The White Horse

[Bêthberry]

The White Horse

Gateway to Rohan
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of a single voice, crisp and measured, could be heard reciting aloud a tale of adventure and derring-do.

It was quickly swallowed up by boisterous rounds of applause and cheering calls of acclaim. A busy hum foretold excited activity in this den of the wordhoard.

Catching sight of those outside, the Innkeeper, Bethberry by name, called to them in a melodious voice which carried clearly through the crisp air of the Riddermark.

"Come in, come in, to the mead hall, famed where names can be made for oneself and renown gained. Come rub shoulders with veterans who tell their tales of warriors and kings, heroes and saviours, and with eager young braves ready to prove themselves in wordlore and win the name of glory afixed to their pen."

The large-gabled hall with rafters of splintered red fir met the eyes of the eager valiants. High above, banners proclaiming various endeavours and rewards swayed gently in rhythm with the curling smoke from a large stone fireplace, the fire of which burned with a particular intensity. Its warm cheer illumined face and muse.

Benches and tables flanked the walls, surrounded by all manner of food and drink, pot and vessel, paper, book, quill, and quire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Welcome to Rohan, the RPG kingdom where you can cut your teeth on your own storyline and play with veteran and new writers alike. It is a place to develope an appreciation for challenge and achievement, accomplishment in word and story well-crafted.

Here at The White Horse you can develope new characters, get to meet your fellow Rohirrim writers, and find new adventures to play. Stay in character, though.

You can contact the Innkeeper at Bethberry@barrowdowns.com

The Inn is currently closed and under construction, but will soon be open.

[ November 19, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

Barrow-wight unlocked the small wooden door and walked slowly into the dark room within. Carefully, with arms outstretched, he shuffled across the floor searching in the inky blackness for the lantern that should have been setting next to the door but was not. He cursed quietly as his knee came into sharp contact with the corner of a crate, the clinking of the bottles within sounded eerily like chimes in a cold morning breeze. His fingers at last found what he was looking for, and he quickly opened the lantern’s glass door and lit the wick.

The light revealed a small and tightly packed storage room filled with many barrels and crates, all stacked in dangerously high piles that reached the ceiling. Markings showed that some of the containers came from such far away places as Dol Amroth and Erebor. The White Horse was the best inn in Edoras, and its Innkeeper, Bethberry, made sure her customers had the best possible selection of food and drink. Grumbling at the bruise that was sure to grow on his injured knee, Barrow-wight continued into the kitchen and then out to the main room of the inn.

Shivering, he made his way to the great fireplace and started a few logs burning. Late November in Edoras was already cold, and it would take a while for the fire to heat the large room. He stood and looked around, making sure the tables were clean and the chairs were all in place. The first group of visitors would be coming soon, and he wanted to make sure the place was presentable. Hopefully old Fróma, the cook, would arrive soon and get the ovens lighted. The morning crowd was a hungry lot.

Barrow-wight moved to the front of the room and carefully opened the shutters which swung inwards and were secured to the wall with metal hooks. The windows, newly imported from Minas Anor, were covered in spiderweb patterns of frost. The darkness outside was slowly giving way to the coming sun, and people were already moving along the street beyond the glass. He heard Fróma come in the back door.

“Hurry and light the fires,” he shouted back to the old man who was getting a bit deaf. “I already see people heading our way.”

He opened the door and greeted the first guest with a happy “Good morning!”

I can’t wait until Bethberry returns, he thought. I hate opening up. It’s too cold.

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Rimbaud]

"What, pray, is so good about this morning?" came the impudent reply. The Wight quelled the impulse to strangle the wretched mortal and instead bade him enter.

Rimbaud strolled in, examining every aspect of Bethberry's cosy tavern. He was dressed in his usual dark grey tunic, blue sash now jauntily slashing across his chest from his left shoulder to his right hip. After his initial perusal, he went straight to the table in the corner, where lay the Great Book of Rohan, and the tale of Thenamir's Journey and Guthrin's Lament. He sat, slowly, and immersed himself in the great legend.

He heard others enter and the Wight greet them cordially. What an odd replacement Innkeeper, he thought to himself. He found himself rather troubled by the dark and menacing presence of the fell creature but he pretended, studiously, not to mind.

"I hope we see some fine story tellers in The White Horse," he murmured to himself. The fire crackled warmly and the kitchens were abustle behind him.

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[*Varda*]

Shivering with the cold outside, Varda made her way to the door of the Inn, ‘The White Horse.’ Seeking shelter for a few days, and hearing of the Inn famed for its storytelling, she felt she could not pass through Rohan without paying a visit.

Pushing open the door, she noticed the Inn was quiet, for it was still early. Looking around, she observed that the Innkeeper was a Wight. ‘Strange…’ she mused. ‘Should make for an interesting visit.’ She moved over to the fire, where the red glow was emitting a little warmth, and heated her after her long journey from the woods of Fangorn, and the other mysterious places of Middle-Earth.

She eagerly anticipated the arrival of other travellers, to share the stories of long ago, tell the tales of the other regions in the world, learn the lore of the distant parts, where few people had been.

She noticed another traveller in the corner of the Inn, deeply absorbed in browsing the book, some of the old tales. In the meantime, she remained in the corner, taking in her surroundings, until some fellow travellers arrived, and the storytelling could truly begin.

[Rimbaud]

Rimbaud glanced up from his book.

"Hello, Varda," he said, his voice somehow carrying across the room. He knew the Elf quite well, from his travelling days. "There's a good story here, but we need more in this fine establishment, don't you think?"

[Thenamir]

Calenheled Redspear drew his cloak tighter around him, as much from cold as from nervousness, as he proceeded past house, barn, and storefront down the cobbled lane toward the White Horse Inn.

The people of Rohan streamed past him on foot and horseback in all manner of garb from beggar to prince. Intent on their own business they took little notice of the walker, short and thin as he was, but his imagination made it seem that they were all stealing furtive glances at him. In his mind they all laughed behind their hands at the poor boy from the backward outlying village who had the audacity to try his stories against the best in Rohan.

Of course, it was that very imagination that got him here to begin with, though it sometimes got the better of him. At home he had been a passable help with the chores and farmwork, but his mind was always elsewhere, daydreaming of the stories he'd heard in the common room of the local inn of winning reknown, glory, and (certainly not least) the hand of a fair maid in battle or quest. Many were the songs and tales he'd sought out and memorized, especially when he'd heard there was someone who knew some or part of the old tales of the elves.

His parents, not rich but certainly as well off as small farmers in that area could be, were kindly and understanding. They knew a skilled bard could make a fair living for himself and so did not discourage him from developing his craft as best he could in their village. But they knew he would find little audience and less experience in the small farming enclave in the Westemnet. And so it was that they granted his request to go to the capital of their land and seek out the true masters of story and song who could teach him with their example and their critiques.

Upon finding the door of the White Horse, he nearly turned away, and was only able to grasp the doorlatch through the anguished determination of knowing that here was the key to that which he loved best -- spinning a tale and holding an audience captive upon his every whisper, turn, and nuance. Plus, he thought, there will be warmth inside, and food. My money will not last long, and I must begin earning my keep as soon as possible. He pushed the door open and walked inside, trying to look confident.

[*Varda*]

Varda smiled at Rimbaud.

“So we meet again. I quite agree, the establishment needs more stories. I trust more weary travellers will come by and share their stories in this merry place.” Varda stepped away from the fire and to the bar to order ale. Her drink now in her hand, she sat back down near Rimbaud, and looked through the Book of Rohan. The stories inside it amazed her, and she wished to remember them, to tell to the Elves at home, or to whoever else she might by chance meet on the road.

She looked up briefly as a stranger came in. He looked nervous, although attempting to cover it up. She smiled at him, before motioning him over to sit with them.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Amanaduial stepped into the inn, lowering the hood on her travelling cloak to let a mane of red hair fall down her back. Her green eyes travelled the room with interest and mild surprise- she had certainly not expected the innkeeper to be a wight. Still, she had seen many strange things...

Said innkeeper now looked at the newcomer, taking in the slim figure and brilliant emerald eyes, along with the pair of black wolves flanking her. She nodded to him, smiling and he returned the gesture before turning and speaking to an old man.

Amanaduial took in the bright , cheerful setting of the room, with the large fireplace and banners on the roof and walls. Her eyes fell on a trio, two standing, one sitting with a book, who had looked up as she came in. An elf a man and a boy. The boy glared suspiciously at her, if rather hesitantly, but she didnt judge him by it- when you travel with a pair of little liked predators, you get used to glares. Still, now was as good a time as any to make new acquaintances...

She walked forward and the elf came forward to meet her, a smile on her friendly, pretty face. "Good day friend. I am Varda, from Imladris. What brings you to share our company?"

Amanaduial smiled, glad of the womans warm greeting and took the offered hand. "Well met friend. I am Amanaduial, from...elsewhere." She didnt want to reveal too much of her strange past at this stage. She had seen the trio glancing at the wolves. "These are my companions, Jet and Obsidian Lunalupus." To her surprise, Varda nodded respectfully to them. Immediately she had Amans trust.

The flame haired elf turned to the other two, the tall, rather handsome man and the nervous, rather paranoid boy. "I have introduced myself; how may I address you?" She smiled at the pair.

[Bêthberry]

Shortly after the Wight opened the shuttered windows, a brown and grey falcon appeared on the window ledge and then promptly flew in. It was Wyrd, Bethberry's messenger falcon and co-conspirator in writing games.

In its beak was a small scroll, which it dropped on the carved and darkened planked table in front of Varda. The mission accomplished, Wyrd then flew to the top of one of the red fir rafters, hoping that one of Bethberry's friends would kindly offer him a tasyt morsel or two. The falcon looked around for likely suspects. Would Rimbaud forgo his own tastes in food to feed the bird or was Thenamir, perhaps even the Wight, a more likely prospect?

Hunger mounting, Wyrd's sharp eyes began to search the dark corners, wondering if the Inn harboured any mice.

Meanwhile, Varda unrolled the message and read it to all,

Friends all,

There is a goodly supply of wood and our cook, although short-tempered at times as is the wont of cooks, is reknown for his stews and roasts, his pastries and delicacies. Mind you, don't give him the keys to the cellar, though, for we want our wine in our cups and not our cook in his cups.

I am called elsewhere, to attend to one who is preparing to sail West. No reading of the Grey Havens has been as sad for me as is this reading I do now. But I look forward to my return.

Fall upon each other's words and not your swords, so that I might find stories abounding to regale me upon my return.

Bethberry

Well, said Varda, to the assembled guests, it is good to know she thinks of us.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Amanaduial listened to the letter with interest but her thoughts and eyes were on the bird on the rafters. Patting her pockets with gloved hands she eventually found a small piece of bread, only from a day ago say and caught the birds eye. Its golden gaze travelled from her eyes to the piece of bread to the wolves and after a moment stomach won over brain. Wyrd flew down, landing on Amanaduials arm gently and gobbling the bread as the elf stroked its head gently, smiling at the touch of its soft feathers.

[Melichus]

Eledrim sidled slowly up to the entryway. Grasping the worn knob, he thrust inward and heaved a long, weary sigh, as if to say at last! The sigh had just escaped his lips when he drew in a sudden, hissing breath, taken aback by the scene that greeted him. What in the name of... In all his years of wandering the lands of Eriador and Rhovanion, rarely had he seen such a company as this: two elves (and one with a falcon perched on her shoulder), two skulking wolves, a sullen-looking boy, something that looked suspiciously like a wight, and--Eledrim nearly stumbled backward into the door at this point--that innkeeper from Gondor.

Striding stiffly toward Rimbaud's table, Eledrim narrowed his eyes, searching the man up and down. He started when the man suddenly glanced up from his book.

"I, heh, erm...you wouldn't happen to be the innkeeper I met in Gondor some weeks ago, would you? Rimbaud, his name was, if memory serves...no, no, it couldn't be. Sorry to have disturbed you." Eledrim had just turned to go when he felt a hand grasping the worn, canvassy cloth of his walking-cloak. "Or could it be him," he muttered to himself, turning around to face the man. Rimbaud was still peering up at him intently, but now a smug smile creased his face. His eyes narrowed craftily. "Perhaps you have been wondering, good sir, how the innkeeper of an inn in Gondor can bid you farewell on your journey as you leave his inn and be sitting at a table in a tavern in the middle of Rohan several weeks later, ready to greet you. Eh?"

Eledrim folded his arms, harrumphed several times, and glanced down at the man imperiously, trying to look as cranky as possible. "As a matter of fact, the idea did just happen to cross my mind, young fellow. Now, would you mind telling me what in the name of Eorl is going on before I do something unpleasant to that row of mugs on the counter?"

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Melichus ]

[Rimbaud]

Rimbaud, clearly looking unexpectedly youthful today, smiled pleasantly up at the brash newcomer and bade him sit at the table.

"Good Sir, let me show you something," he said softly.

Lulled by the blue-eyed Poet's low voice, Melichus leaned in closer, studying the Innkeeper's face. There was a faint scar just before Rimbaud's right temple, and a shadow of grey in the hair above, and Melichus revised his estimation of the man's years.

As he sat, he became aware of a slow paralysis creeping over him. Panic gripped him as he found he could not move his arms or legs. He tried to cry out, but the muscles in his face and neck were frozen. Breathing became impossible and the world stood still, except for the eyes. Looming in his vision, they swelled, piercing him, holding him captive, swirling oceans within pools within shadows of incomprehensible darkness.

Confusion and pain raged through his inert body and he felt his life-force ebbing away. All he could see was dazzling blue, blinding him, binding him.

All of a sudden, he was free and released. Rimbaud sat opposite him, sipping rather primly at a large flagon of ale. He seemed nondescript, his brown hair neatly and stylishly cut, his hands oddly well-tended for a barkeep. Melichus realised the croaking sound was his lungs sucking desperately on air. Wordlessly he stumbled from the table and lurched for the bar.

"Any further questions?" murmured Rimbaud, too quietly for any to hear.

[Melichus]

Gasping for breath and shaking slightly, Eledrim came to rest on a bar stool. "Great Heavens, man!" he croaked out between breaths, and, regaining a bit of composure, he shook his head slowly. "Dear, dear, I must curb this temper of mine. Hah, no, I'm not really as brash an old codger as you think I am, my good fellow. I can become unusually cranky when something is irritating me or when nobody will tell me what is going on. Hrumph! And the fact that you, you of all people were sitting there and staring at me, grinning like a fool!... Well, I was just a bit perplexed as to how you managed to show up here, you see! I certainly didn't expect whatever-it-is you just did to me, and I always prefer a friend to an enemy... Ah, me, I'm hardly the belligerent type, you see. Just a bit of a facade, I suppose."

Stretching his stiff arms, he pulled back his heavy hood, revealing a worn face, creased and leathery. A reddish-brown beard enveloped his chin and neck, and it was streaked here and there with strands of white and grey. His hair, the same color as his beard, was balding a bit around the top and might have been mistaken for a badly done tonsure. His eyes, though, were clear and seemed to radiate calmness and quiet wisdom. Managing a hopeful smile, Eledrim held out a hand.

"A truce, perhaps?"

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Melichus ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

The Barrow-Wight watched the crowd grow slowly until many of the tables in the ‘Horse’ were filled with guests, some eating, some drinking, some together, some alone. He was particularly interested in the grey-clad Rimbaud who had gained the immediate interest of the older fellow who had just entered the room. The two had spoken quietly to each other for a minute, and then the older man had appeared to swoon, swaying until he’d nearly toppled over the seated Rimbaud. The Wight decided to intervene.

Crossing the room quickly but so smoothly that he appeared to almost float above the wooden planks of the floor, the Barrow-Wight slid into the corner behind Rimbaud and spoke softly into his ear, startling the scarred man and breaking his concentration in whatever it was that he was doing to the other man.

“Perhaps you should refrain from such activity while in the ‘Horse’,” he whispered, “or would you like to hear one of my own songs of the mind? You’ll not need to look in my eye to heed my tune.”

Slowly, as if someone or something was restricting his movement, Rimbaud turned his head to the Wight and smiled a dangerous but friendly grin. The elderly visitor let out a gasp as if air had been suddenly pushed into his lungs.

The Wight spoke again to Rimbaud. “Are you here scouting for potential Gondor recruits? If so, you are early. As of yet, we haven’t started one new game and are still waiting for the first brave proposals.”

“Let us hope they are good,” answered Rimbaud. “We will someday have need of the best players to fortify the Tower of The Sun.”

[Elenna]

"Gentlemen, let's not argue," a voice called from the bar. The Barrow-wight and Rimbaud looked up, startled. Out from the shadows walked a maiden of the Rohirrim. "I am Elwyn. How about I buy you two a round, and we can talk about this like civilized folk?"

[Rimbaud]

Seated amicably over drinks, it took some time for Rimbaud to ascertain that the Wight had disappeared again, as swiftly and silently as he had arrived. Yet his presence remained, a palpable warning to behave whilst in The White Horse. The Gondorian Innkeeper swallowed his nervousness, and, seemingly unfazed to others watching, returned to conversation with the battle-worn Eledrim, who, the truce now complete, had some very interesting ideas regarding a Story he wished to tell.

"Dear Sir, do go on," said Rimbaud, in the same, purposeful voice he had used before, although now no-one heard the delicate threat that had been there before, in the rich timbres of the well-enounciated words. "Your ideas for a Tale in Rohan interest me greatly. I trust that the information I have imparted is sufficient?"

[ November 21, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Amanaduials hand froze as she heard the voice speak from the shadows, the voice of an elven maiden. She didnt look up at first but a small smile spread over her face. As the falcom fluttered away back to the rafters as it realised no more food was on its way, the elf looked up slowly.

"Well met, Elwyn, well met." She said softly but so her voice carried. The other spun around surprised until her eyes alighted on Amanaduial and her wolves. Her face broke into a delighted smile. "Amanaduial!"

Aman kept a straight face, putting her hands on her hips. "Well well. And what have you been doing with the ages since you left to go on some quest or another, not sending a word to your friend of the ages for, well, ages?"

Elwyn rolled her eyes and half ran across to Amanaduial, embracing her as Obsidian and Jet rubbed themselves against her legs and waist. As each released the other smiling, Elwyn gestured to the bar and they started walking across.

"Seriously, friend. What have you been doing all these years?" Amanaduial enquired.

