Year 2946: Don't leave the path

[Vladim]

[Post 1]

Author : Dramacydal

Date : Jun 29 '16 12:22am

 

It is the year 2946 of the Third Age, and the lands east of the Misty Mountains are astir. From the cloud-shrouded peaks above the High Pass to the spider-infested gloom of the forest of Mirkwood, paths long-deserted are trodden once again. Busy merchants carry their wares to new markets, messengers bring tidings from foreign realms, and kings send forth armed men to extend their influence and the rule of law.

 

Some say that a new age of freedom has begun, a time for adventure and great deeds to reclaim glories lost in long centuries of oppression and decline. But adventures are not really things that people go out and look for. They are dangerous and rarely end well. While it is true that a handful of valiant individuals set out to make their mark on the world, for others it seems that adventure chooses them as though it is the path they are fated to tread.

 

They are restless warriors, curious scholars and wanderers, always eager to seek what was lost or explore what was forgotten. Ordinary people call them adventurers, and when they return successful, they call them heroes. But if they fail, no one will even remember their names.

 

Making your way back to Dale, specifically the Knights Stave, people and patrons alike greet you to warm camaraderie and fellowship. Instantly making new friends, your fellowship is celebrated this night as within the morning the Great Hunt will start. A man with a stained white shirt, apparently the cook takes the large game bird from Baderac and smiles.

 

 His missing teeth and whiskers give sign that he is sloth and apparently to busy or cares little about his appearance. Your table is center to the room with a simple cotton linen draped over the elongated and warped wooden table. Sitting upon the used and rickety wooden chairs, Serving maids bring tankards of ale and fresh wooden cutlery of plates filled with enriched peasant breads and sides of fruit and grapes. In an instance song can be heard from all around celebrating the Autumn Festival.

 

 After sometime drinking on your alcoholic beverage, people are front row busy trying to order tankards for themselves. There was the lone barkeep that was taken direct orders from the demanding patrons. The Knights Stave was busy around this time of year and always brought in a great crowd during the Festival. The pictures of age old artists depict the Dale and some famous people of the land.

 

Finally the serving maids brought out the large bird roasted to a golden brown and stuffed with apples, pine nuts and sweat bread stuffing. The turkey looked absolutely divine and to top it off more ale flowed this night, sometimes spilling onto the floor. The smell of the feast as others ordered some compliments of food themselves as the stale pipe smoke and smell of stale ale filled the air. The sign of excitement was in the air.

 

As the night drew on, the festive entertainment was met with casual talk to one another and the union of shared experiences. The customary tradition of 'breaking bread' was something simply to be freely enjoyed in the time of prosperity. But soon as the night waned on, people were leaving and returning home, with the Tavern closing in a few moments, you turn to people that you shared worldly talk with and are again customarily appreciated because of your Fellowship winning some of the events at Farmer Meads.

[Vladim]

[Post 2]

Author : Maester1216

Date : Jun 29 '16 11:10pm

 

Arphel's steely blue eyes gave off an intense, grim air to anyone who met their gaze. She sat in one of the corner booths that the Knight's Stave Inn had she propped her left foot up against the table whilst staring out onto the starry night. The festivities might have been a pleasant means to unwind after her long travels through the High Pass, but the grimness and stern that so permeated the sons and daughters of Arnor hung like a cloak around her person.

 

A slight draft ruffled her auburn hair and, almost instinctively, she flexed and readjusted the shoulder section of her hauberk while her mind wandered to other matters. Dale was... not to her liking. Fat merchants and aristocrats dotted on themselves while the working men and women struggled amidst the city's own troubles; she despised it. Their Kingdom had, not so long ago, been a set of ruins under the Tyranny of Dragons, but instead of relishing and rebuilding their lost heritage they turned to earthly pursuits and pleasures rather than the difficult task of reforming Dale into the Kingdom it once was.

