Brethil Hall
The long and spacious Brethil Hall is an open, airy inviting space. This is the meeting and festival hall of the woods folk of Brethil, and often many gather here after a days toil to spend time with friends and family. A brightly burning fire is central to the long hall, the smoke curling off the burning embers to be carried upwards through open ducts atop the high, gabled ceiling. Trunks of trees, the bark still intact, rise as pillars from the wooden planked floors to support the long running beams of the ceiling. Long and low oaken tables are placed here and there, with stubby tree trunk sections to sit upon.

The hall's front entryway stands agape already when the two Beorians reach its threshold, along with several other Haladin villagers who seek shelter from the cold, heavy rains outside. With a low grunt, Istadris stoops aside and lowers the great bundle of firewood, leaving it outside beneath the little cover offered by the overhanging eaves of the tall building. With another questioning look to Sionell, the woodsman steps within and urges her to follow. "Your staff..." He begins, nodding to the broken haft pieces in the messenger's hands, "How did that happen, if not with this bandit?" Even as he utters the question, Istadris' grey eyed gaze strays to seek a free table. The large chamber has begun to rapidly fill, yet several of the long tables remain unused, and it is towards one that stands at the near edge of the room that he moves.

Shrugging off the heavy cloak, now dampened with the wet rains, Sionell follows the woodsman to the table. Her eyes rove about the room, seeking faces familiar amongst the crowd.Yet the bustle of Haladin moving in through the doorway and the hurried movements of the edain as mill in to the hall in a steady stream soon makes, dissuades the lass and she quickens her steps after Istadris. "It was broken on the journey to Brethil" she explains, glancing to him slightly. "We were caught in the river's wrath..and the staff broke on a rock...it was my intention to ask the good carpenter to mend it..if he coul. Yet it appears that there shall be much to say...otherwise." A grin shapes her lips into a wide smile as she seats herself, placing the broken bits of wood on either side of her chair. "Will they send out a patrol looking for these men? Before they grow bolder...goodness knows how many of them there are..."

The woodsman lifts a hand to wipe at his moist brow and wet hair as the two reach the end of the long, wooden table. His grey eyes lift to seek one of the attendants, yet the sudden inrush of patrons keeps the few servers busy, and Istadris soon gives up trying to catch their attention. With a slight nod to Sionell, he sinks down upon one of the sturdy chairs opposite to her. "Aye, they will." He says, brushing at the wood chips and dirt upon his sleeves once more. "Halmir and his son will not stand for it, I'll wager, specially if these fellows have set up so near Amon Obel." With a wry grin, the tracker leans easily back upon the chair and chuckles softly, "Aye, they'll drive them off. I would speak to Corrin soon, if I can find him. He shall surely do something about it."

Plucking an irritating wisp of hair from settling in her eyes, the messenger nods, her eyes turned thoughtful. "I would love to be there when they apprehend the man Istadris.."she says slowly, gazing at the woodsman her eyes glittering with dark thought. "He was so rude and so assuming...that I would wish to stay and speak with him and meet his brothers.." The last is punctuated by another indignant sound, coming from the back of her throat. A snort perhaps. "And then when I tried to flee and had cause to deliver a good blow to his head he had the audacity to call me a beast." Her eyebrows shoot up, as she waves her hand in the air om the same instant, nearly knocking a serving tray over in the procees. "All I remember though was that he had a beard ..and had dark eyes..yet how could I tell, it was dark near late evening perhaps..and he looked rather green in the light." She chuckles suddenly, propping her chin up in her palms. "Think he could be some sort of troll...of sort..a band of trolls...it sounds like a tale my mother would tell me."

Arriving several minutes after the woodsman and messenger, and caught in the drenching rains without a cloak to cover her, the Beorian healer Aldawin is rather soaked by the time she reaches the double doors of Brethil hall, as well the woven basket she carries. Her dark hair glistens with rainwater--the latter of which drips freely from her clothing and the sodden basket half-filled with nettles. Following behind three Haladin women, the healer slips in quietly and makes a start for the fireplace, missing sight of her two Dorthonion comrades who sit at the room's edge in her passing, and sets the large basket upon the warm hearthstones. Standing closer to the hearth's leaping flames, Aldawin reaches up to quickly wring the water from her hair, and the fire hisses in protest where the droplets reach the fire.

