board77

The Last Homely Site on the Web

Prelude to the Storm; Bree 1407

Post Reply   Page 1 of 1  [ 16 posts ]
Author Message
Dindraug
Post subject: Prelude to the Storm; Bree 1407
Posted: Fri 04 Mar , 2005 7:13 pm
Tricksy Elf!
User avatar
Offline
 
Posts: 2306
Joined: Wed 27 Oct , 2004 6:20 pm
Location: Tanelorn
 
At the sign of The Prancing Pony, in the sixth year of the fourth Age

The Village of Bree sits curled around the base of Bree Hill as it has for millennia. Its ancient byways laid out in the youth of Arnor have survived where the palaces and castles of the great have faded into the ground. There is a saying in the village, "There has always been a Bree, and always an inn called the 'Pony', and it has always served the finest ale in all the Northlands".

“This is not totally true and it was not always that way” said the old man, sitting in the corner of the taproom as he filled the air with the sweet smell of pipeweed. “For one thing, there was a time before we had pipeweed. But Bree was old then”. He took a long pull on his pipe, and sent a vast smoke ring sailing across the crowded inn.

“The memory of Old Butterbur, who’s nestling his pint of mild over there, is long on the history of the village, but even he has forgotten the memories hidden in the stones on Bree Hill. Men here talk of an old manor house and a watch tower built in the last days of the wars with the Witch King. But no-one knows for certain. Even they have forgotten the dreadful past of Bree, and its place in history.”

“That was long before the Prancing Pony stood here, long before Frodo Baggins and his companions met the King in this smoky tap room. I have heard some of you long-beards talk of like it was history.” He puffed on his pipe again, sending swirls of smoke curling up to the rafters and looking several of the regulars in the eye. “Before the Prancing Pony, there was another inn here. That building was taller and wider, built like a castle; it had a long low East Wing with great dormitory rooms for Dwarf merchants from Khazad Dûm. They used to stop here on their way to the Blue Mountains, and many plied their trade in the village, a few even lived here. Over there, where old Tom is belching, was the start of the Great West Wing full of opulent rooms, where visiting Gondorians and Anorians met clandestinely. The inn was called 'The Kings Rest', that served the finest ale in the North, thanks to an itinerant wanderer that the villagers called Gandalf. Yes, that Gandalf. He was visiting this inn long before the Shire was founded, when all the people of Eriador thought he was a mad old man.” The old man sat back and laughed so hard that his beard shook. The patrons of the ‘Pony’ looked at him, and smiled. They had heard his tales many times, but they were always worth re-hearing. Several drew up chairs, and a fine flagon of Butterbur’s best ale was placed before the storyteller.

“Let me take you back: sixteen hundred years, to Bree in 1407 of the Third Age of Middle Earth. Before the North fell and the Rangers appeared, before the Shire was founded, and when Hobbits were newcomers to the region.

“Bree was old even then. It was built when southern settlers from Dunland set the first rude huts up on the hill. Over time the settlement grew, so its origins were lost and a quaint village sat at the base of the hill, where the Bree Brook wends its way down the mill race towards the Withwindle.

“This has always been an important settlement, with the great crossroads and the market. There was a time when it was commonplace for trade from far off Gondor and Harad to come up the Great North Road and cross with that from far Dale and Rhovanion. There were even convoys of Dwarves from the south and east, some burned black as charcoal by southern suns, making long trips to see the most ancient of Dwarf holds. You see, back then Bree was a stopping place in the North; two days journey from Fornost in Arthedain and a week from Tharbad, by good horse, or four days from Mithlond where the ships of Gondor berthed in the Elvish harbours. It was a place for travellers, and mystics, for shady deals and treaties, for assassinations and assignations.”

“It was a well-to-do place was Bree, of two score families, strong businesses and good lives. The miller then served the entire region and provided waybread to the King’s messengers at their stable by the gatehouse. There the sheriff kept constant vigilance over the locals and the visitors alike, looking for spies and thieves hiding in the dark corners of the village inns.” He shook his head again, smiling as if from long memory and took another pull from his tankard, smacking his lips at the hoppy taste.

“There was also a castle in Bree, did you know that. It stood on the green hill above Bree, the castle of Tir Athrad. Its proud walls and keep flew the standards of the three Northern Kingdoms, Arthedain, Cardolan and fallen Rhudaur, with a garrison made of men from the surviving two to watch for incursions from the raiders of Angmar. The castle steward kept the peace, and broke up the fights between the troops, who often spend a night in the cells in the village.” The old man took another long pull of his drink, smiling at old memories and in the dancing light of the flames he saw friends long forgotten except in his tales.

“For Bree sits on the border between the two old Northern Kingdoms of the Dúnedain; Arthedain and Cardolan. These old stones have seen border wars and skirmishes as these two old brothers fought. Yet in the shadows lurked Angmar, Kingdom of the Witch King, waiting to strike these two kingdoms down like it did their sick old sibling, Rhudaur who was then but a memory.” He looked sadly at his empty tankard, and motioned to a passing barmaid to fill it. Rolling her eyes, she let the amber liquid fill his old stained flagon.

“I remember the year that the trouble started and the whole history of the North changed.” He looked up then, his face serious and pained as if troubled by old wounds. Several in the inn shifted nervously on their stools “And it started in this place, in the tap room of the ‘Kings Rest Inn’, right where you are sitting young Master Hobbit.” He pointed his pipe so sharply towards the startled Stoor that the poor fellow fell back off his seat, causing much laughter. Red faced, the Halfling sat back on his stool and looked at the old man who still watched him, lost in memories.

“But did Bree survive? Well you’re sitting here now, but I can tell you everything changed in two short years. What happened to the old inn? War came to this very spot, and the Breelanders of 1407 could feel it in the water, and taste it on the wind. What happened to Bree, and who changed it? What stories do the ghosts of Bree hold?”

The old man looked around at his spellbound audience and smiled.

“And who can help me tell their tale…”

_________________

'When one person suffers from a delusion, it is called insanity. When many people suffer from delusion, it is called Religion'.

~Robert M. Pirsig


Top
Profile Quote
Dindraug
Post subject:
Posted: Fri 04 Mar , 2005 7:18 pm
Tricksy Elf!
User avatar
Offline
 
Posts: 2306
Joined: Wed 27 Oct , 2004 6:20 pm
Location: Tanelorn
 
Chapter One


On the malfeasance of Highwaymen and the
Malediction of Geese
.


Dindraug

Date Posted: Sun Nov 21, 2004 4:04 am

“…and now the geese have not lain for three whole days, now what do you think about that Mr Duferous?” Farmer Giles stood in front of the Sheriff’s desk with his brawny arms firmly placed on his wide yokel hips and a stern look in his eye.

Thomas du Foros sighed, deeply and with feeling, and his eyes rolled up to the wooden ceiling. He knew that just there, above his head, his bed waited and a small fire smouldered ready to be stoked.

“Mr Giles,” he started “Much as it pains me to hear about your anserine problem, for the moment I have to talk to Squire Broadleaf about the problem of this Highway robber we have been plagued with. Unless you know about that Farmer Giles, I will bid you good day.” He smiled at the huffing farmer, and stood to indicate the door.

“But you will-“

“I will discuss the missing eggs with Squire Broadleaf as well. I am sure there is a particularly good explanation, and I am sure there have been Halflings in the village long before your geese stopped laying.” He looked down at his half finished, and now cold, bowl of stew and the letter besides it. Folding the latter, he slipped it into his pouch and reached behind him for his doublet. “Good day, Sir” he said once more, firmly this time, and watched as the farmer shuffled out. He sniggered to himself, probably foxes or weasels, he thought and headed for the door.


He looked once more at the cart that stood by the gatehouse stables. He had not impounded it, so much as the travellers had left it with him for ‘investigation’. Repair is what they meant, not that it needed it. The three arrows that he had pulled from it had done no more than scratch the paintwork. But they had been loosed into the cart not two miles from his town, and the passengers had been robbed at sword point by ‘a tall black cloaked figure with a rough voice’. And it was not the first time this had happened.

“Morning Sheriff” said one of the villagers, a saucy maid whose name he could never remember. He nodded his head to her and manfully strode off up the road towards the shiny edifice of the Kings Rest Inn. He needed to speak with Squire Broadleaf, who served as the liaison to the Castle, to see if the troops there could help in searching for the villain. He did not hold much hope, but he walked on just the same.

His hope was to avoid the passengers who had been so rudely introduced to Breeland, and the nefarious inhabitants who daily had complaints. Walking towards the Inn’s door, he was passed by a gaggle of geese, all honking in misery.

Thomas looked at them for a moment, then walked into the inn.


EdaintheRanger

Date Posted: Wed Nov 24, 2004 5:35 pm

Earlier that morning, before first light Benac’s day had begun. The broad shouldered man rose smoothly, after been awoken by rowdy children and shook the sleep from his bulky frame. After lighting the fire, placating his wife with an herbal brew, he then bid them all a jaunty “Cheerio” and set off to greet the outdoors. Beaming at the sun that dared to peep over the grey eastern hills, he had whistled his customary tune as he ambled over to his neighbour’s house. A respectable man of gainful employ Benac was currently refreshing the roof thatch as a favour to the shy couple who lived there. There had been unseasonable high winds over the previous days which had dislodged several roofs, and so Benac the handyman of Bree had been dispatched to clear up the mess. Going around the back of the property, he made a start on the job in hand. After a short while the soft footed man was met with a smile and a stutter from the man who lived there.

