Back on the Road

Re: Back on the Road

Postby Shobits » Wed Mar 30, 2016 12:49 pm

N`vek was no small child to wander away the moment a back was turned, nor was he a disobedient youth to want to cause mischief and mayhem under the same circumstances. The lad had simply been turned around in the day to day hassles of the town. Pushed aside, caught in a crowd, turned around, and lost... Lost in a strange new town that he'd only just set foot in moments before.

"Treadwell?" He called out uneasily, not quite sure how one could miss such a man. There was no mistaking that profile, which was what was worrying N`vek. He had to help the man, had come on this journey to help the man, not to mention going back home on his own? He'd done a long travel once before, uprooted his life in Northern New Dauntless and moved on to Myrken. He had no intention of uprooting again for any reason. Myrken was home.

Yes, it had occurred to the boy that no one here had heard of or known of his... ailment and while he hadn't had too much issue with his other back in Myrken, here... here was a clean slate. But he had nothing but his clothes and the contents of his carry sack. N`vek was no fool.

"Treadwell?" he called again, shifting his pack as he wandered out into the street, thankful he looked human right now, yet missing the extra sensory input his other form always granted him.

One thing N`vek did know? The name of the Inn where they were going to stop. That was where he would go, the Smoking Pipe Bar and Bed. He would stop in the bakery to ask directions.
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Re: Back on the Road

Postby Treadwell » Wed Mar 30, 2016 1:56 pm

Bread.

Of course a baker's shop would smell of bread, wonderfully warm and fresh, sitting in open bread boxes on shelves that line the log building, the contents of each box neatly priced with numbers carved into the side of the boxes. No pies or any other such here. This is a building devoted to bread and bread alone.

A table, roughly waist high, sits parallel to the front wall; an open doorway reveals the sounds of someone scurrying about in a huff. That someone soon makes himself known, red-faced and flushed and hasty. This man wears a brown apron over a matching brown tunic a size too small and patched up trousers a size too snug; Treadwell, were he here, would certainly approve. This baker clearly samples his own wares often enough.

"The Smoking Pipe!" is all he hears before throwing his arms up in a huff and interrupting. "I'm an hour late on the shipment, and they send a new boy to pick it up! That's what this is!"

And before N'vek can hope to interject or continue with questions, the baker plods back into his kitchen, soon returning with a bag heavy and full with bread carefully wrapped in leftover parchment papers (a gift from Keef at the library, if he were ever asked), hefting that bag into N'vek's waiting hands.

"Out the door, turn to the left, go up the street four shops, 'cross the street when you see the stable, and there you are! Take that bread straight to the kitchen, now, and tell them Fred's sorry, won't do it again, and the like. Good lad!"

And with that, the Fred in question is a sputtering, spitting huff of brown that is lumbering back to his kitchen, leaving N'vek quite literally holding the bag.

And at the library?

A moment to wheeze for breath, to lower one's voice, to squint eyes around at the books.

"I am looking, mmph, for my young traveling companion, Mister Keef."

"Well, y'ain't seein' him in here, sir, are ye?"

"No, but--"

"An' iffen y'travelin' in this town, y'either gone to work or gone home or gone t'eat. An' seein' you," the white-haired wisp jabs a bony finger in deep to Treadwell's stomach, nearly losing his finger amid the flesh as the Lord Steward grunts, "ain't the type to work, y'must be the type t'eat! Iffen he is aught lack you, I'd be a-seein' Fred at his bake shop," a nod, here, of that twiglike neck, "or Sammel at the Pipe!"

As the elderly man withdraws his finger from the fleshy vice of Treadwell's gut, said gut gives a most unpleasant gurrrrrrgle again.

"Now take y'stomach out to where it belongs! Iffen I di'n't know better, I'd say you was the Man-Warm hisself with a beard an' stomach lackat! Go!"

"Man-Warm?"

"Out! Shoo! Come back an' read when y'belly ain' making no noise!"

