The King's Players RPG

[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?"

[Pitchwife]

"Zat will be for the best, I zink", Coldan agreed, dragging Harrenon away from the bakery before the huge captain of the guard who had shown up in the least convenient moment could think of inquiring what legitimate interest two civilians, whose friends had just caused rumours of fighting and murder, could have in finding an armoury. As for Branor and Therian, Amdír could probably be relied on to take the two goodfornothings back to the inn without much further mayhem, and once there, Brinn would have a word or two with them that would hopefully put some reason into their heads, if reason could bear to dwell there.

He clapped his companion on the shoulder reassuringly. "Don't take it to heart too much", he said, trying to sound more confident than he actually felt. "Not all is lost yet. It doesn't look to good for us right now, I'll give you zat, but ve'll make it yet - and if I hev to rewrite that dratted script myself." A mere day ago, he wouldn't have had the slightest doubt in his ability to do that - after all, correcting another man's mistakes couldn't be as hard as composing from scratch, could it?, and he had often irritated Brinn by improvising what he thought improvements to his lines on stage. Since the news that the King himself was going to attend their performance, however, the stakes had been raised considerably, and under that pressure, he was beginning to feel ever so slightly less certain of his own abilities. If he was quite honest with himself, he knew that he would never finish a revision in the time allotted to them. But at the very least he, for one, would carry out the assignment Brinn had given him without making a fool of himself.

A sign saying 'Blacksmiths' Road' rekindled his hopes. Following it, they soon heard the clear 'ping-ping' of hammer on anvil, and at the second intersection, where it was crossed by Anvil Road, they found a workshop with a sign of crossed swords over its door sitting right on the corner.

Inside, the smith was hammering away at a glowing blade while his apprentice was taking care of the furnace in the background. Two grizzled men were sitting on a bench near the anvil, and now or then one or the other commented on the work in progress; both had the hardened look of veteran soldiers, but neither bothered to look around at the goods displayed, which made Coldan think they had to be friends of the smith's. The only regular customer was a tall, dark-haired man in a strange livery, similar to that which the Guards of the Citadel wore, but all in white; he was examining some knives and daggers to one side of the room.

"Good morning, Master Armourer!" Coldan greeted the smith. "How's business?"

The smith briefly looked up, nodded to him and continued with his work. "Can't complain; my customers know I make excellent blades and are willing to pay the appropriate price. What more can a man ask?"

"I'm sure of zat! But still, zere can't be zat much demand for your goods in zese days of peace. Must hev been different during ze Var."

"You can say that aloud!" The smith plunged the finished blade in a barrel to quench it, and a cloud of steam welled up. "I was apprenticed to Master Findring then, and him me and the other lads worked day and night to keep the guards and soldiers supplied. Still, as I said, I can't complain; the One Enemy's gone, and the King pardoned the Easterlings and Southrons as fought for him, but not all of them are content with his rule, and he and his knights are busy enough keeping them at peace."

"Like you'd need to tell him that", one of the veterans said with a glowering look in Coldan's direction. "The guards are getting lax in their duty, if they let former Orc-friends into the city nowadays."

Coldan's eyes narrowed. "Vat do you mean by zis?"

"You know full well what I mean", the man growled back at him. "Last time I saw a face like yours around these parts was in the War, at the other end of my halberd. Aren't the plains of Rhûn wide enough for you, that you must molest people in the King's own city?"

That did it. In his head, Coldan knew he should better keep quiet, but he just couldn't contain himself, and all the frustration pent up inside him erupted and burst out at this gross insult.

"Nobody calls me zat!" he yelled, shaking with rage. "No Orc-friend Easterling I am, but a free man of Dorvinion! A thousand years and more ve vithstood the Shadow all alone, while Mother Gondor had forgotten and forsaken us! If one of my foremothers long ago was raped by a Vainrider and bequeathed his features to me, who is to blame? Must I zerefore stand here and be insulted by a brutish oaf who quaffs our vine but spurns the folk as make it?"

[Boromir88]

Branor, despite that disaster, was grinning when he walked back to Therian. "And that, my boy, is what women will do to you. They will take your money and leave you on the side standing helpless. And that misses, not all that interesting anyway, certainly not as pretty as Brinn. Oh my, uhm, you did not hear me say that." In truth, he was just trying to save face, even though he guessed Therian knew Branor had that blow up in his face.

He was not bothered by being charged extra, since it was probably the best sticky bun he could remember having. "Mmm, that was quite tasty. I would go back and ask for another, if I was assured she would not hike up the price on me again. Still, she woefully undercharges for her sticky buns."

"What do you expect from, you know, from a shop being owned by...a her." Therian said. He still seemed focused to figure out how every lady he's met in Minas Anor defies traditional logic.

The large guard-Captain was not enjoying their conversation as he always was shooting suspicious glances, as if he was looking for a reason to throw the two out.

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

Amdir was engaged in conversation with Captain Formy, and was slowly looking more stern towards Branor and Therian. When the two approached Amdir and he saw their faces a look of exasperation, what had these two whippers been up to? And how did they get Captain Formy so riled?

"I suppose I need to take you both back to the Inn, after your adventures last night?" Amdir gave them a hard look.

Branor was lost, how did it seem like everyone knew what happened last night except for Branor and Therian? Not that he would apologize for any trouble making he caused, as it most likely was not his fault. It would still help to know why he needed to apologize? All he did was save Therian from getting squashed. Unless Olog finally caught up to them? He could have sworn, while Olog had the clear advantage in strength, they more than made up for by outwitting the lame half-wit.

"Thanks, Amdir, but that will not be necessary." said Branor. "I am going to continue following Brinn's orders by investigating the hobbits. You can tell her this if you see fit. Therian, you coming?"