“M-Mmornin’ Ben. Would you like a coughy?” after getting a grin and a grunt in the affirmative the young man continued: “I’m a-afraid, we dayn’t get the reeds for you. I meant to, but P-Petal just plain forgotted.”

Benac’s smile widened and he waved away the apology. “No need to worry Steedore, old mate. I need to see Furdus about something anyway. Now you just get those beans on the boil, and I’ll be right back.” Rubbing his hands at the prospect of a hot brew on this crisp morning, Benac strolled towards the meaner side of Bree. However on espying one of the forester sorts who hung around the King’s Rest after a night spent watching the herds, Benac stopped there and enquired on his friend’s whereabouts. They had barely exchanged greetings were both momentarily distracted by the honking geese that had just barrelled around the corner from the direction of the main entrance. After shooing the forlorn birds away, the two men continued.

“Furdus? Nah not seen him.”

Benac scratched his beard, non-plussed. “Surely you must have seen something of him? You were sharing a drink, only last night with the red-haired fella.”

“Ohh! Furdy! Why didn’t you say? Yeah he left at some point in the night, sed summat about the moon being too bright to sleep by, or summat like that. You know what he’s like… Always on the look out for them damn poachers.”

Benac “Ahh so you all dossed* down in the common room? Alright then, I think I know were he is. Thanks for that mate, look if you ever need a bowl of grub… don’t forget you can always pop by.”

Raising an eyebrow with a mild surprise the forester smiled. “I can? Then here’s something for nothing, I reckon you should see them furreners, them outa towners about fixing that dirty, great cart they’ve left right by the gatehouse. Dunno about you but they seemed pretty dim to me.” The Forester tapped the side of his nose as he said his last words. Bidding him a thank you and a goodbye Benac considered the idea, perhaps this day could be more interesting that he thought it would be.

* Dossed ~ slept rough.


Spirit_of_the_Willow

Date Posted: Thu Nov 25, 2004 11:05 am

"Papa, I'm going out!" Tasar said cheerfully.

Gwaddyn stepped from the kitchen, his iron-grey hair damp, and a towel around his neck. He used this to wipe the lather from his face, which was lined with age. It had been so as long as Tasar could remember, so she did not really notice it.

"And just where are you going out to, little miss?" Gwaddyn asked, a hint of rebuke in his tone, not hiding the concern he felt.

Tasar laughed and ran over to give him a kiss on his just shaven cheek.

"Did you forget what I was working on last night?" she asked teasingly, knowing that he remembered clearly. She had carved a little cat for Cherry, the kitchen girl at the King's Head. Her little kitten had died a few days before, and Tasar hoped the little figure would bring comfort. "I'm just going over to the King's Head. I'll come straight back. Besides, it's broad daylight," she continued, knowing the recent attacks on the road were the cause of his concern, "It is unlikely that any highwaymen would attack now. And if they did, I am not a likely target." While they were not poor, nor did they have such wealth as would make them desirable targets for highway robbers.

"You just see that you stay within the walls," he raised on callused hand to gently flick her cheek. She smiled her acquiescence, and left the house, blithely unconcerned with any possible danger from rumored highway robbers.

Bree was alive with the late morning bustle common to such towns. Tasar smiled her greetings to all she passed, however that smile faltered when she saw Farmer Giles approaching. For the past couple of weeks he had done little but complain about his geese to whoever he could trap into listening. He had some farfetched philosophy that it was the hobbits in town who were causing his geese not to lay. Tasar had heard it several times already, and was not anxious to repeat the experience. She quickened her pace, determined not to be trapped again.

“Good morning, Farmer Giles,” she said cheerfully as she passed him.

“And where are you off too so quickly, lass?” he called, frowning at her. She was not bothered, for a frown was his habitual expression.

“I have an errand at the King’s Rest, if you will excuse me.” She continued on, not waiting for a response, though she heard him muttering after her.

“The King’s Rest, the King’s Rest, everyone has business at the King’s Rest today . . .”

She entered the town’s most prestigious inn through the kitchen door, sniffing appreciatively at the aroma of bread dough and breakfast. Cherry was busily scrubbing the pots from the night before, while the other staff were baking and cooking to prepare for the evening, and whatever guests currently graced the taproom.

“Hello Cherry,” Tasar said kindly, approaching the young girl. “I have a gift for you.”

“I can’t talk now Tasar,” Cherry said, biting her lip as she scrubbed at a particularly difficult spot. “I got to finish scrubbing these pots. And then those’ns ‘ll be done,” she nodded over her shoulder at the dishes being used currently, “and I’ll have t’ scrub them too, or Briar’ll have me skin’d. We were right busy last night.” She said proudly. Then she seemed to realize what Tasar had said, and turned her bright eyes up to meet Tasar’s smiling gaze. “A gift? For me?”

“Yup,” Tasar said, holding out the little carved cat, “I hope you like her. I was supposed to be working on the new sign for the Oliphant last night, but I did this instead.”

The girl carefully took the figure from Tasar, cradling it in her small hands. “It’s just like Master Ferny.” The old kitchen cat had been named after the peddler, Ben Ferny, since when it had first arrived it had been possessed of an irascible nature.

Cherry threw her arms around Tasar, hugging her tightly before releasing her abruptly. “You oughtn’t be in here right now. Briar’s in a right huff about the guests who was robbed last night. They been complainin’ all morning.” She lowered her voice, “I o’er heard ‘m when I brought their coal up last night. They want the Sheriff to take care o’ their wagon, but how’s he supposed to do that? He’s got to find the robbers,” she finished indignantly.

Tasar had been in the taproom sketching when the strangers had arrived, the woman leaning heavily on the man, fanning herself with a white handkerchief. She moaned and sighed at her husband, who called loudly for the Sheriff, then she saw the common room. She had stood up quite on her own, disgust writ plain upon her face, as she lifted her skirts up to her ankles, as thought to keep them from brushing the floor. Tasar had been indignant on the staff’s behalf, for the Inn was quite clean.

But that cart, Tasar could do something about that, she was certain she could. She’d done work mostly furniture and signs, while Gwaddyn did the more difficult work, but it would be fun to tackle something larger. She would go make the offer.

“You should get back to work,” she said, smiling at Cherry. “I’m going to go see if I can help with the cart.”

She made her way through the crowded kitchen, to the door which led into the taproom. Maybe the strangers were in there and she could talk to them now. Timidly she opened the door, and walked into the main room of the inn.


Impenitent

Date Posted: Tue Nov 30, 2004 8:01 pm

"I don’t know why a hen’s egg won’t do him! Or a duck egg, for that matter! Minnie’s been telling him for three days that the geese are off the lay and he’s still askin’ for ‘his reg’lar evenin’ fry-up – and mind, he says, he can tell a goose egg from a duck’s lay!’ The cheek of him to imply my staff ‘d cheat him, though the door’s wide open for anyone with half a brain to do it blindfold! "

Briar-Rose was fair fuming, as she often did when she’d had too big a dose of idiocy from the Inn’s customers. A few years back, she’d just give them a tongue lashing and cut the legs from under them, but she’d promised Brock to try to hold her tongue – it weren’t fair on the witless ones.

"It was all I could do to hold back from tellin’ him that his backside’s broad enough and he ought to try sparrows-egg for a change. If he carries on again tomorra, I will tell him!"

Brock looked warily up at his sister, knowing that if he said a word, even a mild one, she’d turn the lash of her tongue on him. He sat quiet over the volume of the Inn’s accounts, playing with his quill gently as he let her blow off steam. She paced up and down in front of his writing desk, unconscious of the affectionate smile that played around his grey eyes. Finally, she sighed and threw herself into the chair in the corner and Brock turned his attention back to the cost of flour.

"Brock…"

"Hmmm?…"

"Who d’ye think the robber could be? Those strangers who arrived last night, they said they were waylaid by a tall man all in black; and they said his horse was all black too. I’ve been thinkin’…there’s no all-black horses belonging to any folk of Bree, are there?"

Brock considered in his quiet way before answering her. His sister’s sharp mind often went to quickly for her own good and she’d obviously found some kind of insight. Things had been quiet in Bree lately so she was chasing away her boredom with some excitement.

He saw her watching him carefully, though her eyes skitted away quickly when he caught her and a look of innocence suffused her pretty face.

"Now, Rosie, what are you thinking of doin’? You leave well enough alone – the Sheriff will have it all in hand and you know how riled he was last time you interefered!"

"Rosie, is it?" Briar raised her expressive eyebrows at him in mirth, snorting at his attempt to coax her. "What d’you think I’m going to do? Ride out with Da’s sword and try to find the culprit?" she poked her tongue out at him, but Brock knew her well enough and his steady look said it all. She dropped her eyes to her lap the better to hide her guilty smile and, quietly now, answered his question while ostensibly inspecting her fingernails.

"Thomas is still a newcomer here, Brock and though he would never admit it, he doesn’t know our ways enough to get around those who need gettin’ ‘round. All I’m going to do is pay some friendly visits to some neighbours hereabouts and have a little quiet conversation."