[Susan Delgado]

She stared up at the imposing front of the White Horse inn. She'd been travelling for weeks just to arrive here, to see if the tales she'd heard of it in the Shire were really true. With a sigh of preparedness, she opened the door and walked in.

A dozen pairs of eyes greeted her when she entered. She recognised none from her stay in the Green Dragon, but she'd met a few of those on the road and knew they'd be here soon. SHe wandered up to the bar to order an ale, but her nose twitched at the scent of coffee in somebody's mug. How long had it been since she'd had coffee? She didn't know. When she asked about it, however, the barkeep looked blank and merely shrugged. She wrinkled her nose in irritation and ordered an ale, then turned around to observe the other patrons.

[ November 21, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Estelarion and Menelduliniel quietly entered The White Horse. Their silence was an unusual action for them, for they were usually flamboyant and merry in their entrances, usually uniting in joyful songs. They shivered a little and quickly made their way over to the fires to warm up. They nodded to all of the people they had previously met. They urgently whispered to each other in front of the fire. Menelduliniel looked very alarmed and Estelarion looked a bit shook-up as well.

Estelarion comfortingly put his hand on Menelduliniel's shoulder, then he rose. He fetched the two of them some mead and brought it back over to her. They sat in front of the fire and drank the mead and continued to talk quietly.

Soon, Menelduliniel seemed to calm down and Estelarion settled into the cozy Inn. They moved from in front of the fire, heaving their heavy packs, and deposited the packs by two large, comfortable-looking chairs in a quiet corner. They sat in the chairs and looked around the room.

"I wonder what new adventures will be brought here," someone heard Menelduliniel say.

The two looked around the room, as if hoping that someone would come over and engage in conversation with them...

[ November 21, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galadel looked up and down the busy street of the capital of Rohan. Her hood was pulled far over her face, concealing it in dark shadow, just as the rest of her was concealed in the darkness of one of the alleys. Hesitantly, the elf looked over at the old wooden door of the White Horse. Quietly she held a debate in her mind over whether she should enter that cozy inn or brave the harsh climate and continue on without provisions to the Golden Hall, where King Eomer dwelt with his family.

Thinking about the cheerful King of Rohan, Galadel's thoughts flickered back to the message that she had received from him only a month ago inviting her to come and visit him and his growing family. Only a month ago! And, in that short amount of time, so many things had happened to Galadel. Wincing from the old pain that sprung up from remembering her journey, Galadel thought about the past few weeks; how she had been traveling to Rohan, when she had been attacked by wolves, and her horse had been killed. She had then been stranded, with an aching wound that she had gotten from the wolves' attack. The elf had very little provisions, which ran out later on only after a week. Galadel had continued on then, traveling on foot, her stomach grumbling from hunger and her sidewound throbbing. The elf had finally come to Rohan, and though she had little money, she was extremely hungry, and so, making her decision, Galadel walked forward from the shadows towards the old wooden door. The maiden pulled her hood further over her face, so that no one should discover who she was. It would be very dangerous for the elf, for Galadel was the second oldest daughter of Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien, and now Galadel was the Lady of the Golden Wood, though she did not consider herself to actually be this.

Galadel, as quiet as only an elf can be, opened the door to the White Horse and entered into the warm and cozy room. Looking around, the elf saw many races, even a Wight, all gathered together in the room. Seeing a few familiar faces, Galadel smoothly made her way to the bar. She barely made any noise, and so, only a few people noticed her. Two of these were the wolves sitting patiently at either side of their master. They saw Galadel and quickly shot up and raced over her.

Amanaduail and her companions glanced up quickly as they saw the wolves sped towards the cloaked figure. They watched suspiciously as the traveler raised a smooth hand with a silver ring on it to stop the wolves from running headlong into her.

Galadel smiled as the two animals licked her outstretched hand and rubbed their warm bodies against her. Gracefully, the elf knelt on her knees in front of the wolves, and they happily licked her and rubbed against her. Suddenly, Galadel felt her hood fall down to rest upon her shoulders as one of the wolves accidentally brushed against it. Quickly, she pulled her hood back up, but not before the companions sitting at the bar had seen her fair face with blue eyes shinning and her golden hair falling smoothly on her shoulders. Galadel stood up, hoping that the two elves at hte bar had not realized who she was, but as she looked at Amanaduail, she saw a slight grin forming across the elf’s face, and Galadel realized that she had been discovered.

[tom bombariffic]

Just at that moment, the sound of a galloping horse drafted in through the window. As it came nearer, the folk of the tavern broke off their conversation to listen. Closer and closer they came, but apparently not slowing down. The clickety-clack of the hooves rose to a crescendo, and a grey and brown blur streaked past the window. The eyes of the inhabitants of the tavern turned down - the excitement was over. At that moment, a Thud was heard at the door, after which the horse streaked back past the window in the direction it had come from. As the sound of horseshoes died down, the landlord went to open the door.
There was no-one there. However, as he was about to close it, he noticed a parchment attatched to the door with a gold-hilted dagger. The wight gingerly removed the weapon, and cleared his throat.

"TO THE LANDLORD AND STORYTELLERS OF THE WHITE HORSE: In recognition of your upcoming story-telling contest, the travelling "gwaith-formen" talemasters wish to announce that they will be arriving within within a few hours. Please prepare 3 rooms for our band of fellows. Thank you for your kindness.

Then followed a cacophany of excited screams. The gwaith-formen were the most reknowned storytellers in the land, followed wherever they went by avid story enthusiasts. Not only would the other competitors get to hear the finest tales around, they would have a real audience to impress!

[Amanaduial the archer]

Amanaduial looked up in surprise as Jet and Dia pricked up their ears and trotted across the room. Looking towards the door, she saw a slim figure, graceful even though she was obscured by a full length cloak. The figure raised a hand and the wolves slowed their pace. As she knelt, Amanaduial was astonished at the way fawned around her for all the world like two huge puppies. She raised and eyebrow and caught Jets eye. The wolf seemed to nod slightly, and gently knocked the figures hood, causing it to fall, showing a womans face, beautiful and framed with long spun gold hair.

The woman seemed to panic and with unwarranted haste pulled her hood back up; it was too late though. Amamnaduial had worked out who the other was as soon as she had seen the face. She smiled slightly and walked across to the figure.

"Oh dear me, my wolves seem to have knocked you over!" She said, innocence and mock concern coating her voice. She held out a hand. "Strange isnt it, how they rushed up to you like that? It would have to take a real expert and an old friend to make such creatures react like that, wouldnt it Galadel Vinorel?"

The woman looked up sharply, making her hood fall once again back fromn her face, revealing startled blue eyes. She smiled immediately at Amanaduial, taking her hand and pulling herself up. "Amanaduial! Dear friend, how long it has been since I have seen you and your companions!"

"And you; the walking legend, daughter of Galadriel, it has been long since you graced my prescence!" She gave a mock bow and Galadel hit her arm playfully, laughing. She winced though and clutched her arm. Aman looked up, concerned. "What is it?"

"Oh nothing..." she started, but the other rolled up her sleeve and saw the wolf bite that marked her pale skin. She glanced questioningly at the elf of the Golden Wood and led her to the bar. "Tell me everything."

[Elenna]

Elwyn had seen the bite on Galadel's arm. Although she did not know the maiden well, she immediately picked up her healer's pouch and began to assemble a poultice of bindweed.

"Here, let me see that arm," she said, and Galadel hesitantly complied. Elwyn applied the crushed leaves to the small wound and bound it up with a strip of linen. "There, that should be good as new."

[The Barrow-Wight]

The Barrow-Wight again appeared suddenly behind the unsuspecting Rimbaud.

“What think you of that?” he whispered. “The gwaith-formen are not often seen in Edoras, but they have always been welcome. Let us hope they give us but a taste of their tale, for only if it is truly up to their well-known standards could we construct an actual stage on which they could perform.”

Rimbaud nodded. “Yes, I too am curious to see what story they weave. And, like you, I would like to see it turned into a role-playing proposal (sent to rohanproposals@barrowdowns.com) if it is worthy.

[Susan Delgado]

Susan got up and wandered around the room, watching the other patrons. She was getting restless, tired of sitting here, holding a mug of ale (when she really preferred the sweeter taste of mead) and waiting for someone to start a story. She paused near one of the front windows and pulled out the scroll she'd recieved, which contained a list of possible stories. She held it into the light and peered at its blotchy surface, then put it away with a sigh. Nothing on it was quite what she was looking for.

She returned to the bar and got rid of her vile, bitter ale in favor of the mead the White Horse was famous for. She'd heard they added butter, which was what made it so much richer than the stuff other places had.
She drank and watched the people in the inn, hoping that somewhere among their number was the one to tell her the story she wanted to hear. Perhaps when the gwaith-formen arrived, she would hear something worthy.

[ November 22, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[Galadel Vinorel]

“So, you see,” said Galadel as she finished telling her story to her eager listeners, as Elwyn wrapped her injured arm, “I was stranded, without food, until I finally arrived here today in Rohan.”

“You mean that you haven’t eaten in a week!” cried out Amanaduail as she sat opposite her old friend telling her exciting and terrifying tale of her adventure. When Galadel nodded, Amanaduail immediately called over the cook and asked for a meal for the hungry elf.

Elwyn then turned to Galadeland said, “You are very lucky to be alive, my lady.”

Galadel quickly jerked upright as Elwyn finished her statement and said quietly, in a strange, raspy voice, “Please, call me Galadel.”

“Very well, Galadel. And my name is Elwyn.” said the surprised elf.

Galadel smiled and stretched out her non-injured arm, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Elwyn, and thank you for bounding my arm. I was not able to do it myself in the wilderness. You are a very skilled healer.”

As Elwyn smiled gratefully from the compliment, Galadel sharp eyes caught a flicker of movement in one of the corners of the room, and turning she saw a man and a woman sitting there looking very lonely and sad. “Who are those two people in the corner, Amanaduail?” asked Galadel as she gazed curiously at the two lonesome travelers.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Amanaduial looked over to the corner, following Galadens gaze, to see the two elves sitting on their own in the corner. The male was rather good looking...

"Come, it cannot hurt to go and see." She started to walk across the room to Estelarion and Menelduliniel.

[Galadel Vinorel]

Playing along, Galadel smiled and walked over with her friend. She kept her injured arm tight against her stomach, trying to shield it from being hit by the crowded people sitting around the tightly spaced tables.

Galadel gazed at the two elves again, wondering who they were and where they were from. The elf had met many people in her travels, and she knew most every elf that had stayed behind in Middle Earth when the others had gone across the Sea to Elvenhome, but she did not recognize these two.

Suddenly, a man next to Galadel stood up, knocking his chair hard against her injured arm. Her breath hissed between clenched teeth as she gasped from the pain shooting up her arm. Amanaduail turned worriedly to her friend as she heard the sound.

[Mithadan]

A tall Elf wandered into the Inn. He was dark-haired and bore a scar on one cheek. His grey cloak was weather-worn and covered a black tunic and matching breeches. He looked about in distaste at the Mannish denizens of the common room before approaching the bar. He ordered a mulled wine then seated himself at a vacant table.

Nearby, an Elf maiden was being tended to by a healer. A wolf bite from the look of it. Such injuries were painful and could fester easily. He nodded to the Elf maiden in sympathy. She looked at him curiously as her arm was wrapped. "Do I know you sir?" she asked.

"I do not think so," he replied. "Then, well met," she continued. "I am Galadel of Lorien." He recognized the name but did not comment. Her mother's dislike of the Fëanoreans was legendary. For his part, he had no quarrel with Galadriel and had known of her while he had dwelt in Eregion. "I am Nardol," he answered simply.

Galadel inclined her head and introduced her companions. One, another maiden named Amanaduial bantered with him a bit, then asked, "Have you a tale to tell us today?" Others sitting nearby chimed in, "Yes! A tale! Do tell please."

Nardol sighed, and was silent for a moment for he was ill at ease among so many Men. But then, he sipped at his wine and began to speak. "An age and more ago, to the west of the Misty Mountains was the kingdom of Eregion. And that country was builded nigh unto that Dwarvish nation which is now called Moria. Much profit did the Elves of Eregion and the Dwarves of Moria have in their dealings with one another. Now the Lord of Eregion was Celebrimbor who was a mighty jewelsmith. And he was great friends with a Dwarvish smith named Narvi.

"Upon a time, Celebrimbor visited Narvi in the halls of Moria and the Dwarf showed him a spool of wire made from the finest mithril. And Celebrimbor, seeing the beautiful silver colour of the mithril conceived of crafting a stone which might shimmer like truesilver. But after many attempts, he could not make such a gem and he called upon Narvi for his assistance.

"So Narvi came to Celebrimbor in Ost-in-Edhil, the chief city of Eregion, and together they laboured. Narvi took the spool of mithril wire and from it he weaved a band which might be fastened and worn about the throat, and that woven band shimmered like the scales of a fish in the noon sun. But Celebrimbor fashioned a gem which appeared to be clear, and when he removed it from the forge he did not let it cool but joined it with Narvi's band so that the mithril entered the jewel.

"Celebrimbor's stone thereafter shone bright silver and the edges of its facets were silver fire. And if placed in the light of the moon the gem glowed like a beacon of silver. The Isilmir it was named and it was the greatest of all the works of Elves and Dwarves together save perhaps the Nauglamir."

Nardol fell silent, but Susan looked at him intently and asked "What became of this mighty work?" Nardol looked up and answered, "None know where it is for sure. But it is said that ere the fall of Eregion, Celebrimbor sent it into Moria where it was locked in the nethermost vault under mighty spells to prevent the chamber's opening. Moreover, it is told that the fate of Moria is locked in the Isilmir and if it can be found Moria will rise and become great again..."

[Rimbaud]

Hiding his fear at the Wight standing so close, Rimbaud steeled himself, and turned to face it.

"Indeed," he went on. "The White Horse will experience many tales and those of such exotic strangers are of no lesser creed. My only hope is that they are told in the correct manner, that you described! For I would dearly love to see new Tales scribed in the Great Book of Rohan." With this last, he gestured to the great black-bound tome. The Wight nodded slowly, then repaired to the bar.

Rimbaud sat down again, adjusting his dark ash-grey tunic, and shaded his eyes from the bright candles around. He peremptorily ordered a local ale, and was surprisd when the serving-man thumped the flagon down on the table, splashing his sleeve. He looked up, as to remonstrate, but the man had already moved on to another customer.

Rimbaud sighed, and set to drying the fabric as best he could. Those at his table felt some disquiet at his temper and remained silent, for a time. Elsewhere in the Inn, one of the Elvish creed was starting up a Tale, his mellifluous tones carrying through the room, as people fell silent to listen.

[ November 22, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[tom bombariffic]

But before he could veen open his mouth, the door burst open, and framed in the doorway were three tall, fair, strongly-built elves. Two were carrying the other, who was pale and groaning, his face white as a sheet. "Quick", shouted one, can anyone help my friend and kinsman?

Elwyn rushed forward and helped the unfortunate elf into a chair. "Whats wrong with him?" she asked.
"He was taken ill some two days ago, in the wild lands south of here. This was our nearest point of help. We know not what the problem is nor how to cure it, and though we have preserved him this long our skills in healing are exhausted.
Elwyn tended to the elf while the other two were adressed by the inhabitants of the inn. "who are you then, that come here in search of help?"
"I am himhith and this is my kinsman lhachlaure. over there is formenel. We wander the lands, finding food and hospitality as it comes."
And so began the introductions. Himhith and lhachlaure were just being served when a gagging sound came from the corner of the pub and formenel, who's eyes har rolled back in his head, collapsed to the floor.
Screams filled the room and various questions were distinguishable, mostly asking what Elwyn had done to him.
"I gave him a simple remedy, it can do no harm..." she began, panicking under the suspition of the audience.
"Fear not good lady, for he is in no danger."
"but he..." began galadel.
but, sure enough, formenel rose, a smile on his face.
"thank you, my friends. We are the gwaith-formen, and though we may have caused grief, forgive us, for we meant no harm."
The room filled with raucus appreciation of the act, although Elwyn felt slightly used, and the crowd begged for a story.
"Forgive us, but we are weary, we slept not the last two nights in a fight to arrive here in time. Let us retire, and there shall be plenty of time for tales come the morning."
The tale-tellers were escorted to their rooms, for the audience, despite being disappointed, understood. The conversation then began again.

[Aranel]

The young woman shivered in the cold air,pulling her cloak close about her.Her dark hair fell about her face.No one noticed her passing in the streets,and was content with this.She wished to go unmarked. Weary she was with travel and grief.She needed food,and thought perhaps some mead would not go amiss either.With a mixture of relief and anxiety she spotted an inn. The White Horse,the sign read.
Inside she could hear many voices,and this pleased her.Perhaps their would be no need to make conversation among so many.Opening the door,she entered.

She looked around quietly and chose a corner to sit in.She had not been prepared for such a sight as this!Elves,here?A Wight? Wolves!She quickly glanced to the door,deciding there must be better places to find a meal.The Elves she did not mind,but a Wight was a bit much for her, not mention the man dressed in grey see had seen.He looked to her to be in a foul temper.One of the Elves was wounded.

She rose to leave,but her way out was blocked by a group of the inn's patrons.Dropping back into her seat,she sat silently and watched.

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galadel watched the young woman come into the inn and she smiled to herself. "This inn is certainly filling up fast with many different sort of people, isn't it, Amaduail?" asked Galadel, turning to her friend.

"Yes it is," said Amanduail, grinning back at the golden haired elf. Amiably, she stretched down her hand and rubbed one of her wolve's ears. He made a sound like a purr and settled comfortably on the old, wooden floor.

"Amanduail," began Galadel, gazing curiously at the woman who had just sat down in a far corner, "don't you think that we should greet this new traveler?"

Amanduail looked over at the person that Galadel was staring at, but all she could she was a young woman with long, dark hair and an old cloak pulled about her to keep her warm from the harsh Rohan climate. Amanduail turned back to the elf next to her and nodded, saying, "Of coure. We should be hospitable."

The two elf maidens stood up, but before they could begin walking, they heard Nardol say, in a low voice, behind them, "May I join you, my ladies?" Galadel and Amanduail quickly turned around to find Nardol gazing at them from the shadow in which he was hidding; they had forgotten that he was there. Galadel smiled and said, "If you wish to."

