| abstract
| - Pages: 23
- The Nest Taran is at a seat near the fireplace, a mug before him, and watching the tavern gear up for its evening business. He's watching the people fairly closely, possibly to see what sort of music is best for the evening's mood. Cyneray enters The Nest, looking... refreshed, if not a bit damp from the afternoon showers. The tavern is only partially filled, and Coolweather winds himself through a few private conversations to find a stop near the fireplace near Taran. "How's the day go, mate?" he asks, taking a seat. "Very ...interestingly," Taran replies, waving a hand over the mug as if to say 'have it'. "Had a long talk with one of the locals." Cyneray grunts. "Sounds lovely. Lemme know when the wedd'n is," he grumbles. "Here sumthin' about our... 'business' while you were at it?" he asks, pausing to flag down a barmaid. "A lot, actually," says Taran with a laugh. "Just not so much I'm sure we can use." He ticks points off. "Iron's untested - nobody knows if you just have to have some, or if you have to touch him with it, or even if it works at all, but in the nature of certainty the smith's working overtime making iron weapons." Another finger. "Just livestock and carriages so far - no children, no signs of blood where the livestock get taken." A third finger. "They've searched the caves and found no sign, but they'll hear him laughing from the rooftops." Fourth finger. "Nobody's really gotten a good look at him, either." Cyneray releases a few Imperials onto the bar as a tender fills a mug in front of him, giving the man an upward nod as he scoops the coins and moves on. "Don't sound like much ofa danger now, do he? Maybe we oughta go fer a looksie ourselves, eh?" has asks, giving Taran an expecting, slightly mischevious glare. Taran shrugs, smiling slightly. "He's terrified our big, burly locals," he says, indicating the rougish nature of most of the clientele. "But they're thinking in stories - I'd be afraid of a monster, too. I'm not entirely sure that's what they've got on their hands, though. If you'd like to go looking, we can hike up to Fanghill." Cyneray wipes his lips after taking a large gulp of ale. "Hah!" he laughs deeply, looking over at Taran. "You're no burly local now, is ya?" he says, still grinning. "I'm thinkin, i'll hit the road to Fanghill. You'll be gettin there a... different way," he says. Taran tilts his head. "What way would that be?" he asks, curious. "And no, I am not - nor have I any skill at combat. But I've told too many tales to be frightened of something I've never seen." "Oh no, my boy," says Cyneray, gulping again from his mug, nearly downing it. "You're gonna take yourself by carriage to Fanghill. We'll grab ye some goodies for this Burus creature," he continues. "I'll be waitin' for ya on the road. That'll get us the look we need." Taran sighs. "I've the iron ore in my bag," he says, nodding. "I suppose we'll see what happens - if it *is* just a man, I don't have anything on me worth stealing." Cyneray turns to Taran, facing him fully. "Give me all your iron," he asks flatly. Taran raises both eyebrows at that. "...You must either have a great deal of faith in your ability to defend me," he says, "or you don't mind much if I die. Still - after what I've heard, I have little faith in it anyway, I must admit." Cyneray nods. "Good, good. We'll need to get you some bait," he says, turning away after finishing his ale with a last swig. He rises, but stops to chuckle to himself. "C'mon, finish up lad." Taran shakes his head. "I'll want a clear head for whatever you've in mind," he says, getting to his feet. "Let's see what we can do." A short time later... Hedgehem Crossroads Taran is trying - with moderate success - to keep a grip on a squirming piglet wriggling in his arms. Cyneray stands casually against a barn, calmly smoking from a pipe. "This is what I could get for bait," says Taran, gripping the little pig with both hands. "What do you make of it?" Cyneray nods, taking another puff. "Perfect. Noisy too," he says, taking another puff. "Keep it in the carriage with ya. When the beast is upon, toss the little piggsly out," he says, looking at the little creature, before turning and walking slowly away. "We'll need to get another one for breakfast," he mutters over his shoulder. Taran sighs. "Wish you'd said so before I came back with *this* one," he says. "Well - when shall we begin?"
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)