She risked a peek at her brother from the corner of her eye. A lopsided frown creased his fair face and he shook his head slowly from side to side.

"Briar, you’ll get yourself into all sorts of strife. It’s not like there’s not enough at the Inn to keep you busy twice over! When will you learn?…"

Briar rose briskly from her chair, smoothing her skirts and shaking back the dark tendrils that had escaped her braid and were now curling into her eyes.

"I am learning, Brock. I’m learning all the time!" She winked at him and turned quickly to the door, and then stopped to look over her shoulder "And if you’re still intending to go out hunting this night, can you bring back some coneys? We haven’t had a rabbit stew for abit and Minnie says she’s had requests."

Brock grunted assent, stifling a sigh nevertheless, knowing that she was trying to divert him from discussing her intention to meddle once again. Not that he relished trying to talk her out of it – he never could do so, his tongue wasn’t half so swift as hers. If she wasn’t so clever and quick, her curiosity would have killed her by now.

Briar skipped quickly down the narrow stair that led from the siblings’ private quarters, turned to enter her tap room and saw the sheriff’s back just disappearing behind the swinging doors. With a glint in her warm grey eyes, Briar followed him in, calling out sweetly to Sioban to bring the Sheriff a pint and some water for herself.

Thomas du Foros turned around at the sound of her voice, his smile friendly enough but his eyes just a touch wary – his past experiences with Mistress Feverfew had taught him to look further than that soft-as-down exterior.

"I’m afraid I can’t stop for a pint, Mistress; I’ve just a few questions on my mind and I’d like to see your newest guests again if I could, to clarify some points. Are they staying in the private rooms upstairs?"

"They are! They've been complainin' since breakfast. I’ll send a message for 'em by Cherry in a moment, but tell me…have you any more information about the horse?"

Briar gently took his arm and steered him without seeming towards a quiet table and sat herself cunningly to prevent his escape. "The highwayman’s horse, apparently jet-black with no markings at all…A very unusual animal, wouldn’t you say?"


lhaewin

Date Posted: Wed Dec 1, 2004 10:18 am

The birds twittered in the trees. Lily opened her eyes and she wished once more that she could understand the little fellows. She jumped out of the bed as soon as she realized that the first sunbeams and the blue almost cloudless sky promised a wonderful early spring day.

She washed her face and her hands, dressed quickly and brewed herself a cup of tea. She did not want to lose too much time with an enlarged breakfast, so she just ate some cookies and a piece of the lovely cake, her neighbour Brit had given to her yesterday because Lily had eased Brit´s little daughter´s pain when she got her first tooth. She completed her early morning tea with some fruits and put off the sweet pancakes to the second breakfast after she would have returned from her excursion.

She took her basket and put on her warm cloak because the sun wasn´t yet strong enough to warm the chilly air. Lily had been waiting for a bright day to set off into the woods to cut the recently grown herbs which were needed for some remedies. For that purpose she took her sharp knife with her, which could also serve her as a means of defence if necessary.

Outside she met Meg, another neighbour, an old woman who always had been very friendly to her. "Good morning, Meg" she said merrily and smiled. "Good morning, Lily, where are you going so early?" Meg asked. "Just to the woods", Lily answered, "maybe I can find some herbs to cure your sore back." The old woman frowned. "But don´t you know what had happened? I would not leave this area today, if I were you, Lily."

"What´s wrong?" Lily asked and put down her basket. She knew that she had to listen to Meg´s gossip for a while and she did not want to appear rude. "Travellers had been robbed by a highwayman not far from Bree. And he might still linger around." Lily laughed. "Look at me, Meg, what would a highwayman expect to find with a hobbit like me? I am not afraid of such persons." "And the geese? Haven´t you heard about the geese as well?" Lily gave Meg a confused glance. "The geese? You mean Farmer Giles´ geese? I heard that they hadn´t laid eggs for some days. But this is none of our business and certainly no reason to stay at home." Meg moved close to Lily and put one hand on her shoulder. "Girl, how can you be so naive? Farmer Giles tells everyone who can´t get away in time, that he suspects us hobbits to bewitch his geese."

"Meg, some people are ridiculous." Lily said. "Look, this is a wonderful morning and neither a highwayman nor Farmer Giles´ geese will spoil it for me. I was looking forward to walking into the forest and getting some fresh air and this is exactly what I am going to do now. But thank you for the warning. See you later, Meg." She picked up her basket, nodded to Meg with a friendly smile and walked away.

_________________

'When one person suffers from a delusion, it is called insanity. When many people suffer from delusion, it is called Religion'.

~Robert M. Pirsig


Top
Profile Quote
Dindraug
Post subject:
Posted: Sun 06 Mar , 2005 5:40 pm
Tricksy Elf!
User avatar
Offline
 
Posts: 2306
Joined: Wed 27 Oct , 2004 6:20 pm
Location: Tanelorn
 
"The highwayman’s horse, apparently jet-black with no markings at all…A very unusual animal, wouldn’t you say?"

Thomas looked at Brier, and hid the rolling emotions that filled him with her latest piece of information. He smiled and nodded sagely, just like he had nodded sagely with the six other people who had told him of this horse in the last day.

“You are right Mistress Feverfew. It is very unusual indeed. I have never heard of a totally black mount, well not this far from the boarder. But tell me, who was it that told you about this?” He looked intently, as she puzzled over this.

“I am not sure who told me first, I think it was either old Mungbungus, or Mrs Lilywhite, or…” she paused. “No, I am not sure who. But the tale has been around the village for days.” Brier sighed, and wiped her hands on her apron.

“Well if you do happen to remember, tell me or leave me a message. Do not bother Cherry. I will find your guests myself, and then Squire Broadleaf if he is in the inn at all?”

“Not seen him all day, Sheriff. But I can tell you that those two visitors wanted to see you as soon as you appeared, or we were to send runners for you if you believe the cheek of it. Nasty pair them, I won’t say they deserved to be robbed but I will say I will be happy to see them move on”. Sighing, Thomas walked to the old oak staircase that led to the guest rooms. The same response form everybody, the horse was black, but nobody knew who had told them that. Either somebody was lying, or there was more to this?

“Oh Sheriff, haven’t you forgotten something?” said Brier, a saucy hint in her voice.

“I am sorry, may I visit your guests Mistress Feverfew?” smiled Thomas, “and may I also find which room”.

“Certainly Sheriff,” she curtsied, “and you will find them in room three, at the end of the corridor”.

The sheriff smiled again, and walked up the stairs and along the short corridor, the stained oak panelling of the ancient inn. The old wood had been fitted in the days of Anor, the wood workers mark was still to be found almost worn away in the dark panels but they showed their age. Long years of polishing had turned the oak dark, and long black streaks could be found on every panel where careless maids and boys had banged furniture, and smoky candles left long streaks leading to the pale wood of the ceiling where great wooden beams, long since stained black to keep them crossed the corridor. The building smelled of age, a smell Thomas always loved. For a moment he relished in the small, the old polish and the passage of many bodies.

He was brought back to attention by a slam from behind the door ahead, like a tankard hitting the table. He drew himself up to his full height, and straightened his tunic, before reaching for the handle. He knocked, turned the brass knob, and swung the door open before walking into the room.


The man was of Dúnedain blood that much was clear. His grey eyes stared out from a full face, a sign of too much of the high life around the court, or in Tharbad? The cut of his gown was full, buttoned down to the ankle and he wore a black chaperon on his head. The style was Gondorian, the cloth was not. Thomas turned to bow from the neck to the lady, as was polite. She wore a flared gown, the cloth of finest wool dyed a deep green, and her head was a caul, a fine linen cap traced with fine braid which broke up the harsh look on her face.

“Yes?” said the woman, the accent of Tharbad’s merchant district flaunting his wealth as he fiddled with a gold ring on her left hand.

“I am Thomas du Foros, Shire Reeve of Bree. I met Mr Lagris last evening while you were finding lodgings.” Ignoring the woman, he turned to the man, who looked somewhat nervous. A slight tick to his eye and his forehead was damp despite the coolness of the room. “I believe you wanted to see me, sir.”

Thomas watched the pair, and immediately discounted all that they said amidst the ranting, all except one point, which he still pondered on as he walked back to the common room.

“…and then the horse neighed, and it shone blue black in the sunlight, and the fellow was off galloping towards this town. It was the middle of the afternoon. One of your peasants must have seen it…”

Blue black? Horse hide is never blue black naturally, at least not in the northern breeds. Waving at Brier as he passed, Thomas strode form the inn in his search for Squire Broadleaf.

_________________

'When one person suffers from a delusion, it is called insanity. When many people suffer from delusion, it is called Religion'.

~Robert M. Pirsig


Top
Profile Quote
Hunter
Post subject:
Posted: Thu 17 Mar , 2005 5:31 pm
Lady of the Lake
Offline
 
Posts: 24
Joined: Sat 05 Mar , 2005 8:52 pm
Location: Laketown
 
~

Cassie absently wiped her wet hands on the edge of her apron and surveyed the small house she called home. The kitchen was tidy. She’d swept the worn planks of the floor and wiped the crumbs off the table from the breakfast she’d shared with her father and the dishes were washed and set to dry on a clean cloth on the counter. All that was left to do was empty the small basin of water. Carefully picking it up so the water didn’t slosh out on the clean floor, she carried it outside.

