Battle at Harkon Manor

[ghostcat]

Mogins

Mogins is starting to get bored. He enjoys it when his master pays attention to him and he loves been stroked. he also loves the creeping game. But now his master is just standing around ignoring him. Seeing that his master's attention has wonder, Mogins wonders off and starts to creep down to see what the other humans in the room are up to. Perhaps they will make a fuss of him. Seeing a pool of water on the floor, Mogins realises that he is thirsty, so he creeps over and starts to drink.

From the point of view of the people in the room, a ginger cat appears as if from nowhere and starts lapping at the puddle formed when Brand poured the water over the elf. Having finished drinking, the cat starts rubbing itself round Brand's legs, meowing to be made a fuss of.

 

[Frozen Messiah]

From the point of view of the people in the room, a ginger cat appears as if from nowhere and starts lapping at the puddle formed when Brand poured the water over the elf. Having finished drinking, the cat starts rubbing itself round Brand's legs, meowing to be made a fuss of.

"Mogins is it, mon petit cheri. Vein avec Claude, you should not bother theothers at the moment they are busy." Claude says as he quickly moving over and scooping Mogins into his arms and walks back to his seat where he begins to pet him and scratch him behind his ears absent mindedly as he continues to think about the scenario that is occuring infront of him.

 

[Deskjob]

Marko, The Wayhouse

Marko was beginning to wish he didn't know High Elven. The prisoner was just shouting vulgarities that were making him flinch. Maybe a gag would be helpful until the prisoner was more cooperative. *sigh* They weren't going to get anything out of this elf for a good while.

Claude was right above the skill of observation too. There is much to be learned with all your senses. Marko figured letting the elf go and attempting to track him would be a waste too. Elves knew how to disappear in natural surroundings quite well.

Marko didn't know much in the ways of getting elves to talk either. Maybe cut off his hair and drag him naked behind a horse for a few hours? Nah. He didn't want to think about it. If the prisoner didn't talk then he was ripe for execution. Better a quick death then a slow riot by disease in a dungeon cell. Haha. Now Marko was making himself flinch. He made a mental note never to be captured. It was too embarressing...

 

[Myth and Legend]

Lora had returned to her usual self - a slightly irritated demeanor and the occasional tug on her ponytail. She had let the purple rose clasp stay in her hair, but could not bear the long black locks get in her way now that this endeavor had turned out to be much more than a ride to enjoy the countryside. Onesimus seemed to be very loyal to military hierarchy, which meant that now Vance overruled any order that Lora would give him. Not that there was anything in particular she would have the man do.

Claude seemed at home here too - a good rider, a good diplomat and with reasonable intelligence, for a man. Trinham had hobbled off his horse and had lost himself from Lora's view, but the girl had been preoccupied with the still bleeding wound on her shoulder and her torn, blood soaked dress to notice. Still, the lad had returned to the manor unscathed, and from here on Lora would think him capable of handling himself.

The so called shoemaker seemed to understand the Treylor language, a much more elaborate form of Elven than Lora had been familiar with.The girl was smart - she prized her intellect above any other talent she possessed, and she tried to pierce together what the Elf was saying. However, seeing the burning anger in the captive's eyes and the hate seething in his voice, the girl was taken aback and a bit distracted. There was something about male aggression that made her gut feel like a ball of lead, while her mind immediately started imagining what would happen should she find herself pitted against him, free of his bounds.

Lora shook her head and *humphed* - this was no time for nonsense. "He seems well trained and tough. Harming him physically may not be the best way to break him indeed. We must injure his pride - he is an Elf, first and foremost. He comes from a well disciplined and organized army, and is already above a common citizen because he is part of the army proper. I say gather every milkmaid, swineherd and stable boy we can, and let them laugh and point their fingers as he is put to work. Perhaps shoveling manure out of the stables and pig houses, while naked. Yes, that would do."

Lora put her left index finger against her temple as she leered her head to the side and curled her lips, looking at the captive with poorly hidden malice. She was not evil, at least she did not think herself evil, but it was best to put on a good show for now.

[sblock]Umm I'm not sure what was expected of Lora and why the others think she abandoned the party, she is not their keeper and does not order them around all the time Anyway, Int check to see how much she gets out of the unfamiliar tongue: 1d20+4=9 Also, is there a smell check? I mean, can Mogins smell Ginger (Lora's rat familiar) who is currently hiding in her pocket?)[/sblock]

 

[HolyMan]

[sblock=Jareth] Rizella's face goes ashen at the mention of a trial being held during the full moon. "So soon." she whispers tears forming in her eyes. For a moment she can say nothing just sitting there dabbing at her eyes with her napkin.

After a moment she breathes in deeply, and looks a litttle more composed. "Tharivol's father was tried and sent into exile, it too was held during a full moon. You must help Tharivol I couldn't stand to lose him too."

