holstered in an integrated quiver which was sorrowfully empty, a few used arrows that had been worth recovering. He smiled softly as his hand quested across the familier equipment, all of which was stored on Softly's left flank, atop the saddlebag that crossed behind her saddle. His right hand held his quarterstaff which rested in the lancecup on his right stirrup. His sabre tapped against his left hip, the weighted hilt ringing gently against the plate, hidden beneath the brown, oiled leather covering.

His armour was admittedly unusual, and was the result of years of patrols and military service. It was designed at his request, and modified after the accident that took his voice. The greaves rose high over his knee, the gauntlets extended from the backs of his hand over his forearms, and just under a span beyond his elbow. Often he didnt ride wearing the full rig, it could be uncomfortable, even though the torso guard was designed with a mounted role in mind. It hinged on his left side, the clasps closing against his ribs opposite, kidney guards slid underneath and below it hinged so he could strike downward at unmounted enemies, though there were few who threatened him. The gauntlets were emblazened with his former regiments crest.

Eventually they ambled into sight of the city watch, and after a brief one sided conversation he dismounted and they permitted him entry. He lashed his quarterstaff down along the length of the saddle, upto the sadle bags and clicked his cheek at Softly encourageing her on, initially not leading her by the reins as the entranceway was not overly busy. However as they slowly started to decend into the City's main tunnel he gripped them gently just below her mouth, partially to calm her the other reason to guide her out of the way of the more ignorant wagoneer's.

The greaves patted against his kilted thighs as he walked slowly down into the city, as his eyes adjusted to the lowered light, he became briefly nervous himself of the enclosed nature of the place. He knew that there was no hance that such a construction had any chance of failing purely for his arrival, but for a moment there was that fear. With that fear came the anger, the anger that would see dead that which made him afraid, that would let him cut a man to pieces without seeing a face. But here there was nothing for hte anger to fight, which made it easy for Mika to recall the chants and mantra of summers long past, when times were easier, he was softer and could still sing baritone against his ill learned strokes of the Lyre.

The tavern that caught his eye was just where they had said it would be, if the food were as good as the information it might be well worth the price. If not then perhaps he could just get news and be off into the city. He nudged Softly with his shoulder and tipped his head toward the tavern. She shouldered him in return and allowed herself to be lead over, hopefully for some grain. It had been many days since he had given her Oatcakes, and grass wasn't as good as grain. She and he knew that grain fed she could ride hard for days, grass fed and she would tire quicker.

As he approached the Tavern he spied the stables carved from the rockface and lead Softly towards it, eager to get her unsaddled, watered and himself too. As he lead Softly into the stables area, uncertain as to its security due to its ease of access from the main tunnel, he loosened the dun cloth from around his neck to better allow him freedom to unsaddle her as he would in a moment. He was choosing a stall to put her in, still a short distance from them when he noticed the rounded dwarf roughly petting a swine that must have its residence in the stables. Mika watched him with a gentle smile
knowing that the dwarf would have to be very distracted for him to miss himself and Softly entering the stables.

Title: Re: Stables
Post by: Sir Ruil Mallister on June 19, 2009, 11:07:08 AM
Ruil glanced back behind him at the opening to the tunnel.  The breeze from outside no longer reached them this deep.  The temperate climate of Manthria was one of the things he thoroughly missed during his journey into the Truban province a couple months ago.  No longer did he eternally sweat.  And no longer will he have to worry about his steed, Bolero.  Must have spent more coin on water for the horse than food for myself… thought Ruil.  He turned to face forward again, watching all of the people moving about around him.  Even having just entered Tyr Donion the knight could see all sorts of merchants moving about.  Though he probably shouldn’t have been, Ruil was surprised to see as many humans and elves as there were dwarves.

The sound of Bolero’s hooves on the ground was accompanied by another, coming from Mathis’s horse beside him.  It reminded Ruil of his brother’s presence, and he glanced at him for a second.  After their disagreement months ago, Ruil honestly did not anticipate riding at his brother’s side once more.  After all, Mathis was by no means the person he was when they were children.  Then again, neither am I, Ruil reflected.  In the end, I guess that’s what it means to become a man: to change.  For better or worse.  At first, Ruil did indeed believe his brothers to have changed for the worse.  Mathis visited his own sister near every night.  Young though he was, Ruil was neither oblivious nor stupid.  He did not fault his brother that, though he did fault him the excessive drinking he committed himself to after their sister’s death.  The binges disgusted him.