The fresh crisp air of the early morning brushed across Cassie’s face and played with the tendrils of hair curling out from beneath the triangle of cloth holding back her strawberry blonde hair as she walked across the patch of lawn in front of the house towards a small garden. A smile lighted her eyes when, leaning over the crude fence of sticks surrounding the garden, she noticed more tender green shoots had sprouted through the earth and the leaves of the rhubarb plant were nearly as large as her hand. ‘It won’t be long now,’ she thought as she gently poured the water from the basin over the tender shoots. ‘And there’ll be fresh carrots and radishes to eat instead of the last of the old dried vegetables left in the root cellar and fresh herbs to flavor the stew.’

Setting aside the empty basin, she stepped over the fence. Gathering up the edges of her skirt and holding the bunched up fabric in one hand, Cassie began to pluck errant weeds from the moist earth.

Hearing a noise, Cassie looked up from her work. Ben Ferny was coming around the corner of the house leading Daisy. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips until she noticed the horse was limping and the scowl etched on her fathers face. “What’s wrong with Daisy?” she asked standing and shading her eyes.

“Loose shoe,” her father answered curtly. He kept walking, barely glancing at his daughter.

“Oh…” Relieved there was nothing seriously wrong, she hesitantly asked, “Then you won’t be leaving today?” trying to keep any sound of disappointment from her voice. It wasn’t that she wanted her father to leave, it was just, she admitted truthfully to herself, more pleasant when he was gone.

“Maybe…maybe not. My travelin’ cloak mended?” Shifting a wrapped bundle nestled in the crook of his arm, Ben grumbled to himself, “If that mangy Mufti has time…” And will accept as payment what he carried in the bundle. He kept walking.

“Yes Da.” Cassie sighed as she watched her father turn up the lane toward the town proper and then stooped over once again and continued weeding. Over past few years, she had begun to question the love she knew that children should have for their parents. Her father was a hard man to love and though she tried, she had finally come to the realization that what she felt towards her father wasn’t love.

~


Top
Profile Quote
Nin
Post subject:
Posted: Fri 06 May , 2005 4:27 pm
Per aspera ad astra
Offline
 
Posts: 3388
Joined: Thu 28 Oct , 2004 6:53 am
Location: Zu Hause
 
[ img ]

A ray of sun woke her up – and immediately Sioban knew that she would be late, that she was already late before even getting up. She barely held back a curse, and in her usual and natural quickness rose from her sleeping place – bed would have been exaggerated for the pile of straw and the old blanket.
It had been a few days only, since she taken a room at the Ferny’s farm, since he had started to complain about his geese. Sioban had only slightly hinted that the small rent she would pay, could help Bill while the income of the goose eggs was missing. And calling the tiny, dusty storage place in which he had lodged her a room was a luxury anyway. But it was more than enough for her purposes – not to sleep under Briar’s roof and be able to hide some of her belongings from curious eyes. She needed no home, but a lair.

Cursing herself once more, Sioban jumped on her feet. She grabbed the jar of water close to her straw and emptied it over her head. The floor of her tiny room was made of stamped earth and would absorb the water too soon; her short, blond hair would dry quickly in the morning sun. But the short moment of cold woke her up, and she looked cleaner after it too. Nevertheless, after this minimal washing, Sioban took a few seconds to choose among her meagre assortment of clothing – maybe Brock would stay a bit in the King’s Rest today, and nothing but the possibility was worth an effort.

Once she had slipped into her white blouse, rather thin for the chilly morning, and the twirling dark green skirt, short enough to show her ankles, she ran off as quickly as she could in her heavy wooden shoes. The thought of breakfast did not even cross her mind.

On the street, she almost ran into one of the hobbit women, and even in her hurry, she recognised Lilly Moosfoot. Waving an excuse with her hand, she smiled at the short woman. The other day, Lilly had helped her when a metal splinter under the skin of her hand had gotten infected. And moreover, the hobbit had immediately believed that it was a piece of a broken knife from the work in the inn. Were all hobbits so naïve, wonder Sioban, while her feet were carrying her further.

It was not good to be late, Briar did not like it, and for the moment, she needed the job badly. Yet, she doubted that Briar would give her her leave for so little as being late today. Cherry was a sweet girl, but too slow when it came to a common room full of costumers, whereas Sioban showed how skilled and quick she really was when there was hardly enough place between the tables to pass. Nobody could tell a drunken client where his place was like she did, wash the dishes in no time. Sioban knew what she was worth, but she also knew how much she needed the job. Time on the road had taught her, that not all sleeping places were safe and not all people friendly. And she might be one of those unsafe, unfriendly persons one day….

When finally she reached the King’s Rest, she sneaked in through the back door – the less Briar would see that Sioban was late, the better it was for her. Cherry was of course already there, reliable as a timetable, thought Sioban in a flicker of bitterness, wondering why she could not lead a simple, quiet life like this girl.

“Sorry to be late, I hope it was not too rough for you.” Sioban smiled at the girl, somehow she liked Cherry, and of course it was good for her to work with someone so reliable and gentle who helped out, when she overslept or her humour was ill without threatening her position.

“A few minutes ago, Briar has called for you, to bring the Sheriff a pint and some water for herself.”

Again, Sioban suppressed a curse on her lips.

“Aye – has she called again already?”

“I don’t think so, but there have been complaints too about the rooms upstairs… and she said she would send me a note about it. And there is still trouble about the eggs, and something about a horse, and Tasar has been passing by and… ” There was a slight trace of panic in Cherry’s voice.

“Don’t worry, Cherry, now that I’m here, we’ll get the work done in no time.”

Quickly fixing an apron around her slim waist, Sioban shook her short hair, which was still a bit wet, and smiling entered the main room, where she expected to find the Sheriff and the landlady, but to her surprise he was gone.

“I’m sorry I have not answered your call as swiftly as you could expect from me…” Sioban was about to start her excuse, but Briar already waved with her hand, absorbed by another task of the inn. To her regret, she did not see Brock, but as the day went along, she hoped that would change.

“I’ll go and help Cherry with the upper rooms then.” Said Sioban, also hoping to grab at least an apple somewhere, because she of course not eaten any form of breakfast.


Top
Profile Quote
Dindraug
Post subject:
Posted: Sun 12 Jun , 2005 2:17 pm
Tricksy Elf!
User avatar
Offline
 
Posts: 2306
Joined: Wed 27 Oct , 2004 6:20 pm
Location: Tanelorn
 
Revon of Fornost, Notary and Solicitor of Law, sat back and looked through the gleaming windows of his office. He watched as the Sheriff stomped back to his office, and allowed himself a brief smile. He looked up at the tall man who sat looking nervously watching everything that Revon did. Quite rightly, smirked the Lawyer. He would tie this poor merchant into his legal mire, the same as he had with those fool Cardolans who now squirmed in the inn because they had lost papers they had been carrying for him.

Papers, they did not know a thing….


Back in the inn, William took a long pull of ale and fiddled nervously with the pack at his side. The well tooled leather needed some care and attention, wild winters in the rains of the East Marches had stained the hide somewhat. He looked up and around the bar again, when the door opened and the tall lanky form strode purposely towards the stairs. He saw Brier try to catch the man’s eye, but he had bolted for the stairs, watched by the bar maids eyes.

William stood, and yawned noisily, taking his mug to the bar and placing it before Brier.
“Oh, thank you Bill. At least somebody here has good manners.” She huruffrd, here lips caught in a pout. “You know, that man who just ran up the stairs. I am sure he is upto no good. Pays his bill, but always looks nervy, like he is waiting form somebody he doesn’t want to see.”

“I will keep that in mind, and lock my door at night as he is a guest of your inn” smiled Bill. “But I will keep a weather eye out if you like Miss Brier. You never know with merchants these days.”

Tipping his hat to the flushed looking woman, he walked briskly to the stairs and climbed up them as quick as his old war wound would let him, and turned to walk down the corridor when he was struck in the side by an army of blankets mounted on the spindly frame of a maid, or forts.

“Oh, sorry Mr William, I am so sorry. I could not see you with all of these, and I needed to get them taken to the yard to wash” She was flustered, but Bill was amused and helped Sioban pick up the blankets, balance them precariously, and find the stairs. Then, dusting himself off, he walked down the corridor towards the room where a thief from Cardolan called Lagris and his partner, waited to take the package of Bill.

He dusted himself down, never too little time to make yourself presentable, and felt in his pack for the bundle of letters and documents.

They were gone……..

If anybody opened them, and read them……

Bill turned round and headed off down the corridor.

_________________

'When one person suffers from a delusion, it is called insanity. When many people suffer from delusion, it is called Religion'.

~Robert M. Pirsig


Top
Profile Quote
Hunter
Post subject:
Posted: Sat 25 Jun , 2005 7:44 pm
Lady of the Lake
Offline
 
Posts: 24
Joined: Sat 05 Mar , 2005 8:52 pm
Location: Laketown
 
~

Slowly Ben Ferny walked along the dirt lane leading from his cottage on the southern edge of Bree leading Daisy. The hedge skirting the dike was within sight of the cottage, close enough for safeties sake in times of need, yet far enough away and hidden from view by a stand of ash trees.