She stands and says "Follow me." (will assume you do ) Jareth rises and follows the Lady of Harkon back up to the rooms on the second floor. There he is invited into the sitting room and waits as Rizella goes into her bedchamber and then returns caring what looks like an olive green blanket over one arm. "This was Tharivol's fathers Elven Cloak. I had hoped to give it to Tharivol on his return but I believe you should have it. Both to help you and reward you for what you are about to undertake for me and my son." She takes the cloak in both hands and let's it roll out to the floor. It's drab green color is accented with runes of black and brown, looking almost like branches and twigs. The cord at the neck is fine silk and the hood is overly large to help put the wearers face into shadow. "Please try it on." Rizella says holding it out towards Jareth. [/sblock]

[sblock=OOC] I know a Cloak of Elvenkind is suppose to be neutral grey(ala Lord of the Rings) but I find a descriptor much more thrilling to type up. LOL [/sblock]

 

[Dragonwriter]

[sblock=HM]
Jareth looks in awe at the masterfully-crafted cloak. He takes it in his hands, his eyes going over the cloak, noting every detail and finest point. He swallows hard, his eyes shining. He shakes his head, saying, “My lady, I am sorry. I could not take this from you. It is… not my place to be the holder of this, much as I would like to be. It belongs to you and your son.”
[/sblock]

[sblock=OOC]
Different description is fine by me. In my opinion, flavor and pictures are always changeable.

And I know Jareth’s action is a little odd, but it strikes me that at this point, after hearing about what they went through, and how much this means to her, Jareth would be a bit more noble concerning this. He couldn’t take such a sentimental item from a grieving woman.
[/sblock]

 

[HolyMan]

Mogins sits queitly on the table before Claude enjoying the mans strong hands as the stroke his back. The cat stares intently at Lora it's eyes little slits as it's tail lashes back and forth in a slow even pace. Ginger's nose quivers nervously as she(?) smells the scent of cat, and Lora can feel the slight quivering of her familiar.

"Ah the clothes, I am sorry Lord Grignard they are Kase's." He says with a smile. "Kase do you have the equipment the man was found with?"

"Yes sir," the man says moving from the door to a sack on the floor under one of the moved tables. He brings the sack over and places it on the table Claude and Lora are sitting at. Vance pulls open the sack and starts removing the items within.

A fine leather belt with a short blade and dagger still in their scarrabs clunks on the table. A finely carved bow detailed in vines and polished to a fine shine comes out next, the string of the bow is snapped and dangles from each end. After the bow comes a half empty quiver, a pair of soft boots, a pair of breeches in a green hue, along with a matching tunic. The clothes show the wear marks of armor and soon enough a suit of leather armor with elven designs and metal studs is laid across the table. The last items are a belt pouch, waterskin, and a plain grey woolen cloak.

In the pouch is flint and steel, a flat green rock, and some dried meat possibly rabbit.

"Well this elf looked to be well armed," Vance says taking up the bow and testing it's weight.

{{"Aa’ menle nauva calen! ar’ ta hwesta e’ ale’quenle!"}} the elf says trying to stand in his chair. Onesimus and Marko restrain him keeping him still.

"Hmm... I think we have found something here," Vance says looking over the bow. "Maybe something like you suggested Miss Lora," he says walking to stand in front of the elf. "Do you want this back?" he asks the elfshaking the bow at him. "Then you need to answer my questuons."

{{"Mallen pelu e' n'alaquel en' sen."}} the elf says quietly.

[sblock=OOC] Mogins and Ginger can smell esch other. [/sblock][sblock=OOC]
Words Lora caught:
First post - Edanea = humans and orqu = orc
This Post - hewesta= die and alaquel = hundred [/sblock]

 

[HolyMan]

[sblock=Jareth] "And if you fail I will have no son!" the last words coming out as a sob. "Please take it then and give it to Tharivol after you have freed him. Please, oh please rescue him." she says stating to cry. [/sblock]

 

[Deskjob]

Marko, The Wayhouse

Marko listens will little interest to the elves sputtering. He was as defiant as ever and did not appreciate others confiscating his goods. Understandable. Many soldiers gain an attachment to their weapons and armor. They become symbols of duty, honor, and prowess to the men that wield them. The thread that separates them from life and death.

He knew some folk to be superstitious about such things too. Elves would qualify for this statement since luck, signs, symbols, and stars all had a place among their culture. In any culture really, but some folks are more devote than others.

Whatever the reason. Their prisoner reacted badly to his turn of events. Marko didn't think that brought them any closer to learning anything important though. Unless you could get him to shout insults in the form of secret battle-plans. ...Yeah, probably not.

 

[Myth and Legend]

Lora was relieved that the man would be easier to sway and such extremes as the actions she had suggested would not be needed. When Ginger, her female orange furred familliar, stirred at the notice of the similarly coloured cat Mogins, the girl scratched it's tiny head and whispered "There there now, he won't harm you."

However, Mogins had other ideas, and suddenly jumped in Lora's lap and tried to put his paw on a very scared and squeeking Ginger. The rat scurried out of Lora's pocket (a small thing on her side, this was a riding dress after all) and on to the wooden floor, followed by a cat that had been swiftly pushed away by an annoyed Lora. "Don't you dare harm my Ginger!" - the girl shook her finger at Mogins, knowing familliars were much more intelligent than regular animals.

The pair quickly scurried away, but Lora had confidence in Ginger's ability to survive. She was much more interested in what little she understood of that language the prisoner spoke. He had mentioned Orcs and death - one would rarely speak of Orcs without mentioning death but somehow the way he spoke suggested more - like an imminent threat perhaps. "My Lord Valorn, I think there might be more to this man's story. He has mentioned Orcs and a clash of some sorts - the girl looked questioningly at Marko. - do you mind if our shoemaker friend asks him more about this?"

Lora then eyed the Elven prisoner and stood up, coming closer to his chair, carrying her glaive with her. It was awkward to wield in such a crowded space, but she was used to it. "Durag tabakar orcurd nedard?"

[sblock=Orc]Do you speak the orcish tongue?[/sblock]
[sblock]Lol and here we get some Tom and Jerry action [/sblock]