Marketplace
The cools breezes that pass through Hadorsford are a tad warmer with this summer, although still relatively chilling. With this wind, the old wooden signs hanging outside the darkened stores and buildings sway back and forth, creating a small creaking sound, disturbing the night air. You can see under the light of the lanterns a tall brown podium of polished wood standing on the grassy knoll in the center of this square, rising to serve as the Criers spot of announcements.

Amassed in the sky are harrowing clusters of shadowy clouds. The power of the wind cannot be denied as it shrieks throughout this region with a howling that assaults the senses. A mist of rainwater soothes the sky in a heedless sprinkle.

A deep rumble sounds in the east, rolling across the black night where shadowy clouds are rushed on by the wind that howls through the corners of Hadorsford which is illuminated every few moments by a blinding flash. A heavy rain falls, filling the marketplace with puddles and rivers of water that swirl on down the roads that lead away from it, but then slowly abaits as the storm beginst o pass. A figure separates itself from the shadows along the road to the south, marking a path toward the marketplace where the lantern set at its centre wavers and fights to stay alight despite the rain. The cloak draped over the shoulders of the figure hangs heavy, weighted by the drenching rain and silhoutted in the night is the length of a great bow, rising from its place behind. Having come into the open space, the figure pauses, the hood of the cloak moving from left to right as though in search of direction.

It would seem that only the foolish would wander aimlessly on such a night, where the cold wind runs its fingers mercilessly through even the thickest of cloaks. It seems strange even that in the midst of the summer, such a chill could be cast to the wind, even when winter is far away or lain long behind. Yet, another seems to share appreciation for the gloomy weather for amidst the running of waters muddied, with sticks and various bits of refuse given to float treds another figure, slight and small in stature. Copper rills of hair are plastered on the lass's neck and head , for even the travelling cloak is soaked with the downpour. It is the inn lights tha draws the young lass and soon she makes her way towards the heavy wooden doors, sloshing he way through the mud in solemn earnest.

The sign over the inn creaks noisily as it swings upon its hinges in the wind, drawing the eye of the cloaked figure standing in the marketplace shivering from the unseasonable chill. Looking upon its shut door, she starts for it, seeing a woman come out of the shadows, making her way carefully through the muddy street. Catching a glimpse of copper hair in the light that spills from the inn's windows, Finnabair quickly hefts the pack crossing her shoulder and hurries on to join the woman at the doorstep.

Wringing the water from her cloak with a slight air of mild distaste, the woman pauses long enough on the inn steps, her eyes watching with slight interest as bits of sticks and other objects pass floating by on the flowing waters. It is then that the grey eyes first notice the other figure's approach and clearing her thraot, the young messenger nods, polietly, not quite regonising the other in the dim light. The creak of the sign draws a slight frown to her lips and she remarks blandly..."Tis weather for ducks..this is.." She peers at the other gesturing to the open door, with which she struggles, the door 's weight leaning heavily against her as a gust of wind, wrenches it from her grasp. It closes with a resounding, bang.

Aracor moves doggedly down the street in the face of the wind and rain, trying his best to seem unphased by it as it pelts him in the face. Drawing his heavy cloak closer about the leather armor. Aracor makes his way to the doorstep of the inn, nodding to the other unfortunates out in this weather as he stamps the mud from his heavy boots

Several paces from the doorstep, Finnabair slows her steps, the hem of her cloak swinging heavily with the rainwater it has absorbed. "Tis indeed.", she chuckles in response to the woman that turns toward her. As the door of the inn opens, brigtening the step on which they stand, Finnabair's eyes widen with surprise, "Sionell!", she cries out, laughing, "What luck to find you so quickly!", she adds, ushering the girl inside with a gesture as another comes up behind them, seeking shelter from the storm. "Evening.", she utters in return to the man's nodded greeting, stepping aside to allow him to pass.

Finding herself being shepherded into the welcome warmth of the inn, the young Bearian messenger smiles, bowing her head in meek acknowledgement. "Tis I.."she says quietly, turning her gaze to the other, when regocnition flares the twin orbs of grey to great delight at seeing her kinswoman. "Finnabair!! "she cries, the relief granted in the her voice at so familair a face in such unfamiliar surroundings, brings a light to the young woman..and it would seem for the first time in many a week she is at ease. "How..did you get here..?"she says at last, turning to nod politely at the man behind her...just after she bumps into him, with her excitement.

Aracor chuckles as the woman bumps into him and follows the two into the inn, closing the door firmly behind them despite the shrieking protests of the wind and rain. Opening his cloak to the warmth he smiles, the firelight reflecting off of his ruddy, open features and sandy hair.

Finnabair quickly steps inside after Sionell, casting back her dripping hood to present herself to the messenger, "Simply.", she answers, "I walked. I have been sent to fetch you back to Brethil, Sionell. You are long overdue.", she chides, with a wide grin as she reaches for the clasp of her cloak and drawing it off her shoulders. Turning to hang it on a peg by the door, she turns back, running a hand through her damp hair as she looks over the woman and the man that has come in with them, "Come, have a seat and tell me what has passed these last few weeks.", she says to Sionell, motioning toward one of the nearby tables and then pausing a moment before asking the man as well, "Would you care to as well?"