Istadris' wry smile broadens at Sionell's words, and he shakes his head quickly in response before glancing up suddenly at one of the servers whose attention he has at last attracted. "Two ales, please." He orders simply, in the Haladain's own tongue, falling silent then until the young man has hurried to off to fetch the drinks. "I know not whether Corrin, or whomever among the wardens goes, would permit you accompany them when they track and flush out these bandits." He warns lightly. Aldawin's arrival goes seemingly unnoticed by the seated woodsman, whose back is to the rest of the hall as he converses with Sionell across the table. "But perhaps you will see him when the wardens bring him to Amon Obel after they band is caught." He adds with a chuckle, "Then we shall see what manner of green troll this man is."

A faint sigh of disppointment drops from the messenger's lips at the woodsman's initial words. "I should not say it so Istadris but the Haladin are such a suspecting folk, though they are kind to give us shelter as they have." She says, wryly, a sheepish smile playing on her lips. "They may more likely and sooner, think it was one of our kin taking up royal residence in the woods, disguising ourselves as trolls and way-laying their folk." She chuckles merrily enjoying the ridiculous picture painted for herself by her own fancy. "It would be a silly conclusion of course, yet all the means more entertaining...I could not imagine you or Aldawin dressed as trolls." The solemnity arise in her eyes is mocking almost, for she laughs sudden;y, the grey eyes flitting about the hall. "And...there is the healer now." she remarks, eyeing the dripping form of Aldawin with light amusement. "Caught in the rains on some errand I'll wager...must have something to do with those herbs of hers." A slight sniff, does the lass give before she inclines her head to the other letting fly a sharp call shrill from her lips. Merry it is thoug and cheery enough, ample greeting for the healer, whom she calls friend. "Aldawin!!!"

Shaking her hands of water after wringing her hair, Aldawin turns to the business of finding somewhere to sit. By now the hall is hosting half of the summit settlement, it seems, and empty chairs are few but glad conversations and smiles abound. It is the messenger's call which causes the healer to scan the crowd, and, smile broadening, she makes way towards the table where Sionell and Istadris sit. "Aye, 'tis a pleasant surprise to find you both here," she greets even before her steps have carried her to the table's edge. Flicking her gaze towards the door, which opens again as several others caught in the deluge arrive, Aldawin laughs softly, grinning at Sionell first, and then Istadris. "I have discovered that no matter the shelter of the trees, the rain still finds way to those underneath those branches."

Istadris' amused smile is mirrored by the glitter in his grey eyes as Sionell speaks of the bandits in the woods. "I know not what trolls look like, nor how to go about disguising oneself as such." He says with mock defensiveness, while lifting his hands up innocently, "Though I can not answer for Aldawin." Surprised at the messenger's call, the woodsman twists his body upon the wooden seat and follows her gaze towards where the healer stands. "Good morning, Aldawin." He greets, lifting his grey eyes to seek the younger Beorian's as she approaches the table. "There is little shelter against such heavy rains." He adds in reply to her observation, "But this hall and a few others like it, fortunately enough, serve ale." The tracker leans back upon his wooden chair and gestures for Aldawin to sit by his side before looking back to Sionell. "Trolls are not admitted.

The smile etched on her lips with increasing permenance, seems to grow even wider as the woodsman speaks."I dare trust then that the Lady is not a troll.."she adds, slyly, looking closely at the healer as if scruntising her before turning away her shoulders shaking slightly. "Oh..I would thank the mand when next I meet him...the bandit King of the woods...or by what title he chooses. Had I known our little foray would lead to such amusing conversation.." She chuckles, assuming an air of quiet composure something akin to her usual self. "How does the good healer fare? I hope we have not confused you...tis talk of bandits and trolls Aldawin, the same that Falsten encountered, I believe." She resumes her position sitting up in the chair, her hands propped up beneath her. "I trust..your herb gathering was not spolit by the rains?"

"Good morning to you both," the healer says, the smile still broad upon her lips as Aldawin sits gladly beside the woodsman and flashes him a smile. "Ale, indeed," she repeats her gaze settling upon a table nearby where several mugs stand empty. "But what is this talk of Trolls?" the Beorian healer wonders, turning her narrowing gray gaze quickly to Sionell in question, falling silent as the messenger speaks. "I most assuredly am NOT a Troll, though I can vouch of my own that my father's temper sometimes approaches what is rumoured to be the bad humour of one." Her next expression is lessened of its mirth however, and glancing quickly to Istadris, Aldawin wonders aloud, "More of bandits? Where?" Her thoughts entangled upon this last concern, the healer makes no mention of her basket of herbs or her own welfare.