 

"I will never allow that to happen to my lands. When my appointed King takes the throne from those Southern weaklings Isildur's rightful heir will take the necessary steps to see Arnor rise to its aged greatness. Of that I do not doubt." She clenched her gloved fist in frustration, but seeing her comrades had her breath a calming sigh, seeping from her stout as she turned her sights once more to the star.

[Vladim]

[Post 3]

Author : Old Overholt

Date : Jun 30 '16 12:49pm

 

Nori has perches himself at the corner of the long table, his legs dangling over a stool short enough for him to climb up on, but too tall for him to place his feet firmly on the ground. For what seems like a significant portion of the night, he's been running a little shop inside the in, a small swatch of cloth serving as his store front where he's laid out a variety of bracelets, rings, and other bangles he's fashioned. Some slightly inebriated patron has been hooked by the dwarf into a sales pitch, Nori trying to sell him on one of his wares.

 

"Now this ring here," Nori tells him, stretching out a sausage finger to tap on the silver circlet with an intricate wrap of ivy about it and an emerald set as the center stone. "Your lady friend will adore! I took this off a Hill-man who had me pressed up against the tree, his spear INCHES from running through my n- WAIT!" Apparently, the stories have been getting old as the patron waves off the dwarf, ready to get some sleep rather than drop coin on some trinket. "BAH!" the dwarf exclaims in mild frustration, flustered with the lack of a sale.

 

As he folds up the cloth, binding his wares within the pouch with a thin leather strap, he must hear the last bits of Arphel's statement as Nori quickly asks , "Aragorn? He's just a boy, isn't he? What's a boy know about greatness?" The dwarf doesn't seem annoyed by Arphel's musings, more amused by being a thorn in the conversation as the slightest of grins starts appear across his face, the right corner of his lips - almost hidden behind his bushy red-brown beard - rise upward on his cheek.

[Vladim]

[Post 4]

Author : Neopopulas

Date : Jun 30 '16 1:58pm

 

"Inches from your what?" it comes with an amused sound from Elerrina. Elerrina was about as elfy as an elf can get, tall and slender frame belying hidden strength, she carries herself with an unmatched grace and poise that its hard to ignore and impossible to deny. She had been listening with some amusement as the dwarf attempted to pawn his wares off on the, well, unwary. She had decided not to interfere, it was far too entertaining, at least at the time.

 

She eases herself down with a clinking creak into a chair nearby "Blood knows greatness as much as deeds knows valour.. But we will see soon enough" the lifespan of a man, even one of ancient blood, was not so long for an elf to wait "if the blood of Isildur is enough."

[Vladim]

[Post 5]

Author : Diofant

Date : Jun 30 '16 5:00pm

 

Gramtyng grinned, brushing his fingers across the strings of his lute, the instrument emitting a melodious note, causing several patrons, about to leave, to turn hopefully. A minstrel was not meant to sit in a corner and brood after all, he was to be the center of attention, and behold his captive audience with as much grace as any king. That is what Aldor taught him, but what did an old man know of outside the Mark? Him and his solemn ballads, singing of dead men long buried and their deaths; it was more like he was a genealogy tree record than anything as exciting as Aldor promised it would be... His smiled waned a bit, thinking about how the blind old man would react at his being sent to this place, in search of the history of a people he didn't feel a part of, and whom never failed to remind him where he was born.

 

That part was refreshing, the minstrel decided, sipping his ale. Just a tad. Fengel King's mood swings, the grimaces, the insults from the more vocal ones about the 'ill-fortune bringer in the Golden Hall' and 'spawn of Dwimorberg', the dirty looks... really though, Gramtyng thought, arming himself with a fork and knife and attacking the roast venison and mushrooms with twice as much vigor as his sword instructors saw in the practice yard from him - really, those looks wouldn't be bad if they came from pretty girls, but as it stood, those were a different kind. Wasn't like all the folks in Edoras were like that, most didn't give half a rat's arse about Fastred's failure of a son. Complainin' about it wasn't gonna help any, and everyone hated a whiner, so what was the point of dwelling on it, mused Gramtyng, sinking his teeth into the succulent venison.