“Away from prying eyes and nosy neighbors,” he’d explained to his new wife Louisa when he’d first brought her to Bree. He’d purchased the small croft and patch of land after Rhudaur had fallen to Angmar. Those were troubled times and Ben had been able to purchase the place for a mere pittance; no one wanted to live outside the fortifications then. People whispered afterwards that he had cheated the previous owners, preyed on their fear. Perhaps there was some truth in what they said…

The freshness of the early spring morning was lost on Ben; he paid no attention to the birds trilling and chirping in the bud filled branches of the row of ash trees lining the lane, nor did he care that the rays of the sun were warm on his face; all he cared about was getting Daisy’s loose shoe fixed and heading out with his cart.

The lane soon turned to meet the main road leading into Bree on the eastern side. His customary route into town was through the Poacher’s gate, but he didn’t want to risk injuring Daisy by cutting across the fields.

‘At least it wouldn’t bring me past the Sheriff’s office by the West Gate.’ Ben’s beady eyes narrowed. ‘The sheriff…du Foros…appears to be smarter than the old Stonehalft.’ A sly smirk tugged on his thin lips. ‘Not that it matters… He’d never suspect…’

Shifting the bundle in the crook of his arm and adjusting his grip on Daisy’s lead rope, Ben Ferny walked past the tall stone tower that marked the East Gate.

A small group of men dressed in various shades of brown and green were assembled in staggered lines of threes on the winter yellowed grass of the Muster Field. Some of them wore bits and pieces of armor, but most of them wore heavily padded vests studded with metal circles or squares. All carried some sort of sword or long knife hanging from their belted waists and each one held either a spear or a long sharpened pole. This was the local militia; a small part at least, called together by their group leader for a bit of impromptu training after hearing of the highwayman’s attack. Standing at attention, they were listening to a portly man wearing a shiny, but battered helmet shouting out orders. A trio of girls stood huddled on the side of the field near the bridge, whispering amongst themselves.

“Who’s the tall one with the yellowish hair?” Jilly Thistledown nudged the short dark haired girl standing next to her.

“Where?”

“Next to Caleb Bushberry…the one on his left.”

Shading her eyes, Iris found where Caleb stood. She studied the figure next to him. “I don’t know…why?”

“He’s rather good looking.”

“How can you tell? They’re too far away.” Iris strained her eyes, trying to see more clearly.

“I can tell. Watch when they turn.” As if on cue, the line of men in the distance turned and starting marching in unison across the field. The one that Jilly had pointed out was tall, with a lean muscular build. His broad shoulders tapered down to narrow hips that swaggered a bit as he marched next to the shorter, stockier Caleb.

“Oh…”

Jilly laughed as she watched a pink flush color her friend’s cheeks.

“Shush, someone’s coming.” Bess Hawthorne, the oldest of the three whispered as a man leading a horse approached.

Glancing over Bess’s shoulder and spying Ben Jilly turned and smiled blithely. “Morning Mr. Ferny. Is Cassie coming to town today?” She knew Ben Ferny didn’t like her, he thought her too forward. Cassie herself had told Jilly as much (after some of gentle prodding). Jilly didn’t care what her friend’s father thought of her as long as he didn’t forbid Cassie from being friends with her. So far that hadn’t happened.

“She’s doin’ chores,” he answered gruffly glaring at Jillian. Her smile never wavered and it was Ben who looked away first as a chart loaded with firewood and pulled by two mules approached from behind. Ben pulled Daisy to one side letting it pass over the bridge first.

Nestled near the toes of Bree Hill, sat a long low building with a chimney on either end. Ben smiled with satisfaction as it came into view; there weren’t any carts parked in the front yard or any horses tied to the post near the door. It meant Mufti had no pressing business, or at least Ben hoped that was the case. One side of the pair of doors was propped open and Ben heard the clanging sound of hammering as he approached and tied Daisy to a post outside the door.

Despite the coolness of the spring morning a fine film of moisture glistened on Mufti’s forehead as he watched the hammer fall and strike the glowing shaft of metal gripped firmly between the jaws of the pair of thongs in his hand. A shower of sparks burst forth briefly lighting his face from beneath, giving a slightly sinister cast to the pair of bulging eyes set beneath wispy brows that had been singed short. Pausing to examine his work, Mufti grunted in approval. He continued hammering even though he’d seen the dark silhouette of someone standing in the open door. Whoever it was would have to wait, this was a crucial part; he’d found the heart of the metal and if he stopped now, the sword blade he was working on might have a weak spot.

Standing in the doorway Ferny waited while his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Sparks lit up the dim recesses illuminating a figure wielding the hammer. It was Mufti, the owner of the smithy. Ben watched as the dwarf wielded the heavy hammer effortlessly, finely toned muscles clearly defined along the length of his thin arms. Then he saw what Mufti was working on. It appeared to be a sword. Ben shifted the bundle under his arm and began to untie the piece of twine around rough cloth while waiting for him to finish. He knew not to interrupt Mufti but couldn’t help thinking to himself what the dwarf would think about what he had. He could feel the sharp edge of the sword even through the layers of cloth. How long had it lain in the ground he wondered. It hadn’t been buried deep, but that didn’t mean anything; in the north when the ground froze and then thawed in the spring, many things buried deep were sometimes forced closer to the surface. The Great Winter not many years past bore testament to that.

The hilt was revealed and as Ben ran his fingers along the plain but sturdy hilt the hammering stopped. He raised his eyes to Mufti and found the dwarf staring at him. He sniggered to himself; there was a gleam of interest in the old dwarf’s eyes.

~


Top
Profile Quote
Nin
Post subject:
Posted: Wed 29 Jun , 2005 9:53 pm
Per aspera ad astra
Offline
 
Posts: 3388
Joined: Thu 28 Oct , 2004 6:53 am
Location: Zu Hause
 
Sioban had not been able to resist.

“Oh, sorry Mr William, I am so sorry. I could not see you with all of these, and I needed to get them taken to the yard to wash”

She also looked straight into his eyes saying so, taking care of battering her long eye-lashes, sure he would not realise that in the moment when he even helped her to pick up all those sheets and blankets, the leather purse she had spotted had changed ownership. A man lie William, not young any more, not moving or thinking quickly – he was such an easy prey that Sioban was almost ashamed of playing pick-pocket on him… but how should she have resisted?

All the laundry charged on her arms again, she smiled gratefully at Bill Taletall. If he had fully known why she seemed so cheerful at this moment, maybe he would not have shown his greyish teeth in a grin, but rather tried to grab her. And already the door was swinging close behind Sioban, who was walking in her usual quick pace to the yard. She hoped to be alone to wash everything, and to have time to examine the content of that purse rather sooner than later. But even before she had crossed the inner court of the Inn entirely, Briar’s voice caught her.

“Sioban!”

Reluctantly, the girl turned around, wondering which of her mischief had attracted Briar’s attention.

“Sioban, you were late again this morning. Don’t think I have not seen it.”

The barmaid knew it was safer to admit her wrong than to debate it, and to be frank, she was relieved that Briar had not seen her playing her little trick on Mr. William – the eyes of the landlady were certainly sharper than the mind of the old story teller, at least in Sioban’s opinion.

“I’m sorry, Miss Briar, I am not yet used to walking through a part of the village to get to the King’s Rest, and I just overslept. It won’t happen again, I swear you, and I will work quickly to catch up with the tasks.”

Even if Briar nodded and sent her to the laundry with a sign of her hand, Sioban did not dare to take the purse out from under the pile of blankets she would have to wash first. Somehow she had the feeling that Briar would still keep an eye on her, and she did not want the landlady to tell her brother that she was not happy with the blonde barmaid. Oh no, she did not want that at all. First the work, she told herself, trying to make her inner voice sound sternly. “Once you did all the laundry, you can have a look at this purse.”

Automatically, without even thinking of it, her hands did the work on their own, diving the tissue into the soapy water, wringing them out, hitting it against the washing board, rubbing out spots, if ever there were any. Sometimes, interesting spots told the story of a whole stay in the King’s Rest, but today Sioban’s mind was too taken to look for something, which might give her gossip material. What was going on in the village? Many guests in the inn, rumours about geese, merchants and peddlers, and a man whom she knew as poor carrying a purse so large that she had seen it peeking out of his bag.

Already, her imagination was running high. Maybe William had inherited a treasure. From the short moment of touch, she thought that there must be paper in that purse, or maybe he was hiding some romantic love affair – although Sioban could not imagine Bill hiding any deeper feelings than the desire for ale in his leathery heart. Her curiosity made her work harder and quicker than even her usually rhythm, and Briar would have no more reason to complain about her late arrival. The pile in front of her diminished quickly as the number of blankets drying over the strings raised. Already she could feel the leather under the last sheet, one that a careless costumer had vigorously emptied a beer on at least one evening. Inwardly, Sioban was a bit angry – why did the last sheet have to be so dirty that it would take about ten minutes to get it as clean as Briar wanted it? And this was the last step separating her from satisfying her curiosity. Her hands were rubbing harsher than before in the hope to get the work done.