With a slight shake of his head, Istadris voices his reply to Sionell's amused words. "You shall surely have the chance to thank this bandit, once the wardens bring him and his brothers back." He declares, turning away then as the server returns with a pair of flagons. "Will you bring a third?" He asks the young man in the Halethian tongue, before offering one of the two to Sionell and placing the second upon the table's surface in front of Aldawin. The attendant nods wordlessly and rushes off once more to answer the call of a rowdy gathering of woodsmen at a nearby table. The lean Beorian looks back to both healer and messenger then, and he leans forward to rest both hands upon the smooth worn table's edge. "Seems like Falsten's run in with the bandit was not mere chance, Aldawin." He says, a slight frown marring his otherwise amused expression, "Sionell was approached by one of these men, or possibly the same."

Sionell nods, affirming Istadris's words with an emphatic shaking of her head. "And..he was ill mannered also." she adds her eyebrows arching sharply. "Not that I would think bandits would have manners...but still. The woods are not safe to wander anymore...I would love to give him a piece of my mind." She goes on and it would seem as if her ramblings could go on if they let her. Yet the ale distracts the lass and she smiles slightly eyeing the flagon albeit wearily. "Ale? My thanks Istadris yet I fear I hold the substance not well at all. I would only embarrass myself if I drank much of it...and one would not choose to lose their dignity freely especially in the hindsight of a bad experience." She looks somewhat uncomfortable then, lifting it gingerly to her lips and taking the smallest of sips, so much so that it can hardly be said to have touched the tip of her lips.

That rowdy gathering of woodsmen at the nearby table has captured the momentary attention of Aldawin as well, though only until Istadris speaks up about Sionell's encounter with bandits. Brows raised, her gaze widens slightly as she looks now to the messenger, and then the healer listens as Sionell recounts the tale, giving a nod of thanks to the woodsman and taking the flagon of ale which he has placed before her. "You are fortunate that the meeting brought no ill, Sionell," Aldawin says, concern touching her tone. "You are unhurt by the encounter? Falsten the carpenter came to blows with the brigand." Once again her glance goes to the woodsman, and she lifts the mug up for a drink of the ale in continuance of her muse.

Speaking of Woodsmen, or man in singular form, another has joined the noisy hall at the front door, unheralded and unobtrusively. Pausing in the doorway, the wide shouldered form of Falsten peers around the corner at the ruckus party. Seeing that all is well, and that mayhap there might be a space for himself at the tables, he smiles and steps through... only then hailed by the various Haleth who merry-make in the hall. With a sheepish grin and a colored cheek, he smiles and gives a wave before wading into the press.

Istadris' shoulders roll with a shrug at Sionell's mention of the bandit, and ventures a wry smile. "I have never met a well mannered bandit, myself." He says, before looking to the ale the messenger has taken in hand. "Worry not." He reassures her lightly, "You needn't drink all of it. But you are in no strange company, if you choose to." With a questioning glance over at Aldawin, the Beorian woodsman speaks on. "What of Corrin, then?" He wonders aloud with a frown, "I've yet to see him since I returned from the crossings of Teiglin. He must know of these ruffians." As he looks to the healer near his side, Istadris' sharp eye is caught by the familiar face of Falsten passing through the nearby entryway. His brow arches with seeming surprise, and he quickly gestures to the man. "There he is now, Sionell." He says, lifting hand in hopes of catching the Haladin's attention, "Perhaps you should speak to him of this matter now."

In the sea of waving arms, rising men and sitting women, laughing drunkards and the various mishaps and strange meetings that occur during this sort of gathering, Istadris' raised hand is lost to Falsten's eye. Just another waving hand, most likely to someone else for more ale. But, as chance or fate might have it, the steps of the Carpenter's do begin to make their way in the direction of the Beorian table. One step, two... and Falsten's low voice carries over the general babble of the Hall, "Ah... yes. Excuse me. My apologies miss, was that your foo -- Oh! No... let me get you another one of those. Wait, hello? Lass? Drats..."

