Navarre inches closer to the conversation going on between the two men and the proud looking dwarf.  A  smile breaks across his rugged features and he seems happy for the first time since entering the marketplace. He does not interrupt but merely comments to the group casually and politely, offering words and phrases like, "interesting" and "I had no idea".

The level of detail presented by the patch-man is astounding and clearly Kodran is impressed. With a grin he remarks.  "What a fantastic tale friend and you tell it so well. Wish I had your memory.”

A moment later the dwarf introduces himself and inquires to the purpose for their presence.  Navarre nods respectfully to the group and answers with a hint of swagger.  "Name's Navarre.  Kodran.  Well met Master Ironside.  Me an' a couple 'a fellahs been chasin' a pack 'a orcs up the Running River.  Lost 'em about day an' a half ago. So I came into town to resupply, and I was hopin' I'd hear somethin' 'bout the pack.”
This message was last edited by the player at 21:51, Wed 11 Sept 2019.

“No knowledge of you pack of Orkas, Mhrister Navarre!  But - and yas, easy to tell, easy to tell the great stories and songs of that battle, from the thrush to to lake, and back again, as the saying goes.”

“I would love to hear your story of the Orkas; and yorn and yorn as well, to be sure! But Im off to play a tune or three at the sign of the Silver Flagon - it’s my favorite here - so come with, and your first drink is on Jody!”

“Come along - a friendly audience is a good audience, I say!”

Jody waggles his small, Hobbit sized banjo, and beckons along.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:05, Thu 12 Sept 2019.

In reply to Jody (msg # 11):

"Hehehe. Young hobbit, I might do just that.

Say, Navarre, a pack of orkas is a dangerous quarry for just a couple of fellahs."

He leads his mule in the direction the hobbit indicated.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:55, Thu 12 Sept 2019.

Thibault sips his drink, then introduces himself to Navarre. "Thibault. Sage and teacher. More of a hunter of the past than of orcs, but I wish you luck in your endeavors."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:28, Thu 12 Sept 2019.

Gram stood and listened, earnestly interested it seemed in all the strangers, their business in Lake Town and from whence they had come.

He smiled at the hobbit and nodded his thanks at the offer of a drink. "I'll not turn down such a thing, if you're offering." he said to the stranger, but lingered yet a little nearer to Thibault and Navarre. The mention of Orcs had visibly drawn his ear and his eyes glanced now and then to Navarre's sword, mostly when his attention was on Thibault.

"Orcs? Truly?" he asked in keen interest, then ran one hand through his thin beard in thought. "And you have been hunting them?" he asked again for clarification. "It is a rare sort of man that would seek such a thing sir. I am called Gram, son of Grammund." he bowed slightly at the waist as he introduced himself, and nodded to Thibault as well. After he had done so he continued."Pray tell master Kodran, if you will, how have you come to be a hunter of Orcs? That blade on your hip is of no common make, even I can tell that from a glance. Are you in the service of a Lord?"

Navarre is tickled to have found such friendly people so early into his venture into town.  ”Hmmm...”, he says intrigued at the suggestion that they follow the young man to the Silver Flagon, and the deal is sealed when Jody offers to buy the first round.  Kodran laughs and points at the rascal.  ”Lead on Master Jody.  I could use some drink and relaxation.”

Navarre is pleased to collect names as if he is collecting shiny coins to drop in his purse.  He offers a polite “Well met” to each in turn.  It would seem that Kodran is just as interesting as Jody and his songs for all of Kodrans new acquaintances inquire about his recent business.  The tall athletic man picks up his shield and offers a simple, ”Why don't we walk and talk then.”

As Navarre begins speaking the story turns dark.  One might expect the man's face to twist into rage, over worry or fright.  But his face remains as placid as if he were describing a long days work on a farm.  ”When I started I wasn't huntin' 'em.  I was just spyin' on 'em.  I found 'em southeast 'a the Old Forest Road, headin' west.  There were maybe...'bout thirty.  As orcs do they were up to no good.  Raiding farms, villages and traveling merchants.  I picked up a few watchmen from the smaller villagers who wanted to rid their lands 'a this blight, and by the time they were south 'a Lake Town there were only 'bout a dozen left.  That's more my speed so I aimed to kill 'em if I could, but they gave me the slip.”