And thus does one elderly man with snowy hair scurry forward with his hands on the pendulous belly of the other, his fragile figure pushing backward, nudging the Lord Steward one tottered step at a time into the middle of the street before leaving him there, bewildered, nose twitching up that lovely scent from the baker's shop not too distant.

"Hmph hmph!" is all that Mr. Treadwell can add to that little discussion as he begins his ambling toward the Smoking Pipe Bar and Beds. He is hungry, indeed, as he always is, and a meal in his belly might help him think. Besides, by this point, Gregory should have Arnold put away in the stables and should be seeing to moving their things into a rented room or two.

And who knows? With some luck, perhaps Aloisius might find N'vek on his way to the inn.
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Re: Back on the Road

Postby Shobits » Tue Apr 05, 2016 11:39 am

He hadn't eaten since before they left on this trip. The smell of the bread was making N`vek's stomach do a Treadwell impression - though not nearly as grandiose as the very large man's sounds. And it seemed that bread was the only thing in this bakery. Bread, bread, and more bread. N`vek was a little disappointed, but with a smell like that it was hard to maintain that mind set for long. He was about to order himself something to snack on while hunting down this inn.

"But I'm no-" N`vek began but all at once he was bogged down with a great big load of bread and pushed in the right direction. "Very well then... Thank you..." He got the answer he'd wanted after all, the least N`vek could do would be to take the bread with him.
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Re: Back on the Road

Postby Treadwell » Tue Apr 05, 2016 1:09 pm

Treadwell is near enough to The Smoking Pipe Bar and Beds by this point, his aching feet and throbbing back carrying him along sluggishly enough past the bakery. His cane offers its usual longsuffering support at each alternating step; his nose serves as an active sniffer of things delicious, delicious things like bread.

Head turns on creaky neck as that dwarven-descended nose picks up a most aromatic, belly-rumbling scent of bread actually making its way outside, this bread being in the arms of--

"N'vek! N'vek, my boy!"

And over to the lad Tready does scurry, soon to offer one arm around the young man in a squoosh of an embrace as he wheezes and lumbers alongside, his eyes squinting through glasses at the bag of bread.

"When did you go buying that, hm hm? I didn't give you any money to travel with, mmph, and, ooooooooooh! Never mind! Just tell me when we get to the inn! They serve a lovely mess of eggs, bacon, bread, and beer, mmph. It's their usual lunch! Hee hee! Come, come! Gregory should have Arnold put away by now, mmph, and if he does as he ought, he should have us a room or two ordered for the afternoon's rest!"

Merry glee shakes the old Tubbian's roaring stomach as he then resumes wobbling along the yards to the log-built bar.

The interior of the tavern is, in some ways, similar to that of the Broken Dagger: tables, chairs, stools and a bar along the back wall. It is certainly a bit more rough-hewn than the considerably smoother bar back home, and there is no comfortable couch by the fireside. Treadwell's butler sits by the door, having settled himself onto one of the multitude of seats that are, in truth, all merely the bottoms of chopped down trees, stumps that have been cut up and transported into the Smoking Pipe for convenient seating. Next to him?

Food! Blessed food and ale--in fact, the very same lunch Treadwell described, and enough of it for the three of them, even if one of them is Aloisius Horatio Treadwell, and even if he is already abandoning his arm's hold around N'vek to take a seat on a stump at the table and begin indulging himself after only a moment to settle his bulk and huff a few labored breaths.
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Re: Back on the Road

Postby Shobits » Wed Apr 13, 2016 1:55 pm

Had nothing better to do, and the baker's livelihood, integrity, and honesty was probably balancing on this delivery. Though it was quite irresponsible of the bakery to just hand off a delivery to the first boy around delivery age to mention the inn's name to grace his bakery. N`vek didn't have long to ponder on these thoughts as he was snapped out of them by a very familiar call,

N`vek! N`vek! N`vek heard the call of his name and paused for a moment... Why did he still go by that name? Why now? Especially when he appeared to no longer walk around in his squidskin. Maybe it was time to drop N`vek and go by Kevan again.