 

Besides... Not much to complain about, not really. He was never hungry, neither growing up nor here, he'd had enough coin to spend on pleasant nothings, even if there were not many of those, and more would have been welcome... No more people breathing down his neck trying to instill into him the Rohirrim 'spirit'. He liked horses, he liked songs, and he enjoyed mead and ale. Surely, that was enough to be Rohirrim? Leading the charge of the Eorlingas was not his place, and was absolutely not for everyone. Hunting... That wasn't a bad choice, but he preferred hunting of a different kind. The minstrel put down his fork and knife and wiped his mouth, washing his food down with some ale. This city was pleasant enough, too. Too many people to care who the other was, and a much larger audience range - perfect for his purposes.

 

As he finished his food, his ears picked up pieces of conversations from his new friends, and he listened in interestingly, lighting a pipe - another thing he normally wouldn't have been doing in Edoras. What an excellent time-waster! Made for a good thing to do while thinking up rhymes to a song. Left your hands free, too, so you could test out notes on the lute. The dwarf had an interesting story going, though he only caught pieces of it. He grinned when the prospective customer decided it wasn't worth the time and left. It was a good thing he participated in those contests, after all; if he ever intended to return to the Golden Hall, he would actually have to take Fengel King's command seriously, and accumulate some lore on his ancestors. And to do that... he needed a fellowship of people who he could count on. Taking the pipe out of his mouth, he have a small wave, trying to get Nori's attention:

 

"Friend Nori, may I suggest you try to challenge the possible buyer instead of explaining why he should buy your ring? I am not a merchant, but I know at least some things about capturing someone's attention." He let out a small puff of smoke, enjoying the flavor of the herb, and clapped his hands together, gesturing to get his meaning across as he explained: "Your stories are interesting, but to engage them for your cause, maybe something they have to react to? Like a riddle? It might entertain them and catch them up."

[Vladim]

Author : Who_Am_I

Date : Jun 30 '16 5:53pm

 

Carrying over a sturdy chair he had acquired from another table, with a smile and a thankful nod of his head doing much to discourage any angry response, Duilin places it carefully so that he could sit with his eyes directed towards the door of the Knights Stave. The wary traveller lets out a content sigh of relief as he slowly sinks into the chairs comfortable embrace, eyes flickering about the party he had come to know over several years to rest lastly on Arphel before darting to the door once more as it swings open. He still wears his hauberk of mail links beneath travelling clothes meant to ward against the chill of autumn and the coming winter, the cowl of his cloak perched on his head so as to cast his face mostly in shadow, but a careful movement of his hand brushes the cowl back and frees his shoulder length brown hair from its confines. Duilin retrieves a pipe from a pouch upon his person, stuffing it with a fragrant pipeweed before lighting it with the fire of a candle upon the table. The stem of the pipe slides between his lips as Duilin slides backwards into the chair, placing his right elbow upon the arm and resting his chin upon his hand as he inhales slowly before releasing a small circle of smoke from his mouth.

 

Inches from a location perhaps best not spoken of in polite company, Nori? Duilin speaks softly as he allows his eyes to drift back over those sitting around the table, chin tilted down in a such a way that he studies the Dwarf beneath his eyebrows. A story, perhaps, for a night drawn close around a warm fire? The young ranger offers, shifting his gaze to the door once more as someone walks through though they quickly settle amongst a table of friends. As a platter of the golden turkey appears before him on the table, Duilin smiles his thanks to the serving maid and retrieves a small, curved blade in the style of the Elves to spear a roasted potato with and pop it into his mouth. Perhaps instead we could speak of the road yet to be taken, the travels of tomorrow?

[Vladim]

[Post 7]

Author : Born on the Bayeux

Date : Jul 1 '16 5:29am

 

It was no small feat to keep the small feet of Belladonna Bracegirdle from wandering the streets and alleys of Dale.  Bella meandered for sheer joy.  Every day among the big folk showed how much larger Rhovanion and Eriador were than the humble Shire.  She felt a pang of homesickness for quiet Harbottle.  Bella missed it terribly and not for the first time.  But if I were home, I would probably be married off and only wishing of adventure.  Bella thought in consolation.