Kodran pauses breifly.  He seems to wear an expression that says 'this is where you loose your audience' but he proceeds despite his slight sorrow.  ”Rare man.  Yes.  I am Dúnedain, a Ranger of the North, as my father was.  I serve no proper Lord but I suppose you could say I serve the people who I am sworn to protect.  And you have a keen eye Master Gram.”  Navarre takes a moment to unsheathe his long blade and hand it over for examination.  ”That was my grandfathers weapon.  He earned it in service as a protector and it has been handed down to my father and recently to me.”


OOC:
I hope I didnt take too much liberty.

Anyone who has an eye for such things would recognize the broadsword as Fine quality.

You notice that a teenage boy, or young man, depending on your point of view, is sitting at a nearby table and has slid his chair closer to listen in on the conversation. The table carries the remains of a meal, a few leftover scraps of potato and a tiny fraction of ale resting at the bottom of a glass. The male's eyes are closed, as if he is concentrating, or perhaps resting briefly after having eaten.  He has yet to realize that you noticed his eavesdropping and yet to outwardly acknowledge the several recently gathered together strangers discussing the pursuit of the orcs.

He wears simple gentlemanly clothing, as one might wear when perusing the local market - not the trappings of an adventurer - no armor, pack, or shiny weapons, although given that even a safe city can be dangerous, he may have a knife in his belt or boot. He seems more a threat to snakes and vermin than orcs, but as the grand stories have told, appearances can be deceiving.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:20, Thu 12 Sept 2019.

Gram walked with Navarre at a leisurely pace, his horse seeming to recognize their impending move before they did themselves. He guided the beast gently by a halter rope and it plodded along behind them with only the occasional sniff at the air or a sidestep away from a passer-by.

"That sounds incredible" Gram said with enthusiasm. "I've heard of your people, the Dunedain, but not much aside from it being said that my own people, the Rohirrim, and yours share a common ancestor." he said, then paused half a step. "Do you know if that's true?"

They spoke a little more, and Gram asked a little about how they were rewarded for their services to "the people" before Gram was offered the sword.

He slowed to a stop.

Something seemed to pass over his eyes, some deep felt emotion perhaps. On the surface he resembled any bold youth being offered the chance to handle a valuable weapon. He was interested certainly, honored yet hesitate.

"Are you certain?" He asked somewhat rhetorically before he took the blade hilt first and held it up with both hands to the light, the halter going into his belt.

It was not jealousy, not greed, but there was something in his eyes. A brightness perhaps, that spoke of a yearning and a sadness.

He beheld it there for what was probably too long before he seemed to remember himself. "It is quite beautiful. Does it have a name?" he asked, and handed it back reverently.

In reply to Gram (msg # 17):

At the drawing of weapons, the dwarf's interest is piqued.

"We had to make a weapons as fine as that to prove our ability...is it or Dwarven origin?"

For those who look, his own axe is of similar quality, having a silver coating, and his crossbow is very well constructed, having a winch attached to draw it back.

The serving girl at the street-side cafe looks down at the remains of Gwydian's meal. "Anything else I can get for you?" she offers, half-turned to go back inside, an empty tray in hand.

Meanwhile, at Jody's invitation, some of the newcomers to Lake-town begin following the hobbit along Bridge Street toward the Silver Flagon, their conversation gradually drifting out of the range of the cafe where Thibault sits. The streets are thronged with residents of Lake-town, craftsmen, merchants, guards. Here and there groups of children laugh and chase each other. Music spills out from various cafes, taverns, and alehouses.

Two dwarves pass by, deep in conversation, and both look curiously at Mock Ironside before continuing on. Though dwarves have their own language, Khuzdul, it is kept secret and not spoken where non-dwarves may hear, and these two speak Westron, the common tongue. Both are well-dressed in fine clothes, and neither is visibly armed.

"Still no word, then?" one asks, young for a dwarf, with no beard, golden hair, and clothes of bright blue and deep green.

The other dwarf is older, white-haired, and taller than the first, with a long, well-trimmed beard, a red tunic, and fine leather pants. Shaking his head, the second says, "No, and Glóin worries more than he lets on."

OOC: About the orcs, 30 would be serious business, probably a war-band. I'm assuming Navarre used hit-and-run tactics to thin them out and take them down one or two at a time.

One group (Jody, Mock, Gram, and Navarre) have walked a few yards down the street, out of earshot of the cafe. Thibault and Gwydian remain at the cafe, where they can stay and try to pick up rumors or follow the others.