Hastily, Galadel pulled the blue sleeve of her travel clothes over her wrapped, injured arm. She then took off her cloak, lying it neatly on her chair. The elf began to make her way to the young woman, while making very little noise as she seemingly floated by the tables in her blue dress, with the two elves and the wolves following quietly behind her.

[Susan Delgado]

Susan watched Nardol approach the two Elves and strike up a conversation. He certainly had a gift, and not merely for tale-telling.
She considered the story he'd told so casually...with a little embellishment, it might even make a decent Story for the Book of Tales sitting in the corner of the room and gathering dust. She glanced again at her meager list and shrugged, resigned. Things would come as they came,she supposed.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Amanaduial looked more closely at Nardol as he followed Galadel beside her. His dark hair looked as if the wind had messed it up, but the man kept running his hands through it, as if he was anxious or thinking deeply. And as she looked she realised he was indeed a thinker, a man of considerable intelligence. She wondered about the scar that marked his cheek, tracing his cheekbone.

He felt her eyes and looked around with a bemused smile. The elf smiled back then turned, seeing they had reached the young woman who Galadel had spotted. Not one, it seemed who came in search of conversation... but Galadel pressed on, seating herself at a chair by the table and holding out a hand. "Good day. I am Galadel of Lorien. What brings you here friend?"

The woman looked startled as she looked up, brushing a few strands of long dark hair behind her ear. She took in Galadel who eventually let her hand fall, in front of her and then saw Amanaduial and Nardol, then looked down, wide eyed to see the two wolves at Amans side. The red haired elf realised they had effectively surrounded her, a mistake when trying to make someone feel at home and moved around to stand by Galadel. The womans eyes were still fixed on the wolves however.

"Good evening ma'am." Nardol was now trying again for Galadel. "I am Nardol. This is Amanaduial."

She looked up at him and smiled back nervously. "I am Aranel. May I ask...erm, whose are the wolves?"

"Dont worry they wont hurt you." The womans gaze transferred to Aman. "They travel with me. Jet and Obsidian." She motioned to the wolves.

Awkward pause. "May I get anyone a drink?"

Taking the various orders, Amanaduial walked to the bar, musing on the three people she had met in the last few minutes. And people said this place had only been open a few days...

[dragoneyes]

A tall woman with dark blond hair came striding down the road in a foul mood, she got to the door of the 'White Horse' and flung the door open, a few poeple looked up from their conversations but most didn't notice. Haerin wasn't wearing any cloak and she was freezing but she took no notice, she was in too bad a mood to care. She strove through the crowds towards the bar and sat heavily on a seat.
"An ale please," she said to the bar-man,
"Coming up," replyed the wight, though Haerin didn't notice he was a wight, she was too busy with her own thoughts.
"Why such a bad mood?" asked the wight as he served her drink.
"Nothing important, just my brothers."

[Susan Delgado]

Susan watched the Elf approach the bbar. This one she knew; she'd worked with her before in telling a Story and found her decent to work with. She might even work with her again, who knew?

She smiled at Amanaduial as she approached and ordered her drinks. The Elf nodded a greeting and said, "Hello Susan,"

"Hello Amanaduial. Who's the Elf?"

Aman shrugged. "Don't know. She just showed up. Come and say 'hello', why don't you?"

Susan shrugged, amenable. "All right."

They walked over to the table where the others were sitting and Susan was introduced to Galadel and Aranel. Nardol she'd already met, and she peered out him sideways. Perhaps she could get more of that story out of him. Well, maybe later. Right now she had people to meet.

[Anglachel]

The light of newly risen sun glinted off the golden posts of Meduseld above and beyond the entrance to the White Horse Inn. On this crisp Novemeber late morning, a rather unremarkable looking man wearing travel-stained grey made his way slowly to the well known inn.

Though Anglachel was new to these parts, being originally from the area around Esgaroth, his regular travels as a merchant and goods trader allowed him to be comfortable at any inn.

As he approached the door, Anglachel finished humming his favorite traveling poem:

'Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.'

Finishing this verse, he entered the White Horse and made his way to the bar.

As an experienced journeryman, Anglachel was not too surprised by the amazing diversity of the inn's patrons. Nevertheless, he could not help but make note of the intriguing makeup of the crowd. Still, a traveler who's favorite place in the world is a cosy inn, will find little adjustment time is necessary as soon as one key prequisite is met. This condition he immediately satisfied by ordering an ale from the cadaverous looking barkeep.

Ale in hand, Anglachel could now fully relax and reflect on his purpose for making the journey to this particular tavern. Though everyone around him was a new face, he knew well of the innkeeper, and perhaps more importantly, knew of her reputation for running an establishment of only the hightest quality.

He took a deep swallow of the fine, dark ale and began to wait for whatever may happen next.

[Galadel Vinorel]

"So, Aranel," said Galadel casually, smiling over the nervous woman, "What brings to the the White Horse, one the most renowned inns in Rohan?"

As she was about to continue on, she heard a voice behind her say, in a slight jeering tone, "You mean THE best and most renowned inn in Rohan, do you not, my lady."

Galadel quickly turned around to find a young woman standing there with a slight grin on her face as she looked down at the elf. Galadel heard Amanduail say beside her, "Galadel, Nardol, Aranel, this is my friend, Susan."

Galadel quickly nodded at the tall woman, wondering how Amanduail knew her. Maybe she was a regular at this inn. Galadel nodded once again to Susan, and then turned back to the frightened woman next to her.

Aranel looked suddenly very pale, and Galadel realized that they were hemming her in again. Galadel motioned to Amanduail and Susan to sit next to her, and then she tried to strike up another conversation with her, hardly noticing the new young woman come storming angrily into the inn.

[dragoneyes]

"This is stupid," Haeril thought to herself,
"I could be having a good time in here making new friends but instead I'm sitting here stewing over some stupid remark my brothers said, yet again my brothers spoil the day." She glanced around but saw no one she knew strait off. She did see, though, a group in the corner sitting around a very lost-looking person.
"Perhaps they have just met then, and if they haven't, it still won't matter if I introduce myself." she muttered to herself. Haeril picked up her mug and walked over to the group, she hoped they enjoyed a laugh, she was in no mood to be serious at the moment.
"Hello, I was just watching you and I decided to come over and say hello, I'm Haeril, and I would very much like to make your acquaintance." She said with the cheeriest smile she could manage.

[Bêthberry]

"Well," thought Wyrd, "it's obvious there's no more food here, particularly something more to my liking." He fought off an urge to kill something.

The falcon swooped down from the rafters, flying just above head level of most of the guests and disturbing Rimbaud's fashionable hair cut with a slight flick of the wing. As the bird headed out the window, he saw approaching a women on horseback, leading three other horses. Her dark brown hair was tied back, hatless, but she wore a long sheepskin coat as protection against the cold.

Wyrd thought there was something familiar about her, but he couldn't quite place it. He flew to the roof of the stables, to get a closer look at her.

[ November 23, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel and Estelarion watched the different people.

"Is that a...Wight?" Menelduliniel asked Estelarion.

"I believe so," Estelarion said, laughing, "We certainly attract a diverse crowd here, do we not?"

"I wish that the Huin-en-Lhuig would stop by the tavern," Menelduliniel said.

"I do not think they would be well-received," Estelarion said.

"We would be kind to them," Menelduliniel said.

"Yes, well that is because we, too, are exiles in our own lands. We have travelled with them. Many think they are cold-hearted murderers. All of them have committed crimes, remember."

"Well, so have I, but people do not flee from my presence. And there are women physically as young as I am with the Huin-en-Lhuig," Menelduliniel said, "Anyway, once everyone heard their music, none would truly desire to drive them away, would they?"

"I do not know," Estelarion sighed, "People are funny about others who have murdered."

"I murdered," Menelduliniel said, looking like anything but a killer.

"I think of that more as a temporary lapse of judgement," Estelarion said, "You are not like Calenagarwaenion. He killed because he desired to do so."

"And what was Bran's crime? Tell me that?" Menelduliniel demanded.

"He killed his Lord, Menelduliniel!" Estelarion exclaimed.

"Now that was an accident," Menelduliniel said.

"Well, so was what you did to Poldorawen," Estelarion said, "And you see where that got you today."

"Comfortable and in a warm tavern?" Menelduliniel said, avoiding the subject.

"No, seeing the one you lust after in the street, crying and running after him, and getting brutally thrown back by his guards," Estelarion said, not letting his voice show any emotion, "You must let the past die. It is over. You will most likely never be allowed to return home."

"But he loves me. I know he does," Menelduliniel said, stubbornly.

"Has he ever told you that himself? Or showed it?" Estelarion asked, skeptically.

"Well, no," Menelduliniel said dejectedly.

"My point is proved," Estelarion said, sitting back and drinking his mead. Menelduliniel followed suit and did the same, listening to the tales being told...

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galadel looked up quickly as the young woman that she had seen storm angrily into the bar just a little while before came over to their table. The woman had dark blond hair and was now smiling.

Amanduail, after the woman had asked to join them, said, "Certainly. My name is Amanduail, this is Galadel, Nardol, Susan, and Aranel." The elf pointed to each of them in turn and Haeril nodded to each one of them as she took a seat at the table.

Galadel smiled at the young woman and said, "It is good to meet you, Haeril. May I inquire where you are from, for I noticed that you came into this inn without any cloak, despite the cold weather Rohan seems to be having right now?"

Haeril looked at the elf suprised. Galadel's name seemed familiar to her. Wondering who the elf was and where she was from, Haeril said, "You seem to notice many things, my lady." And then Haeril answered Galadel's question.

[Aranel]

Aranel looked from one new face to the other.She was not comfortable around so many strangers,but she forced herself to try and relax.She reached out her hand after a few moments to touch one of the wolves,and felt its soft black fur beneath her fingers.Tilting her head,she smiled slightly at Aman,and then at Galadel.

"Forgive me," she said in a quiet voice."I am not much used to company these days.Your wolves are beautiful."

The others seemed surprised to hear her speak,and returned pleased smiles.Aranel continued to observe the crowd,including the woman who had just walked in.She nodded to her solemnly,and to the others.Suddenly abashed,she lowered her eyes once more.

[dragoneyes]

Haeril looked at Aranel then at everyone else, who all seemed suprized that she had spoken.
"They must've just met then." She thought. She was going to say something to Aranel but Aranel looked down and didn't seem to want to be talked to, so instead she said,
"Yes, I only come from about half a mile down the road, I just stormed out of the door and forgot my cloak, hence my not wearing it." She said.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Forgive me," Amanaduial looked up at the womans quiet, reserved voice. "I am not much used to company these days.Your wolves are beautiful."

Amanaduial was slightly stunned for a moment; the woman had seemed terrified. But now Dia was looking intently at Aranel, with the womans hand still resting lightly on her head. After a moment she mentally shook herself and smiled. "Thankyou Aranel. I see they have taken a liking to you as much as you to them."

The woman looked slightly flushed and smiled, but less nervously than before. Galadel looked as surprised as Aman felt, staring at the woman with her mouth open until the other nudged her in the ribs.

The red haired elf then turned her attention to the new woman who had just joined them, who was also looking at Aranel. Someone had certainly got off on the wrong foot today...

"Yes, I only come from about half a mile down the road, I just stormed out of the door and forgot my cloak, hence my not wearing it." She replied to Galadels question.

"Stormed out?" Susan inquired. Amanaduial caught her eye and she smiled; she knew the other elf wanted to know just as much as she did. What a coincidence to meet Susan here...why, the last time she saw her was at King Elessars council....she smiled at the memory, then turned back to Haeril.

"Oh, just my brothers." She sighed angrily, saying the last word as most people would say "cockroach."

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galadel smiled knowingly at Haeril; her sisters used to annoy her sometimes as well. "Brothers and sisters can be like that," the elf said to the young woman, "but, you still love them."

Galadel then turned and looked around the table, saying, "So, who wants to tell us a tale?" All of them just stared back suprised at her. Galadel sighed and wondered if she would have tell a tale herself, since no one else seemed to want to.

[tom bombariffic]

Before she could elaborate on this, the gwaith-formen appeared from the door to their quarters. Turning to his audience, himhith smiled.

"Thank you, good people of the White horse inn, for your hospitality. My companions and I are well rested and looking forward to beginning our tale, some of which we shall perform if that is acceptable. We, however, are only three and our tale tells of four. Perhaps one of you good people would aid us in our performance?"

Beaming, he looked at Galadel.

"how about you, good lady?"

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galadel looked up suprised at Himhith. Wondering what he might mean, Galadel stood up and bowed. "How may I be of service to you, sir?" the elf said, a smile playing at her lips as she began walking towards him.

Himhith was caught off guard. He had never been bowed to by one of the Noldor elf, and this she-elf was the Ruler of Lothlorien, the daughter of Lady Galadriel.

Himhith smiled to Galadel walked towards him, and, when she reached him, he explained his plan to her.

[tom bombariffic]

The gwaith-formen and galadel retired to a separate room for a little under half and hour for the story to be explained to her, in order that she might help them act it out. During this time a stage was constructed in the main room of the inn, with tables and chairs set all around it. The audience waited, drank ale and chatted in expectation. The story told of realms far away, out across the great sea to the shores of the hidden land of aman, to which no elf present had ever been. The gwaith-formen were of Laiquendian origin, and any other elves present, galadel included, were born in middle-earth. It told of the Noldor's flight from aman, a common story among elves, but particularly of four elves, two brothers of Noldorian origin and a brother and sister of the Teleri, whos families had been joined through marriage, but who were torn apart by the slaying of finbeleg by maegrin her husband at Alqualonde. The story ended with maegrin stabbing his wife, played by galadel, for which the storytellers used a retractable knife which the gwaith-formen had fashioned themselves previously. Galadel was slightly upset at the subject of the tale but soon agreed that it was a most moving tale, and she was not afraid to narrate the folly of her ancestors, painful though it may be.

The players were greeted by a cheer from the small audience as they emerged from their room, ready to perform. Nobody had noticed that the gwaith-formen had come without their promsised "loyal followers". Without further ado they launched into their tale which told of the lives of the four elves from their birth in Middle earth, to the great journey to aman, to the noldor's flight to Alqualonde, and finally of the kinslaying. Gladel was too caught up to notice that the knife in her slayer's hand was not the retractable one she had practiced with.

Just as himhith, who played maegrin, raised his arm to stab galadel, the door of the tavern burst open and there stood three noble-lloking elves, with a swarming crowd of various different races behind them.

"Excuse us, for we are the gwaith-formen. I trust you recieved our message? We came to join the tale-telling, but it appears we are late. Have we disturbed something?"

The whole inn froze.

"then who are these imposters?" screamed galadel, turning to face her assailants. But the back door was open, and the three elves were gone.

[Aranel]

The realzation of what had happened struck Aranel quickly,but she knew even as she jumped to her feet it was of no avail.She felt the hilt of the sword that had been concealed by her cloak.The place was all now on its feet with her,and the confusion was maddening.She could not tell what Galadel's reaction had been,but she herself was greatly enraged.She felt her face flush and took a few steps into the room,but then,remembering herself and her surroundings,she pulled her cloak round her once more and stepped back against the side wall.The uneasyness she had felt would follow her always,but this elf had befriended her,and that could not be forgotten.What was more,she was the daughter of Galadriel.Who would dare to attempt this thing?

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galdel couldn't believe it. Why had those three elves impersonated the story tellers? Then, suddenly, realization hit Galadel. They had tried to murder her! She had thought that the knife looked too real. Galadel swayed as she realized how close she had come to being murdered, an d she nearly passed out.

Across the room, Amanduail saw Galadel sway and start to fall down. Amanduail started to rece towards the elf, but Nardol beat her to Galadel.

Nardol gently held Galadel as he knelt on the floor. He took the elf and brought her to a table, and layed her down on it. Then, he took some herbs out of his ouch, mixed them with some water, and poured it down Galadel's throut.

When Galadel awoke, she was surrounded by almost all the people of the inn. She blinked in suprise, and then noticed Amanduail and Nardol standing by her. Both of their faces were slightly pale and they were frowning worriedly at her.

"Are you all right?" asked Nardol.

"You certainly gave us a scare, Galadel," said Amanduail, her voice shaking.

"Sorry, " said Galadel, getting up from the table and standing on the floor unsteadily, her legs shaking as she remembered why she had passed out.

Amanduail noticed Galadel's shaking legs, quickly said something to Nardol, and went off to shoo the on-lookers away. Nardol quietly took Galadel's arm and led her to a seat. "Now, Galadel," began Nardol, "are you sure that you are allright?"

"Yes, I am," said Galadel, "Thank you for asking."

"Did you know whp those three elves were that you acted out the play with?" asked Nardol, looking at the pale-looking elf sitting across from him.

"No," said Galadel, "I just met them today. Do you really think that they were trying to kill me?" Galadel, getting paler all the time, looked over scared at Nardol.

[tom bombariffic]

The real gwaith-formen still stood framed in the doorway, trying to quiet down their muttering followers. They did not fully understand what had taken place, but realised that it was no laughing matter.
Aranna was their leader, and he coughed politely to gain attention. The focus of the tavern was turned to him and his companions. "we apologise for any disturbance we have caused", oblivious that he had just saved Galadel's life, "but may we be of any assistance?"
They were invited inside, while their band of followers either stood inside near the door, or looked on thriugh the windows, and there the whole story was narrated to them: of how they had been impersonated, of the imposters' deliberate choice of galadel as a helper, galadel filled in what had passed in their rehearsal.
"But who were these people?", asked Aranna.
"they left their knife!" remarked esgaltaur, second of the gwaith-formen. He bent over and picked it up. "there's a marking on the handle...but I do not understand it. I speak only common elven-tongue."
passing it to galadel, he asked "what does it mean?"
Galadel looked at the handle, and gasped.

[Bêthberry]

Atop the stable's roof of cedar shakes, Wyrd eyed the approaching group of horses, his sight darting rapidly from the rider to the horses to the ground where prey might be scurrying and back to the rider. Smallish, she was nearly concealed behind her horse's head, her dark brown hair almost blending with the mane of her sorrel mount.