"Perhaps I should...and yet I cannot stay much longer Istadris.."murmers, the Beorian messenger her rueful words, tumbling in haste from her lips. She places the ale just as gingerly on the tabletop, nodding her thanks once more. "My timing, is as bad as I am taking to drinking." she adds,tilting her head slightly, rising from the table an apologetic frown on her lips. "There is something I have forgetten to do..and must not tarry in its deliverence any longer. Thank you all..for the company..it was heartening." She grins, flashing a glimpse of the earlier mirth that was so writ upon her features. Gathering the staff she half frowns over it, cradling the rough edges in her hands. "Could I ask..that you deliver this to the good carpenter..I see " her words are broken off slightly as the familiar voice of Falsten drifts to their ears, somewhat broken in the chatter abounding in the hall. "Ah...here comes the good sir, himself.."she smiles, offering a nod in his direction. "Yet I must make my departure, time slips away." A half dip of the waist is given to the woodsman and healer before she makes her way to the door. A slight figure, the cloak heavy upon her shoulder.

Istadris dips his head to the departing messenger, though his gaze drops to the almost untouched flagon of ale she leaves behind upon the table. With a light shrug, the woodsman slides the drink towards him and grasps it in hand. "Aye, I shall tell him of your tale, Sionell." He calls to the other, "And give him your staff." The woodsman lifts the heavy mug to his lips for a long sip, then, and turns back to Aldawin and the approaching carpenter. "Here he comes now." He utters, sliding back upon his sturdy chair and rising to his feet to better catch the Haladin's attention. "A moment, Falsten?" He calls to the other, again raising his hand to gesture in greeting.

Any other question the healer might have asked of Istadris is lost as Falsten is pointed out, and lowering the mug to the table once again, Aldawin sits back in her chair to regard the carpenter as he approaches. No less sudden is Sionell's departure, and with a hurried wish of farewell to her friend, Aldawin grins and watches the messenger step quickly into the crowd of patrons to make her way to the door. Glancing up as Istadris stands, Aldawin takes another, longer, sip of the ale, and then reaches to swipe the damp-drying hair behind her ears, awaiting the carpenter arrival at their table. "Was it the same ruffian then, that met them both?" Aldawin wonders in a lowered tone and betraying the continuing track of her thoughts, her grey gaze flashing upwards once more to meet the woodsman's.

"Erm..." comes the somewhat harried looking Carpenter, half turning in his spot. Searchingly, Falsten gazes at the small crowd until he spots the risen Istadris and the gesturing motion. With a waving motion, he indicates that he'll travel that way, and then begins to make the arduous process over there around the milling Haleth.

Only as he nears, is he able to take a breath and tug at a hankerchief from his vest pocket. With a wipe of his brow, he says, "Good day."

The lean Beorian dips his head wordlessly to acknowledge the carpenter's wave, and remains standing by the table until the other has arrived. His grey eyes lower to meet Aldawin's meanwhile, and he responds to her wondering words with a shake of his head. "I know not, Aldawin." He utters, "But if it was not the very same man, then they must have both been from the same group. Perhaps one of his brothers, as Sionell put it." Noting the carpenter's arrival, Istadris steps aside and offers one of the empty chairs to the other. "Good day, Falsten." He greets, only then sinking back down upon his own seat, "We have curious news for you, if you wish to hear them." His grey eyes widen slightly as he looks to the other's, "It seems one of our companions was waylaid by a bandit in the woods not far south of here."

Sitting back in her seat once again, Aldawin greets the carpenter with a smile and nod of greeting, "Good day to you, Falsten," though she soon seems solemned, settling to listen, turning the flagon of ale in a slow circle before her, a glistening of liquid left in the wake of the mug's trail at its base. The noisy group of woodsmen at the table nearby seem roused over some sprightly joke, and their voices are at once raised in a shout as one downs a flagon of the dark amber ale as fast as can be done--all the while rallied on by his fellows at the table.

Looking at the offered chair, Falsten nods and then smiles, before sitting down in it. Once off of his legs, he settles back in his chair to stretch them. However, he is not inattentive. "Waylaid? How curious. I was waylaid myself not too long ago! By a bandit, not a stone's throw from the Teiglin, no less," he says. As he speaks, a passing Haleth sets a half-filled mug on the table next to him, having drunk their fill. Curiously, the Carpenter cranes his neck and glances down into the contents.

