The Forgotten Inn, a stranger... And, a wagon.
For the most part, Gorlen knew that the Forgotten Inn was one of the most run down and sad looking poor debilitated den of brave souls, and it was the last port before the journey ahead takes them further. Sharpening his blade beside Bligger, he’s been keeping a close eye on the lands surrounding them, careful to spot the occasional roaming band of orcs or bandits. Upon closing in with he clip-clop of hooves on the dirt road leading from the green and fertile fields of Bree-land and the rest of the West, they made their way into the dry and cracked hills of the Lone Lands. The man beside him - Caravan master, Bligger - he called himself. What a damn right bastard, but the only constant company he’d have to endure. But Gorlen was an easy man to get along with. Unfortunately, sometimes to his own sorrows.
Bligger, whipping the horses with his everlasting and irritating lash of his, looked up at Gorlen leaning back with his feet up on the railing. Still, Gorlen’s trying not to grin, desperately so at that present moment when Bligger watched him suspiciously. The man’s small piggy’s eyes narrowed to fine silts of inner contemplation as he studied Gorlen’s face, carefully roaming over his features to find that hidden moment for his face to break into to the clear show of jest.
“No, it is. I swear you upon the dry dirt of my mothers’ grave” Gorlen flicked an eye open at the man.
See, one thing about dear mister Bligger would be his tunnelled grasp on reality, and its peculiar way at seeing things. Master Bligger was a man right to Gorlen’s own heart. Not the best ever travelling companion; but regardless, a great diversion to what he so desperately try not to think about. Him leaving Bree and Evangelline for the time being.He will return, he knew that when all his is over. Has to return. But then again Bligger was a bit slow at times, making him a fantastic form of income.
“I’ll even up you on that fine proposition. Give me one or two able men, in their right mind, a lass and a mug of mead” Gorlen stated matter of factly
“And you’d get’m to hand us the ales for nothin’?” Bligger asked rather disbelieving.
“Not only that, if you up the bargain I’ll even throw in a room for us for the night”
“Right, that a deal right there you got young lad” Bligger was rather pleased with the bet; almost as much as Gorlen himself.
The Forgotten Inn stood out like thorn in a bramble bush; it just didn’t. The walls was in a state of deconstruction and systematic neglect, caused by centuries of Men trying to find a foot hold in the dry and unsavoury hills. Once, before the fall of Arnor, eons ago, the lands were well planted and perhaps even delivered a harvest seldom seen beyond the river Bruinen. However, as time passed and wars were raged and soaked the earth, it became tainted and scorched. Now home to stray orcs from Angmar and the Ettenmoors, the Lone Lands live up to its name: A land of struggle and survival to those that live there. The Forgotten Inn, however, a bastion of Men in its purest form, as well, if you would to ask Gorlen. The walls, grey from the insistent baking of the scorching sun, broken and sad in its steadfast determination, much like Men that frequent the structure, stood as a welcome stop to all the travel-weary along the East road.
Along the sides a few of the patrons horses were fastened across the road with a lad and a few other local guards, mostly farmers’ boys and merchenaries, keeping a watchful eye on the beast.
Upon reaching the splendidly named Forgotten Inn, Gorlen swung his feet from the railing and looked around, eyes flowing quickly over the lands. The danger of bandits keeping a watch on the inn itself was a real and present threat. “Go and order us the drinks and I’ll sort out the horses” Gorlen commanded Bligger with a wave. Not as if he had any say, but the cargo would be his responsibility.
“I see you’re moving through the lands to the East” A deep and gravelled voice came from behind as he fastened the horses and before he would seek a guard to watch over the wagon. What Bligger normally transports, wines and wears from Bree to Lake Town, would not be a prized catch for the filth that roam the hills towards Ost Guruth, yet they still would take the chance.
“What’s it to you, stranger?” Gorlen answered, his hand moved slowly down to rest easily upon the hilt of his dagger, and turned around to face the man
The man was big, foreign-looking, an axe by his side and thickly armoured. He’s seen a few of them in the past, yet this one doesn’t have the savage and feral look of dumb and muted thought. No, this man of the North seemed a bit brighter then the rest. More civilised.