The woman slowed the horses from a canter to a walk once they entered the packed, well-trodden dirt street which housed The White Horse and then, before they reached the Inn, she dismounted with a slight jump to walk the horses. She wasn't tall, her head barely reaching her sorrel's whithers. She didn't stop at the Inn, but led the four poneyed horses towards the Inn's large stable, almost larger than the Inn itself as befits a Rohan establishment.

Sensing the falcon's gaze, the woman looked up and nodded at it as she swung open the large wooden door. She was lithe, energetic and her every move was purposive and supple. Leading each horse to a stall, she removed bit, bridle and halter from the three bays and the saddle and blanket as well from her sorrel. Each horse she brushed down with both curry and dandy brush, standing so close to animals that her shoulder and hip touched their flanks. Each hoof she picked carefully, cleaning it of debris from the day's long ride. As she worked, she spoke to each horse and each nuzzled her as she walked around their front.

Growing hot as she groomed the horses, she quickly removed her sheepskin coat, flinging it over her saddle bags. She was attired in worn leather boots, which rose to mid-calf, a belted tunic, slit on both sides, which hung nearly to her knees and which was embroidered on the edges with cross stitches and flowers. Under the tunic she wore a wool shirt, curled around her neck, with long sleeves, and wide pants tucked into her boots.

She worked fast, spreading straw into each stall, then hay, before mixing some oat and beet pulp to feed the horses. Clearly she knew her way around this stable. Once the horses were cared for, she pitched the long fork into the pile of straw once again, to send mice and other vermin scrambling. Wyrd swooped down and she turned her back to the bird.

Her labours over, she yet lingered. She went to her sorrel, scratching his ears as he ate and combing his mane with her fingers as she spoke to him. Finally, almost reluctantly, she picked up her coat and saddle bags, and left the stable, closing the heavy door behind her and heading to the Inn.

She spied Froma the cook and hallo'ed him.

"Another run, Ælfritha?" he asked.

"Yes, a short one. Three bays to an estate skirting Fangorn Forest," she replied.

"You want dinner? Root vegetable stew or chicken pastries?"

"The stew, with your dark rye bread, thanks, Froma. And some wine." She glanced furtively over the assembled guests. "You and Bethberry have a large crowd tonight. I'll eat in the library."

With those words the woman Ælfritha strode away from the mead benches where the revelry was loudest and sought a large wooden chair, covered with rough, embroidered pillows, near the books. She plunked her saddle bags on the floor beside her, wrapped her coat over her shoulders and curled up into the chair, her legs tucked under her, to gaze at the curling flames in the fireplace.

[Ransom]

Sandor began to prance and play small pranks upon her rider as they road through the narrow streets of capitol of Rohan. She was a well bread warhorse, able to bear the weight of knights as they thundered across battlefields and withstand the sounds and smell of slaughter. Ransom Deviolana smiled to himself, glad that his mount was enjoying herself. Meanwhile, the Blademaster of the White Tower began to pick his way toward the White Horse Inn. Perhaps he’d find word his target there. Than again, perhaps it would be like most of his other stops-pleasant but fruitless. He sighted and removed his cloak, running through his black hair with his gauntlets while gazing at the locals with his black eyes. The road was ever long, and his quarry ever careful.

Ransom dismounted and lead the horse into the stable, going through the normal routine of caring for his mount. Soon, Sandor found herself chewing on some straw while absentmindedly killing the last few flies of the season with her tail. Her blue cloaked master smiled and tipped the stable boy to ensure proper care before quietly walking to the inn. He entered as inconspicuously as he could, covering the considerable amount of metal he wore (and used) with his large and heavy cloak. Still, the various clinks and bangs, not to mention the sword clipped on his belt.

[ November 25, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Aranel]

Glad to find herself forgotten,the woman watched for a while as Galadel was cared for.Taking a deep breath,she inwardly kicked herself.What had she imagined she could do,going for the sword that hung at her hip? She did not know how to use it.She had brought it to protect herself,but even that she could not manage.

Seeing the others gathered around Galadel,she did at least feel assured that she would be safe.Walking silently round the walls to the to the far side of the inn,she slipped through a slightly open door,hoping to find some solitude.The Gwaith-formen had arrived,but she was little in the mood for tales,and there was surely no chance of any tonight in any event.She stepped through the door and listened to their voices grow faint.

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galadel stared down at the sword in her hands, her face draining of all color once again. She was very reluctant to handle this knife it was black, an dshe could tell that evil spells had been woven about it for the killing of Elves, and their ancestors, who had seen the Light of Valinor.

Barely knowing that anyone was in the room, she slowly read out loud the evil words on the sword, "The Darkness shall sweep over Middle Earth and swallow up the Light. The Elves of the Light shall pay for what they have done to us. We will make them pay."

Galadel looked up at the rows of shocked faces around her and said, "This sword was made Dark Elves who never saw the light of Valinor. They hate the Elves of the Light, who saw the light of Valinor, and all teir ancestors. These Elves especially do not like us Lothlorien Elves and which to destroy us all, but I nvever thought that they would ever try to kill an Elf."

Amanduail looked over at her pale friend, and said, "You are no ordinary Elf of Lothlorien, Galadel. Of course they would whichto kill you. They tried to kill your mother once, didn't they?"

"Yes," answered Galadel, her voice very soft, "Yes, once long ago."

[Lone Ranger]

A considerable tip was placed in the stable boy's hand, bringing an instant smile to his face. He would make sure that the man's horse was cared for as best as he could. Pocketing his newly gained reward, the stable boy's diminutive frame was overshadowed by two passing figures.

The first figure was a dark horse, carrying straps and bags appearing as if they had seen ages upon ages of travel and harsh weather. The animal itself seemed powerful and healthy, lean and well muscled at the same time.

Leading the horse by it's reins was the second figure. All that the boy could see when he looked up was a square chin with a flourishing beard. The rest of the stranger's face was hidden in the shadows of a hood. A great cloak covered his entire body, forest green in color. It had also seen it's fair share of wear and tear. Sligh tearing had begun to erode the bottom of the cloak, and dried mud made interesting brown and gray patterns on the green fabric.

The stable boy meant to speak up, but could only gulp. The cloaked stranger went past him, horse following loyally -- to a stall, where the numerous pieces of riding gear was taken from the steed's body and set aside. Watching carefully, the stable boy noted the silent appreciation that the horse and stranger had for one another.

Faster than he could react, the cloaked stranger was standing before him. The stable boy stumbled back slightly, startled.

"Here you go," a soft voice sounded from underneath the hood of the cloak. Another tip was given to the stable boy.

"Thank you.."

The stranger was already making his way to the entrance of the inn, his worn cloak sweeping behind him like a banner in the wind.

[Morai]

A young girl, with chocolate hair and eyes slowly made her way to the inn. She carried her father's sword, feeling awkward carrying it in broad daylight. The girl was barely fifteen.

Finally Jaellyn made her way to the inn's front door. She hoped to go unoticed, at least until she could gather her wits. Her father and brothers had been recruited for an army. Leaving Jaellyn alone with her bedridden mother.

The young lady tighted her shawl and sat down. She hadn't slept in days. Too many things troubled her, hindering her sleep. Jaellyn sat down, hoping no one would reconise her. Her mother was known as the best pie maker in town.

Jaellyn wished she could go back in time. She missed the days of playing with her siblings and helping her mother. The girl wished someone could help.

[ November 30, 2002: Message edited by: Morai ]

[Helkahothion]

Before anyone could reply a tall man(altough so it seemed) came walking in the inn. He wore a hooded cloack and was much of a mystery. As he came in he toke of the cloack and now the group could see it was an elf.

He wore a long sword on his waist witch looked like a ranger sword of a D?nedan. He also wore a quiver with arrows and a bow on his back and a long battle knife in his belt.

He sayd the in keeper goodday and wandered where Bethberry was. He saw that all the visitors where packed together in the corner and he went over there.

"Hello everyone I am Anuion an elven ranger born in Mirkwood. I come from the shire and I am looking for tales and most important: Adventure"He sayd."Would you mind if I would join your nice group?
________
PROTECTION AND INDEMNITY INSURANCE FORUM (http://www.insurance-forums.org/protection-indemnity-insurance/)

[Aranel]

Aranel quickly opened the door and came again into the main room,her eyes wide.Though everything else that had been said was muffled,the words Galadel had read from the knife had come through crystal clear.She approached her,ignoring the others, and looked at her wide-eyed.
She dropped her gaze to the knife and then up again at Galaled and the others.
"I have seen a knife like this before."

[Ivy of the Woods]

"I knew you would make a mess of this, I don't know why I just didn't go my own way." said Helda combing her dirty hair with her a small comb, all they had left besides a little money.
"How could this possibly be my fault?! You're the one who insisted on stopping at that Inn when it was obvious we could only find trouble at such a bawdy place!" cried Mariah at her sister as she vainly tried to clean off her feet, now cold and muddy from walking barefoot.
Mariah looked up at the tavern they had stopped outside off. 'The White Horse' seemed a nice enough place, likely not too expensive. She only wished she did not look like a beggar. Her plain dress was so ripped and thorn it could have once been a gown of silk and no one would have been able to tell. A small kerchief kept her tangled hair out of a tired face, worn with built up anger.
"Oh no we're not stopping here, we'll only find snobs who'll kick us out at sight." argued Helda "I saw another tavern not too far back where we might even be able to pick up a coin or two."
Mariah frowned at Helda and turned on heel, walking toward the White Horse door.
"Mari-!" Helda's voice was cut off by the closing of the tavern door.
Her eyes surveyed the tavern as her hands ran nervously over her dirty skirt. She felt a small lump in the skirt pocket and dung out a pouch, contained what was left of their money.

[Mithadan]

A server thrust a tankard of ale towards the Elven Ranger, then turned to the door as two maidens entered. He looked at the ladies appraisingly, then secured two glasses of red wine which he delivered with deft dispatch. "On the house," he said with a wink as he turned away...

[Amanaduial the archer]

Amanaduial listened raptly to Galadels tale. The elfs face was pale and she was shaking slightly.

"You are no ordinary Elf of Lothlorien I think, Galadel." She said gently as she slotted the pieces together. "Of course they would wish to kill you. They tried to kill your mother once, didn't they?"

"Yes," answered Galadel, her voice very soft, "Yes, once long ago."

Aman breathed out slowly, turning the bizarre events over. Those elves, so deviously trying to kill her friend. So clever and so cruel- were the two fated always to go together? She gritted her teeth and looked down at her wolves, one fo whom was sitting by Galadel, his head pushed under her hand, sensing her distress. No one would take away her friend, no matter how devious. But she must unravel this...

"Will you tell me about it?" She said softly.

[dragoneyes]

Haeril looked on at Galadel, making sure she was alright, but she was tired. This place had turned out to have more confrontations than at home. She looked around again and downed the last of her ale. She noticed lots of new faces entering and lots of old faces leaving,
"Sure is busy in here today." she said quietly to herself.

Haeril looked outside, it was overcast and windy, not the ideal weather to walk half a mile in without a cloak. Still, it was her own fault she didn't have one, she'd have to 'grin and bear it' as they said.

Haeril walked up to the door and walked out, the cold wind biting into her skin, she ran down the road and out of sight, hugging herself tigtly, trying to stay as wawrm as possible.

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galdel rubbed the ear of the wolf next to her fondly, and he rubbed his warm body against her. Galadel looked up at Amanduail, her eyes were slightly glazed as she remembered a story that her mother had once told her.

"Once, in the First Age, my mother was walking in a wood near the outskirts of the Girdle of Melian. This was a little while before she actually met Lady Melian, though. Well, as she was walking, she came across an elf with black hair and dressed all in black. Galadriel thought that this was very strange, for Elves rarely ever wear black, so she asked him his name. He told her that his name was Morel and that he was a Dark Elf. Suddenly, my mother was filled with fear, for she had heard some terrible stories of how Dark Elves hate Elves who have seen the Light of Valinor. The Dark elf grinned evily at Galadriel, and tried to kidnap her, for he wanted her as his wife. My mother ran from him to the Girdle of Melian, where she was taken in by Melian. It is said by some that Morel swore death to Galadriel and all her descendents because she would not wed with him. Ever since then the feud between the Elves of Light (especially us Lothorien Elves) and the Dark ELves has been fierce."

[Morai]

Being exaughsted, Jaellyn payed for a room. She walked towards the stairs. Unfortunatly the girl tripped over someones stool. Letting out a scream, Jaellyn fell over. Her sword flew out of it's sheath.

Some noticing the accident started laughing. Jaellyn turned bright crismon. A stranger reached out to help her up....

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galadel turned, startled, as the young woman fell down onto the floor. Making her way through the crowd, Galadel bent down to help the embarrassed woman up. Amanduail, following behind Galadel, picked up the woman's sword and gave it to her.

"Thank you," said the woman, blushing slightly as she heard some of the people in the room break out in laughter. Galadel turned around and glared at the people who had just laughed, and then she and Amanduail led the woman to a chair and ordered a mug of ale for her from the barkeeper.

"Thank you for helping me, " said the woman, smiling, "I was so embarrased when I fell over that stool. By the way, my name is Jaellyn."

Galadel smiled back at Jaellyn, and introduced herself, "Hello, Jaellyn, my name is Galadel, and this is my friend, Amanduail. We are glad that we could help. Are you sure that you are all right, though? No broken bones or anything?" Galadel grinned at Jaellyn and handed her the mug of ale that the barkeeper had just brought over.

[Morai]

Jaellyn suddenly realised what she was speaking to. Her eyes opened wide with shock, quickly glancing at her ale.

"Don't worry I'm fine. Are you an elf?" She asked. The girl sipped her drink, grinning at the taste.

[Ivy of the Woods]

Mariah sat down a took a swing of her free red wine. One glup and the contents of the glass disapeared. She shamefully avoided eye contact with anyone, especially Helda and put the puch of coins on the counter. She tilted her eyes to ceilling after counting the coins and the rim of her vision blurred with tears which threated to spill down her cheeks.
Barely enough to buy a loaf of bread. Mariah blinked once or twice to dry her eyes, took a deep breath and looked at Helda
"We must make some good decisions now or starve" she whispered to her sister "This means you have to keep your mouth shut, you understand?"
Mariah's tone was so forceful, something Helda had never heard before, that her sister could only nod.
"We will search for a Lady in need of hand maids and enter in her service." Helda opened her mouth with a shocked expression but Mariah didn't let her get a word in edgewise "I don't care if you will not be reduce to doing something for some one else for once in your life, I just don't care. We are both going to look for some one to whom we can enter service. You're not leaving this one up to me to handle. Now come, I saw a well outside. First thing we'll do is wash up a bit, no Lady will have a filty hand maid and for once you must let me do the talking"

[ December 02, 2002: Message edited by: Ivy of the Woods ]

[lone ranger]

Having settled into the far corner of the inn, the stranger remained silent. He worked on wrapping his course hands in bands of cloth. The cloth seemed to be soaked with darkness, and what showed of his fingers were covered with dirt and dried crimson.

He took most interest in the elf maiden and the girl she was talking to. For a moment, he peered at the two from underneath his hood. Then he returned to wrapping up his wounded hands.

[Helkahothion]

"A good day to you fellow Ranger" Anuion sayd."I saw you sitting in the corner and know from own experience that drinking alone is not good. Would you mind some company from a fellow ranger?"
________
Vaporizer (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmixODIvAtM)

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galadel smiled over at the young woman sitting across from her. "Yes, I am an elf. I am from Lothlorien. Which is a ways from here. And you, I assume are a human," said Galadel, grinning, "Are you from around here? Or do you live in Gondor, or some other place?"

[lone ranger]

"I don't mind at all," he said without looking up from his hands. His voice was soft, but had a subtle strength.

"What is an elf from Mirkwood doing in Rohan?"

[Morai]

"I live at the bakery down the street. My mother bakes...used to... bake pies...she cant anymore...." Jaellyn trailed off. Her eyes seemed downcast, distant in another place. She desperately tried to hold back the tears.

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galadel looked over sadly as the womn tried to stop form crying. The elf leaned over and patted the woman slightly on the back.

"What is this bakery of yours called, Jaellyn?" asked Galadel, a smile playing on her lips and a plan forming in her head.

[lone ranger]

The Ranger's eyes looked past the shoulder of his elf companion, settling on Galadel and the girl. For some odd reason, he could not shake his interest for them away. Casting his eyes down, he focused on the sting of his hands instead.

[Ivy of the Woods]

Mariah walked outside leading her sister, who followed surprisingly meekly, to the well where she pulled up the bucket of water.
"Lean back" she told Helda and Helda surprisingly did. She dumped the cold water over Helda hair and face and Helda let out a gasp. "Yes, it's cold but you'll have to bear it"
They washed their faces and took turns washing and combing out each others hair, saying not much except for a complaint from Helda now and then that Mariah was pulling too hard.
"Now what shall we do for our dresses?" asked Mariah
The question was not exactly directed toward Helda who replied anyway "I saw a house back that ways that had some clothes hanging out to dry, one of the dresses looked about my size..."
"I don't think stealing is the right was to go about this."
The two stood for a moment is silence, Mariah thinking of where they could find suitable dresses, Helda looking around for a mirror. An old woman passed them, carry a bundle of clothes. The woman stumbled over her own feet and fell to the ground. Helda jumped up emidiantly and picked up one of the dresses and began to turn away, Mariah stopped her with a glare.
"Oh thank you" said the old woman "it's so very nice of you to help me"
"It's a rather large bundle you have there ma'am." said Mariah politely
"Oh yes. My last daughter was just married off to some rich noble, she's no more need of these old dresses now. I was thinking to taking them to my friend who lives not far, she's got a fine hand with sewing. Wrinkles and a weary hands haven't stopped her from sewing yet and she will be until her dieing day I say. It's a good thing too, my does she make the loveliest things. Why she made my daughters wedding dress, and my daughter needed a fancy one too being married to a rich man and all. He might be taking her to Gondor, that I don't approve much of. but who am I but an old woman? An old woman who busted her chops every day for her children, feed them, cleaned them, kept them warm at night, healed whatever caused them ill but no gratitude for me" said old woman, hardy pausing for breath.
"Well" said Mariah "Maybe we could take those clothes off your hands. We had a fire at our house a while back and my sister's and I have lost most of our dresses in the fire."
"Gladly deary" said the old woman handing over the dresses "Such a shame about your house. Why I had a friend about 5 years back who was careless with..."
"Oh dear we really must be running, mother is expecting us home" burst in Helda and dragged Mariah away
"That was a little rude Helda, we could have at least thanked her" said Mariah
"That woman has a lot of steam and I didn't want to stick around to see when she'd run out." Helda said impatiently "I don't think she could stop talking if she tried. Now let's get changed."