"Kevan..." He muttered quietly but smiled to Treadwell. "Well, I'm sure they do, but unless I drop this bread off there it probably won't be on the menu. The baker sort of mistook me for a delivery boy," he explained, and yes wold deliver the goods to the inn once they arrived.
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Re: Back on the Road

Postby Treadwell » Wed Apr 13, 2016 3:24 pm

"Delivery boy?"

Huffed breaths surround the words. Puzzlement sets the face breathing them into a frown. And then? Shoulders shrug. Eyes watch the would-be delivery boy go about delivering, and the meal then begins in gulping, chomping earnest. Once the ex-squid returns?

"Well! I am thinking, mmph, we might rest a little, mmph mmph, before we move on," the old man squeakily notes, "an hour or two, perhaps. Time enough for a good nap, hm? Let it all settle? The beds here are at least a little, hm hm, better than those in Myrken."

He nods, here, and continues with a grunt in the throat. "A short nap here will give Arnold a little time to rest, too, m'boy. He is old and slow, mmph, and he needs a little freedom from pulling the coach, hm hm. Yes, yes! A little time to rest here, mmph, and then we can leave, and, I say, we should be able to make Swinstead in time for supper!"

Supper? He eats his lunch as if it is the last thing he might ever eat, yet he already thinks of eating again? Such gluttony is not unnoticed within the tavern. From some few feet away at a corner table, from a frail, elderly woman sitting next to her equally thin husband, comes a statement audible to anyone even halfway listening. "It ain't right, Alfie. He'll eat Sammel out of food iffen he stays 'ere, an' where'll 'at leave us?"

For once, it seems that N'vek is not the one being stared at for looking different.

"Well, m'boy, mmph mmph! What do you think? Stay here a little, or move on?"
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Re: Back on the Road

Postby Shobits » Wed Apr 20, 2016 5:12 pm

"That's what I said... Wild, I know. Just handing over an entire delivery of bread to the first young man to enter the bakery asking about this inn?" N`vek was still amazed. But in the end no real harm had been done. He'd found the inn and Treadwell, and the inn got its bread delivery. Wins for all!

N`vek was all for leaving and continuing on as soon as possible, but Treadwell's words about the old horse had him worrying. "I suppose a rest after lunch wouldn't be all that bad." The last thing they needed was for Arnold to keel over.

Lunch was good, though compared to Treadwell, N`vek may as well have been eating crumbs. Though he was well aware at the starings at Treadwell. H`vek may not be the one getting the stares anymore, but the young man was still alert to them.

"Let Arnold rest..." Was his answer.
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Re: Back on the Road

Postby Treadwell » Thu Apr 21, 2016 1:57 am

"A splendid idea, mmph mmph! Greg'ry?"

"That has already been resolved, sir," the old butler responds, taking a moment to swallow before answering. "Three rooms are made available to us for the next few hours. That will give us all a little privacy."

"Good, good! I should hope the beds here are an improvement on those at the Broken Dagger, hm!" With that said, Treadwell pushes away a cleaned plate and his drained mug. Almost immediately, these are taken up with replacements set before him, much to his great, jiggly-grinning agreement.

"I know you too well, m'lord. Two plates, minimum, and your loves of ale and beer are quite well known."

"Indeed!"

Meanwhile, at the nearby corner table, "Alfie?" and the continuing glare.

"Dearest, he's every right t'eat here just like us. They're makin' Sammel a good bit of money, so, now, stop y'starin'."

Alfie's dear Louisa doesn't have to stare too much longer, nor do the serving maids, nor does the burly Sammel from behind his kitchen door. Soon enough, Mr. Treadwell is being helped back to his feet by Gregory, with the Lord Steward's right hand resting upon his happily digesting gut and his left gripping his cane.