 

Exploring usually dispelled gloom and brought cheer.  But now there was a man-sized repast waiting for her at the Knight's Stave and she would not miss that for a dragon-horde.  Big folk were usually surprised at how much the unfamiliar halfling could consume in food, drink and, if fortunate, pipe-weed.  While Bella was always surprised that such giants could exist on at most three meals a day.  And even among hobbits, the Bracegirdles were known for a prodigious appetite, their surname often referred to the reinforced and 'braced' girdles the clan was known for.  Bella herself was spared the family's impressive 'stature' through the walking and exploring.

 

But tonight she was going to fix that.  If she didn't burst a stitch in her clothing, it was because the innkeeper would run out of provisions.  Entering the Knight's Stave, Bella carefully dodged and avoided the milling big folk like a shadow.  She would have told an onlooker that she was as skilled a burgular as Old Bilbo but in truth she was largely ignored like a inconsequential child.  How had the old codger hidden so well in his stories, she wondered but Bilbo had just winked and nodded.

 

Bella let out a muffled yelp as one of countless booted feet trod on her furred foot.  The same toes that had printed the snow-capped Misty Mountains without complaint along with blunting Mirkwood's splinters now stung in protest and Bella hopped to the seat kept reserved for her by her Fellowship.  A few hops (and a discreet helping hand from one of her companions) and Bella was seated high enough to see the table.  By waving her arms, she eventually got the attention of a serving wench and even more eventually convinced the girl to bring a man's feast to a halfling's table.

 

While she was waiting for the always-too-long-in-coming repast, she smiled at her companions.  Arphel had chosen the most quiet and shaded part of the noisy and firelit inn.  No mean feat and Arphel is even more quiet and shaded than that.  Dulin was the more expressive of the two Rangers and the promise of a tale was almost as a fine meal.  Almost.  But Bella did not have to choose tonight.

 

Nearby was Elerrina.  Bella always enjoyed observing the elf.  She would tell herself that she was trying to remember enough to tell her grandchildren one day.  The elves were leaving for other shores, not to return.  Soon they would only be memories.  In any case, Bella was becoming a 'confirmed spinster' and there might be no grandchildren to tell.

 

Ah, Nori was selling his wares.  If there was time before the story, Bella would once again be the 'ordinary customer' impressed by the craftsmanship of such dwarven creations.  She would be so happy to spend a few meager coins on such quality.  Later the trinket and coin might be swapped back so the show could begin at the next town over.

 

The victuals finally arrived.  Content and in good company, Bella began her first pint and plate...

 

OOC:

1.  Hi, everyone!  It is good to game with you.  Even if I am not selected, this little thread is a pleasure. 🙂

2. Let me know if I characterized any you wrong,  I will amend. :danceorc:

[Vladim]

[Post 8]

Author : Neopopulas

Date : Jul 1 '16 6:15am

 

"Ahh, Belladonna. What meal are you on by now?" gentle chiding, said in jest and not uncommon either. She was, after all, well known for it "And does the table have room for it?"

[Vladim]

[Post 9]

Author : Old Overholt

Date : Jul 1 '16 12:16pm

 

Turning back to his meal, the prospect of profitable trade vanishing rapidly as others make their exit from the inn, Nori shakes his head as he places the bag of jewelry just a little off to the right of his place - out of the way of his food and drink, but close enough to keep an eye on. Looking upon the turkey leg that's probably gone a little cold by now, the dwarf licks his lips as he leans forward, having to strain slightly to get over the table and grab ahold of the drumstick. His eyes flicker to Gramtyng as the Rohirrim gives his advice, the dwarf looking slightly annoyed by what's said and appearing as if he is about to say something, when Duilin and Elerrina comment on his choice of words in the story telling.

