The King's Players RPG

[Mnemosyne]

"Chop chop, my man, fetch the wifey, the carpenter and anyone else with an interest in the future of this...troupe. My escort is hungry; we shall wait here and tuck into a hearty breakfast."

Oh, dear. That did not sound good. Rollan bowed. "My lord, Mistress Celebrindal is indisposed at the moment; having turned her ankle yesterday. The Healer has said it is a bad turn, and she is not to put her weight on it for a week. So, unless you wish to be treated to the farce of her being borne here on my back, or unless you wish to see an honest woman to be lamed for the rest of her life, we shall have to entertain you at our carts, which can be seen within."

He sighed. He was not as good at mollifying those with blood on their minds as Brinn was. And this man clearly it on his.

"If you will meet us in the courtyard after your sup, I am certain that I shall be able to find those you would like to speak with and gather them there. We have sent many of our troupe out, you see, to better research the historical accuracy of our plays. Enjoy your meal, my lord, and I hope to see you within."

He gave his best, most elaborate bow, and turned to leave.

[Anguirel]

For a moment, Rollan would be very startled indeed; it seemed his talk of turned ankles and lameness had had a very dramatic effect indeed on the old Master of the Revels and his young son, who went purple and pallid respectively.

Remarkably, though, it would become apparent in some way that he had said something more helpful than disastrous. As he was in the process of hurrying off, a new intonation in the nobleman's words brought him up short. The Lord Cirdacil's reply, though still crotchety in its substance, was much more reasonable sounding in its delivery.

"Injured, eh. Well, that's dashed unfortunate. All this clambering over stages, trouble bound to happen, isn't it. Well, we shall meet later then, sirrah, in the courtyard, if you will it so. Gather as many as your men as you can, especially those I have mentioned; I want them neatly turned out, ready to listen to a serious matter. And do deliver all this correspondence to this scribbler of yours as quick as you can; he does seem to be a popular fellow."

Lord Cirdacil shot his son Sador a quizzical look, and if Rollan followed the glance with any attention he would note the young nobleman, still mounted unlike his father, sitting in an awkward posture, slightly unbalanced in the saddle by his left, malformed leg. The moment soon passed, and the old lord flashed his dark, tempestuous eyes back to the player.

"As for Mistress Celebrindal, if there is any more trouble, sir, consider yourself free to apply to me for the use of our family physician up at the House. You are soon to be in my employ, even if none of us particularly relish that fact, and I suppose I had better see you whole in limb if I can. Until soon, then."

Cirdacil gave a sharp nod in Rollan's direction to indicate their speech was now over, and the player free to depart. In the background the guards had already got the ostlers to deal with their horses, and were bustling the unfortunate Ingold about to deal with their handsome meal...

[Boromir88]

"Vere have you two been and vat exactly have you been doing?" Coldan asked when Branor and Therian walked into the bakery.

"Glad to see both of you as well" shot back Branor. He was stiff, tired, and thus in no mood to banter or feel like he had to answer to anyone.

"I make no offense," replied Coldan. "but you have made a fine mess of things vith your antics so far."

"Do not concern yourself with us," Branor muttered "we decided it was better to investigate at night than in the morning. Mornings everyone is busy with daily duties and is in no mood for friendly chat with strangers. Besides we found out a good deal about the hobbits yesterday, aint that right?" He looked to Therian for support, but it was clear Therian, like Branor, did not remember last night's events.

Coldan and Harrenon looked at Therian's bruised eye and wondered how much investigating the two really could have done, but did not protest further.

Branor's stomach was grumbling and when he saw the lady attending her goods, he tapped Therian's arm. The misses's face looked worn, like any person who runs a store typically does, but there was still a fair and vibrant beauty to her. Branor could tell she took great care to make her goods and give her customers the best. If Therian really wanted to know how to properly address a lady than Branor was going to show him.

"Hello Misses" he smiled and leaned forward onto the counter. His tone softened to a near whisper "I am in desperate need of nourishment and have heard high remarks about your wares and ability to satisfy what I need."

The Mistress firmly placed her hand on the counter, expressing just tell me what you want and go about your business.

"But I have not been in here before and do not know what you have. I am feeling something sweet and filling. Can I see your finest sweet buns, honey?" Branor cleared his throat. "Pardon me, that was supposed to come out as, can I see your finest honey buns...sweetie? Ahem. No. Do your buns have honey drizzled on top?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Fea crossed her arms over her chest and shared a look with Captain Form. "Now, young man," she began, though Branor could easily have been her age for all she knew, "it looks from your bruises that you have been fighting. And that is not looked kindly upon in the King's City, or in my market."

Therian gulped and stuttered, "Your market?"

"Yes, boy, mine, as far as that sort of thing goes. You are not from around here, so I would not expect you to know it, but in these parts we have ways of behaving. I take it the two of you are the cause of my shop boy scooting his tush back into my kitchen faster than I've ever seen him move, all the while yelling of murders and ruffians?"

Therian looked at Branor. Murderers? But they were just actors! A puzzle piece of memory locked into place and Therian saw for a moment the flash of Olog's bear shaped body as he lumbered after them down the road. How, he wondered, had they escaped? They had not had that much to drink, had they? And for the sake of it all, why had they slept on the ground? "I... um... well, by 'kill' we meant our Boss... and not really kill so much as be very upset with us... in a way that might mean she will not be our boss any more?"

Fea humphed and found a sweet sticky roll for Branor and charged him double her normal price, to make up for Erchan's loss of productivity, and because the fool had to learn one way or another, and maybe an empty pocket would enforce the idea of a mouth that had no words coming out of it.

"And," Fea said, "In the mean time, you've had me neglecting another patron. If you will excuse me..."