"Gregory?"

"My lord?"

"Why must the bedrooms always be upstairs, hmph?"

"I would guess that the owners of such inns do not fancy very many old men traveling to them, sir."

"Hmph!"

Keys are then claimed and the rooms they go to identified, with one key being passed over to N'vek. The two portly old men lumber up the steps to the second floor of the building, with the slightly younger and notably slimmer Gregory having an easier (though not easy) time of it, and, afterward, the next few hours pass in snore-filled rest.

It is around five in the afternoon when Aloisius and Gregory find themselves by the stables with Arnold and the carriage, taking care of final preparations to leave.

"On to Swinstead, Greg'ry, mmph mmph!" the shrill, elderly voice of the Lord Steward will squeak once everything and everyone is in place, former squid boy included. One of the side window shutters is opened just enough to allow smoke from Treadwell's pipe an exit from the coach and, once all are ready, reins are snapped, hooves start forward, wheels creak and roll, and the company leaves Fyeden on an uneventful trip up the road in the slowly growing dusk.

"Snow is melting quickly enough, m'boy, mmph mmph," the pipe-smoking Treadwell notes as they clear the majority of the trees, again facing more open landscape. "A stop in Swinstead overnight will do us all good, I think. Something for supper with Mayor Archibald Cole and his wife Jeanette, mmph, and a good night's sleep more than ju--"

And here the old fellow is interrupted by a face-stretching yawwawwwwwwwn that leaves him licking at his lips and blinking. Teeth automatically clamp back down on the stem of his nearly escaping pipe.

"Forgive me. More than just a nap! I never feel very rested after a short nap, mmph mmph. Now, when we get near Swinstead, you'll know it, m'boy. Like with wood chopping in Fyeden, a good deal of Swinstead's business is centered on livestock, mmph, piggies in particular for half of it, and the young mayor's business especially. He might just be only twenty-and-three, mmph mmph, but he's a right proper Tubbian, and he knows about keeping food at the ready. In fact, hm hm, I have business to discuss with him, you see, about that very matter. With most of the Tubbians out of Myrkentown, mmph, I need a small church nearby where the ones left can visit. Swinstead sounds like a nice place to establish one, I think."

However, Aloisius is starting to drift off as he speaks, soon nodding back into another nap as the carriage bouncily bumps along, his pipe still hanging clenched between teeth and lips, its smoke lazily fizzling out as he again rumbles in snoring sleep.
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Re: Back on the Road

Postby Shobits » Wed Apr 27, 2016 4:21 pm

Lunch was had and a room to rest in, N`vek suspected that Treadwell's assessment of the quality of beds being superior here than in the Broken Dagger had more to do with the frequency in which he laid upon them than anything. As for the spying corner table, N`vek was feeling a might uncomfortable by the looks they were being given.

But fortunately nothing came from the disapproving people and after a good rest it was time to continue on their journey.
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Re: Back on the Road

Postby Treadwell » Thu Apr 28, 2016 2:13 pm

Swinstead: home of swine.

It certainly lives up to its name as the carriage rolls slowly closer as dusk falls and night slowly wraps the land. Pigs abound; other livestock live around the area, too, of course, but especially pigs, as the Lord Steward predicted. The town is certainly rural and rustic: small wooden houses, small wooden lots for the animals, small wooden shops, wide open fields, carefully built animal pens and muddy wallows.

Treadwell is certainly used to all of this. Tubbians live quite close to things of the earth--fields and farms, especially. In fact, he snores right through the reaching of the town, maintaining his noisome nap until Gregory calls back, "Swinstead, m'lord! We near Mayor Cole's house, and he is outside!"

Outside? Very much so. This young mayor is more farmer than politician; brilliant red hair, heavy jowls and stomach, worn and stained brown tunic and trousers and apron over it all. He leans heavily atop a shovel near the door to his home; the lady who is certainly his beloved Jeanette, equally red of hair, wears a similar brown dress, simply made--no fancy lady's fashions on this young lady of perhaps sixteen or seventeen. She sits near her husband on a bench, tired and drained and about a month from delivering their first child.