[ December 02, 2002: Message edited by: Ivy of the Woods ]

[Galadel Vinorel]

Feeling someone watching her, Galadel looked up at a ranger, sitting at a table not far away, who looking over at her. When the ranger saw Galadel looking at him, he lowered his eyes. Galadel peered at what he was looking at, and with her keen elven eyes she realized that he was wrapping his hands. Pity stirred in her heart as she realized that his hands must be wounded.

Excusing herself, Galadel walked quietly over the the ranger, trying not to let him know that she was coming towards him. As Galadel reached the table, the man and the elf sitting together looked up at her, surprised.

"Hello," said Galadel looking down at the two, "My name is Galadel. May I ask the names of you two, my good sirs." Galadel smiled at them, hoping that they would annswer her.

[lone ranger]

Eyes focused on his hands, he sensed the elf maiden's approach. His companion was rather silent, but he didn't mind. The ranger was used to, and often preferred, silence over conversation.

As Galadel reached a few steps away from his position, he peered out from under his hood. As she stopped in front of the table and as she spoke, he took in her sight.

"Though I have many names, you can call me Ilithorn," was his response. He sat up in his seat, and for the first time his hood slowly fell from his head -- revealing a man with damp and long dark hair and a full beard. Grey eyes locked onto the elf maiden, and he said nothing after that.

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galadel gazed athe ranger, she sensed a bit of hostility from him, and the elf wondered if it had been a good idea for her to come over here.

Looking over at the elf that was sitting across from the Ranger, Galadel smiled at him, and said, "And what is your name, sir? If I may so inquire."

[tom bombariffic]

At this point, a cacophany of clapping and cheering sifted in through the windows. Dark was falling, and outside the followers of the gwaith-formen had built a large bonfireon an open patch of land facing the White Horse. All now sat in a circle around the fire, seated on long logs that stretched full circle, and sang songs to keep them active and warm, while they waited for the performance of the gwaith-formen. a maid from the inn kept them well served with ale, and the mood was one of merriment. Even the stable-boy could be seen watching from the stable beside the inn.
The players stood on one side of the fire, and announced that their tale would soon begin. Esgaltaur headed quickly towards the inn, while Aranna and Tathartaur. the third of the players, talked between themselves.
Esgaltaur opened the inn door and cleared his throat.
"For those who wish to see and will brave the dark, our performance will begin shortly".
General murmurs arose, suggesting that the gwaith-formen should perform indoors, in the warmth.
"Sadly not, dear friends" said he, silencing the tavernfolk, "for our tale takes place here in middle earth and concerns the Moriquendi, therefore we must perform under the stars."
with that he bowed, and made his way back outside.

[Ivy of the Woods]

Mariah looked down grinning at the dress she wore. It was a little long but fit quite nicely and she loved the forest green colour. It was plain but still lovely. Helda's had much embroidery, it was not hard to see why she had claimed it before Mariah could even get a word out. They found a large mirror, broken into three pieces and they smiled on the new, fresh look.
Mariah didn't so much look at her clean hair or dress and more looked into wonder at the changes in her face. No longer did she look like the meek girl that was, she looked stronger and proud. She knew she would never be beautiful but she was far from plain or ugly. Helda on the other hand giggled at her reflection and flipping her golden hair over one shoulder, she really was quite something to look at. She was gorgeous really, and very mcuh aware of it
"It's getting late Helda, let's head back to that Tavern, the White Horse" said Mariah
They walked back into the White Horse and saw the players were about to perform. Helda sat near the bar, she winked and smiled at the bartender. Mariah rolled her eyes knowing now that Helda was her old beautiful self the flirting would be back just as strongly as before. "She'll never learn" said Mariah quietly to herself and sat down beside her.

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel sighed and made her way to get ale. She got a mug for Estelarion as well.

"I suppose we should get rooms soon," Estelarion said.

"No!" Menelduliniel said, "I wish to see what will happen!"

"But it is so boring here..." Estelarion muttered.

"Then find someone to talk to. I like watching," Menelduliniel said.

Estelarion scanned the room, trying to catch someone's eye so he could have a real conversation...

[The Barrow-Wight]

The Barrow-Wight looked out from the storage room at the interesting group of travelers that filled the Horse this day. He had not seen so many female adventurers since the Helm’s Deep Invitational Volleyball Tournament last Spring, and though he would like to think they were gathered here because of his manly presence, he knew it was more likely the bitter cold that had brought them hither. Still, it was pleasant to hear the soothing voices of women in the Inn. Since Bethberry had gone the place had too often rang with only the raucous laughter of the warriors of the Rohirrim.

He looked to where her bird sat now nibbling on a crumb some gullible visitor had given it. That creature is going to be too fat to fly soon. Wyrd had served as a reliable messenger over the years, and an insatiable eater of snacks. Eats like a bird obviously doesn’t apply to you, old friend.

Everything seemed under control for the moment, so the Wight slipped between the stacked crates and out the back door. The icy wind coming off of the White Mountains reminded him so much of the cold of his barrow, and he stood for a while simply enjoying the numbing paralysis it brought on.

[*Varda*]

Varda dozed peacefully in the Inn, before suddenly awakening. She blinked twice, and looked around the room. Certainly more travellers had appeared than there had been before she fell asleep. There were people from all races of Middle Earth, and although she wished to disclose little about herself, she wanted to know more about these people.

[Mithadan]

A rider wearing the livery of The Mark burst into The White Horse bearing a rolled-up scroll under one arm. He waved to those he knew, then proceeded to the end of the bar where he unrolled the scroll. He tacked up the parchment over the bar, then cleared his throat and cried "Adventurers wanted!" Then he backed away as the patrons crowded around the notice which read:

Findereg, Elf of Mirkwood, seeks adventurers to assist in a trade mission to Laketown. Reasonable pay and usual benefits. Payment of wages guaranteed in the event of untimely death. Death benefit doubled in the event of consumption by spiders or dragons.

For details, speak with Susan Delgado in The Shire. Please refer to the mission by name. It is called "Roll Out the Barrels."

[Kiara]

After weeks of travel, a lone she-dwarf wandered into the inn marked by a white horse. Desperate for companionship and aged beyond her years by her travails on the road, she timidly entered the room, where flickering firelight seemed to welcome her. To her dismay, a brief look 'round proved that elven characters abounded here.

The dwarf's quick intake of breath created a sharp sound that attracted the attention of some in the room. "Will they accept me here?" she thought, remembering all her parents had told her of the division and tension between elves and dwarves. Confusedly she began to back towards the door.

[lone ranger]

OOC: Sudden inspiration. Going to put this character on hold for a while.

IC: Without a word, the ranger slunk from his seat and made his way to the door of the inn. Nothing more was said as he left.

[VanimaEdhel]

Estelarion saw a she-Dwarf backing towards the door. He took a quick intake of breath.

"Estelarion," Menelduliniel said calmly, seeing his reaction, "Why do you not go over and intercept that pretty young Dwarf at the door?"

Estelarion shot her a dark glance.

"But...she...is...a...Dwarf," he growled.

"And you are an Elf, so?" she responded cooly, "And it is not like we can choose our companions anymore. She is a creature of Eru as well...well, most of Aule, but Eru still allowed them to prosper as they have."

"But...she...is...a...Dwarf," he said again.

"You said that before," Menelduliniel said in a sugary-sweet voice, "Now come on!"

She suddenly stood up and dragged him (literally) across the room. There, they intercepted the Dwarf.

The Dwarf gave them a startled glance, with a worried glimmer. She was obviously worried that there would be a conflict.

"Vemu ai-menu," greeted Menelduliniel in Khuzdul, the Dwarven language. The Dwarf looked at her with wide eyes.

"Vemu! she replied, "You speak Khuzdul?"

The Dwarf looked at the female Elf suspiciously. Menelduliniel did not know whether she had done well in this greeting. Dwarves were very protective of their language.

"I only know how to greet," Menelduliniel said, truthfully, "And to say farewell. I have heard them said upon meetings and partings in my travels. I do not know anything of much use."

She flinched at the hard look the Dwarf gave her.

"I am Estelarion," Estelarion said, breaking the ice, "And this is Menelduliniel. What is your name?"

Menelduliniel shot Estelarion a thankful glance as they awaited the new Dwarf's reply...

[Morai]

Jaellyn looked up. A messenger mentioned Adventure, and pay. She felt that was exactly what she needed. The girl immediately left to pepare for a perilious journey.

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galadel looked up as the messanger entered the White Horse Inn. The elf listened to what the messanger had to say. This suddenly made her remember why she had come here. To see the King of Rohan.

Galadel decided that she would stay at the inn a little longer and enjoy herself after her long journey, before she would leave for Edoras. The elf looked around the room, wondering who she should visit next and if Amanduail or Jaellyn were still there.

[Ivy of the Woods]

Mariah listened to the rider of the Mark speak of adventure and untimely death, with interest though no thought of going. She could not call herself an adventurer and wasn't going to risk her neck for a little excitement, in fact she had had enough excitement as it was.
She had decided to ignore Helda, the woman just infuriated her and thought about her and her sister future. Maybe she could ask some one if they knew of any Ladies passing through.

[Kiara]

"Parin Stonemouth," she finally responded, after much dubious lookings-up-and-down of the two elves. "From whence do you hail, and how is it that you come to be so friendly to one of my race, so much so as to great me in my own tongue? I am not used to such treatment, so I beg forgiveness of my skepticism. You see, I have travelled long and hard, and have not met many who would call themselves 'dwarf-friend' on my difficult road. Share with me your history that my trust might be gained of you all the more quickly," she demanded with a still gruff-edge to her tone. She hoped she looked tougher and more experienced than she felt...

[Estel the Descender]

At first his own people did not know [him], who went out young and strong, and returned now seeming as one of the aged among mortal men, because of his torments and his labours. . .

No one would have thought that the stranger who entered The White Horse was an elf save by his clothing and weapons. He wore an elven cloak of the Golden Wood, and he was armed with two knives which were made in Rivendell. His bow and quiver, however, were of the sort that the people of Thranduil would have borne, and though the bow was longer than usual it was neither as long nor as graceful as the bows of the elves of Lothlorien. The arrows of his quiver were evidently gleaned, being of various forms and of slightly different lengths. Yet his bow would have been of little use: it was in need of repair ere it would be effective once more.

What was unusual (for an elf) was his apparel: aside from his grey cloak, he was clad all in black.

Once upon a time, he was fair, but now had a somewhat haggard look. His hair once silver was now streaked with grey, the colour of his eyes. Lines marked his face, so as to give the impression of deep pain and sorrow mingled.

He had a sword once upon a time, but it had become so damaged that it had finally become useless and had to discard it but not without deep regret, for the sword had been made in Rivendell. He came now to Rohan, hoping to find himself a new sword if possible.

In the meantime, he desired to sup and rest at the inn ere he continue his journey.

As he entered, he noted that there were more females than what he would have expected at an inn such as this, but he had heard that the proprietor was a lady so this probably was not unusual. But the person who just left the counter did not look alike a lady at all. . .

"Vemu ai-menu."

Dadrantor (that was what the elf called himself) was startled to hear an elvish voice speak in Dwarvish. Presently, he saw two elves, a male and female, conversing with a dwarf. Though surprised, Dadrantor was pleased to see that there were still some elves and dwarves who were friends. Just like in the Elder Days he thought. Then he noted the suspicious look of the dwarf, and when the lady-elf spoke once more the dwarf gave her a hard look.

Oh no, not again. . .

The male-elf then seemed to pacify the angry dwarf, for the dwarf responded courteously enough.

After much hesitation, Dadrantor decided to join them. But as he made his way toward them, his attention was caught by another elf-female who looked strangely familiar.


It was then that Galadel, who was looking around the room, noticed that a Dark Elf in black was looking at her strangely.

[ December 05, 2002: Message edited by: Estel the Descender ]

[Ivy of the Woods]

"Mariah, just stop worrying and have a drink with me. It'll calm you down and bit" said Helda
"Where did you get a..." Mariah saw the pouch of money on the bar counter. "Helda you fool woman!"
Mariah jumped to her feet and didn't bother to quiet her voice.
"What are you thinking?! Do you realise we can't be wasting our money on drinks?! Do you realise that is all the money we have?! You're going to lead us to a life of begging!" she yelled
"Mariah, quiet down. We'll find some more money soon-" said Helda through her teeth, looking around her at the people staring at them.
"What on earth makes you think that?! You can't get by all your life with a wink and a kiss! I've put up with your flirting and your spending long enough Helda!"
"I liked you better before Mariah," said Helda cooly though her cheeks were red with anger "You can just get along without me"
Helda grabbed the small pouch and almost ran out the door. Mariah made to stop her but ran into a darkly clad elf and was knocked backward into a chair which tipped her onto the floor.

[ December 05, 2002: Message edited by: Ivy of the Woods ]

[Morai]

Jaellyn once again, entered the Inn. She had a disapointed look on her face. No one would take care of her mother, so the girl was stuck. Making things worse, Jaellyn's family hadn't been able to pay their taxes. On her way, she had seen men knocking at her door, with an eviction notice. The girl wondered if she should go to someone for help.

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galadel gazed at the elf who had just entered the room. From his clothing you would not have percieved that he was an elf, but he was. The elf seemed terribly familiar. Wondering who he was, Galadel crossed over to the bar, all the while with her gaze fixed on the elf.

Galadel ordered some ale, and then sat down on a bar stool. Ske saw the elf glance over at her as he talked with the other guests. The female elf could not place this other elf, though she was very sure that she had seen him before.

'I wonder why he is wearing such dark and strange taveling clothes,' thought Galadel. Picking up her ale, Galadel began to slowly sip her drink, with her gazed fixed all the while on the elf across the room.

[ December 05, 2002: Message edited by: Galadel Vinorel ]

[Kiara]

The group made up of the two elven figures and the she-dwarf made their acquaintances and moved towards a table in order to further their knowledge of one another.

"In all truth, I have come here looking for support in a quest of avengement. I realize the implications of this: it will take weeks merely to prepare for our journey, perhaps until "Afteryule", as the halflings (who I have so recently quitted) have aptly named the following month...the dwarven fellow who proposes to lead our journey is Dwarin Thunderhammer, perhaps you have heard of him? Please, I seek aid of the dwarven kind, though some men would be most welcome. I am, unfortunately, unsure of what roles elven folk could have with us, but that is only due to my ignorance of you and your kin, and of their view of me and mine. Enlighten me that it might add to my joy at your acquaintance."

[ December 06, 2002: Message edited by: Kiara ]

[Estel the Descender]

She looks so much like Celebrian, thought Dadrantor, and yet younger. Nay, her looks are different. . .

Thinking twice about joining the two other elves with the dwarf, Anyway, the dwarf might think all the elves in this inn are beginning to gang up on him, Dadrantor decided to approach the other elf-female who seemed strangely familiar.

Most definitely a Finarfin Elf. Yet she hath blue eyes unlike any of her kindred. If she did not look so familiar I would have mistaken her as one of the Vanyar come back to Middle-earth.

"What are you thinking?! Do you realise we can't be wasting our money on drinks?! Do you realise that is all the money we have?! You're going to lead us to a life of begging!"

Dadrantor looked for a while at the shouter, then turned to walk towards the Finarfin Elf, or so he deemed. No point in staring. . . thought he, hoping not to humiliate the shouter nor her already embarrased companion.

But just as he reached the elf-female, one of the women (he was not sure whether it was the shouter or her now furious companion) ran into him and was knocked backward into a chair which tipped her onto the floor.

The greeting Dadrantor prepared for Galadel died on his lips as he stooped to raise the fallen woman, saying, 'Hullo! Are ye alright?'

*********************************************

IMPORTANT NOTE! Parin Stonemouth, as you all already know, is a she-dwarf. Dadrantor committed a common error among other races because it has been said that she-dwarves

. . . are in voice and appearance, and in garb if they must go on a journey, so like dwarf-men that the eyes and ears of other peoples cannot tell them apart

The other elves were able to detect the difference but Dadrantor, being suddenly distracted by both the sight of a familiar face and later an accident was not able to perceive the truth. He might later learn his error to his great embarrasment.

[ December 16, 2002: Message edited by: Estel the Descender ]

[Ivy of the Woods]

Mariah watched the door close behind Helda with a sigh. She looked up at the Dark elf and rubbed the back of her head.
"I'm alright, thank you Sir." she said "I'm sorry for running into you, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."
She blushed slightly, noticing some of the people had been watch her scene.
"Just watching my life run out the door" she mumbled to herself, then blushed again hoping no one had heard. "Terribly sorry again. If there's anything I can do..." she found herself oddly stumbling over words "Mariah Ivana... my name that is."
Mariah imagined she must be as red as the apples in spring and vainly tried to smooth over her embarassment.

[ December 06, 2002: Message edited by: Ivy of the Woods ]

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galadel watched as the elf approached her. Suddenly, a woman shot by her and knocked into the elf. Suppressing a laugh, the female elf watched as the male elf and the woman fell down. As Galadel watched, the elf stood up and offered his apologies, and the woman did the same. Galadel smiled as the woman turned red, for she was very embarrassed.

'Poor woman' thought Galadel, 'I wish that I could help her in some way.' Making up her mind, Galadel began to stand up from her seat at the bar.

[ December 06, 2002: Message edited by: Galadel Vinorel ]

[Estel the Descender]

'And I am called "Descender" which is my name in the common tongue. Nay, it is I who should apologise. If it were not for me, ye would have caught up with yer companion. But fear not, I deem that there is still life within ye and hath not ran out as yet. Here, let me help you up.'

Dadrantor could not help but notice Mariah's simple and shy beauty. She must be really embarrased to be THAT red, thought the elf with both amusement and pity.

But as he helped Mariah up, both she and Galadel saw a brief flash of what seemed to be anger in the elf's face followed by a wave of pain and sorrow. The moment passed, however, and he looked tenderly at Mariah.

