Lanisen sits on his bunk, his satchel open, clothing freshly retrieved from the launderer but not yet folded heaped beside him. Another pile, this one made of supplies like dried meat and fruit, some hard bread and other foodstuffs that will keep on the road, is next to it. He’s methodically folding and tucking away each of these in their turn, packing.
Haft enters in his uniform, apparently freshly off duty. He does a double-take as he notices Lanisen packing. “Where are you off to?”
Lanisen glances up as the door opens, then looks down again to neatly fold and roll a brown shirt. “Lantern Waste,” he answers. “It’s gettin’ toward autumn.”
Continue reading stepping back
Watchtower — Lower Bunk 2
Haft lies on his bunk, back to the door, apparently asleep.
Lanisen, though he is rarely in the room at this time of day, is sitting on his bunk. He looks tired, as though he’s passed a sleepless night, but he isn’t trying to sleep. There’s a couple books scattered around him, and his notebook, and a letter, but he’s not reading any of them, just sitting with his back to the wall.
Haft grunts. “Stop being so deathly silent. You’re keeping me awake.”
Continue reading safe place
You can easily discern this as the center of the royal gardens – a great fountain decorates the courtyard’s center point. It is a scuplture of a grand lion, standing over the water’s edge. This lion is not insignifigant though – it is an artist’s tribute to the ruler of all Narnia, and a portrait of a noble character.
At all four points of the compass a paved path leads to the corners of the courtyard, North, East, South and West. To the east lies the entrance to the grand hall of Cair Paravel, and to the west, the gates of the castle. North and South lead to flower gardens, where one might sit for a spell.
The sides of the paths here are lines with decorative posts and ribbons, leading from east to west to form an aisle (going delicately around the fountain). It appears that the garden to the east has been set up for some kind of ceremony.
Linor perks up again. “Good! Because we’ve had enough of leaving.” and then deflates again. “Why do you think that our Kings and Queens would ever want to leave?”
Avery shakes her head as she sips her tea. She looks thoughtful. “I do not know…”
Lanisen follows the path around the fountain, his footsteps crunching softly in the gravel. His eyes are on the sculpture in the middle of the fountain, so he does not immediately notice Avery and the Mink, but he slows and stops when he does, ducking a bow.
Continue reading tentative plans
Haft says, “Ah. Yes, I suppose they are.”
Megren says, “For me, anyway.”
Haft says, “Deonyc sparred against one of the Duke’s party earlier today. He was good…the other man, I mean.”
Continue reading rebuff
You find yourself on a pretty, grassy lawn that runs along the north side of Cair Paravel’s main tower. Most of it has been trampled quite a bit by feet and hooves of various sizes, as it’s been used as a training field for Cair Paravel’s resident knights. There are a number of flagstone paths, though, that run around the perimeter toward some outbuildings. There is a stable to the north, a wide, stocky watchtower to the northeast, and to the distant east at the end of the peninsula, the naval pier is being constructed. You can see the ocean beyond, stretching out in its twinkly blueness toward the horizon. There isn’t much of a beach that you can detect from here, though.
A door in the north tower leads back into the castle.
Haft looks confused. “Didn’t you say you were his companion-at-arms?”
Mateo nods, “I did say that, this was of course when I was younger. I’ve been with him for quite some time”
Haft says, “That’s something different. Usually a noble hires his protector based on existing skill.”
Mateo says, “Oh, no, I wasn’t always his Companion-at-arms, that came later. ”
Continue reading a little help
Lanisen sits in a chair by the empty hearth, poring over a book bound in dark red cloth. There’s a map of Terebinthia on one of the pages.
Deonyc comes walking into the library, he glances at lanisen but isn’t about to go and bug him he looks around for any library staff but can’t seem to find any
Lanisen glances up from his book as the door opens. He doesn’t call out, and he bows his head over the page again, but he doesn’t seem to be reading. He watches Deonyc from the corner of his eye.
Deonyc looks at the row of bookshelves with musing interest, not that he can read any of them but nonetheless he scans the covers for anything he can make sense of.
Continue reading 15 firedance 1017
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
Lanisen is just leaving the kitchen with a glass jar held carefully in one hand. The jar holds a little water at the bottom and a little bouquet of about every kind of flower one can find in early spring and a few you can’t: crocus, snowdrop, daffodil, cherry blossom, and several long sprigs of flowering herbs from the solarium.
Dalia makes her way into the kitchen, with her shawl around her, she looks quite a little bit better than the night before.
Continue reading dame megren
Lanisen makes his way between the market stalls. It’s the in-between time where midmorning turns into late morning and people start looking for lunch rather than breakfast, but Lanisen’s foragings look like they haven’t decided which to be. He pauses by the courier’s station and receives a letter with visible surprise. He shifts his purchases to be carried in one arm and unfolds the letter awkwardly to read.
Megren emerges from the stables and heads toward the market, making right for the pastry stall.
Lanisen reads the signature at the bottom of the letter first. He glances briefly around the immediate area, his eyes not rising above the level of peoples’ knees, and turns a little away from the general flow of traffic to skim the letter in relative privacy. His forehead knits, and he reads over it again before he folds it up and begins for the kennels.
Continue reading cloth