Now, Gundioc was far worse.  How that bear had ever once been considered a man, he did not know.  Never before had Ruil seen a man he worried would break his own horse.  Though, Gundioc would probably have liked to see that happen.  It would have been a great excuse to eat the thing.  His fighting style was even that of a bear.  He carried a two-handed warhammer, and would swing it with absolutely no finesse.  Ruil himself had gone up against those weapons (the hammer and Gundi’s rage).  He left that fight with a broken shield and a nearly broken arm – though his brother left it with several cuts and possibly even a fresh scar on his temple courtesy of Ruil’s spear – and just having been grabbed by the man left bruises that lasted for weeks.

Ruil could no longer recall exactly why their conflict escalated to the point of driving him from his brothers, but regardless, he had spent nearly a month in the Truban province.  He had even stayed at the Thirsty Herald tavern, a bittersweet memory he loved and hated with equal passion.  But that journey was over, and he had decided against sailing to Nybelmar.  Traveling back to Manthria instead, Ruil returned to the Three Arcs Keep, where he once again reunited with his brothers.

His mind snapped back to the present.  Mathis rode ever silently.  Amazing.  He even persuades you with his silence.  In my case, to be just as silent.  Bolero gave a whinny as if in agreement.  The blonde man patted his steed, then turned to his brother.  “I have yet to visit a dwarven settlement, brother.  I can only imagine what fun it must be to antagonize a dwarf, though it may be counterproductive.”  It was unfortunate they had to mind themselves.  Truth be told, antagonizing the dwarves sounds much more fun than it should be.

Title: Re: Stables
Post by: Mathis Mallister on June 19, 2009, 11:10:33 AM
Mathis had not been surprised when Ruil returned to Three Arcs Keep: the ruined fortress where the Mallisters made their home and stored their dubiously earned fortune. When the boy had left, his boasts had been lofty; speaking of leaving the kingdom for Nybelmar across the sea - but he was away for a bare pair of fortnights. Mathis assumed the boy had investigated the tournament prospects on the faraway continent and found them untenable. Alternatively, perhaps he had realized his reasons for leaving in the first place were absurd. Gundioc had wanted an elfess in his bed, Mathis had wanted to test himself against the wardens of the Zeiphyrian Forest - Ruil had called them criminals and traitors to the crown. That revelation was apparently a sincere shock to him.

It had all been for nought. Mathis and Gundioc had failed to steal an elven maid - all they had gained from the excursion was arrow wounds and an even lower opinion of ruling local nobility - and returned to the Keep empty handed. The Bear allowed himself little time to heal before setting out to satisfy his fetish once more - in another wood perhaps - this time Mathis did not accompany him. Gundioc could handle himself, and Matt did require time to recover from a grave leg wound. Ruil had returned then, and Mathis knew how fragile the brotherhood had become. We needed this job, the middle brother reflected. Not for the bounty, either.

The village council of Courtford sought the head of a murderer who, when discovered, had stolen one of their prize horses in his escape. Mathis and Ruil had tracked him across forest, river, and into the mountains before losing the trail. However, a tall man with red hair and one hand would stick out far too much in Holt or Starmiran, he would need to stop somewhere busier and more diverse - Tyr Donian. Once they found him, they could cut off his other hand for theft and carry him back to Courtford to collect their bounty. Mathis was actually reassured of success by his elder brother Gundioc's absence. He would have been overkill in a fight with a one handed man, and would have slowed them down besides - not to mention the likelihood that he would have spooked the target, or offended their dwarven hosts.

As Mathis was considering how grateful he was that he was working with his less impulsive, more professional brother - Ruil broke the silence. “I have yet to visit a dwarven settlement, brother.  I can only imagine what fun it must be to antagonize a dwarf, though it may be counterproductive.” Mathis was suddenly locked in a contest of will, combating the urge to hide his snarling face behind his palm. Counterproductive?! Instead he turned to Ruil and spoke through gritted teeth as he let his expression show. "My genuine greetings good brother Gundioc. I hadn't seen you there until this very moment." Sarcasm saturated staccato syllables. For a few moments he slipped back into silence, but then sighed as he realized the boy did need to be told of the finer points of dwarven manners. Mathis should have considered this himself, but had been too focused on the internal issues of the fraternal organization.

Seven years before, after five years of brutal war and near fatal adventuring in Northern Sarvonia; travelling from Worldquest to Remusiat - felling orcs and furry men beyond the barest pretense of counting - the first thing Mathis Mallister had done after landfall was make the journey to Tyr Donian. His armor and bastard sword were made there, in a forge owned by an ancient, broken artisan named Jorgumund Furnacemaster. He had been fond of the dwarves and remembered the short sojourn well. Mathis wished he was returning for pleasure's sake rather than business as usual - before he decided that wishing was a waste of the willpower required to make oneself remember that wishes never come true.