In reply to Loremaster (msg # 19):

So my group does not hear the Dwarves conversation? Mock is naturally not speaking in any Dwarven language...not with humans!

Gwydian shakes his head negatively while rapidly producing a some coins from the pouch on his belt. As the girl begins to leave, he says, "For you," and drops a few of the coins on the table. He flashes a brief smile then quickly moves towards the exit, at which point he attempts to discretely follow the Hobbit towards the Silver Flagon.

The bearded soldier is full of energy, come alive compared to his rather stoic appearance from some minutes ago when he was alone in the marketplace.  The horseman offers, "I've heard of your people, the Dunedain, but not much aside from it being said that my own people, the Rohirrim, and yours share a common ancestor."

Navarre chuckles and pats the horseman on the shoulder lightly.   "Wish I knew. But I suppose that makes us half-brothers, seein' how we're protectors of the people.”

A moment later Kodran draws his blade to show it off, proud that someone has taken an interest.  He nods to the man certain of his decision to share.  Navarre smiles when the horseman comments on its beauty.  "Thank you.  Yes, it is called Arahaelon.”

Taking the well made sword back now the dwarf shows his interest asking about its origin.  Kodran chuckles which turns into a smile as he hands it over for inspection.  "I'm not sure to be honest.  The stories my father told of its origin changed over time...but its name means roughly Royal Terror in the Sindarin tongue.  Perhaps Master Mock, you could tell me who crafted this jewel?  Truth be told I've been curious for years.”

As the conversation turns to dwarves proving their mettle with their metal his axe catches Kodrans eye.  "That's a fine specimen Master Mock. Did you make it yourself? May I see it?”

Before the pair of men, the hobbit and the dwarf get very far they cross paths with a pair of well-dressed dwarves who mention the name Glóin. Immediately Navarre's neck turns to eye the well-connected dwarves. He feels compelled to ask before they blend into the crowd.   "Beg your pardon sirs.  I 'pologize for eavesdroppin' but I heard you mention Glóin and worry. He's not trackin' a pack of orcs, is he? 'Cuz I lost one I'm lookin' for.”


OOC:
I'm proceeding under the assumption that the pair of Dwarves who mentioned the name Gloin was within earshot of me.

In reply to Navarre Kodran (msg # 22):

Mock is happy to stop, especially seeing the other Dwarves. At Navarres request, he is glad to swap weapons with the man, and after handing him his axe, he inspects the blade closely.

"I did indeed make this beauty myself. It is a mark of becoming a useful member of the Dwarven halls. There is a rumour that silvered weapons can harm more of Mordoors minions that the regular ones. I am gonna have to find that out for meself, but."

He is still looking at it when he overhears the other dwarves talking. He approaches them, but since he and Navarre are still holding each others weapons, and Navarre has just asked them a question, he politely waits for an answer before interjecting.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:50, Sat 14 Sept 2019.

Gram lingered as weapons were exchanged again, and the passing Dwarves were flagged down.

He had been contenting himself with patting his horse on the side of the neck, listening, but looked decidedly uncomfortable as Mock mentioned "Mordor". He glanced about and averted his eyes to the ground for a moment. The very utterance of the name in public seemed to unsettle him.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:18, Sat 14 Sept 2019.

Gwydian follows, watching- wondering how men let their weapons by handled like ladies of the night. Not one to make snap judgements, he pursues the interesting dialogue.

"Why, thank you, young master," the serving girl says, beaming, as she scoops up the coins Gwydian gave her and slips them in her pocket. With this, the young man hurries off to follow the small group of travelers, leaving the scholarly gentleman as the sole patron of the cafe for the moment.

***

When Navarre addresses the two dwarves, the two look at the ranger skeptically. The older dwarf snorts and scowls. The younger crosses his arms, cocks his head, and says disdainfully, "No, you oafish lout. Master Gloin does not track orcs. What do you take him for, a ranger such as yourself?"

The beardless dwarf then turns to Mock and, nodding, says much more cordially, "Well met, cousin. I have not seen you in Lake-town before. I am Hepti, son of Hárr. What business brings you to Lake-town?" Meanwhile, going about their errands, travelers and residents continue to stream past the small group.

In reply to Loremaster (msg # 26):

"Well met. Mock Ironside of the Iron Hills. We have had reports that the five armies work may not be complete. I don't claim to be a warrior, and perhaps that is why I was sent to see the truth of those reports, though from what these humans are saying, it sounds it may be true.