“Been wondering, tis all” the man looked at the inn. “Been a lot of orcish and bandit activity around the roads lately” he stated vaguely, letting the sentence hang between the two. Gorlen knew they needed some form of help other then his own blades if they want to be certain not to run into too much trouble.
“You talk as if you know the lands” Gorlen asked, turning back and losening a strap on one of the horses.
“Not that much any more; but I’m willing to place my arse on a line there’s a few of’m highway men lining the hills between here and Ost Guruth. On my way there myself, actually” The man said gruffly. The chainmail the man wore underneath the furs shimmered dully in the late afternoon sun. Clearly this man has seen a few battles, and the axe at this side would see plenty more blood, Gorlen reckoned. A strong and able man of his late twenties with a full and unruly beard hiding a handsome face, someone to keep at his side when the shitstorms threaten.
“Tell you what” Gorlen spoke, leaning with his back against the caravan, ankles crossed. “Tell you what. I’ll pay you a few gold to help me get this wagon o’ wheels to the other side of the Last Bridge and you can call it a deal. What you say about that? Now I know the bastards would target the wagons and leave the men to go about their business. But gold’s gold, ain’t it?” There wasn’t much Gorlen could offer him, and gold would seem to him the best bait.The man would be going that way after all, and he might as well convince the him to stay with them when crossing bandit infested hills.
The man snorted out a laugh as he turned towards the inn. “I’d better get yer friend and we can talk about this. Just watch out for Megg, she’s in spirits today, it seems”
Laughter and shouting filled the air around them as they creaked open the door. Surprisingly, it was a busy night and the farmers’ boys apparently came out to relieve some of their pent up frustrations. At what could be expected in an establishment such as this; there was only a few patron, and less lasses in their mids.
Inside the ruined structure, within that poor conditions of what these poor fools have to endure, the roof was busy caving in as well. Around them the young lads and a few old-timers were sitting and arguing about this or that; most probably one or other situation regarding the recent orcish attacks that’s been seen to increase around the parts East and North, something that Gorlen has been paying much heed to as well. In any case, there seems little to do about it in the present moment, and Megg saw him. The grin that flash across his features lit up his face as the thoughts flits past his sadly roaming mind.
The lass had a pair of decent assets to showcase the desperate lads around there, but Gorlen wasn’t much interest at that moment. He actually missed Evagelline more then he’d let on. Part of the reason he thought it a wise decision to enter the inn in the first place, just for a decent drink. Okay, he thought by himself, he promised her he’d not drink in any situation where it might cost his life, but this was a tavern.
He winked at her and she blushed. Her cheeks was a light red already when she came to serve them their drinks. Upon setting the mugs down, Bligger looked at Gorlen expectantly, waiting for him with pent-up frustration and eager anticipation. The North-man next to him, not been introduced to each other, sat with what can be counted, amongst others, stoic and proud silence, staring at Bligger. Well, see, Bligger was a man one stare at. Not that he’d be able to help it, but the damn fool’s appearance was of what can also be said to have a certain kind of appeal. Long and lank, straw coloured hair stuck out in all directions from a bald and shiny scalp. His teeth and breath was not to talk about either, but one does look past the outer to see the more deplorable inner, unfortunately. Inside the man’s vast and hard working cognitive functions there might be called a spark situated here and there; not much, mind you.
Gorlen was enjoying the show, and as his nature would prevail once again would happily drag it on to no end. Yet, protocol dictates that he’d have to acquaint the two men thoroughly.
“To the Lonesome Lone Lands!” Gorlen lifted his mug, yet the words rang too true to him for them completely appreciate the ire. “Well, let me get to the point here” he continued after he took a deep pull from his ale, slowly resting the mug on the table. “The situation here in the Lone Lands, as the three of us already know, and can clearly hear from the good an’ strong, hardy, folk around us, is in a rather sad stated of decay. And I, for one, still want to return to Bree one day. That said, my two worthy friends, I’ve got a proposition for you to consider” The two of them sat on other side of the table, staring at him, and he stared back.
The stranger scratched his unruly beard thoughtfully, half expecting Gorlen to carry on, and nodded. Bligger took a sip and stared back, dumb-founded as usual, waiting for something to happen.