'I hope that you aren't hurt,' asked the Dark Elf to Mariah. Then he noticed Galadel. Placing his right hand at his breast, he bowed to her and said,

'Meneg suilaid, hiril nîn: le buiathon. Esto nin i-Dhadrantor, Mor-edhel Eryn Lasgalena
(Greetings, mi-lady. I am at your service. Call me the Descender, a Dark Elf from The Wood of Greenleaves [the new name of Mirkwood]).'

A Dark Elf! thought Galadel. She remembered suddenly the Dark Elves who attempted to kill her earlier.

'Mae govannen, Dadrantor. Im Galadel, iell Celeborn a Galadriel o Lothlórien (Well met, Descender. I am Galadel, daughter to Celeborn and Galadriel of Lothlórien).' Then, speaking directly into his mind (for she was the daughter of Galadriel after all), Galadel added, I recognise you, though I do not remember when I saw you last. Your Elven cloak tells me that you passed by Lórien ere we met.

It is true, Lady Galadel, I did dwell in Lothlórien for some time, and this cloak was given me by Galadriel herself. And I recognise you too though I also do not remember when we met.

Speaking to both women, Dadrantor said, 'Please Lady Galadel and Miss Mariah, come and share a meal with me,' Lady Galadel, the maid, Mariah, seems to be hungry--she will not be too shy if you were to accompany her as she eats, 'so I may not eat alone.'

Dadrantor then noticed that Mariah was barefoot. She needs shoes, thought the elf, Once we are done eating, I'll see if we can find a shoe-maker so we can get her some sh---

Dadrantor's thoughts were interrupted as Galadel caught his glance and looked deeply into his eyes, searching his inmost mind.

[ December 16, 2002: Message edited by: Estel the Descender ]

[Ivy of the Woods]

Mariah listened with interest to the elves greetings, though unable to understand a word they were saying.
"Please Lady Galadel and Miss Mariah, come and share a meal with me," said Dadrantor "So I may not eat alone."
She would hate to turn him down, she felt she would certainly need friends at such a time but the last of Mariah's coin had left with her sister and Mariah was never one to accept pity or charity lightly.
Opening her mouth to politely tell him she was not hungry, she noticed Dadrantor was looking at her bare feet and turned twice as red as before. As his glance turned to the elven lady, Mariah tunged on dress to fit it a little lower and bent her knees so her feet were no longer visible.
"I'm afraid I can't accept your apology Master Descender," she said, changing the subject "I might have to thank you instead, the fall I took caused me less damage than another day with a companion like Helda would."
Discomfort flashed across Mariah's face as her stomach made a noise giving away her hunger.
"I, um... can't accept your offer to eat with you either" she didn't think she could turn much redder, now that her cheeks were crimson "I have no money left with me and nothing of any value with me"

[ December 08, 2002: Message edited by: Ivy of the Woods ]

[Estel the Descender]

'I'm afraid I can't accept your apology Master Descender,' Mariah said, 'I might have to thank you instead, the fall I took caused me less damage than another day with a companion like Helda would.'

Release me! -Dadrantor

Not until I know who you really are. -Galadel *

Discomfort flashed across Mariah's face as her stomach made a noise giving away her hunger.

'I, um... can't accept your offer to eat with you either,' she didn't think she could turn much redder, now that her cheeks were crimson, 'I have no money left with me and nothing of any value with me.'

'But you are mistaken,' answered Dadrantor, showing no sign of the struggle he experienced, 'Your company is of immeasurable value to me who has spent many mealtimes alone.'

'I would be truly honoured if you would accompany me with my meal,' he continued, 'Worry not! It's on me!'

---------------------------------------------

*Note to Galadel: please refer to your PM. Thank you! smilies/smile.gif

Further note: I will be gone for a while but will be back by 14 December, Saturday.

[ December 08, 2002: Message edited by: Estel the Descender ]

[Ivy of the Woods]

Mariah nodded with a look of shame, but nodded all the same.
"Since you insist Master Descender, I'll oblige" she replied and added to herself; And find some way to repay you
Her eyes swept to the Inn's window and caught sight of her sister outside talking to a man, a merchant, Mariah judged by his carriage and attire. Helda was quite visibly giggling as she flipped back her gold wrung hair. The merchant made a bow and gestered to his carriage causing Helda to beam with delight. With a hand from the merchant she joined him in his wagon and with a hand signal the carriage drove out.
Mariah sighed and returned her focus to where she was.

[VanimaEdhel]

Estelarion looked to Menelduliniel, who was generally the one to speak for them.

"We," she said, gesturing to Estelarion and herself, "Are merely travellers. I consider myself not one of the Elf kindred as of now, since my exile. I fear that I would be of no help in enlightening you to the ways of Elves today. I have not been back to any Elvish city in many years. Animosity was not so strong between Elves and Dwarves back then.

"Back then, the Elves seemed to me, at least, young though I was, to be waning. I see that they are still. Although we were still high then, we have not as much sway in the workings of the world as we once had. Dark forces and even men had more influence, sadly.

"Many have begun to leave. Many Elves, that is. They are leaving the shores now, I hear, and are heading towards the Grey Havens. We, however," Menelduliniel said, gesturing to Estelarion and herself, "Have no desire to leave, as of yet. I do not know whether I would be welcomed there, after my exile. I may be forced to wait her. I know not.

"Someday we may travel over the sea, but, for now, I believe we should look for every opportunity to explore this land before we depart these shores. I know not whether we would be fit to go on this journey that you speak of. You may be right that there is no place for us. But, I may know of many that may join. We have met many Dwarves and men on our journeys that may suit the quest.

"You wish to avenge you say? Well, be careful that you choose this revenge wisely. A similar situation put me in the circumstances you find me in. If it were not for Estelarion, I would probably be dead.

"Now," Menelduliniel said, finishing, "Is there anything else you desire to know?"

Estelarion raised one eyebrow at Menelduliniel's maturity. She usually did not display such a personality. Menelduliniel obviously respected this Dwarf and wanted her to like them. He waited for Parin's reply, hoping that Parin would show the same respect, as Menelduliniel had gone against her typical personality for this Dwarf, and he hoped that it would encourage her to act with less of a quixotic nature in the future...

[ December 08, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Morai]

Jaellyn thought of getting some work. She knew there was some good jobs in a nearby village. Though it would be tough taking care of her mom also. The girl decided to leave and seek the job.

[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: Morai ]

[Bêthberry]

Slowly, one of the large wooden doors, cross-hatched with iron bands, swung open with the concerted effort of a woman. She was wrapped in a deep violet cloak and carrying a large, heavy, leather bag. The woman looked weary, pensive, perhaps even dispirited.

It was Bethberry, back from her own lonely quest for Goldberry's song in Middle Earth--a song not heard since Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin wound their way out of the Old Forest. The ancient lays of the River-daughter were being forgotten. Yet now the cold clung in the air like a dank fog, imitating the barrow downs and Goldberry was gone, gone on her own most momentous journey into the dark underground where none could follow, for our sight extends no farther than the horizon. It was time for the Innkeeper to return to her duties here at The Horse, close enough to Fangorn Forest that she could feel the Arda of old, Arda unmarred, as it was also in her home in the Old Forest.

"Brrr," shivered Bethberry. "Cold makes for little inspiration for stories and RPGs. No wonder there is so little productive activity here at The White Horse."

It was obvious that the fires would need to be stoked. Bethberry left her cloak and bag in the small room off the kitchen and came back carrying a large leather sac filled with fatwood sticks and pine cones. She restacked the logs of pine and fir in the large main fireplace, interlarding them with the fatwood sticks for faster kindling and placing pine cones on the top of the fire. The fatwood sticks sputtered and caught, wisping fire up around the logs. The cones had been larded with resin and dried leaves and when they caught fire they threw out glorious colours of carmine, gold, lapus lazuli, azure, and magentas. Bethberry then went to the smaller fireplace in the wordhoard and repeated her ritual, where quickly the light and warmth threw dancing webs around the meadhall. Soon, the faces of all the patrons in The White Horse were lined and linked by a brilliant yellow illumination, a spider web of light and inspiration.

Rising, Bethberry came face to face with Aman, who greeted her warmly with a hug which Bethberry returned fondly. "Aman, my dear, it is good to see you here, but even more interesting to see such possibilities for new characters for you." Aman looked quizzically at the older woman. Bethberry turned and spoke to Jet first and then Obsidian. They whimpered and retreated, clearly aware of their error. "Stay back from the patrons, wolves; they are under my protection. Lie under the sideboard where you can gnaw on bones and scraps. Later I shall expect you to tell me what brought you to such a point." Jet yawned, baring his fangs, but dropped his head on his paws. Obsidian growled a meek defense, "We are not always ourselves. Something or someone binds us." Bethberry nodded to him.

"Watch them carefully, Aman, and see what voices and characters you can give them on a quest."

"I will, but Bethberry, you wouldn't believe it. Barrow Wight was here."

"What? A wight? Barrow Wight himself? No wonder 'tis so cold."

"He's searching for word treasures."

"Aren't we all. Well, as long as he leaves his sword at the door, even the Barrow Wight is welcome here, as long as he recognizes this is a Bombadil establishment." A trace of a smile wrinkled around Bethberry's mouth. "A bit of fear is good for stoking action and imagination. And I can always sing a few songs so silly and so utterly preposterous that even the fearful Barrow Wight must succumb to laughter."

Aman grinned at the thought.

"Tell me, Aman, have any stories developed into games?"

"None yet."

"None? Not any? Not the gwaith-formen's? Have you discussed with Galadel her strange invitation to the Golden Hall? Would Estel or any of our many elves want to accompany her? So many elves! What have elves to do with the Riddermark? Have none sought to find this fabled jewel of which Nardol speaks? Not even Anglachel the merchant?"

Aman shook her head.

"Well, then, I must speak to Kiara. She has a story to tell and a quest. I would like to hear more of it. I hope she will comply, for she can handle a quest here." Bethberry smiled a warm, broad smile in the direction of the young dwarf lass, who she hoped would stay, and then she turned to face everyone in the meadhall.

"Come now, we can't turn The Horse into a rooming house. It is a thundering narrows where river water runs, full of turbulence and ideas and wildly spraying mist which refreshes us all, but the water must flow on or we turn Edoras into a flooded, boggy plain of peat and marsh."

Bethberry looked around, catching every eye with a raised eyebrow.

"The Proposal form will shortly be posted, but you must start your own conversations via PM with those you might want to join you on your quests. Or scribble your rough ideas down on paper for Gandalf the Grey and Susan to read as well. I wonder. Perhaps those who have become too fond of aimless socializing might rediscover some purpose if I sent them to muck out the stalls in the stable."

"But you can't think on empty bellies. Let me see what our cook has in store for us."

Bethberry nodded at several of the patrons as she walked back towards the kitchen, where old Fróma was preparing an extravagant feast. He welcomed her with a squint and a nod and then a sudden, silent hug, which she submitted to, silently holding her nose away from his beery breath but appreciating his unusual sentiment.

An entire side of beef, crusted with peppers and mustard, turned on the spit in one of the fires, which was rimmed with pans of breads baking. In the second fire hung a huge cauldron full of a cream soup made from puréed carrots and parsnips. Bethberry tasted it and, when Fróma wasn't looking, she emptied not one but two bottles of sherry into the cauldron. Casseroles of chicken with currents, rabbit and onion competed for the cauldron with space and the counters were laden with platters of spiced sausages and meat pastries, hard cheeses and olives, pickled mushrooms and beets, wilted cucumbers with radishes, and tureens of salad greens. On the sideboard stood bowls of late fall apples and rare oranges, rhubarb dumplings and berry cobblers, even steamed puddings with sauces sweet or brandied. A heady mixture of aromas hung in the air. Bethberry snuck an orange and Fróma gave her a frown and told her to leave before she ruined his preparations.

"Just make sure there is also enough beer, mead and wine, Fróma, to quench thirst and tea to settle the belly. Oh, yes, and pots of that new bean I've been saving. Coffee it is called."

"Get out," he muttered in retaliation. "It's my kitchen."

Bethberry chortled to herself and then went off to clarify some of the Golden Rules in the Golden Hall of Rohan. In her wake there wafted the scents of cedar and heliotrope.

[ December 10, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Kiara]

Completely undone by the frankness of Menelduliniel, Parin gaped. Quickly recovering her composure, but with less of the frigidity in her tone, she replied to the elf in a confiding manner:

"Truly, I do not even know if my brother is dead. Perhaps, as you say, heed should be given to the consequences of a vengeful action. You see, I am still rather young, and though I am "of age" by the estimation of my peoples, I am inexperienced and brash. Please forgive any slight I may have given you, and know that I am grateful for your display of confidence in me....so much so as to give your own story before I have given more than the barest hint of mine. As for me, my history is brief. I come from the land of Erebor where my kinfolk have been established since the victorious resolution of the Battle of Five Armies. Alas, after the war, the youngest of my siblings but me, Davin, my gentle, nimble-fingered brother, went with a party of three dwarves to investigate the disappearance of a shipment meant for the Lonely Mtn. He and the others never returned. It is from this history that I have derived such profound sorrow, and I fear I act and speak without thinking, my mind distracted as it is by the lack of resolution over these sad events. Your acquaintance and interest in my story does me great honor, and I thank you," with a curtsey, "I must on my way again. I have duties which call me back to the Shire where I have found solace in work under the innkeeper there, my kinsman, Dwarin Thunderhammer, do you know him?"

[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: Kiara ]

[Anglachel]

Light, warmth, and the smell of good food permeated the main room of the White Horse, adding a considerable sense of conviviality to the establishment. Though, it was the familiar voice of Bethberry and the distinctive scent of coffee that served to awaken Anglachel from his introspective ponderings on such trite issues as trade agreements, guild policies, and inventory management.

"I did not travel all the way from Esgaroth to contemplate the banality of a merchant's life," said Anglachel to himself.

"Bethberry is of course correct. I, along with the rest of the inn's patrons, came here seeking to take part in a story, an adventure. Surely someone here can find a role suitable for a common merchant such as myself?"

As Anglachel finished verbalizing his thoughts, he recalled that he was now in the realm of Rohan, land of the tall and fair Eorl the Young, who's heroic deeds led a now forgotten poet to write:

'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?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.'

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Far away from the White Horse, in a room in the White City, a woman turned restlessly in her sleep. She saw Bethberry, wandering and weeping in the Old Forest, and followed her, but no matter how fast she walked, she could not reach her. Finally she stopped, and as she followed no more, Bethberry also stopped and turned to face her.

"Take comfort," she called, "Goldberry's song is not lost. Stand still and listen - it echoes in the Forest."

Suddenly she stood beside her and clasped her hands. "Our friend once said, 'I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil.' Weep for what is lost, yet keep the song in memory. Perhaps one day you shall write it so that all may share that memory with you."

With a start, the woman awoke in the dark familiarity of her room, her cheeks wet with tears...

[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: Estelyn Telcontar ]

[VanimaEdhel]

"I have heard of him," Estelarion broke in finally, after his long silence.

"I do not recall if we have had the pleasure of his company," Menelduliniel said.

"We do not wish to keep you from your duties," Estelarion said, smiling brightly, "So will will allow you to move on, as you have expressed a desire to do so."

Menelduliniel made no move to leave the Dwarf, so Estelarion took her by the arm and gently pulled her away.

"Namarie," Estelarion said in Elvish as he left.

Once they were away, Menelduliniel turned to Estelarion.

"Why did we leave? I wanted to speak with her!"

"She has business, Menelduliniel. Do not interfere in her quest."

"How do you know we would not have helped?"

"How would it look if two Elves were introduced to the Dwarves? Just because you are all right with travelling with Dwarves, I promise you that the Dwarves will not be the same. They have been in civilization for the past years and have been present at the rise of the prejudice that has grown."

"I suppose you are right," Menelduliniel sighed.

"I know I am," Estelarion smiled at her.

Menelduliniel sighed again and went to the bar, ordering an ale.

"Why," she asked, "Do people have to hate each other so?"

Estelarion looked at her. If he did not say something comforting, she was obviously going to cry right then.

"I do not know, Menelduliniel. Maybe to allow us to appreciate love more."

He sat down next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. She smiled and put that hand over his, still looking down into the ale.

[The Barrow-Wight]

The Barrow-Wight brushed the frost from his hair and went back into the White Horse. The time spent in the cold had cleared his mind and allowed him to collect his thoughts. It was time he left Edoras. Bethberry was back and in firm control of the inn again, and it was clear that the clientele were disturbed by his ghastly presence. Perhaps it was also time to find a new body.

He stood in the doorway of the main room until he located Bethberry at her desk. As unobtrusively as possible, he moved to her side and waited until he had her attention. After writing one more line on the paper before her, she turned to him and asked if she could be of assistance.

“Miss Bethberry,” he said, “I know that you are not a secretary, but I wonder if you might dictate a notice for me and post it on your advertisement board.”

“Of course, dear Wight,” she answered. “I would be glad to. Are you starting a new adventure?”

“Indeed I am. Here is my advertisement. It is very short.”

Adventurers Needed

Rohan has a new story to tell, and we need you to tell it. Please go to My Crow Management (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic&f=20&t=000016) for details.

The Barrow-Wight

“Thank you, dear lady. I’ll be on my way now.”

With that, the Barrow-Wight unceremoniously walked out the front door of the White Horse.

[ December 12, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Estel the Descender]

Mariah nodded with a look of shame, but nodded all the same.
'Since you insist Master Descender, I'll oblige.' she replied.

Dadrantor smiled at Mariah and gave a slight bow. Just then, a bright yellow light filled the room and cheered everyone. Dadrantor then saw Bethberry the Innkeeper and she was talking to Aman. Later, Betberry called out to all in the White Horse,

'Come now, we can't turn The Horse into a rooming house. It is a thundering narrows where river water runs, full of turbulence and ideas and wildly spraying mist which refreshes us all, but the water must flow on or we turn Edoras into a flooded, boggy plain of peat and marsh.'

Oh well, I need to find myself a sword as soon as possible, thought Dadrantor, then I need to find a quest. I wonder if Galadel has one in mind? Would Mariah accompany us: I am reluctant to leave her.

Dadrantor then noticed that the two elves suddenly left the dwarf who happened to be sitting nearby. Calling out, he said,

'Ho, sir Dwarf! Why don't you join our table; we have room for fo--'

'I am a maid, elf!' replied Parin angriliy.