"Lord Tubbius!" comes the merry roll of a greeting from the young mayor as the coach comes to stop and Treadwell snorts and snuffs and blinks awake, still sitting opposite N'vek, his pipe's having fizzled out in his mouth. With a yawn and a stretch of those pudgy arms, Tready sits a little straighter as Gregory comes around to open the side door.

"M'lord Treadwell? Young master?" comes the greeting from the butler as he moves to help his employer out of the carriage. Barely out of the carriage and on the ground, Aloisius is taken up in a squooshing embrace from Mayor Cole, prompting a squeak of breath from the old man.

"We expected you this morning, Holy One!"

"Mmph! A detour, hm hm! We were delayed in Fyeden for a bit."

"Well, you are here now, all three of you. Now, you all go in with Jeanette--supper's a-waiting!--and I will take your Arnold and your carriage to the barn for the night."

Supper. The word is barely said before Aloisius's stomach rumbles in reply. Cane in hand, the elder gent starts after the gravid hostess.

"Archibald said this mornin', sir, 'Though he tarry, Tubbius will come!' And here you are with your. . . son? I thought I knew all your children, Mr. Treadwell."

"Not son, mmph. Riding companion, hm, at Alice's request. This is, mmph, well, N'vek to some, Kevan to others."

Fluffy eyebrows go up to the human lad; a warm smile wraps across the fleshy lips.

"Supper sounds splendid, dear Jeanette. What have you tonight?"

"Something of everythin', sir. You know how Archibald likes t'eat."

Treadwellian laughter rolls; the interior of the house is humble by his standards but certainly lavish by those of the local community. It's larger than most in the town, and the chairs at the table are a bit more cushioned than the others in homes around, and there's even a rocking chair by the nearby fireplace--a good match for the two in Treadwell's toy shop, and with good reason: the old toymaker's craftsmanship is the reason said seat exists. Into that rocker Aloisius sinks as Jeanette and Gregory take to setting up supper.

"Greg'ry, mmph! You are a guest!"

"Now, m'lord, I am your butler, first, and a guest second. Besides, were your Alice so great with child, sir, as Mrs. Cole, would you have her doing all the work in the kitchen?"

"Of course not." And back to getting his pipe relit Treadwell goes, leaving the others to bringing out a cooked ham, rolls, some carefully laid aside cheese, and tea and ale to drink. As food is set down and extra chairs are pulled over to the table, in comes the young mayor, wheezing huffily. "There's more in the kitchen!" he bellows despite his shortness of breath. "I reckon we will need it shortly."

Thus does Archibald Cole cast off his apron, hanging it on its hook by the warmly glowing fire, and sink into a seat at the table. The food set, wife and butler join him, and, worming his way from the rocking chair, Aloisius lumbers across the floor on his cane with a simple announcement.

"Tubbius blesses, mmph, this meal and His hosts, hm hm! May we all know contentment, hm hm, from this fine repast, and sleep well tonight with bellies full and beds warm!"

There prove to be three courses; the young host was correct about their being more, but even he seems a little amazed at his first trip back to fetch more. Puzzled brows study his superior in the Church; shoulders shrug, and the meal goes on until host and hostess are away to bed (with directions left to the spare bedroom off to the left side of the kitchen), Gregory sleeps slumped in his chair at the table, and Aloisius turns to N'vek, whether the boy dozes or not--or, for that matter, hears or not. He speaks softly and toddles gently for the door, taking up a lit lamp on the way.

"I have things to do outside, m'boy, mmph--animals to look upon and to bless. You are free to come along, mmph, although I shall be back in here, oh, in a couple of hours or so, I suppose, hrm hrm."

And with that said, and with no further delay, Aloisius Horatio Treadwell toddles out into the midnight.
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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