Lanisen has hidden himself away in one of the deep chairs by the cold fireplace, a lamp lit at his side for reading light.
Peridan walks into the library, greeting the librarian. He heads over to one of the shelves, speaking to the librarian, “The volume is up here, right?” Getting a glare, he covers his mouth and hisses, “I apologize.” He begins to climb the ladder to get to the highest level.
Lanisen lifts his head from his book and peers around the wings of the chair at the familiar voice.
Continue reading the weight of four crowns
You stand in a surprisingly long, quiet room that runs the length of this side of Cair Paravel’s west wing. The room is narrow in shape, and thus appears to be more of a long, unusually wide corridor. Someone has constructed a series of shelves along the north wall, under tiny windows that let in only enough light to see by. Torchwicks line the south wall that can be lit for additional illumination, and under them sit several wooden tables and accompanying benches.
The floors are bare, so your footfalls send hollow-sounding echoes through the marble walls. There are archways at the southeast and west ends of the room –the west archway leading into the northwest tower, and the southeast archway leading into the common gallery.
A son of adam with wavy brown hair (Mateo) is examining the shelves, occasionally he’ll pull out a book and read the blurb or the first page before setting it back.
Lanisen pushes one of the heavy doors open and glances inside. He seems to be looking for somebody, but the person present is not them. He straightens, slightly guarded.
Mateo looks around at the sound of the door opening and, on seeing an unfamiliar human he straightens up, “Hello?”
Continue reading islander
The Satyr’s Hoof Tavern
You stand inside the Satyr’s Hoof Tavern, a lively and warm social gathering place that is always patonized by many of Sted Cair’s good citizens. The room is brightly lit with dwarven-wrought lanterns, and the walls are adorned with maps, ropes and other adventurer’s gear. Tables are scattered around in no particular fashion, and serving wenches casually stroll among them, taking orders. A large menu on the wall behind the bar lists the current fare.
There is also a long bar along the southwest wall, with crude wooden stools set in front of it. Behind, a tall, handsome-looking Satyr is serving beverages to the patrons seated there. The northeast door leads out onto the square.
A cat with long, grey tabby fur (Trim) is sat on the bar. Not on a stool, on the bar. Any and all cups have been moved far away from him and he is currently engrossed in a small, cat-sized plate of roast chicken.
Haft and Lanisen enter, pausing for a moment to let their eyes adjust to the light before settling on a table a bit to the side of the main area.
Trim looks up from the chicken and towards the humans, “Hullo there, you lot with the duke or the lady?”
Haft looks up. “News travels fast. We’re with the lady.”
Trim says, “Met another chap that was with her not so long ago!” He peers at Haft. “I say, have we met?”
Continue reading diplomatic babysitting
In the Valley
The slope here is easily traversed, slanting gently down into the valley to the west. There are a few trees here, tall and widely spaced, giving intermittent shade to the area. These are mostly the tall cone-bearing type, stately pines and friendly larches, but the foliage grows decidedly more deciduous lower in the valley. The ground is covered with sweet-smelling grass and the occasional bank of heather, and a rough track leads further down into the trees. A chattering mountain stream disappears into the wooded valley to the west.
To the south, the mountains rise massive and insurmountable, white peaks often obscured by clouds. North is the range of rocky hills that separates the valley from the great woods, their slopes too steep and treacherous to scale easily.
Megren finishes filling a pot at the stream and sets it over the fire.
Darrin tends to the horses, which are hobbled near the stream’s edge.
Avery wanders around the area, picking up some dry sticks. “Do you need any help, Dame Megren?”
Lanisen helps sort out the general jumble of belongings near where they have built the fire. He carries his bedroll a little distance away from the pile and begins to lay it out.
Continue reading camping
Glora is lying on a window sill, staring out the window and watching the world go by as she suns herself.
Lanisen steps into the quiet kennels, brushing off his shoes on the mat at the door. He looks tired and distracted, as he has since he came back from Narnia, but he grins to find Glora basking. “Hey, you.”
Continue reading traveling companion
Behind the Waterfall
Lanisen has brought a book with him to the cave, one that looks new and unfamiliar. He’s sitting with his back to the cave wall, facing the waterfall but far enough away that the splashes can’t reach, and he has a handful of small sour cherries sitting on a handkerchief next to him as he reads.
Megren comes up along the path, slowing when he comes in sight.
Lanisen doesn’t hear her approach over the noise of the waterfall, but he glances up toward the waterfall when he finishes the page and halts in the middle of turning to the next when he catches sight of her. He watches her uneasily.
Continue reading invitation
Lanisen is talking with Danall at the table in the late morning, marking down hunting dates in his notebook.
Megren knocks three times on the door before coming in, a basket over her arm.
Lanisen straightens and starts to get up. “Hi,” he says after a beat, apprehensive. “Sorry, hi, I’ll be just a minute.”
Megren says, “Oh — no, sorry, it’s, I’ll come back later.”
Continue reading clarification
Lanisen rides through the gates at a walk, Tohol trailing along tiredly beside him. It’s evening, late enough that the sun is down but early enough that the sky is still quite light. They aim for the stables and water.
Megren comes walking out of the stables at the same time as he approaches them and her whole face lights up.
Lanisen takes a moment to notice, just as tired as Tohol. When he does, he straightens and rouses, his face lighting to match hers.
Continue reading the talk
The Splintered Axe Tavern
Wintermoor is standing a corner conversing with several seated Narnians who have doubtless wandered over to speak with him as he polishes his blade. The blade looks rather old, though well-kept, and does not seem to have seen use in a while. There is a large tankard in front of him that seems about half drunk.
Lanisen steps in from outside, a little bit red-faced from the heat of the day. He still has his walking stick, but he seems to be getting around quite well. He glances toward the little group of Narnians, and past them at Wintermoor, but he hesitates and does not move to join them.
Wintermoor glances up from his sword towards the doorway as it open and closes, Lanisen entering. He does not seem terribly riveted upon the conversation, focused on his blade, but is politely conversing with them. He nods to Lanisen, seemingly welcoming him to join if he will.
Continue reading charge
West of Glasswater Creek
Lanisen is sitting in a shady sun-dappled patch of grass beneath the elm tree, his notebook open in front of him. He’s trying to sketch the creek. He’s not very good at it.
Petria makes her way along the pathway, panting in the heat of the sun. She wears a pack on her that identifies her as a messenger.
Lanisen makes a face at his page, then closes up the book and sets it aside, stretching. The noise of the panting dog catches his attention, and he peers around the trunk of the tree curiously.
Continue reading two of a kind