The downpour of cold rains has seemingly lessened outside, and yet still the hall grows busier with the arrival more of the local townsfolk come to find themselves a drink and a noontime meal. The woodsman nods knowingly to Falsten's tale and shakes his head quickly. "It seems to be a recurring problem of late, these bandits." He observes, before sipping from his own flagon and glancing over to the healer. "Aldawin told me what happened to you." He adds. Looking past the other two and towards the gaping entryway, Istadris's thin lips purse with consideration. "Sionell had wish to ask you if it would be possible to fix or replace her staff." He says after a moment's thought, again looking to the carpenter and this time gesturing to the two broken halves of the messenger's walking staff that rest upon the table. "She also means to speak with you about the bandit. We suspect they were of the same group, if not the very same man himself. He spoke of his brothers, and someone named Harnard."

Listening quietly for a spell, Aldawin finally brings the mug up for yet another long sip, setting it aside with a slightly perturbed shake of her head. "I would question how many there are in this group so we may discern how great a threat they are, and how best to deal with them." She traces a finger in the spill upon the table a moment, moving the flagon aside with her left hand. "You have dwelt here in Brethil long enough to know, Falsten," she begins then, tempering earlier words with calm and mere curiosity as her grey gaze is lifted to meet that of the carpenter. "Has this always been a problem to those who travel outside the village here. And what is done or can be done with such a threat?"

First, with a professional eye, Falsten reaches across to take a look at the pieces of the staves. For a long moment, he is quiet, and then he nods solemnly, "I believe... that she spoke to me about something like this. In truth, it is hard to remember who exactly asked me about it. But, I do recall saying that I had to see the piece to make sure." He takes a breath and lifts one of the pieces asking, "Was this an heirloom? I recall someone asking about a staff that was an heirloom..."

The Carpenter's voice, trails away for a brief moment, before clearing his throat and looking to Aldawin and Istadris, "Not to make light of the news of the bandit. And aye, that does sound likely. I remember... that the one fellow that I ran into him talked about his two brothers, or something like that. But... no Harnard. Really, in all my life I've never seen a bandit before... so to your question, Honored Healer Ma'am, I really have no idea. There are tales, but... they were few and very far between."

Istadris' gaze follows that of Falsten's as the other man looks to the broken staff. "I do not know why she needs this staff repaired." He answers with a slight shake of his head, "Though she shall surely speak of it to you soon enough. Perhaps it is an heirloom, as you suggest." The woodsman nods his head at Aldawin's question, and though he looks towards the open doorway leading outside, his attention seems fully set upon the two he shares the table with. "Aye, I would advise that you and Sionell both speak with Corrin or one of the other wardens. Perhaps together you can sort out who this bandit is, and if it truly is a band of them roaming south of here." His brow furrows slightly, and he looks to Aldawin, "I was warned by some of the men that the woods far to the south of here, and specially in the lands across the Teiglin, are at times roamed by such ruffians and outlaws. Perhaps some have ventured closer to the village to find prey."

"Whoever they are, they lack not boldness," Aldawin muses, and ironically the last of her words are drowned out by a pounding of fists upon tables and chants of encouragement as the woodsmen nearby are fully given to the drinking contest started moments before, each taking a turn of the first round. Momentary mirth flashes in the healer's gaze, turning to a half-stare in the midst of recollection, though quickly as it is betrayed, Aldawin again looks to both woodsman and carpenter. "Aye, Corrin is bound to know something of these happenings. And if he is not, he should surely be apprised, especially if they are moving northward as it seems."

"Aye," replies Falsten to Istadris, "That could easily be the case. Although I know little of the duties of the guard, as I said, stories do trickle down." Taking a breath, the Carpenter reaches over and picks up the half-finished mug of Ale and lifts it to his nose. With a slight testing sniff, Falsten lifts his head back and takes a long drink. When his head straightens, he sets the now quarter-filled mug down on the table and rises to his feet.

"Certainly, I will speak with Sionell about her encounter. Perhaps there are some similarities beyond the brothers connection. And... maybe we'll go together to see Corrin." Straightening, he says, "But... first things first. I will need to take this back to the shop and see if there are any woods to match up to the staff and see what I *can* do for Sionell."

Istadris chuckles dryly at Aldawin's comments, and dips his head in agreement. "Aye, bold enough to pick on an unescorted lass such as Sionell." He observes with a disapproving frown, "Though the ruffian has a few lumps to show for it now, she told me." With a nod to the departing carpenter, Istadris lifts his own mug and drinks quickly from it. "Good day, Falsten." He says, as the Haladin man turns to leave the table.