She did not take the time to dry her fingers, before she finally examined the mysterious object that she had taken with such subtlety from William. Now, that she held it in her hands, it looked rather like a package, than a purse and her wet fingers left spots on the leather strings when she untied them. Several papers fell out immediately, and Sioban picked them up quickly before they got soaked. Some ink letters were already fading under the water, but at least for the first page, the message was clear:

“Wanted”…

If she had been disappointed about not finding money in what she had taken for a purse, her regret did not last long. She did not know how William had come into possession of those documents and she saw that several of the following pages were written in a beautiful writing she did not know – probably elvish. But nothing but that tiny bit of information on the first page was enough for her to understand that the value of those papers was higher than money – at least for some. If ever she had held a chance in her hands not to wash dishes any more in all her life, not to life in rooms with stamped earth floors – it was now. Sioban took a deep breath.

In this moment, Briar’s voice called her back to the inn. It was urgent to find a place to hide those papers quickly. A safe place. But here in the laundry was not the right place – the water was too dangerous for the ink. Finally, Sioban took one of the pillowcases and carefully tore off two very fine strings. She glide them into the leather and then attached to whole bag to her left tight. She was now very happy to have chosen such twirling skirt in the morning, for even if it she felt the presence of the etui all the time, nobody could see it. And who would look under her skirt for papers of this nature. Trying not to walk to clumsily, Sioban quickly got back to the inn. She would have to find the right persons quick enough…

_________________

Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


Top
Profile Quote
Dindraug
Post subject:
Posted: Wed 23 Aug , 2006 6:57 pm
Tricksy Elf!
User avatar
Offline
 
Posts: 2306
Joined: Wed 27 Oct , 2004 6:20 pm
Location: Tanelorn
 
The stone whistled through the air and struck the rabbit behind its ears, sending it tumbling quickly to the ground and sending birds spiralling into the air. For a moment, nothing moved except the wind through the grass; then, like a shadow, the short hairy feet slipped out of the trees, and stole across to the dead coney.

Tobias Micklehouse Fletcher slipped the rabbit into a tight leather sack, already bulging with his catch. He looked around briefly for the lead shot, and slipped it into the pouch at his belt, best not to leave too many clues he smirked.

A twig cracked, heavy footfall in the wood.

Tobias slipped back into the long grass and shadows, and watched as three heavily cloaked forms tramped through the glade. He stared at them with some confusion, which turned to fear as he moved closer and listened to their words…...


“An Oliphant in the pantry” roared the barkeeper, to the general hilarity of the inn. It was a good joke, even if the first time Bill had heard it had been in Tharbad over ten years ago. Of course, the best telling had been by an old merchant from Harad who had seen a real Oliphant and knew what a trunk was, but old Matthias did tell it well.

Bill took a fresh draft of his beer, and signalled to the bar maid for a fill up of his plate of stew. It was good today, the thyme was fresh and the meat was plentiful.

His eyes flitted across to a group of three Halflngs who were not, however, enjoying the joke; surprising as Oliphant’s usually made a huge impression on the world-wise short folk. But the three were deep in discussion, and Bill couldn’t help but overhear as they sat before him, ignoring the bigger folk.

“I swear I saw three of them, and one was not all human. Had them big old ears and gnarly teeth like the mountain goblins, like his mother had not been too picky. And another talked like he was from the North, you know. From there.”

“An’ what were they a doing in Chet Wood Tobias? Checkin out the coney paths to bring an army of wolves through? Pah, you’re just lookin’ for trouble, an’ it’ll find e.” muttered Brice Halshatz, pointing a dirty finger at the Halfling. He was a newcomer to the village and had dropped his past the moment he stepped through the gate. Close friends had been told his family home had been overrun three summers ago by the cavalry of Cardolan pursuing goblins and he had only just made it to refuge in Bree. Nobody in the village knew where that home had been; but stirring up trouble for the tall folk was not on his agenda.

“I know they were up to no good Brice. They were lookin’ for somebody, and they had lost summut. Or it had been stolen, they were blamin’ the highwayman” Tobias whispered. He looked round, and caught Bill’s eye causing him to sputter his beer across the table.

“Hey!”

“Ancalagon’s teeth” snapped Brice, wiping beer from his ratty beard, and glaring at Tobias who was making eyes over his shoulder at Bill.

“Hello, its Tobias isn’t it?” said Bill, sliding over to the three. They all looked at him deeply suspiciously, as he called over beer from the bar. “I have heard you are the Halfling to know if you want something from the woods”.

Brice muttered something to the others, and doffing his cap to the others and slipped out of the inn; glancing back darkly at Bill.

“I only ask because I lost something; in the woods. And I just thought that if you can help me find it, I would make it worth your while”. He smiled at the two suspicious faces. “It is a pouch, about sixteen inches wide, and wrapped in oil skin-“

“I ain’t seen it. But will let you know if it’s found. Alright Mr William?” Tobias knocked back his drink and nodding at his companion, he also scuttled out of the inn.

“Was it something I said?” laughed Bill to the last Halfling, who looked at him puzzled, and shrugged.

“I no understand “ said the Halfling smiling, his accent rife with eastern drawl. He looked confused at the door, and a moment later finished his drink and left.

Bill watched him with amusement, and tucked into his meal……


Top
Profile Quote
Dindraug
Post subject:
Posted: Wed 23 Aug , 2006 8:50 pm
Tricksy Elf!
User avatar
Offline
 
Posts: 2306
Joined: Wed 27 Oct , 2004 6:20 pm
Location: Tanelorn
 
Faulk Fennelfoot stared out of the sea of waving green, broken fingers wafting in the gentle south easterly breeze. For a moment he closed his eyes and let his mind sift through the smells that told him tales of far off places that could be several days travel from his hedges; like the vast swathes of wild garlic that grew on the ‘Four Sisters’, where once he had taken Millie Talbot before she had married a farmer for Archet. She had smelled good that day, so sweet and fresh. But he had been to shy to ask her father for her hand and so she had married elsewhere. He heard she had three sons and a brace of daughters, but she died in the great winter of 1400 and he had not gone to her funeral. Didn’t travel much now, except to fish downstream or check the hedges that ran round most of the village.

Faulk looked down at the hedge once more from his lofty position on his battered old ladder; the stained wood as old as him and would probably last as long. He could see where on of the great hawthorn’s had started to die, its green foliage turning brown and brittle to the edges. He sighed and made a mental note to ask the Mayor for help; with sixty summers behind him Faulk was finding the work tricky.

“You will have to get an apprentice Pollard,” the Mayor had told him in no uncertain terms “And with no son to pass it on to, we have to be practical and realise you wont’ go on forever”.

But Faulk hadn’t chosen an apprentice. The only real interest had been shown by them half-folk; ratling’s who were too short to be of any use up a ladder chopping foliage. All the young men in the town were too interested with marching up and down in tabards for the young girls who pouted and watched them with coy eyes. Taunting them and tempting them, egging them onto join up one army or another. Stupid! War, they think its all glory and uniforms. They know nothing of what is to come.

In the first Great North War, he had served as a drummer boy and a runner in the Army of the North. They had marched far to the East, to a dark castle called Camith Brin, and watched as the last King of Rhudaur had been ripped apart before his army and family by a spectre on a black horse. He rubbed absently at his arm, where an old wound forged in the bitter rout still ached after all these years.

Laughter broke his musings. On the muster field behind him one of the young popinjays who commanded the rabble they called the Raggers*, had fallen and impaled himself on his own billhook. Between curses and howls, his troops pulled him upright and pulled the offending metal spike from his foot. The boy was struggling as his tabard split then unwound itself.

“Makes you laugh.” Muttered Faulk, as he pulled at his own bill and started dragging it through a hawthorn trunk. It needed trimming; if he allowed it to grow it would distort the whole hedge. He pulled, and looked in amazement as a black fletched arrow slipped from its hiding place amidst the hedge.

“What in the world?” he muttered, and looked around. It could only have come from the road, but who would shoot at the hedge from out there? He sniffed at the feathers, they smelled of horse piss; and the feathers had been dyed.

Badly, he thought as he looked at his black stained hands.


*Raggers or Rangers. Militia soldiers of the Northern realms.


Top
Profile Quote
Dindraug
Post subject:
Posted: Sun 22 Oct , 2006 5:57 pm
Tricksy Elf!
User avatar
Offline
 
Posts: 2306
Joined: Wed 27 Oct , 2004 6:20 pm
Location: Tanelorn
 
“Black as the ace of spades, if you pardon my language Master Dufurus,” said Squire Broadleaf, his eyes wide and voice low. “Saw it with my own eyes, and on more than one bird too. Ruined the feathers, and you know how several of my people rely on the income from feather pillows. Who will buy them if they are black?” The Halfling leaned back importantly on his chair, a motion designed to portray importance, but sullied somewhat by the dangling of legs.

“Are you sure it was dye from the tanners Master Broadleaf? I cannot just barge in and accuse them of spilling dye into the streams. Do you have witnesses?”

“No one will talk, even them of our folk that work with the hides. Not a word, but they are not happy, not happy at all.” His tiny arms crossed, his eye was steely, and his pout said ‘what are you going to do about it’ as plainly as if he bellowed the words.

