Eorie

Proprietor of Dyer's Cottage in Rossgallan Keep. Creates gowns for Lady Nicolaenya Rossman and Lady Shantelle Trigomas among others. A survivor of the fall of Lord Rossman's original village.

Eorie sets aside her sewing and stands up, leaning heavily on a cane as she limps over to a drawer to pick out some wooden buttons before returning to her seat. Catching your eye upon her, she gives a gentle smile, saying, "An injury from the fall of the old village. There are few of my age who lack such scars, I'm afraid."

Rossman: "Lord Rossman? I remember him best as the local blacksmith," Eorie replies, "all tongue-tied and full of side-long looks at my friend Sweetleaf. Never think it to talk to him now, but he was endearingly shy when he was a'courting her. Tis a pity he doesn't remember such things when it comes to his own children, now isn't it?" She shakes her head, clucking under her breath. "How long ago that seems now."

Nicolaenya: "A sweet girl, Lady Nicola?" Eorie smiles. "I never thought she'd survive the sack of the old village, but her mam stepped twixt her and the orc as was trying to kill the child." Shaking her head, Eorie adds, "She still carried Sweetleaf's old glaive -- snatched it up as her mam fell and set herself to learning to use it from then on."

Sweetleaf: "She was my best friend, growing up. Born within weeks of each other, and close as thieves, my mam always said." Eorie giggles softly. "I still miss her sometimes."

Constable: "Well, he's polite enough, and keeps his guards in good order. Still, it's not a job I'd like, having to deal with riff-raff like that."

Steward: Eorie snorts. "Just don't trust him near the scales. Even when he was the town grocer, the littlest shopper knew that much."

Eorie: "Oh, you don't want to talk about an old woman," Eorie says comfortably. "Why don't you tell me about you, instead?"

Dyer: "My daughter? She's taken over the work now I'm too old to be lifting bolts of wet cloth from the dye vats," Eorie nods. "Does a good job for the most part, though she's still not got my touch with shading."

Rolling first one shoulder, then the other, the seamstress Eorie stretches before returning to her work.

Daughter: "My daughter? She's a good girl -- took over the dying after my other children left home," Eorie replies.
Eorie furrows her brow, looking at you like you'd suddenly started speaking old Elven or something.

Orc: Eorie shudders. "They were just animals. Dangerous, yes. But lacking in brains until that witch Jomay came along."

Jomay: Eorie frowns at you. "Gods curse the witch for what she did. They were only animals til she started in with her meddling. Dangerous, yes, but never working together." Tears well up in her eyes as she rocks back and forth, weeping softly. "So many gone, and all for some imagined slight."

Warcat: "Another of the witch's ideas, I suppose, or her henchman, Grishnok. Jomay won't risk losing her powers by touching someone herself, but she's got no compunction about making someone else do it for her. And she calls herself an Empath!" Eorie snorts.

Gyfford: "He's young. It's hard to trust that he knows what he's doing, not like his father did, at least," Eorie replies.

Jeladric: "He was a good man. Never got over losing his wife, though," Eorie replies.

Guard: Eorie nods. "They're good lads, sent to us by the old Baron after... Well, they're good lads. And they certainly do raise the spirits of the young ladies of the town, now don't they?"

Hartsease: "Poor lady lost her children in a fire, just before Jomay's orcs attacked us. She moved north to help the survivors when she heard about the sack of our village, and a great comfort she was, too. Still, I hate to see her caring for people in general, and shying away from caring about people in particular. I guess she's afraid of losing if she does care, though." Eorie shakes her head, rocking back and forth in her chair.

Langenfirth: "Bunch of hermits on that side of the lake, far as I can tell," Eorie replies. "Everyone knows they're half-mad, those rangers."

Therenborough: Eorie says, "It's quite a big city. Jishu takes me there once a year or so, so that I can see the latest fashions, and see a play or a concert at the theatre there. Such a grand place, that is."