“You will want to eat with both hands,” he taught his brother. “Lick your fingers to show you appreciate the flavor and do not stifle your belches. Take special care not to spill, and never under any circumstances are you to fill your own drinking horn. You may rest assured it will be filled for you ...” Perhaps the dwarves would be so impressed with the Mallisters' table manners they would turn over the hiding fugitive without incident. Was that another wish? Mathis you are a bloody fool.

Title: Re: Stables
Post by: Sir Ruil Mallister on June 19, 2009, 01:16:49 PM
Mathis’s response caught Ruil off-guard.  He found himself smiling; his brother’s sarcasm tasted sweeter than he anticipated.  In fact, Ruil had found most of his elder brother’s faults quite endearing since he returned from his solo excursion.  Whereas before he would be put off by the off-handed comments - or lack thereof - now he embraced them.  He had come to notice the more subtle things Mathis did, particularly during their hunt for the outlaw.  When his brother did speak, it was substantial.  Everything Ruil needed was provided, if he but pay attention.

“You will want to eat with both hands.  Lick your fingers to show you appreciate the flavor and do not stifle your belches. Take special care not to spill, and never under any circumstances are you to fill your own drinking horn. You may rest assured it will be filled for you ...”

The younger brother nodded in acknowledgement.  Dwarven customs seemed peculiar indeed.  But the eccentrics were less important than why they had come to Tyr Donion; they were more a tool to ensure the job was completed.  The man they hunted was likely to be somewhere in this town.  The Brothers Mallister merely needed to find him.  And find him they would.  But for now, Ruil turned his attention to the tavern coming up before them.  Square pillars looked as if they held the ceiling of the tunnel more than the building itself.  Off to the side of the tavern was an odd doorway in the rock, one in which stood a blonde Centoraurian man with his horse.

“That must be the stables, there,” said Ruil, more to himself than to his brother.  He assumed Mathis would make that observation unaided.  He’s blocking the bloody door, thought Ruil.  Typical.  He imagined what Gundioc would do, should he have joined his brothers on this hunt.  Probably have his horse trample the guy.  Then he could have the horse for himself… and eat the one he didn’t want.  Another smile played across his face at the thought.  It was even funnier knowing it was probably true.  Well, it would get the guy out of our way.

When the brothers reached the stables, he blinked upon finding the lintel near at eye level.  He felt foolish for being surprised.  It was, after all, constructed by those notoriously short.  Yet Mathis had informed him that Tyr Donion was intended specifically as an interracial trade post.  Perhaps the dwarven architect merely overlooked how tall a mounted man might be.  Perhaps not.  Rolling his eyes either way, Ruil swung off of Bolero, landing on his feet with weight.  Taking his steed’s reins in his left hand, the knight brushed past the Centoraurian man, keeping his spear between the two.

Once into the stables, the blond mercenary made a quick scan of his surroundings.  The stables were largely empty, besides a few horses, a donkey, a boar, and a dwarf.  Ruil presumed the dwarf was the stable “boy”.  Since the dwarf was preoccupied, the knight moved by him to one of the empty stalls.  Bolero wandered into the stall of his own accord, which enabled his master to spend his time tying the horse in.  Once the horse was all set, the knight left his spear at the far end of the stall.  His flanged mace would be enough in the unlikely event he would need a sidearm.

Grabbing his shield and hoisting it over his shoulder, he closed the stall and stood over by Mathis, ready to go.  “They best have Tuborger Brown,” he said with a grin.  Ruil just may have developed a taste for the stuff.

Title: Re: Stables
Post by: Mathis Mallister on June 22, 2009, 08:01:56 AM
Mathis was amused by the tenderness with which Ruil treated his steed, noting that his younger brother thought of the warhorse as a friend or companion – rather than a weapon. His own mount Ghelgath had once been ridden by the dispossessed son of a northern noble house, who knew the beast's use in battle but was terrified of being bitten by it. Sure enough, when the Remusian rider died in the same raid that killed the middle Mallister's original horse – Mathis found Ghelgath tearing at his owner's cheek. Even after fourteen years of service, he had no delusions that the hellhorse would show his body any more respect. Note to self: Live forever.

Inside the stables, the formidable brigand dismounted and began carefully going through the motions of stalling and securing the animal that he named after the Demon Lord of Ice himself. He saw no attendant – only a pork-starved dwarf and an armored man who seemed as enamored with his own horse as Ruil was with Bolero – but was only mildly annoyed by the lack of professionalism. He was used to managing Ghelgath himself as a mere matter of practicality. When the ill mannered mount bit, kicked or otherwise mangled an innkeeper's son they expected compensation. Mathis was by no means short on silver, but he didn't believe in wasting it on bloodied children.