Aracor chuckles, making a smalll bow. "I would be honored" he says, placing his massive overcloak on a peg before he moves to take a seat. "But perhaps I shold introduce myself. The name is Aracor, a simple member of the guard" he says. "And yourselves"

Finnabair first shakes her head at Sionell's introduction, "I am no lady, Sionell. You need only to look upon me to know that.", she says with a snort and a crooked smile to Aracor as she leans into the back of her chair. The Beorian woman casually beckons the keep to bring them drink and turns her gaze back to quietly observe the troubled woman as she gives her explanation, "Indeed, Lady Emeldir was concerned by your absence, expecting you back weeks ago and though I told her that you were likely delayed here in Hadorsford, I came to quell her fears and see you safely back.", she says, pausing as the keep arrives with three brimming mugs of drink that he sets before them and then departs after an exchange of coin from out of Finnabair's pouch. "I am glad to find you well and hope that we can leave as soon as we may."

Aracor nods as he listens to their words rather silently, signalling for a flagon of ale, then when it arrives taking a long pull that drains a signifigant amount of its contents. "You mentioned a delay...what was the cause of that, may I ask?" he asks, somewhat curious but not overly inquisitive

A smile , though perhaps faint settles on the young messenger's lips. "I know not of the cause myself.."she says quietly, "though perhaps...it was that the good, Lord...still was in grieving..for Lord Hador and Gundor.."she says softly, drawing her gaze to Finnabair.."they both fell in Eithel Sirion..." She quietens at that recalling their mornings conversation with heaviness of heart. "Yet...yes, we may soon be off.....Finnabair.."seh utters quietly.."I will be glad to be..amongst..well.."she smiles, turning in apology to Aracor. "Hadorsford is...a lovely town...yet..it is no home for me..."

Finnabair looks from Aracor to Sionell, lowering her eyes at the mention of the fallen and nods, "Ah yes.", she says, lapsing into silent thoughts for the space of several moments as she occupies herself with the drink in hand. The inn makes for a merry place on such a late evning, having filled a number of people seeking haven from the storm that still thunders loudly beyond the door, shaking the windows with each resounding boom. Looking up again, the Beorian woman asks Sionell, "Will three days be enough time for you to prepare before we return?"

Lifting the glass to her lips, Sionell nods, her enthusiam returning. "Indeed..it will be Finnabair..thank you for coming...to look for me.."she adds, dipping her head respectfully. "Though..I would have been alright...Baradil and a few of their scouts...were hoping to accompany me back.."she adds, a grin forming on her lips. "Though now that you are here...we could dissuade them...funny how these men always think that...women need to be escorted every where they go.."She gives a snort, forgetting entirely her fear of wandeing back to Brethil alone..the night before.

Aracor chuckles at Sionells remark, taking another pull at his drink which is by now more than half empty. "Can you blame them for being protective though? It is a dangerous world nowadays m'lady...wherever one goes" he says thoughtfullly

Finnabair finishes up her drink and laughs at Sionell's remarks and those that Aracor adds after, setting her empty cup down upon the table between them. "It is indeed a dangerous.", she agrees, "Yet the women of the Beor are not helpless things. We fight alongside our men, better than many.", she grins, turning to Sionelll, "I did tell Emeldir, Istadris, Aldawin and all the rest that you were fine and that they worried for naught.", she tells the woman, "Aldawin herself was ready to come in search of you.", she chuckles, pushing back her chair and rising, looking uncomfortable in her wet clothing. "The hour is late and I have come a long way this day. I will take a room upstairs, Sionell, and see you on the morrow to help you with whatever you need to be done before we depart.", she says, turning then toward the guardsman, "It was well to meet you Aracor, a good night to you.", she says, canting her head to the man and stepping away from the table, quickly arranging for a room with the keep and then heading up the stairs with her pack and weapons in hand.

Bobbing her head at Aracor's words...yet finding hearty satisfaction in Finnabair's reponse, Sionell smiles widely . "It is as she says.."she remakrks, conviently forgetting or casting aside her own lack of skill with weapons to be the exception to the case. "Thank you Finnabair...rest well, may the night find you long in sleep.."she calls her voice floating up after the lady as she makes her departure. "What...do your women do...do they fight also?"she asks, suddnely turning to face Aracor, and casting off her wet cloak..sheepishly.

Aracor nods. "Farewell....I wish you a safe return" he says to Finnabair, then turns back to Sionell. "On occasion they do..though there are few I know of that serve within the ranks of the guard" he says. "For the most part our warriors are men. But tell me...are you yourself skilled with weaponry?" he asks, curious

A light laugh drifts from the young Beorian's lips in answer. "Skilled is not the word we may choose to use.."she says laughingly, her eyes twinkling with unashamed laughter at her own misfortune. "I am but a messenger and my weapons are pen and paper....they serve me in good stead...but not in front of a worthy advisary.."she adds, making light of a serious matter..which she still have to address. "Yet..I have to learn..for it is a skill that no one may do withhout these days..."Her gaze darkens somewhat at that. "I met the lady Rose....here...is she one of the guard?"