Lord: "Our old lord? Or young Nicoly?" Eorie asks. "Still have a hard time seeing Rossman as anything but a gawky youngun as was in love with my best friend, and too shy to ask her to walk out with him at that." She gives a girlish giggle, adding, "Poor Sweetleaf had to chase him until he thought to catch her, she did!"

Riverhaven: "Riverhaven's the biggest city in the province. All the shipping comes through there, of course, which accounts for it," Eorie replies.

Jishu: "My husband?" Eorie asks. "He's out working in the garden most days."

Dog: "Rossman breeds them. He's not fond of anything cuddly for the lady's bower, but he raises excellent working dogs, for hunting and all," Eorie says.

Horse: "They're dreadfully large, aren't they? Useful for the dying, though," Eorie says.

Forge: Eorie shakes her head. "Dreadful loud, it is, all that hammering and clanging, and the soot gets everywhere. It's hard to keep the newly dyed fabric from staining as it dries."

Portman: "Eh, Portman's not so bad, all things considered," Eorie replies. "If he'd let his ale actually age, it might be almost drinkable."

Gretzyl: Laughing softly, Eorie says, "I remember her when we were young, and she was a new bride fiercely in love with her husband. She lost her healing gift when the orcs attacked, but none here will ever chide her for taking up arms. And even without a gift, her herb craft keeps us all in good health."

Cayne: "Cayne's new to town. Don't think there's anyone who really knows him well. Jishu says he's a woeful fraud, though," Eorie replies.

Jester: "Jester, eh?" Eorie shakes her head. "A less jesterly fellow it would be hard to find, but it's impossible to tell how a babe will grow up, despite those seers as claim to do so."

Drinak: Eorie shakes her head. "Drinak's hard to get to know, to be honest. He tends to keep to himself, though he does right by his apprentices."

Town: "Quite a change from the huddle of exhausted refugees hiding behind a makeshift palisade, isn't it?" Eorie asks. "We've come a long way since the sack of the old town.

A page enters the cottage, giving Eorie a ticket and receiving a folded tunic in return. "They grow so fast!" Eorie says, shaking her head with a smile.

Nixies: "I think they're just legends. I mean, who believes in beautiful maidens lurking in a river to lure men to their doom? Just a story to scare the children into being careful around the water," Eorie laughs.

Eorie squints as she threads her needle.

Maid: "Well, some of them are no better than they should be, if you ask me. Lady Nicola needs to spend less time in the forge and more time watching her maids!" Eorie sniffs.

Giants: "Gods be blessed, those creatures in the ravine? I hear they're vicious!" Eorie exclaims.

Peccaries: "They're quite good, roasted with an apple cream sauce at the table." Eorie rubs her belly with a wrinkled hand. "A rare treat, though, since they're so dangerous."

A woman's voice calls from the back of the shop, "Do you need anything from the garden, mother?"

Eorie calls back, "Nothing today, dear."

Lake: "The peat's what makes it special, for ales and for my dying. It gives lovely subtle shading to the wool especially," Eorie replies.

Jantspyer: "The river? What about it?" Eorie looks at you curiously.

Maechlyn: "Maechlyn? He's that journeyman that Rossman hired a few months ago," Eorie replies. "Had some kind of accident up north, I heard, and can't do a lot of heavy work anymore. I don't know much about what's done in the forge, but I think he does decorative work of some sort. It's funny. With his temper, you wouldn't think he'd have the patience for it, now would you?"

Amlach: "A brave man, though he's an eye for the wenches, from all my husband tells me," Eorie replies.

Oleveir: "A scamp, from all I hear. It's not good for him to have no responsibility," Eorie replies.

Gypsies: "My mother always said they were nothing but thieves, the gypsies," Eorie replies. "Never met one up close, though."

A young boy comes in carrying a covered plate. "Grandma," he says, "Momma says it's time for you to put your sewing down for a bit and eat." He watches her until she sets aside her sewing and eats her meal, then carries away the still half-full plate.