Finally Mathis reviewed his inventory. He would not leave his bastard sword as Ruil left his spear, not trusting even the dwarves of the town where it had been made. Before he left his living liability locked in the stall, he removed a flask from the saddlebag - Ruil was too busy wishing for a drink of his own to notice. Satisfied with his effort at accessorization he motioned to Ruil to move along. “We'll see in a moment, won't we?” His hand drifted to where he had hidden the flask. I have all I need right here.

Title: Re: Stables
Post by: Arin Gavalas on June 22, 2009, 03:52:19 PM
I really hope this doesn't end up like that mess in Courtford. Arin's horse whinnied as they entered the tunnel.  At least I made it out of there with my head as well as a free ride,  Arin thought to himself as he reassured his mount with a soft pat.

As the stables came into view, he pulled his hood over his head with a yawn. He wouldn't be able to travel much longer, and hoped the rooms had locks of them.  As he reached the stables he sleepily dismounted, which must have looked more like a controlled fall than anything else, and lead his prize through the low entrance.

Arin lazily surveyed the area taking note of the dwarf with his pig and the man tending his horse.  He found an empty stall next to another horse when something caught his eye.  There was a spear at the back of the stall. He went to rest his left hand on the stall and stumbled over as the stub of his former hand made contact with the wooden surface.  He examined the horse from a careful distance not to draw unwanted attention to himself from the parties still present.  I hope they're not after me.  After fumbling around attempting to tie up his new companion with one hand, he made his way to toward the tavern, brushing by the man and the dwarf.

As he approached the door, a voice echoed to him,  I think you're exactly the boy I need for this job, Arintheos.  Take this.  When all is prepared, I'll find you.  Arin pondered to himself,  What sort of job could be in store for me that requires this much secrecy?  No matter.  I've never had a job that paid this well.  How will he find me though?  He shook his head and adjusted his hood.

Title: Re: Stables
Post by: Morden Peshirgolz on June 25, 2009, 08:36:34 AM

The stable boy had been sitting in the tavern, listening to the conversation of the old dwarf Galkhirril. He loved listening to the old dwarf, and so forgot his stable duties for the moment. When some newcomers entered the tavern, smelling of horses, the young dwarf started with guilt as he realized his error. "By the forge and anvil, I'll be hearing 'bout this for a week if I don't get out there right now!" He rushed out of the tavern, bumping his way past a few patrons, and rapidly left behind him the bustling noise of the Warhammer. Reaching the stables, he took a quick moment to survey his surroundings. Four horses had been put up, and a few men milled around caring for their steeds. Arhung did not pay much notice to the humans there, as he ran and quickly retrieved some water from the back rooms of the stable, where a spring was conveniently located, and filled the horses' water troughes.

Some of the men there had already left to enter the tavern. Arhung hoped very sincerely that they were not displeased with the temporary lack of a stable hand to help them. If they complained to Hragnúr or one of the other dwarves...well, no use worrying about that now. If he was in trouble, he was in it already and there was no undoing his carelessly. Now, to getting food for the horses, that was the priority. But first, perhaps, he should make sure any persons still remaining in the stables were properly taken care of. He turned around, as he had been heading towards the backrooms once more, and as he began to walk back to the front of the stable his view was obscured by a corner of the wall. He could not tell if anyone else was left in the stable. Ah well, he called out anyway, "Anything else I could do to help you good sirs?" Not knowing whether any "good sirs" were still around to hear his question, he continued to proceed to the front of the stables.

Title: Re: Stables
Post by: Mallayn Galnodren on November 06, 2010, 09:07:06 AM
As Mallyn entered the stable with River close on her heels, she thought she heard something from one of the darker corners. "Hello? Is anyone there?" She and River were ready to rest and be fed in a warm, preferably indoors place.
"Should I take care of it myself, then?

Title: Re: Stables
Post by: Thorin Broadfist on November 16, 2010, 12:09:09 PM

"Hello? Is anyone there? Should I take care of it myself, then?" Arhung roused himself from the nap he had been so intently occupied with. He remembered a very late, exciting night and a very slow morning, making this interruption quite the surprise. And then he remembered his job... "Oh no! Not again!" he thought to himself as he hurriedly rushed to the front of the stables to see whose house required care. "I'm very sorry sir, I didn't notice you there. Please, if you'll just hand me the reins, I'll take very good care of your horse for you." Arhung picked up a bucket to fill with feed and walked over towards River, "What's his name if may ask?" He always did like getting to know the animals he cared for, even if not for very long.

Title: Re: Stables
Post by: Mallayn Galnodren on November 16, 2010, 09:45:53 PM
"Her name; it's River, thank you for asking. If it's not too much trouble, could you give her a warm mash, as well? She's had a cold, wet day."  Not that you'll do it, Mallayn thought. From what she had seen, this dwarf was not the pinnacle of hardworking stablehands. He should do for one night, though. Turning her thoughts toward herself, she wondered if there was good food in the inn...