“Right” Gorlen stated certain and to the point. Something he’s not that used to, but for him this would be a direct approach. “We’ve got the Last Bridge to reach, and that is what I’ve been aiming for. But first, Ost Guruth” He nodded and took a sip, watching them while he swallowed. All’s good so far, Bligger the damn fool, understood “And we might need a bit of help. And by the power of the Valar, what do I run into? A damn bastard of a Hill-man!!”
The bloody fools weren’t helping much, now were they?
“Well, okay. Fine. Anyway” Gorlen carried on, a bit more lack-luster in his attempt to liven up the company. Damn bastard North men don’t speak much, do they, he mused seething inwardly. “See here, mister.... What’s your name anyway?”
“Gleoborn”
Gorlen studied him for a second, suspicious. “Well, Gleoborn, it is a fine and honest pleasure to meet such a great and, may one not be less of a man saying, capable bloke. Thank goodness I’m not in the vestments you’re wearing. I’d have been pissing me pants in this heat” He nodded sagely, resting his mug back on the table.
The smile on the man’s face, Gorlen imagined, twitched. These damn North men and their foul humour. He still studied the hidden features of the man. Might be a goodlooking bugger hidden behind the cacophony of mud coloured grit.
Right then, the barmaid made another appearance and Bligger looked back at Gorlen, still the bastard had that, if you could call it, expectant look in his piggies eyes. He’d have to offer up on his word.
Standing, Gorlen took the barmaid to one side, offering the two a wink and a sideways, conspiratorial, grin. He took her to one side, making sure to hide behind a congregation of drunken revelry. Upon returning, he beamed a victorious grin. “Listen, I’ve got our drinks sorted for the evening”
Needless to say, Bligger was dumbfounded and went for his purse, handing over a handful of silvers, which Gorlen promptly made sure ciphered their way to the barmaid. He still needed to pay the damn drinks, he thought.
The drinks flew and the laughter rose, as Gorlen - much to his disappointment tried the drive the stranger all the more to that precious prescipce of drunken familiarity. Just as Gorlen hoped for, but didn’t happen. You don’t trust any fool in this gods forsaken place, now do you? Well and on their way to become the only three left in the inn that night, and blissfully unaware of the prying eyes of a few of the regulars, Gorlen suggested to make it outside with the others to check on the goods he entrusted to the good and able hands of one of the local lads.
Goodly folk these Eglain, they were. Right then and there he swore to the others:
“Lishten you bloody bashtards” he slurred, “You can say what yoush will, but these hardy Eglains, they have some iron in their veins” He stated just as he opened the door to witness the last thing on his mind. Nothing. The horses and the wagon were gone. Quickly closing the door, he turned to Bligger and grabbed him over the shoulders and guided him back “Tish clearly too dark; becoming late, old friend” He forced out a laugh.
“Eh, pig, you shaid we’re going outsnide. Gutt shome bloody fresh air, you shaid” Bligger tried, half bewildered at the sudden change of circumstances.
“Tish cold out there, and above that, we need the damn rest. Got you a surprishe shwell:. Sure the merchandise would still be fine when we wake” A blatened lie, to the first statement. Luckily you don’t have to be a master of deceit to fool the small and highly intellectual and amusing mind of the man.
“You shure ‘bout da?” Bligger asked, leaning drunkenly against his support.
“Come on now, get some rest and be done you old fart. You can barely stand on yer own peg legs, mm? What you say?” A rich statement seeing as his own dastardly pose he desperately tried to bare.
With a few steps down the dark and smoke-filled room, and with the welcome assistance of the barmaid, the simpleton swung towards his bed. Gorlen smirked to himself as he winked at the barmaid. Thank the Valar for women such as her.
He turned back to the, what he now realize is to his relieve, somewhat more sober Northman. Bloody bastards can guzzle a tankard of decent dwarven brew and still be able to reach their full hight, he cursed. He tried to put on an innocent smile, and failed horribly. “There sheems to be a bit of a shituation outshide...” Gorlen nodded to himself and made a double-check. Unfortunately the same scene met his eyes. An empty stable. He blinked. Still the same.
Gleoborn, somewhat taken by the drink himself, leaned past Gorlen as he grasped the door, peering around the edge. “I think you’ve got a bit of a problem there, lad” the man admitted sincerely with a certain, if bemused, nod.