'What, I mean, duh-OH!' stammered the elf, 'I mean. . .'

Dadrantor stood up and bowed at Parin and said, 'Profound apologies, I did not mean to offend you. I still extend mine invitation, if you do not mind.'

'Hrumph,' snorts Parin, 'Alright, I suppose I will forgive the slight...'

Bethberry continued despite the interruption, 'I wonder. Perhaps those who have become too fond of aimless socializing might rediscover some purpose if I sent them to muck out the stalls in the stable.'

'But you can't think on empty bellies. Let me see what our cook has in store for us.'

Descender turned to his companions, 'I have heard of a new brew called "coffee" and have been informed that there is some here. Care to try some with me as we eat and talk? I would very much like to know about each of you!'

[ December 16, 2002: Message edited by: Estel the Descender ]

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galadel frowned at the elf as hshe sat down at a table. He was struggling to put a wall around his mind, so that she could not tell who he was. But Galadel never gave up on things easily, and she was skilled at looking into people's minds and discovering who they really were.

"Yes, I think that I might like to try this new drink that you speak of. Did you say that it was called coffee?" Galadel said suddenly.

Dadrantor looked over, startled, at Galadel, and smiled, "Yes, it is called coffee. I was told that, though, it is strong, it tastes very good."

Galadel nodded and looked over at Miriah, who seemed to be very uncomfortable. Galadle smiled and said to her, "So, Miriah, are you from around these parts."

Though she did not look at him, Galadel said into Dadrantar's mind, "I wish to know, as well, who you are, elf, and where you have come from. But I will leave that till later, when the girl is not around. And, then, you will drop the barriers that you have put up to stop me from seeing who you really are. For all such things are useless against me. I will find out who you are; nothing can stop me. For now, be hospitable and order a drink and meal for this poor girl, will you?"

Dadrantar stared, looking quite pale and startled, at Galadel for a little while. Then he ordered meals and drinks for his companions, while Galadal and Miriah talked together.

[ December 15, 2002: Message edited by: Galadel Vinorel ]

[Gryphon Hall]

The winter was bitingly cold, but Marco was thankful for his fur jacket and fur-lined boots. He wearily dragged his cart down the lane. He had been travelling for most of the wee hours of the morning, though now he wished that he had camped and slept instead out in the wild. He was so tired.

His hand kept straying to a secret pocket sewn into his trousers without his meaning to. It had become his habit to always check his pouch of money, having lost some to pickpockets and robbers so many times. Unconsciously feeling the reassuring lump of coins, his mind turned to trying to find a place to eat and to sleep. He was so tired.

He was suddenly held up by a carriage in front of what looked liked an inn or tavern. Swinging outside was board with a white horse on a green field. Figures, he thought. This is Rohan after all. So wearily he steered his cart around the cart. What's holding it up?

Marco saw a giggling girl talking with a man. At that moment the man led the girl to his carriage, and it drove off. Marco cursed the effort of steering around the carriage when it was going to drive off at that precise moment anyway. He was so tired.

So wearily he steered the cart to just beside the large, friendly doorway. Some of the firelight was bleeding out and it cheered him a little. Parking the cart which contained his forge and his tools, he almost went into The White Horse, then abruptly stopped. He hurried to the cart and pulled off two bundles, his most precious possessions. One was longish, wrapped in a blanket and tied with cords; the other was a small backpack. From the way he hefted the pack, one can tell it was heavy. He may lose all in the cart, but not these two.

The first bundle contained his best work: a very sharp double-edged sword in a scabbard he also made himself. Though the sword was not what others would call "magical" and would certainly not be able to contend with other elven blades, he was very proud of it; it was fine work for a mere Barding. He used this sword to prove to people his worth as a smith, he who always had to lower his prices and do more work so that people would hire him. Everyone wants dwarvish work, he mused bitterly. He didn't hate the dwarves, for he learned all he knew from them. As for the sword, he knew that he would have to sadly sell it someday, but for now it still belonged to him.

The pack contained ingots of metal he had painstakingly gathered from everywhere he has been to. Each metal had a different strength and consistency, and behaved differently when heat is applied to it or when it is ground to sharpness. This was his ace, his secret. Because he knew no magic to enchant the blades he made, all of them were of composite make, just so that they can perform well. The best he had made he now held in his other hand, the sword. The pack he slung on his back after making sure his padlocks were secure, and then entered the inn.

[ December 15, 2002: Message edited by: Gryphon Hall ]

[Ivy of the Woods]

"Yes I am from these parts. I've never left Rohan, in fact I've never been this far away from home and I don't believe I'll ever go back. My father disinherited my sister and I" Mariah said with casualty that surprised herself.

Food was brought before them and Mariah found she had hardly realised the extremity of her hunger. Luckly she restrained herself from gorging down any food, it wouldn't do to make her to be a pig in front of these people and more importantly it would certainly uspet her stomach.

She took a sip of this so called 'coffee' and recoiled some what. Careful she placed the cup down and wondered how she could rid her tongue of the too strong taste

[ December 15, 2002: Message edited by: Ivy of the Woods ]

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry finished composing the order for the new banner to be placed in the rafters of The White Horse, the banner for the Barrow-Wight's new game, My Crow Management. For someone whose habitually chilly fictional persona often created fear, the Wight certainly had created an enticing, clever game which even in its early stages had already won great renown and interest and set such a good standard for Rohan. His persona was nothing to take lightly, but he was so capable of wit, imagination, and creativity, and had faithfully built and tended such a resplendent Barrow where many could store their treasures, that she could not help but admire his work. Perhaps he would return for a chilled brew, iced cappuchino, or frosted cake.

Returning to her task, Bethberry made note of all the banners for The White Horse:

Blue Sky, Night Thunder: a jewel in form of a white polyhedron on a blue background

My Crow Management : a black crow lined with white, in silhouette against a red background

Reawakened Mordor: a yellow slash lined with red, on a black background

Rohan : a white horse, in silhouette on a green background

The Blue Mountains: a mountain peak in blue, in silhouette against a green background

The Whistling Fairy: a green fairy in silhouette against a yellow background

Very handsome they were, and Bethberry looked forward to many more banners now that the Rohan RPG Proposal Form was available for all to use in the revised rules of The Golden Hall. She hoped all would read the revised rules, and particularly take note of the request to disable personal signatures and refrain from using smilies in games and The White Horse, in the interest of readability.

A noise at the entrance and a new arrival caught Bethberry's ear. She rose and went to the door, greeting a tired looking soul with a heavy pack on his back. From the shape and size of one of his bags, which he carried with some care, he appeared to be a swordsmith.

"Good sir, you look in need of a sheltering, hospitable establishment were word, wit and challenge reward imagination. Come, let me call the cook to bring you a dinner, on the house, and introduce you to other patrons here. I believe that several here might be in need of your wares."

Bethberry gently led the newcomer into the Great Hall, to meet Estelarion, Menelduliniel and Parin, who perhaps were collaborating on a game. They spoke some brief pleasantries, and then met Master Dadrantar, Galadel, Mariah, Amanaduial the Archer (who was carefully tending to her wolves, that they be on best behaviour), who might also be in the midst of creative fervour.

There were other quests, busy about their dinners, who the newcomer also acknowledged with a weary nod of his head. Mainly he was hungry and gratefully turned to the dinner which Fróma placed before him, but his eyes suggested he looked forward to discussion once his belly was full.

* * * * * * *

Ælfritha caught the words of an old rhyme which this newcomer recited, horse and rider immediately. Her curiousity peeked, she rose from her dinner and diffidence to inquire a few things of him.

"Anglachel, I believe I heard is your name, is it not, Merchant?"

He nodded yes, and rose to great the Rohirrim woman who spoke to him, offering her a chair by his table.

She bit her lip in shyness, and hesitated slightly, but then took the seat.

"You sing of the Mark and its history. Would you by any chance be a merchant of horse wares? Saddles, bits, blankets? My family runs a ranch--we are well-known horse breeders in these parts--and perhaps you have something we might be interested in? You, perhaps, might find some use in knowing of those who we deal with?"

She looked at him directly, now. When doing business, Ælfritha lost her timidity.

[ December 15, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[ElentariGreenleaf]

A well clad she'elf walked up to the bar and asked for a room for the night. She looked ervously about her. She liked to be alone, but having no where else to go in the cold, her only choice was the White Horse.
"What's your name then Mam?" said a kind voice from behind the bar - it was Bethberry the Innkeeper.
"Sofiya." replied the elf timidly.
"I'm sorry Sofiya, but I can't give you a room without any money."
"Money. Oh. I've spent so long away from other people I forgot about money. I'll just go and get some." Sofiya turned around to walk out of the door to get some money from her horse's saddle bag.

<< sorry. I wanted to change my charaters name! >>

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: ElentariGreenleaf ]

[Anglachel]

Anglachel took a seat next to the women, one of the Rohirrim, who had introduced herself as Ælfritha.

“Would you by any chance be a merchant of horse wares? Saddles, bits, blankets? My family runs a ranch--we are well-known horse breeders in these parts--and perhaps you have something we might be interested in?” asked Ælfritha.

“I do not deal much with horses or horse wares,” replied Anglachel. “Spending a significant portion of my youth near Esgaroth, I never became comfortable around the animals. Much of the region’s trade is based on water transit and our neighbors, the dwarves, do not care for them. Hence, there is little opportunity for any trade related to horses.”

“Actually, I do not do much physical trade myself these days,” continued Anglachel. “I direct my efforts more towards arranging trade between two parties rather than delivering the goods myself. There is far more opportunity for profit by determining where a good is in surplus, and where a good is most scarce. With the onset of the dark times in Middle Earth, lines of communications between regions are virtually non-existent. So, I travel the land to get a general impression of what each land’s economics are and then attempt to develop trade routes based on the information I collect. If I am able to convince other merchants to make the deliveries, I only have to purchase the goods myself and then allow others to do the labor for a large portion of the profits. It has been quite lucrative except it becomes harder and harder to find merchants willing to travel on these increasingly dangerous roads.”

[ December 22, 2002: Message edited by: Anglachel ]

[Estel the Descender]

‘So, Mariah, are you from around these parts?’ asked Galadel.

‘Yes I am from these parts. I've never left Rohan, in fact I've never been this far away from home and I don't believe I'll ever go back. My father disinherited my sister and I,’ answered Mariah as if what had happened was not very much a big deal.

I wish to know, as well, who you are, elf, and where you have come from. But I will leave that till later, when the girl is not around. And, then, you will drop the barriers that you have put up to stop me from seeing who you really are. For all such things are useless against me. I will find out who you are; nothing can stop me. For now, be hospitable and order a drink and meal for this poor girl, will you?

Dadrantor was very much taken aback. How did she know that I was resisting her? Silently angry with himself he thought, But of course! She IS the Lady Galadriel's daughter. It is indeed useless to hide from her who I truly am. Still, I should be grateful to her for now I know where we first met. . .

Seeing trays of food coming out of the kitchen, he gestured towards one of the servers and requested that he and his companions be given food and ‘that brew I have heard much about, this “coffee”.’

Since Galadel and Mariah were talking, Dadrantor screwed up enough courage to speak to the Dwarf he had so recently offended. Parin Stonemouth is actually comely, for a dwarf that is, and rather young. She wore her golden blond hair (dark in undertone) in two plaits and had wide, curious, brown eyes. When she wasn’t angry she would smile a shy dimpled smile. Her plump little figure was covered by a red woolen cloak (which is clasped by a silver brooch) which by now she has doffed, showing that she still wore layer upon layer of woolen articles of more muted tones and wore soft, yellow deerskin boots on her feet.

‘I am Descender,’ said the elf, introducing himself to the dwarf.

‘Parin Stonemouth,’ answered the dwarf, still a bit peeved that she was mistaken for a male.

Dadrantor saw Mariah take a sip of the coffee and make a face. Uh-oh, I don’t think she likes the taste. I think I’ll order wine later for her. . .

‘Have you ever tried coffee?’ asked Dadrantor uneasily, still shaken by Galadel’s mind search and the initial embarrassment with Parin.

‘Actually yes,’ said Parin, ‘My kinsman Dwarin Thunderhammer serves coffee at his own inn, The Green Dragon.’

‘But the The Green Dragon is in the Shire!’ exclaimed Dadrantor, ‘I thought that only halflings lived there. Did not King Elessar forbid any race save that of the halflings to set foot in that place.’

‘”Set foot without their leave,” said the King. Dwarin has leave to do business there.’

‘Oh,’ Dadrantor looked down for a while, and then facing Parin again he said, ‘I overheard a while ago that you had a quest. I know that I am asking you to repeat yourself, but,’ casting a look at Galadel (he was startled again when he saw her once again gazing intently at him, but as he looked at her she turned once again to Mariah), ‘I wasn’t paying much attention.’

‘The truth is, I had come here looking for support in a quest of vengeance, vengeance for my brother, although it is true that I do not even know if my brother IS dead,’ Parin replied softly, ‘But, talking with the two elves, (well, one of the elves said that she does not consider herself as one of the Elf kindred as of now, since her exile), I have come to rethink my motives for such a quest.’

‘One of them, Menelduliniel I think, said to me, "You wish to avenge you say? Well, be careful that you choose this revenge wisely. A similar situation put me in the circumstances you find me in. If it were not for Estelarion, I would probably be dead.”’

The timidity that Parin tried so hard to hide began to show. ‘I was just saying to the two elves a while ago that I might return to the Shire and work in the The Green Dragon once again with Dwarin.’

‘It is true, Parin, that vengeance is not always wise,’ answered Dadrantor, ‘Especially when done out of ignorance. Why not turn thy quest from one of vengeance to one that seeks knowledge. And then, if there is definite cause for vengeance,’ here Dadrantor tapped himself lightly on the chest, ‘I would be honoured to be of service.’

Dadrantor looked at Parin and said to himself, How like me when I was young! Except that my motives were not as noble as hers. . . With a start he looked at Galadel: she was looking at him again.

Forgive me for “eavesdropping” but you were thinking rather “loudly” –Galadel

Then I shall think more quietly, daughter of Galadriel. –Dadrantor- But tell me, just how many children had the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel? Last I heard, they only had two children, Amroth and Celebrían.

They had two children by birth. –answered Galadel in thought- But Amroth became my brother by, well, “adoption”. He was not my blood brother but was a brother in many ways.

Just then, Bethberry introduced a newcomer to the group, ‘This is Marco and he is a swordsmith. Maybe there are some among you who would find his services useful.’ Bethberry continued, asking the group, ‘Well? Any good stories that can lead to adventures?’

A swordsmith! thought Dadrantor, Elbereth smiles at me. I will ask this Marco later if he has a sword he can sell or make me. (Unknown to Dadrantor, Varda was at that moment smiling at him). Then looking back at Mariah, But I must have enough left to get this poor girl some new shoes at least. Tough luck on being disinherited. Then Dadrantor frowned, But why was she disinherited?

Bethberry then seated Marco nearby. He looked definitely hungry and positively tired, but Dadrantor noted the fire in his eyes all the same. This is no mere smith. His hands are the hands of a swordsman.

Galadel then stood and addressed everyone in the meadhall, ‘The innkeeper said that there are few stories being told here, especially those that would lead to adventure. I had a sort of adventure myself just lately and I shall tell a story that may be in some way related to it. If it would lead to a quest or no, my foresight fails to tell me. But come! Come and listen to my tale of Remembrance.’

Seeing that she had the attention of most of the people she began her tale.

‘Once upon a time, there was a mortal man who was nine and forty years old, who returned from the land of Mordor where he braved many perils. He was on his way to Rivendell for he was weary and he desired rest. But he also bore with him one who was once a thrall of the slave-gangs of Mordor, one who was an elf. He had hoped that the Lord Elrond could provide healing for such a one.’

At that, Galadel looked at Dadrantor, who looked quite pale and startled for the nth time that day. Good, she thought and she continued.

‘He was on his way to the high pass of Caradhras when he came to the borders of Lothlórien and was allowed to enter the hidden land by the Lady Galadriel. Then said the Lady unto the son of man, “Leave thou this erstwhile thrall into our care. For behold, he is one of our kindred. Here he shall find healing. But come! Cast away thy wayworn garment and take on fresh raiment: there is someone I desire thee to see.”’

‘Then, turning to her daughter who was beside her, Galadriel said, “I leave this elf unto thy care.”’

‘For a season, Galadriel’s daughter tended to the stricken elf, feeding him coimas steeped in miruvor so that he may gain his strength. But the elf rarely woke, and his waking moments marked by delirium. Often he would babble incoherently—’

—saying “Meldariel” over and over again— –Galadel to Dadrantor silently with a wink. Dadrantor shifted uneasily in his seat.

‘Then, one Midsummer’s Eve the lady Galadriel summoned her daughter before her. Galadriel was troubled and she spake unto her daughter, saying—‘

“Once, in the Elder Days, I and my brother Finrod were walking in a wood near the outskirts of the Girdle of Melian. For we were on our way to Doriath as guests of our kinsman Elu Thingol and his wife Melian. I begged leave from my brother to wander the woods for a while and he gave me leave, seeing no harm in it. Now, as I walked further, I came across an elf with black hair and dressed all in black.”

At that some of those present glanced at Dadrantor, but his attention was drawn Marco, to whom he had faced and asked if he could see the contents of the long bundle. Hesitantly, but with just pride, Marco unwrapped the double-edged blade and showed it to the elf. Looks like Dwarf-work, and yet there is no magic in it. Still, it is a worthy blade. Seeing Galadel’s stare, he responded, I’m still listening.

Galadel continued her tale, ‘Galadriel said that she thought that this was very strange, for Elves rarely ever wear black, so she asked him his name. He told her that his name was Morel and that he was a Dark Elf.’

‘Suddenly, Galadriel was alarmed, for she had heard whispered tales about Eöl the Dark Elf and how he hated the Noldor, blaming them for the return of Morgoth. Galadriel asked him if he knew Eöl and he said, “Yea, I know him, for we are kindred.” Then Galadriel was shocked to find evil malice in the eyes of Morel as he smiled unpleasantly at her, for she had thought that though elves may be tainted by pride they were still basically good. To find such an elf with evil in his heart was troubling unto her.’