Thomas sighed, and sat back on his old chair. He tapped his quill against the side of the ink pot and pondered, until the uneasy shifting of the Halfling reminded him he had company.

“I am not sure what to make of this, Squire, but it does feel like the geese have been particularly troubled this past week or so. Farmer Giles was telling me that they are not laying-“

“Well they won’t, not if they are all afraided by there wings turning black. You know what they say about black beasts, Master Duferus. They say they are servants of the Witch King, you know, him that rules from Angmar.” The Halfling’s eyes were wide, al most comic, at this point. But to a scion of the forts that watched the borders of that realm everyday to protect fat buffoons like Squire Broadleaf, Thomas du Foras just felt pity.

“It is a pity my brothers armies are not here then Squire, rather than protecting the boarders where they sit in cold keeps. This is obviously where the axe will fall”.

“Now Sheriff, there is no need to take that tone with me. I am just worried, so are my lads and their ladies.” The squire fairly puffed himself up to regain his composure.

“No Squire, it is I who should apologise. It is just that there is a fairly simple explanation to this. Let me see those feathers again.”

The Halfling pulled the black sticky items out of the wrap of cloth again, and laid them on the table. Thomas picked up one, sniffed it, and run it through the tips of his fingers.
“This is not tanner’s dye, Squire. But that smells of- “he sniffed again “horse piss, and oak gall. This, this is paint. Black paint, which begs another question,”

“Why somebody would dump black paint into the mill pond?”

“No. Where somebody had got enough black paint to dump into the mill pond. This costs a small fortune in Tharbad, I hear they have to import it from Umbar and the Southern Gondorian fifes in Harad; they make it from burnt ivory to get this depth of colour. Imagine bringing that all the way north, then dumping it in a pond, in Bree of all places.” He shook his head, conscious of the place this was taking him. The Squire, of quicker mind than his portly attitude dictated, pre-empted him.

“Do you think it leaked from a barrel in the millers store sheds? He’s a bit of an odd one that Walter. Bit of an edge, too many secrets if you ask me.”

“I did not ask you, and I doubt it could have leaked and floated upstream to taint the geese nests. But I think I will pay Walter the miller a visit, just to see if he heard or saw anything unusual”. He stood, and nodded to the Halfling, who took the hint and led the sheriff to the door.

“Of course, you should mention this to nobody Squire. At the moment, it is very sensitive indeed.”

“Of course; Sheriff. Say no more.” He tapped his nose, smiled and shut the door behind Thomas, who himself walked purposefully towards the mill. There was more to this than met the eye, much more. A cold chill of the uncertain future settled on his heart, that even the bountiful smile of Imelda Beechberry could not warm.

_________________

'When one person suffers from a delusion, it is called insanity. When many people suffer from delusion, it is called Religion'.

~Robert M. Pirsig


Top
Profile Quote
Dindraug
Post subject:
Posted: Mon 23 Oct , 2006 9:12 pm
Tricksy Elf!
User avatar
Offline
 
Posts: 2306
Joined: Wed 27 Oct , 2004 6:20 pm
Location: Tanelorn
 
A light zephyr spun around the village, spilling leaves and dust across the dry ground, sending a flurry of leaves to settle over the paths and byways. William burped lightly, the taste of stew filling the air around him for a moment, then loosing itself in the wind. He was still no closer to finding the package, darn it.

There was a distinct possibility that it had been stolen, and he had a distinct realisation that the person who had stolen it was, just around the corner.

“Mr William” said Siobhan. She stood, in a most peculiar position it must be said.

“Ahhh, young Lady. I wonder if you could help me out. I appear to have lost something, and I wonder if you may have, perchance, come across it?”

“What would that be, Mr William?” she looked coy, a dangerous sign if ever there was one.

“A wallet of leather, full of papers. That’s all.” He held out a small purse of coin, which he jingled. Siobhan smiled, and fumbled under her skirt.

“This Mr William, I err, found it in the washing”. Her eyes gleamed on the purse, as she held out the wallet. He could tell immediately that she had been in it, tied as it was with new strings. Hopefully, there was enough left to appease Lagris of Cardolan, and his partner.



Meanwhile, on a distant hillside, a light flared in the night. Under surly clouds, a shadow moved. Like the distant drumming of rain, paws beat against the ground, heralding a dark future. In the darkness metal clashed on metal, and screams filled the air.

And a single rider road through a gap in the lines of the Dunedain, and disappeared into the night. Glancing behind him quickly, the figure headed west.

_________________

'When one person suffers from a delusion, it is called insanity. When many people suffer from delusion, it is called Religion'.

~Robert M. Pirsig


Top
Profile Quote
Jaeniver
Post subject:
Posted: Sun 29 Oct , 2006 2:13 pm
I can't count but I'm cute
User avatar
Offline
 
Posts: 2435
Joined: Thu 28 Oct , 2004 6:20 am
Location: Holland, ski resort.
 
Not once but twice did Romeld Odilgrim run through the content of the big red pouch. The coins were forged from heavy metal. He liked the feeling of that heavy metal and the way it shone in the light of the fire. It was so reassuring, holding it in his hands and feeling the cool coins between his fingers. For a third time did his eyes wander over the sight of his new wealth but they conveniently ignored the piece of parchment next to his mug carrying heavy and strong words. “The wolves,” he muttered “Vultures they are.”

“Had a good day’s business then did you Grim?” Romeld hastily tightened the leathers binds and lowered the pouch onto his lap. The innkeep, a fine fellow if only he’d keep his nose out of private and personal business, frowned but thought little of it. Romeld was known for his oddities. “Just give me another.” And Romeld pushed the half empty mug towards the man who shrugged. It was hardly uncommon for the town’s scribe to sit in the dark corners of his inn either alone or with foreign faces. What exactly was discussed between the ever wary man and the strangers never became quite clear nor why he jumped nearly 10 feet off his chair whenever someone approached him when he had that vacant look in his eyes, mulling over his wine, his hands ever resting on his pouch. Rumours went that not all his gold glittered.

But the innkeeper cared fairly little. Gold is gold. No matter where or whom it came from. He uncorked the bottle that hung from his side and poured a bit more of the red liquid into the mug. “Don’t be too shy with that, friend.” Annoyed, Romeld took the bottle from the innkeep’s hand and planted it firmly on the table. “You can leave that with me now.”

The innkeep wanted to protest. He had more paying customers and his stock was dwindling down fast if Romeld kept up this drinking pace.That was one of his finest wines and certainly one of the most expensive ones But his protests were silence with the two coins Romeld pressed into his hand. The innkeep took the coins but did not let go of Romeld’s sleeve.

“You just put the rest on my tab good man. I’ll pay you shortly.”

“When will that be Grim? Last time it took you two months and a couple of bruises if I remember correctly.” Romeld tore free his sleeve and shook his head violently “Yes, yes I remember! Soon, I’ll pay you soon! Now let me be!” The innkeep shot him a final warning look before he walked away.

With that Romeld brought the mug to his lips and took a large draught. He whipped off both the spilled drink and the stringy blond hairs that were sticking to his ever damp forehead with his sleeve. With nimble fingers the town cleric pushed the hairs back into the black coif on his head. “Vultures, all of them.” He mumbled again as he peered over his mug. “But no matter. No matter at all.” His hand patted the pouch reassuringly.

_________________

So give me your forever.
Please your forever.
Not a day less will do
From you

~Other half of the Menacing Glare Duo~ partner-in-crime out to confuse the world!


Top
Profile Quote
Dindraug
Post subject:
Posted: Sun 04 Mar , 2007 9:53 pm
Tricksy Elf!
User avatar
Offline
 
Posts: 2306
Joined: Wed 27 Oct , 2004 6:20 pm
Location: Tanelorn
 
The gentle clanking of the mill wheel and the constant trilling of the millrace formed a pleasant background to Poppy’s singing to the bundle of swaddling embracing her child. The young woman held Jocelyn in her arm as she wandered back to the mill house with her basket of eggs, when she saw the sheriff marching a purposefully towards it.
She sighed, and pushed her hair beneath her wimple, retaining her dignity somewhat.

“Good morning Sheriff Thomas, how can I help you this fine day”

“Miss Poppy, and young Master Jocelyn; good day to you. I need to speak to your husband.”

“I’m afraid his isn’t about. He has been off up the North Road, has business up on Din Moor, getting the grain in and was taking young Arthur to get a feel for the job. They will be out a day or two more.” She smiled, and lifted the baby a little higher. “Anything I can help with?”

“I really needed to ask him about a leaking barrel. I had reports of the mill pond, and the geese…Poppy, can I just look in that basket a moment” His attention was fixed on the eight goose eggs that lay in fold of material.

“Of course Sheriff. Look, it is only eggs from my husband’s pond; duck and goose. I use them to make cakes, although the harvest has been poor recently I noticed. I have some baking, if you would like to wait.”

“Miss Poppy, are these the same eggs that the Halflings normally gather?”

“Well, they do help themselves sometimes, which is a bit rich considering they rightfully belong to my husband; them nesting on his pond and all.” She adjusted Jocelyn as he squirmed in her grip, eyes focussed on a long suffering kitten. “Is that leaky barrel of black paint Sheriff? Cause we did have one delivered by some southerners not three days ago. Tall, disagreeable types from Tharbad who took our money and left us with a barrel of tar paint that leaked. “

“Three days ago? Tall man called Lagris?”