 

Extending the turkey leg out to point at the Ranger and the Elf, Nori wags the delicacy at the two as he playfully chides them back. "You were there," he reminds them. "I don't need to say it. Had you waited any longer, Duilin, he would have given me a piercing to remember," Nori then adds, before taking a large bite out of the turkey leg. Shreds of meat and skin protrude from his lips and wild beard before slowly being pulled back into his mouth by his teeth.

 

Chomping loudly - almost to the point of vulgar, but clearly a voracious eater with little regard for manners - his eyes catch the arrival of Belladona, offering the hobbit a quick wink of the eye as she hops up onto her chair. But his attention quickly carries back to the citizen of Rohan as Nori reaches out to take his own flaggon of ale. "A fool and his money are soon - and rightfully - parted," he advises. "I don't need to confuse the poor sap in the process. Besides, when was the last time someone told you a random riddle about their pendant or sword? No - they tell you where they got it or who it belonged to before. The story, the history is what matters." And with that, the dwarf seems to toast himself to the thought - his tone more of stubbornness than any real contempt for Gramtyng's suggestion.

[Vladim]

[Post 10]

Author : Vladim

Date : Jul 1 '16 1:48pm

 

The Bride felt as comfortable in the crowded tavern as a fish out of water. She was used to roaming the forests, but not the hustle and bustle of big cities. Seated at the corner, she was able to observe much of what was happening and hear the conversations around her. Luckily, the commotion and arguments all around meant that there was little need for her to say anything.

 

She passed some food to her great wolf-hound. Like her, he was also not used to such commotion, but the beast’s attention was now focused entirely on the meat, which it devoured almost as voraciously as the dwarf. Unlike her, he (the mastiff) was a simple creature, she thought, as she focused her attention on the conversation at hand.

 

Intrigued by the young man from Rohan, she finally gathered the courage to break her silence. Addressing him, she said: Would you like to share a tale, a tune or a riddle from your lands, horse-lord? The food and ale seem to hold more interest for our dwarven companion, but perhaps the remaining travellers are interested in the stories of your countrymen.

 

Not sure if I can keep posting during the coming week. It will depend on Internet availability only-in principle, I should have lots of free time. Please just ignore me if I cannot keep the posts coming 🙂

[Vladim]

[Post 11]

Author : Diofant

Date : Jul 1 '16 10:54pm

 

"Ever practical, I see." Smiled the young minstrel at the dwarf's indignant reply, and raised his mug. "I meant no offence. And of course, the riddle has to fit to the item, not be something random! Now, if you could weave the riddle about the item and its circumstances, then it would work. Believe me, Nori, if you sat through some of Meduseld's stories, you would have a different opinion on history mattering." Savoring another sip of the ale, he put the mug down, hearing the Woodsman's request, and grinned, wiping his fingers on a rag that was left behind on the table. He may have been somewhat careless about his beard, but treating his instrument poorly was akin to stomping on your food before you ate it. He picked it up with an almost reverent air, and gently brushed his fingers across the strings, observing the lute with a keen stare, suddenly focused, the usual smirk vanishing and replacing a look of concentration.

 

"Well now. As I've said, the songs of the Golden Hall are seldom cheerful; they are a somber, traditional sort, sung amidst the dimly lit columns for the pleasure of old lords that wish to relive the days of glory. They are not the sort one would sing in company such as this for entertainment; I've always preferred the more cheerful tunes you would usually hear in a tavern." He stroked the chords of the lute thoughtfully, extracting the tune he desired and smiling, a bit absentmindedly, at his success. His own taste in songs was different from most of his kinsmen, but even so, there were good songs that he enjoyed, even with his somewhat unusual views. What would he sing to them? The Ballad of the Horse-Lord that fell from his horse, which got him here? Too simplistic and whiny. Who wanted to hear that again, much less sing it? It was part of the joke, but they did not know of the joke's origin.

 

Ahh... but there was one, a song that he liked. Sad, but... It felt gratifying to sing it. Garmtyng cleared his throat a bit and looked up from his instrument: "I was going to suggest a riddle instead of a song, but I've remembered a good one. This is a song of Eorl the Young and his horse Felar, known also as the Lament of the Rohirrim." The minstrel cleared his throat one more time, and shut his eyes slowly, placing his hands upon his lute's strings properly, his breathing becoming more even, as if he had been preparing to go to sleep. It was an old practice that Aldor had taught, to pace himself in such a manner, in preparation for the song. His fingers then struck the chords, and he began to sing quietly, enough for his companions to hear, but not carry further. It had been very unlike his usual style, but this sort of song called for a different style of singing.

 

"Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?

Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?

Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?

Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?

They have passed like rain in the mountain, like a wind through the meadow;

The days have gone down in the west behind the hills into shadow.

Who shall gather the smoke from the dead wood burning

Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?"

 

Gramtyng had stretched the final line as best he could, as properly as he could: this sort of song couldn't simply be cut off as normal, it had to have its own finish, its own end; though there was more to it, he didn't wish to continue. Opening his eyes, the smile returned to the rohirrim's face, as he put aside the lute and reached for his pipe. "I hope I didn't disappoint you too badly, there. Part of the reason I'd come to this place was to compose my own songs; everything from drinking songs and battle songs to perhaps a ballad worthy of being passed on. Pretty difficult though! Well. If that doesnt tickle your fancy, I have a few riddles." His people have once dwelt here, Fengel King claimed. Surely there were some pieces of lore to bring back, if he even wanted to. Perhaps not for a while.

[Vladim]

[Post 12]

Author : Maester1216

Date : Jul 1 '16 11:38pm

 

"It was alright I suppose. The Rohirrim it would seem have a great appreciation for oral history." Arphel responded matter of factly. She nods to those she is closest to within the group, Bella and Duilin, before returning to a wistful glance at the starry night. "The stars.... sometimes I wonder what they would have been like so many years ago. To gaze up from the spires of Annuminas or the walls of Fornost and not only see the beauty of the skies... but the strength that their light fell upon." A melancholic tone enters her voice as she finishes; she fidgets in her seat before turning back from the others attentions.

[Vladim]

[Post 13]

Author : Neopopulas

Date : Jul 2 '16 2:22pm

 

"There are great sights to behold still" there is a faint sigh though "But such wonders have past, it is true..."

[Vladim]

[Post 14]

Author : Born on the Bayeux

Date : Jul 3 '16 2:43am

 

Bella smiled through mouthfuls at Elerrina's good-natured jape.  "Well, certainly not the last plate, I hope.  And I am making room on the table one mouthful at a time."  She nodded back at Nori.  She could never tell whether dwarves were dour when they were happy or happy when they were dour.  It was a secret challenge to Bella to make Nori smile now and then.  But who could tell under than magnificent beard?

 

When she though the Bride wasn't looking, Bella tossed the mighty hound a gobbet of meat.  The beast snatched it out of the air easily.  Bella didn't think the Bride would mind but didn't want to take chances.  For a Bracegirdle to share something off of her plate was a tribute indeed.  What a riding-hound that would make for any hobbit.  But the Bride, let alone the hound, probably would not warm to the idea.

 

Gramtyng had many accolades for his songs and would have many more in the future.  But tonight at least, he had one unique tribute, his evocative verses had stilled the fork of a hungry hobbit.  A minor songstress herself, Bella was enjoying the novelty of being entertained rather than being the entertainer.

 

Arphel's wistful longing for vistas long gone had struck a chord with Bella.  Even if never still, my tiny feet will only walk a fraction of this world and only for the eleventy-something years granted to lucky hobbits.  But she would not add to Arphel's melacholy with her own.  "Listen to Elerrina, Arphel, there are sights still to see even for us emphemeral souls."

[Vladim]

[Post 15]

Author : Vladim

Date : Jul 3 '16 3:17am

 

The Bride thanked Gramtyng politely as he concluded his song. The lyrics had reminded her of the Woodmen's past, and their waning in recent years, and of the darkness that had returned to the forest where they dwelt. As she returned to her previous silence, a sadness begun growing in her, making the festive atmosphere feel alien. She looked towards Arphel, noting that a similar mood had taken the elf.