The others were gathered around the cistern, getting on with their business and avoiding the training room, the general consensus being that a man's vengeance was his own business. The loud, sharp sounding thuds and the screams were expected, and drew little attention. The delicious smell that drifted out of the training room was not expected, however. Most of them were unaware of the rumours about Bosmer. Those that had heard stories, however, started thinking. Cynric looked at Brynjolf, a disbelieving look on his face. "He isn't?" "No, surely..." They looked at each other a moment, both wearing identical expressions of doubt and curiosity. Rune looked over at them. "He isn't what?" With a mixture of puzzlement and uncertainty, they walked over to the training room. The others followed. When they realised what was happening, Sapphire burst out laughing, Rune retched a little, and everyone else had a reaction in between. There was a moment while everyone processed what they were witnessing. Most of Linwe was on the floor. Blood covered his mouth and most of his clothes; some parts of him were conspicuously absent. Niruin was stood next to a small fire, above which hung a cooking pot he must have fetched in for the purpose. He was stirring what appeared to be a meat stew, the specific contents of which were indicated by the diced lumps of meat at the end of a golden arm which was next to the pot. A pile of someone's best silver bowls was on the other side of it. As Niruin looked at the group, he smiled, and seemed to be actually cheerful. "Ah, there you are. I've got three days to eat all this, so if anyone wants some, let me know." Brynjolf was the first to regain his composure. "Lad, what in Oblivion are you doing?" Niruin feigned a hurt expression, then drew back his shoulders. "It's a tradition. This-" He gestured at the pot, and at Linwe "is the way of my people. I'd ask you to respect that." "Lad, no, this won't-" Suddenly, a groan, a strangely distorted keening whimper of despair, escaped from the mound on the floor. Everyone except Niruin froze. "Is he-still alive?" "Not for much longer. I'm trying to keep the meat as fresh as possible. But for all intents and purposes, no, he isn't. Now, I've already eaten the tongue, which is a delicacy, you know, but there's plenty more to go around if you're interested." Everyone stood where they were, shocked. Even Brynjolf didn't seem to have anything to say. Suddenly, the voice of their leader pierced the air around the group. "What are you al stood around here for? Things aren't going to steal themselves you know!" Mercer stopped as he saw what Niruin was doing. Frowning, he spoke. "I thought you lot only had to do that in Valenwood?" Niruin shrugged. "Sometimes, a bit of tradition does the soul good." "Oh." Mercer turned to the others. "Well, I hope you all won't be stood around all day, there are things to do. Brynjolf, I need a word." He jerked his head to imply Brynjolf should follow, and strode off. Brynjolf walked after him, protesting. "Mercer, surely you can't let him-" "What have I always told you? Elves are fucking weird. It's just how they are. Anyway-"
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timeasmymeasure
Summerset Surprise 8/9
Date: 2012-11-17 10:02 pm (UTC)Most of them were unaware of the rumours about Bosmer. Those that had heard stories, however, started thinking. Cynric looked at Brynjolf, a disbelieving look on his face.
"He isn't?"
"No, surely..." They looked at each other a moment, both wearing identical expressions of doubt and curiosity. Rune looked over at them.
"He isn't what?"
With a mixture of puzzlement and uncertainty, they walked over to the training room. The others followed.
When they realised what was happening, Sapphire burst out laughing, Rune retched a little, and everyone else had a reaction in between. There was a moment while everyone processed what they were witnessing.
Most of Linwe was on the floor. Blood covered his mouth and most of his clothes; some parts of him were conspicuously absent. Niruin was stood next to a small fire, above which hung a cooking pot he must have fetched in for the purpose. He was stirring what appeared to be a meat stew, the specific contents of which were indicated by the diced lumps of meat at the end of a golden arm which was next to the pot. A pile of someone's best silver bowls was on the other side of it. As Niruin looked at the group, he smiled, and seemed to be actually cheerful.
"Ah, there you are. I've got three days to eat all this, so if anyone wants some, let me know."
Brynjolf was the first to regain his composure.
"Lad, what in Oblivion are you doing?"
Niruin feigned a hurt expression, then drew back his shoulders.
"It's a tradition. This-" He gestured at the pot, and at Linwe "is the way of my people. I'd ask you to respect that."
"Lad, no, this won't-" Suddenly, a groan, a strangely distorted keening whimper of despair, escaped from the mound on the floor. Everyone except Niruin froze. "Is he-still alive?"
"Not for much longer. I'm trying to keep the meat as fresh as possible. But for all intents and purposes, no, he isn't. Now, I've already eaten the tongue, which is a delicacy, you know, but there's plenty more to go around if you're interested."
Everyone stood where they were, shocked. Even Brynjolf didn't seem to have anything to say. Suddenly, the voice of their leader pierced the air around the group.
"What are you al stood around here for? Things aren't going to steal themselves you know!" Mercer stopped as he saw what Niruin was doing. Frowning, he spoke. "I thought you lot only had to do that in Valenwood?"
Niruin shrugged. "Sometimes, a bit of tradition does the soul good."
"Oh." Mercer turned to the others. "Well, I hope you all won't be stood around all day, there are things to do. Brynjolf, I need a word." He jerked his head to imply Brynjolf should follow, and strode off. Brynjolf walked after him, protesting.
"Mercer, surely you can't let him-"
"What have I always told you? Elves are fucking weird. It's just how they are. Anyway-"