[Formendacil]

Amdír made good time returning from Lord Hallas's estate, and was slowing climbing up into the city from the Great Gate before morning had truly passed. It helped that Lord Hallas's estate was close to the city, no more than a league or two. It also helped that days were long, and one could get a lot done when the sun rose early.

Normally, Amdír would have avoided going through Lamedon Square Market with a laden waggon, but even though it was coming busy as the morning wore on, he didn't fancy trying to take the waggon, which was more cumbersome than most carts he drove, down one of the back ways, and decided to continue slowly up Lampwright's Street, even if it meant braving the impatience of the crowds.

He was passing through the Market, irritating the occasional seller or buyer of goods and wares when he caught sight of Branor and Therian looking rather worse for the wear next to a well-kept baker's stall. A large man wearing the uniform of a Tower Guard loomed nearby.

"Branor! Therian!" called Amdír. "Hello, there!"

Instead of immediately catching the two actors' attention, Amdír's salutation was noticed by the Guard.

"Good morning, good yeoman!" returned Captain Formy jovially. "Are you responsible for these impertinent ragamuffins?"

Amdír's natural respect for those in authority caused him to overlook the jovial diminishment of the two actors.

"No, sir, though I know them. They are members of the King's Players, staying at Ingold's Inn."

"Good King Elessar has players? What do they play at? Are they a troop of gamblers that play at the games of dice said to be prevalent in the cold of winter in the King's northern homeland?"

"No sir, they are an acting troupe--from Dale. It is from King Bard II that they take their name. They are here to put on a performance as a part of the Cormarë revels."

"Best see they take a break from their own revels, if they wish to entertain anyone else," suggested the captain with a mock-stern glance at the actors.

[Dimturiel]

“That’s it,” Harrenon said after the problem with Therian and Branor seemed more or less solved with the arrival of Amdir. “If I had any doubts until now, I don’t anymore. First we find out we might have faulty information, then Brinn breaks her ankle and now this. There’s no doubt about it. We’re cursed. This play is cursed. We’re not meant to do it. We can’t put up a performance about what happened in the War of the Ring. It’s wrong. We’re…we’re meddling with something that’s too…too grand for us and we can’t do that. We’re receiving all sorts of signs that we can’t do it. This play is doomed. I’m sure it is!”

It was not often that Harrenon lost control like this in public, but when he did, his outbursts where usually memorable and quite embarrassing in hindsight. After he was finally done he was aware of a sudden silence around him and realised that many had stopped whatever they were doing to listen to him curiously. Coldan looked quite uncomfortable at the turn of events. Harrenon bit his lips, realising that the only thing he had done was to draw even more attention to the Players.

“I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly to Coldan. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m really sorry. Now can we please find that blasted armoury before I say something else that might cause trouble?”

[the phantom]

Aldarion tensed as a handful of troops entered the common room, but he soon relaxed, noting that they were not holding their weapons at the ready nor did they appear to be searching for anyone in particular. His suspicions were confirmed when they seated themselves around a table near the bar and called for food and drink.

Though he could not be certain, Aldarion assumed these were some of the guards that had accompanied the Master of Revels, for to his understanding it would not be a common thing to spot two different packs of Citidel Guards in the lowest level of the city. They're sitting down, at ease. Perhaps this indicates that the Revels Master is conducting lengthy business here, and that the business does not require the services of guards? That's promising.

No longer inclined to fear the worst (that Branor had brought the King's wrath down upon them) Aldarion made his way from the common room, intending to check the player's block of rooms and the cart for the Revels Master, Brinn, and the others. But immediately upon entering the hall he spotted Asta and Rollan at the bottom of the stair to his right. Neither looked particularly panicked, which quelled Aldarion's fears to the point that he felt nearly happy.

"Well, I'm relieved to see that you have not been arrested," said Aldarion as he approached. "Now, where is the Master of Revels, and what does he want?"

[Nerwen]

"What are we going to do, Rollan?" said Asta, joining her brother-in-law as he left the hall. She had overheard the latter part of his conversation with the old lord, but that was all.

Rollan said he did not know, pointing out that, for that matter, they did not know what the Master of Revels wanted of them yet anyway. He asked if all the others had left already.

"Yes, except Sereth, of course. But it's worse than you think– Branor's bed hasn't been slept in and neither has–"

"Well, aren't you the nosy one?" Rollan broke in, amused in spite of their situation.

Asta flushed slightly, making up her mind not to ask Rollan about those two letters he carried, much as they intrigued her. "The door happened to be ajar, Rollan. As I was saying, he and Therian must have been out all night, and who knows what they've managed to get themselves into? Oh, I'm sure those horrid lords and their guards are just toying with us, and we're all to be thrown in a dungeon after they've had their breakfast!" She wondered what being in a dungeon was like, and how long it would take her to starve in one. Not long, she decided, what with her sensitive nostrils and her already-meagre frame. And what would happen to her equipment if she went to prison? To her eagles, and her walking trees? To Smaug?

But it seemed Rollan was doubtful now whether the Master of Revels would have come just to see them arrested, and anyway he had other things on his mind. "What about Aldarion? He left with Amdir, I suppose?"

"Oh, Aldarion? Well... I'm not sure," Asta lied. From her vantage point on the stairs, she had clearly seen the playwright's tall figure slipping furtively into the Common Room. It was all too plain that he had meant to lie low and let the rest of the troupe take whatever trouble was coming to them. Asta was quite shocked and hurt. She had been– not exactly in love with him– in fact, not even remotely in love with him, she decided– but she had certainly thought he cared for her. She could not, however, quite bring herself to tell tales on him yet.

And after all, she thought, stealing a glance over her shoulder at the guards now trooping in for their breakfast, much good Aldarion's stealth and cowardice would do him now!