“Yes he was, how did you know that? I knew he was up to no good. If you catch up with them, they owe my husband for a fine barrel of black tar paint. I saw them arguing with that William the tale teller who wastes his life in the Kings Head.”

_________________

'When one person suffers from a delusion, it is called insanity. When many people suffer from delusion, it is called Religion'.

~Robert M. Pirsig


Top
Profile Quote
Dindraug
Post subject:
Posted: Thu 05 Apr , 2007 5:31 pm
Tricksy Elf!
User avatar
Offline
 
Posts: 2306
Joined: Wed 27 Oct , 2004 6:20 pm
Location: Tanelorn
 
Thomas ran down the street towards the Kings Head bellowing urgently to Old Man Hathaway to get his cart out of his path, at about the moment Lagris and his partner were steering their cart through the Elfgate, whip striking out at the broody looking mare that pulled them.

“Yah, horse, get a move on” snarled the Tharabadian, glancing behind him at the road past the muster field, where a score of overweight and clumsy looking militia men struggled to remain in formations as they marched up and down.

“Don’t worry, nothing in this village will be fast enough to catch us once we get on the East Road” muttered Bengaria, as she fussed with her long skirts on the open seat of the cart. “And if they do…” she patted the dark material and the crossbow hidden beneath.

Her husband just snarled, and whipped the horse fiercely causing old Faulk, cutting his hedges, to stare at them with interest as they hurtled past, and a sleepy looking guardsman to run out with fist shaking at their retreating form. The trip to the village had not gone well, certainly not to plan. First the new sheriff had been too suspicious of the ‘ambush’, and then the courier had lost the package! Amateur! And now that pesky sheriff had stumbled on the smuggled paint, a simple plan to make a bit of extra money on the trip had plunged it all into chaos.

They fled onwards, rushing through the hamlet of Waymet and past the track to Combe and along the well kept road to the east.

“Dear, I hate to bear bad news but I think there is a horse behind us….no, I see three or them; galloping.”

“YAH!” shouted Lagris, whipping the horse harder. The beast, taking affront to this, reared up and shook the cart to a halt, sending Lagris and his overbearing wife tumbling into the mud.

The two picked themselves up with much spluttering and cursing as the cart hurtled into a rut and broke a wheel which span off into the woods. Through a cloud of splintering timbers and panicked horse, they watched their mission vanish along with much of their worldly goods. As a final indignity, the large trunk given to them by the former master of the horse in Tharbad as a wedding present slipped into a muddy bog with a glop! and sank beneath the surface.

“That’s everything!” swore Bengaria, turning on her moaning husband. But from the corner of her eye she could see the three horses bearing down on them. “Move it Lagris.”

“Unusual, they don’t normally run like that” said one of the highwaymen staring down at the broken remains of the cart. “Must have had something to hide”

“Not anymore” said another, gazing at the finely moulded corner of the chest as it vanished into the deep alluvial mud. “No getting that one out without a rope”

“Ancalagons teeth!” muttered the third, raising his mask enough to spit. “Don’t know why ‘e thought these folks would have a penny anyway.”

“Well, they ran up a big enough bar bill, so I thought…”

The three highwaymen turned their chestnut horses away, and headed back down the road, turning off into the Chetwood to hide black capes and masks in a suitable location before heading back to the Kings Head for a well earned drink.

And Lagris and the shrewish Bengaria? Well there is a rumour that they made it to Tharbad, with horses stolen from the garrison of Amon Sul, but that is another story altogether.

_________________

'When one person suffers from a delusion, it is called insanity. When many people suffer from delusion, it is called Religion'.

~Robert M. Pirsig


Top
Profile Quote
Dindraug
Post subject:
Posted: Fri 06 Apr , 2007 3:03 pm
Tricksy Elf!
User avatar
Offline
 
Posts: 2306
Joined: Wed 27 Oct , 2004 6:20 pm
Location: Tanelorn
 
Chapter Two

The trouble with Goblins is that Goblins are not the only trouble.


As the eagle soars, Bree is a mere pin prick on the vast landscape of forests, rivers, hills and windblown plains. But an eagles eye is keen, and it could quite easily make out the funeral cortege of Dearos, heir apparent to the Ernil of Dol Tinare*. Bright blue and red pennants snapped against the lances of the honour guard as they rode towards his final resting place in Tyrn Gorthad *, along the Great East Road.

As the eagle’s vast wings swept the sky, he could make out the grieving mother, Anathiel of Fornost who had been married young to an aged Dunedain in the attempt to give him an heir. Now the heir laid dead, a victim of the poisoned arrows of Angmar’s raiders, and her aged husband sat wrapped in blankets in the coach behind her and around her the political vultures hovered. The eagle could not see her skin, ruddy form the tear tracks, but he could see the hunched for of a woman in deep trouble.

Ahead, Bree waited. They did not have many funerals on the barrow downs, the Dunedain lived long and many years had passed since an Eluchil Ernil* had been buried in the damp hills. Men had raised the dolmen with stone ordered from Erid Luin, and were even now piling soil and rock around it. A priest from Gondor, who had been at the Kings Rest inn when the news arrived, blessed the stone with age old rituals and juniper berries. And standing guard and waiting for the entourage, stood Thomas Du Foros in his full dress regalia, waiting for the woman who would have been his sister in law if life had been less cruel, Anathiel, sister of Isolda who was in turn daughter of the Captain of the Guard of Annuminas.

But the eagle did not know the detail, and could not care if she did. She soared away westward, keen to avoid the storm clouds gathering in the east.


The news of the funeral was all that was spoken of in the tap room of the ‘Oliphant’. Bill sat in the corner arguing loudly with a group of louder men about the respective values of the various Princes of Cardolan.

“ENOUGH!” Bellowed Brian Dubassey, slamming a mug of ale on the table with force enough to shatter it and soak the group. “I will hear no more of this, or you’re slandering of Prince Hallas. He is a good man, his son was a good man, and he is coming to the downs to bury him and if he were to step foot in this inn right now and hear you, and decide to take that pointy head of yours off at the shoulder Obidiah Tanner I won’t bat an eyelid”.

There was a pause, as all heads in the inn turned to the Barkeeper.

“You goin’ to get me a new pint then.” muttered Tanner as he gazed at the smashed pot before him.

“GET OUT! You’re barred Obadiah Tanner, and if you don’t shift by the time I call five I will see you barred from every in between here and the Harad border!”

“There is no need to”- started one of the others.

“And you too Much Micklebank, and you Fulk Monkshood…and you…whoever you are. You’re not welcome here either. Leave your coin and run like the wind.” He stood over the four men, hi hand resting on his thick leather belt in the manner of hand who would rather be round somebody’s neck. With downward glances, a sprinkle of coin and a few nods at others in the dingy taproom who were desperately looking elsewhere, they shuffled out.

“From now on, to the day they burn down Amon Sul, I will here no bad word in this room of Prince Hallas or his family, and anybody who breaks that rule can go find someplace else to drink. CLEAR!” As a man, the remaining drinkers, nodded, muttered, and turned back to their thin bitter pints.


Outside in the street, the four stood around and gazed at the sky.

“Well, barred again. How long this time Obidiah?” smirked Fulk pulling out the mug of ale he has hidden in his cloak on leaving the inn.

“Well, it were a full month last time, but I think this time it could be a full twelve-month. He was might angry”

“Not surprised. You know he served with Prince Hallas, in the Palace Guard they say. Never had a bad thing to say, and always polishes that medal he won.” Muttered Much, not at all happy to be been singled out with the others. He glanced at the stranger, a swarthy looking man who had sat with them earlier and been free enough with his purse.

“And what of you? You had a few bad things to say about Prince Hallas.”

“I” said the man, drawing his cloak about him, “I am just on my way to Fornost, and stopped over and was enjoying my stew. But I don’t have much time for Cardolan nobs and there spoilt brat sons who lead men to disaster.” He paused a moment to see the reaction of the other three men. They were guarded, but drink made them less able to hide there underlying agreement. The man smiled. “I heard it said that they left sixteen bodies to the wolves when they rescued the corpse of the Prince, and it cost them three men to get him. I just hope it was worth it to stick him under cold stone. I bid you good night gentlemen. Having been kicked out of the ‘Oliphant’, I need to find someplace to lay my head.”

Seeing that none of the men were willing, or able, to offer him a bed Hoeyth Kahn made his way down the street towards the gleaming edifice of the Kings Head, where the Northman had booked a room earlier in the evening.




* Ernil- Prince of Dol Tinare, one of the southern Cantons of Cardolan that runs along the southern edge of the south downs and as far as west as the Baranduin.

* Tyrn Gorthad- The Barrow Downs, resting place of the dead nobility of Cardolan and Arthedain.

* Eluchil Ernil- Heir to the Prince

_________________

'When one person suffers from a delusion, it is called insanity. When many people suffer from delusion, it is called Religion'.

~Robert M. Pirsig


Top
Profile Quote
Display: Sort by: Direction:
Post Reply   Page 1 of 1  [ 16 posts ]
Return to “Literary Rambles: There & Back Again...”
Jump to: