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Post by oronberg on Aug 30, 2009 1:45:36 GMT -5
The hobbit strolls along Waterbank Road in Falathorn muttering to himself, looking at the various houses, and looking at a pin. "Three... hmm... nope, not that one.... Four... nope, not that one either..." He looks to the water briefly, then to the bridge. "Must be across..." He continues his stroll across the bridge, then looks to the large building, then looks to the pin he holds in his hand. After a few moments, he looks back up to the building, then around him at the yard. "Well... this must be it... guess we will see if that girl Caspia was telling the truth in this... Guess nothing to do but knock and see if this Ceallian is here." He strides forward, and knocks upon the door.
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Post by Tallaith on Aug 30, 2009 11:00:23 GMT -5
Ceallian frowned lightly into the crumbling book on the desk before her, hoping the careful notations she was making with a clumsy pencil concealed her disappointment with her small fosterling sister. The study in the great Hall never left her completely comfortable; though the room was the smallest in the Hall, the vaulted arches stretching overhead and the fine tiled floor, more fit for a palace than for a shelter for rowdy and sundry wanderers, always made her feel like a little lass tresspassing in some fine home where the punishment for bairns like herself was a good flogging.
She finally sighed, Capsia's prowling breaking her cool, studious pose. She set down the old book on the floor beside her chair (yes, HER floor, she had to keep reminding herself) and folded her hands in her lap patiently, poking herself in the belly with the pencil like the graceless lass she was.
Caspia smiled, but only inwardly, as her pacing finally gained the reaction she wanted; Ceallian's attention, unblunted by politeness and the soft, smothering quilts of demure mannerisms. She took a moment, uncharacteristic considering her sharp wit, and nudged a smoldering branch back into the fireplace with her little booted toe.
"Well, ya know o' late I been entertainin' a few different changes ta how I go 'bout my business."
Cay nodded, arching a fair brow but holding her tongue.
Caspia scuffed the floor with her toe, smudging an arc like a frown, across the otherwise immaculate tile.
"Aye, I..." The muffled sound of a knock on the door improbably echoed through the Hall. Cay always thought it a bit of odd luck, perhaps Elven magic, that some sounds, like visitors at the door and music coaxed from a harp, traveled in this huge house, while others, like whispered heartbreaks and murmured wishes, stayed where they were meant to be. Caspia knew, however, from her extensive and secretive reading, that this was part of the design of the Hall, a clever phenomenon called "acoustics." She rolled her eyes at the intrusion. "S'pose ya want me ta get that?"
Ceallian nodded, already rising to take cups and a bottle of sweet wine for the unknown guest from the cupboard. "Thank you, deore."
Cas shook her head to the endearment, sure somehow that "deore," which Cay insisted meant "beloved" or "my dear" was only a made-up word her sister affected to make herself seem smarter than the average donkey. Which she barely was, so why the pretensions? The Hobbit stalked through the cavern they called a house to the door, standing just barely on tiptoes to lift the latch.
She blinked at the sight of the Hobbit. Folding her arms, she growled, "Makin' me come all tha way ta tha door. What do ya want?"
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Post by oronberg on Aug 31, 2009 15:47:25 GMT -5
The hobbit grins slightly. "You tell me, you told me to come here. I take it I won't be needing to tell Ceallian that you sent me?"
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Post by Tallaith on Aug 31, 2009 20:06:40 GMT -5
"Aye, well, dontcha just know more than whatcha oughta? A proper genius, er maybe a scholar?" Caspia curled her lip. "If ya already know why yer comin', an' so does Cay, how 'bout ya just piss off?"
She heaved at the great door, grunting as she gave it a mighty shove with all of her weight thrown behind it. Her little boots skidded on the tiles, but she found traction and the door began to grudgingly move. Odd, she thought to herself, that the Hall's doors were always easy to open to travelers and strangers, but ridiculously difficult to slam in their faces.
She stepped back a bit as the huge door began to swing shut on it's own, offering the Hobbit a snobby little wave, grin, and bow.
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Post by oronberg on Sept 1, 2009 17:03:16 GMT -5
Limuen looks at the closed door with a puzzled frown. He shrugs, then turns and heads out of Falathorn.
Once he has crossed the bridge back into the Shire, he takes the pin from where he keeps it and speaks into it. "You came to me. You asked me to go to that place. I do not have time for wild goose chases. The problems of the Shire are many, and there are too few to deal with them. I need others, and I thought I had found them. When you are ready, come to me." He then places the pin back in it's place, and continues on his way.
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Post by Tallaith on Sept 1, 2009 17:21:10 GMT -5
Caspia snorted, squinting only for a moment at the shadowed face reflecting like starshine in the surface of the gem shard in her pin. She tore it from the shoulder of her grubby leather tunic and crammed it deep in the little bag she kept at her hip, beneath wads of feathers for fletching and odd bits of cheap treasures.
She crept up the stairs, her feet silent even when she was reckless, but she had no wish to rouse Cay's curiousity. This other hunter... perplexed, irritated, and very unfortunately intrigued her. The best course of action for now was to sleep and let dreams sort out her worries for her. All would be better tomorrow.
...
Nothing was better in the morning. When she rose, Cay was already gone, leaving cold meat and bread behind on the great table in the main hall. Caspia crammed the food in her pack, dug the pin from the bottom of her purse, and grudgingly jabbed it to her chest.
The ride to the Shire was silent. She pulled her hat low over her eyes as she passed the narrow ridge from Cellondim to Needlehole, nodding shortly to the caravaning Dwarves that frequented the settlement on the verge of the Rushock Bog. She made haste now through the village; noon, and lunchtime, were her allies, as most of the locals were moving indoors to have a stout meal. Less eyes meant less challenges to the stranger on the white pony.
She turned, cutting across the marshes and avoiding the main roads of the Shire. She wasn't sure where she was heading; her pony chose her own course and Caspia was merely the passenger now.
As the sun lumbered towards mid-afternoon, the little mare circled through the woods outside Brockenborings, taking a wandering path past Scary and to a camp Caspia used many times in the past. The Hobbit took this as her sign, and slid from the saddle, crouching next to the dead campfire by the pond to wait.
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