You and your friend seem concerned about something. Perhaps we can help each other."

At this, Gram leaned in some to interject lightly to Navarre, but just loudly enough that all there might overhear. "Master Gloin is serving at the pleasure of his King under the Mountain. He was made an envoy to Dale, or so have been told." he glanced to the Dwarves as if for confirmation. "He supposedly ventures back and forth often on business."

Someone watching the scene might think that the rough looking man who seems to be at home in the wilds would be offended or hurt at the rebuking by the pair of well dressed dwarves.  Not at all.  Kodran faces this kind of disdain daily and is quite used to it.

Not for the first time the Ranger is glad to be part of a team, if it can be called that after just less than an hour, but so far these strangers thrown together randomly are melding nicely.  He leans a bit closer to Gram who explains Glóin's business.  ”Thanks”, Navarre offers in a way that says 'that's more than I knew'.

Now Kodran flicks his chin for Gram and Jody to see while the dwarves are distracted, as if to say, 'Look at the kids playing nice'.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 15:32, Sat 14 Sept 2019.

The older dwarf nods his head to Mock. “And I am Nabbi. My young friend and I are from Erebor, where Dain II Ironfoot of the Iron Hills now reigns. Well met, cousin.”

With a sideways glance at the Men and Hobbit, Nabbi says, “I pray your companion’s news of orcs is unrelated. Hraf son of Hrabin, a Raven of the Mountain, has brought news of sinister tidings: two Dwarven messengers who departed the Lonely Mountain on an errand are nowhere to be found. The kingdom of Erebor is astir.”

Nodding, the younger dwarf says, “Glóin himself has offered a rich reward to anyone who can find the two missing Dwarves. If they have fallen afoul of orcs-“

“I can only hope that they would be held for a ransom and not slaughtered immediately,” Nabbi says with a grimace.

In reply to Loremaster (msg # 30):

Moc hold for a minute before answering.

"Mayhap I can satisfy the humans thirst for orcs and find our messenger at the same time, though I hope too that the two are not related. But hope is not enough, it is important to be sure. The ranger, despite his apparent social graces, might just be the person we need for that. Where were they last seen? And where were they headed?"

Gram's interest in the matter was immediately piqued, that much was obvious. He listened carefully to what Nabbi and his younger friend had to say. The young man was eager, even with the scant details they had learned of the situation, and his horse seemed to sense his mood, the ears of the mount twitching this way and that.

Nabbi says, “Best if you talk to Glóin himself about the two lost messengers. He’ll want to judge for himself whether he can trust you.”

Hepti says, “Finding him’s easy. He has a mansion close to the town-hall.” The younger Dwarf points eastward to the imposing wooden structure not too far away that rises above the smaller buildings, dominating Lake-town’s landscape. “Most dignitaries who come to Lake-town usually reside close by to the town-hall, with the exception of the Elves. Glóin’s manor is across from the stairs that lead up to the town-hall.”

With impatience, Nabbi says, “We’ve stopped here long enough.   We have business of our own in the merchants’ quarters, so we bid you farewell.” With nods for Mock and more considering look s for the Men and Hobbit, the Dwarves continue on their way, winding through the crowd and resuming their conversation.

OOC: The two Dwarves seem to prefer that you discuss this matter further with Glóin. You could go see him right now, or explore the city further, or do anything else you have in mind.

Kodran has seen the kind of reaction he's gained from the pair of well dressed dwarves hundreds of times.  From his arsenal of weapons to his dirt splotched clothing and muddy boots to the over grown facial hair to his near obsession with hunting the agents of darkness everything about Navarre says he is a Ranger.  And so he was not entirely surprised when the dwarves snubbed his request for information.  However, this is one of the many reasons why the man prefers the company of friends.  These businessmen took to their cousin like bees to honey.

Navarre's forced smile during the negotiations turns into an authentic wide happy grin.  As the pair of dwarves walks off he says to his new friends, ”Hear that gents?  Master Glóin lives just over there...”, Navarre points towards the town hall.  ”...and he has a problem and is willing to pay big to have it solved.  I don't know 'bout you but my purse is gettin' far too light for my liking.  I say we go an' see if he'll hire us on...if the price is right 'a course.”


OOC:
Navarre isn't excluding anyone so if Gwydian has shown signs of being interested in our conversations Navarre wouldn't exclude him from this business transaction.

This message was last edited by the player at 16:42, Sun 15 Sept 2019.