‘Then Morel spoke once again to Galadriel and said, “Come no more unto Elu Greymantle! Live with me here in the Twilight. I see that thou art fair. Though I regard thy kindred with bitterness, I will make thee an exception.” Morel reached out to her but Galadriel ran from him and stopped not until she reached the Girdle of Melian. Unknown to her was that she had been in fact missing for quite some time. Finrod was wroth both at himself and at his sister because of her disappearance, but when he learned about the matter of Morel, he became gravely concerened.’

‘The matter was gradually forgotten, however as time passed, for Galadriel fell in love with Celeborn the Wise, kinsman to Elu Thingol. More time passed and the power of Melian was withdrawn from Doriath that it was destroyed afterward.’

‘Galadriel and her lord Celeborn survived the ruin of Doriath, but afterwards they heard news about the fall of Gondolin and the treachery of Maeglin, son of Eöl the Dark Elf. Galadriel then remembered the evil she perceived in the heart of Morel the kinsman of Eöl and feared his malice.’

‘The Lady Galadriel then said unto her daughter, “It is said by some that Morel swore death to mel and all my descendants because I would not wed with him. Ever since then the feud between the Elves of Light (that is what they call us, even the Galadhrim of Lothlórien) and the Dark Elves (that is what they call themselves) has been bitter.”

‘The Lady Galadriel then counseled her daughter to discontinue her efforts to heal the stricken elf whom the son of man brought to Lothlórien, for she saw in him a likeness to Morel the Dark Elf. She, however, did not detect any evil or malice in him, save that which he suffered as a thrall in the Black Land. Her daughter at first protested, but in the end she gave in to her mother’s pleas. For she too feared to tempt Doom. For by that Doom many of the Silvan elves who were influenced by the bitterness of Morel rejected the rule of the Eldar, even Nimrodel the beloved of Amroth. By that Doom both Amroth and Nimrodel have disappeared. And also by that Doom Celebrían was betrayed and ambushed by the pass at Caradhras.’

‘And that Doom seems to have caught up with Galadriel’s other daughter as well, for as she traveled she was ambushed by wolves and was wounded. Later, she was befriended by certain elves whom she thought to be harmless but afterwards they make an attempt on her life in front of a crowd of witnesses. Do you think then, my good people, that Doom has caught up with her?’

Galadel looked at the people crowding the meadhall: she had everyone’s attention, including the Barding who had just entered moments ago. She spoke again,

‘My tale does not end here. For though the daughter of Galadriel showed herself no more unto the stricken elf, she still kept near and would often play her harp a melody she had learned from Nariel, a Noldo who was given the name Eithne* by the Valar in a tongue unknown. The elf would hear Galadriel’s daughter play, and he composed some verses to accompany the melody. And this is what he sang.

Lórien! Ai, Lórellin!
A dor celeb a dor elei!
Tolo le na Lórellin:
Tolo le na Dol Lórellin!
A tolo le na dhor elei:
Tolo le na Dol Lórellin!

As Galadel sang, she looked at Dadrantor. “Lórellin! Oh, Lórellin! O land of silver and land of dreams! Come ye to Lórellin: come ye to the Isle of Lórellin. O come to the land of dreams: come to the Isle of Lórellin.” When she stopped singing, he continued the song,

Lórien! Ai, Lórien!
A eryn glaur a silivren!
Tolo le na Lórien,
Vi in eryn Lothlórien!
Oltho le elei Lórellin,
I main-elei Tol Lórellin!

“Lórien! Oh, Lórien! O wood of gold and glittering light! Come ye to Lórien, in the woods of Lothlórien! Dream ye dreams of Lórellin, the beautiful dreams of the Isle of Lórellin!”

Then both Galadel and Dadrantor sang,

Lórien! Ai, Lórien!
A dor celeb a dor elei!
Tolo dan na Lórien:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!
Tolo le dan na dhor elei:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!

Tolo le dan na dhor elei:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!
Tolo le dan na dhor elei:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!

“Lórien! Oh, Lórien! O land of silver and land of dreams! Come back to Lórien: dream the dreams of Lothlórien! Come back to the land of dreams: dream the dreams of Lothlórien!

“Come back to the land of dreams: dream the dreams of Lothlórien! Come back to the land of dreams: dream the dreams of Lothlórien!”

---------------------------------------------

*Enya. The tune is Lothlórien by Enya in her album Shepherd Moons.

[ December 16, 2002: Message edited by: Estel the Descender ]

[Gryphon Hall]

As Marco entered the inn, he was surprised when an elf lady hurried past. He had only seen elves from a distance back in Dale, but even then he thought they were the most beautiful race in Middle-earth. This one that just swept by passed mere inches from his face! He was so tired that he didn't notice that he was gaping.

'Good sir, you look in need of a sheltering, hospitable establishment . . .' Marco was startled by a lilting female voice from behind him, though except for his gaping mouth, he showed little reaction. He turned into the face of the innkeeper this time. 'Garsh!' he thought, then realized his mouth was open. He rubbed his upper lip, hoping that she didn't notice.

'Come,' she continued. 'Let me call the cook to bring you a dinner, on the house, and introduce you to other patrons here. I believe that several here might be in need of your wares.'

'This is such a nice place!' he thought. 'With the free meal, I believe I can afford some more vittles for the journey later on. Probably even a tent, or something.' He smiled appreciatively at Bethberry, who led him to two elves (Wow! More of them!) and made some introductions before they went up to their rooms. Marco looked around, and thought that the place seemed to be stock full of elves. Master said they were dwindling, but apparently not here. Wow! Bethberry continued to introduce him, first to Parin (Now there's a pretty little dwarf lady, thought Marco who, being an apprentice from Erebor, learned how to tell the difference between dwarf men and women), then to the table Parin was headed to.

The table had another beautiful elf, a very comely human lady, and, Er, what! an old elf? He was led to a table near the wall, yet closest to the table of the Elves. 'This is Marco,' said Bethberry, 'and he is a swordsmith. Maybe there are some among you who would find his services useful.' He barely got their names, Lady Galadel of the Golden Wood, Miss Mariah and Dadrantor. . . Dadrantor intrigued him. An old elf? he wondered. I thought their kind stayed forever young. There were other guests, busy about their dinners, whom Marco also acknowledged with a weary nod of his head. Mainly he was hungry and gratefully turned to the free dinner which the old cook placed before him, but his eyes suggested he looked forward to discussion once his belly was full. Especially to that Dadrantor, he mused. How can an elf get so old?

'Well?' continued Bethberry. 'Any good stories that can lead to adventures?' Marco did not mean to eavesdrop, but a reassuring glance from Galadel and Dadrantor told him that he was not unwelcome to overhear their conversation; Mariah seemed intent to look down. The two elves kept looking at each others' eyes, and from where Marco saw things, they seemed to be playing Peekaboo; Galadel kept on startling Dadrantor with her sometimes pointed, sometimes amused looks. They might not always look young, I guess, but they certainly still behave as young children.

Marco's weariness was catching up on him, though, and as he finished the venison, he started to nod. He barely heard Galadel when she stood up and as she started to address those gathered in the inn. Her voice took on a different tone, as one who was about to tell a story. Marco struggled to keep awake and sipped at the somewhat nutty drink they called coffee. I wish there was something to keep me awake. Seems like a good ol' yarn starting.

When Galadel saw that she had the attention of most of the people she began her tale.

Somehow, Marco became more and more attentive as the tale grew on. Why, her words somehow wrench my heart and make me feel accutely, Marco thought. Then he observed Galadel give Dadrantor a look, startling the poor old guy. I can't believe it; they're still at it?

However, he forgot about the Peekaboo, as the tale wove on. It wasn't terribly long, but it seemed like he was experiencing the years and ages of the elves, so terribly sweet, so strikingly beautiful.

'Ahm, ho Marco!' said Dadrantor. Marco turned with glazed eyes at the old elf, who was now facing him; Galadel continued her tale.

'Huh?'

'I was wondering, can I look at that sword you have wrapped up there?' asked Dadrantor. Hesitantly, but with just pride, Marco unwrapped the double-edged blade and showed it to the elf. He didn't know that he was behaving out of character; he usually only showed the blade after at least nine requests. But Galadel's sweet voice was wafting through the air, like a thickness of sweet air.

Presently though, she stopped and stared at Dadrantor. It was Marco's turn to be startled, seeing his naked blade in the hands of someone else. Dadrantor looked back at her, sheathed the blade, and handed it back to Marco.

Marco was in the midst of fumbling with the blanket and the cords, when Galadel continued her tale. His hands fell limp on the sheathed blade on his lap as a dreamy look appeared on his face once again. Ahh, this is potent magic, like she is deliberately enchanting all of us!

Then suddenly, even Marco was startled to alertness. 'Where am I?' he asked aloud, but no sound came out of his lips. For all around him, he could see silver trees in a silver forest, with moonlight shining through the boughs. Moonlight? It seems too bright and clear to be moonlight. Where am I? He can still see the boards and benches and the people of the White Horse, but they seemed transparent and unreal compared to the forest all around him.

Yet the song. The song! It seemed to reverberate around him and through him. Galadel was singing.

Lórien! Ai, Lórellin!
A dor celeb a dor elei!
Tolo le na Lórellin:
Tolo le na Dol Lórellin!
A tolo le na dhor elei:
Tolo le na Dol Lórellin!

He didn't understand a word, yet he knew that he was seeing what the song spoke of. Then the scene changed, fading so gradually that it seemed like the same forest. Yet he was convinced somehow that this forest is a different one. Instead of silver trees and silver boughs, now he saw a wood with golden leaves amidst such verdant green and white star-like flowers strewn around. The quality of the light, too, had changed. Now it was golden, so soft yet clear and bright. Like a dream, yet so real, more real. He realized he heard Dadrantor singing this time.

Lórien! Ai, Lórien!
A eryn glaur a silivren!
Tolo le na Lórien,
Vi in eryn Lothlórien!
Oltho le elei Lórellin,
I main-elei Tol Lórellin!

Then he felt rather than saw both woods, the silver and the gold. He imagined that they phased in and out of each other, as day into dusk, as night into dawn. He knew rather than heard that Galadel and Dadrantor were both singing, so sad, so solemn, yet so joyful. Woe is me! Everything shall now seem less fair! I knew not what perils I put myself into when I came into this inn!

Lórien! Ai, Lórien!
A dor celeb a dor elei!
Tolo dan na Lórien:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!
Tolo le dan na dhor elei:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!

Tolo le dan na dhor elei:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!
Tolo le dan na dhor elei:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!

Then, the song ended, and everything was as it was. Marco was relieved to realize that he still found the aftertaste of venison pleasant, that the hearth was still cheerful, and that he was still proud of his sword.

'Ah, sir . . .' he said to Dadrantor, who took no notice of him but was instead staring at Galadel. Marco was deeply moved, and he burst into tears, but he was persistent. 'Sir, what IS going on?!'

[ December 20, 2002: Message edited by: Gryphon Hall ]

[Kiara]

Parin, too, had fallen under the enchantment of the lady's words and song; she was entranced. Eyes shining with unshed tears, the young dwarf had forgotten her own thoughts of woe to be replaced by the lovely visions of elves. How had she lived before now? Her experience of life was so dim and shallow as compared to even the briefest of stories spoken from the lips of the fair elf. What a depth of experience they had! How was it that with so much sorrow, they could still be so merry? She knew her understanding could never reach into the fathoms of that fair race, but she hoped that maybe....?

Parin's heart stirred within her with passion, and as her soul was touched, so was her little frame. She began to tremble, and as she reached out to the table to steady herself, her shudderings sent her earthenware mug to the floor---

---Thankfully she had already finished the lovely dark brew within, but this new illustration of her clumsiness sent her scurrying off to her room for the night. Perhaps she would have regained her composure enough to discuss adventures further (and not to embarass herself) upon her return to the common room....She hoped (as her life's perspective broadened and as she felt growing pains in her spirit) that wonderful adventures might be the result....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Parin Stonemouth and myself (Kiara) will be returning to the White Horse in a week's time, I hope! Here's to adventure! ---Kiara

[ December 16, 2002: Message edited by: Kiara ]

[Bêthberry]

The Innkeeper, however, did not succumb to the Elf's siren song. She strode resolutely over to Estel the Descender, who had been warned previously about monopolizing the Inn for small group interactions rather than developing a game proposal. This time he had even taken over other gamers' characters, to an excessive extent. She picked him up by his collar, walked him out the door and over to the stables.

There, she handed him a shovel and pitchfork.

"Don't come back to the Inn until the stalls are mucked out. And when you come back, have that game proposal ready."

The Innkeeper then returned to The White Horse, where the assembled guests did not appear to be too surprised at her actions, for they understood the purpose of the Inns.

"Stories need to go somewhere and so do posts at Inns; they cannot be longterm social gatherings, for two reasons. First, that becomes boring for readers, who want to see rising and falling action, plotlines, some problem and its resolution. And second, intense small group interactions tend to restrict the posting of other gamers at the Inns, and they need a place to generate their ideas, too," she announced to the patrons.


Bethberry looked around. She was sure that no other patrons wanted to join Estel in mucking out the stable. They had more important things to do, such as trying out new characters or writing their own game proposals. There was a new thread up to make the form easy to find. She was sure they could see it.

Helping herself to a pot of tea, the Innkeeper then walked back to her desk near the wordhoard, calmly, and began some new writing of her own.

Bethberry

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Rimbaud]

A knock at the door was heard. Bethberry half-smiled with some puzzlement, for The White Horse was not a place that required guests to be inspected before entry. She motioned a guest who had risen to get the door back to his seat with a wave of her hand.

Finally, the door inched open. A man of indeterminate age and height peered in, somewhat nervously. He was dressed simply, although warmly in a thick woollen tunic and cloak, both of a deep green. The Innkeeper waved him in with a smile and nodded to one of the kitchen-hands to fetch a drink for the newest guest.

************

The man sat quietly at a table near the centre of the room, where he had been led by the member of staff. He could feel eyes on him. No-one came to sit at his table. He placed his chin in his hands and gazed into the fire, far down the hall at the end.

He became aware of a presence at his elbow and started. He looked up, into the eyes of the Innkeeper. "Will you introduce yourself, Sir?" she asked softly.

"Aye, Ma'am, if you will it," he replied courteously, although in the rough voice of a man unsused to speaking in company. "My name be Guthrin, and I bear the name of my father, who was of the Mark of Rohan." The Innkeeper heard the truth of it in his voice, and smiled at his naivete and curious manner.

"I'm just passing through," he went on. "Hoping for some bread and soup. I have been labouring on a tale of Rohan for some time, with some companions. I wonder if they are here tonight." He peered about the large, bustling room as if to discern those of whom he spoke.

"I am familiar with your tale Sir," she said warmly. "And glad I am that it is told in Rohan. We have other tales here that may interest you."

"That's good news, to be sure, mi'lady," he said with a grin. "I like stories. Are all these fine folk in the business of telling tales?"

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel and Estelarion came down the stairs from their room, where they had been talking, to hear the sound of a mug crash on the floor. All stood spellbound, and a beautiful Elf stood, where she had just been singing.

"Hain darthar mereth gwain, thia (They have endured a new festival, it seems)," Estelarion whispered.

"Aye," Menelduliniel whispered back, "I was going to ask to sing, but I see that we are not able to compete with this beauty."

They silently made their way across the room and sat by the fire, wondering what new magic would happen while they were at this Inn...

[ December 18, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[ElentariGreenleaf]

Sofiya walked past the man, who seemed to be gaping at her, out of the Inn. Her horse, Pala, was standing near the inn eating some grass. Pala was not tied up. She didn't even have a halter or a saddle. However, their was a saddle bag near her on the ground. Sofiya rode Pala bareback as they had been friends for as long as Sofiya could remember. Sofiya actually carried the saddle back rather than making Pala wear it.

"Hello Pala." said Sofiya warmly. "I hope it's not too cold for you." Pala looked up and walked over to Sofiya. "I just came to get some money. You thought we were leaving didn't you. Not yet I'm afraid." Pala licked Sofiya on her check. "See you in the morning."

As Sofiya walked back into the Inn see heard a beautiful song. She had heard many of them when she grew up in Rivendell. It was wonderful and many of the men seemed to be crying.

"Hello." said Bethberry. "Got some money now then?"

"Yes," replied Sofiya. "I'm sorry about that. It's been so long since I've used it..."

"No matter. Would you like your horse to be put in a stable for the night?"

Sofiya seemed to get angry. "My friend, Pala, has never been in a stable in her life! I'll not force her into one now. See doesn't like tame horses."

"Oh, I see." replied Bathberry, not letting her smile leave her face. "Would you like to go to your room now?"

"No," answered Sofiya in ehr normal, kind tone of voice. "I'd like to met that elf who sung that wonderful song."

"Galadel or Dadrantor? They were both singing."

"Oh. They were singing in such harmony, I could not tell. I'd like to meet them both, I they don't mind."

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: ElentariGreenleaf ]

[Morai]

Jaellyn loved her new work. The village was north of Rohan. It remained unknown to the rest of Middle Earth. So easy it was to live there and the stories were wonderful. She found herself to be quite a storyteller, but only with total freedom upon her imagination.

The villagers were nice and hospital. They had also wandered there because of the many restrictions of their former homes. Everyone had large imaginations perfect for stories. Rarely did anyone abuse their power, if so, they were taken out of office, sometimes exile.

[Rimbaud]

Guthrin the Younger wiped his mouth with the napkin, tossed the last morsel of bread into his gullet, and leaned back in his chair, tilting contentedly. He folded his arms across his stomach and closed his eyes briefly.

He sighed deeply. The soup had been rich and nourishing and he felt well sated. He pushed forward again, allowing the chair to fall back on its front trees, with a slight crash. Somewhat nervously, he motioned to a passing server with his empty glass.

Then, as if speaking to nobody in particular, he asked, "What other tales are there in Rohan? I am familiar with our own tale, of my father Guthrin and the intrepid band he was part of, just before the War of the Ring, but what else does the White Horse have to offer?" The room had fallen a little silent as he spoke, and especially at the mention of the War, but no-one ventured a reply.

"Come!" he exclaimed. "Some must have read the stories the Inn doth hold! And," and his voice lowered, "perhaps some have thought of starting tales of their own?"

[Airerûthiel]

The door of the inn opened and a young man strode in, dressed in black with a ragged hooded cloak. He had red-gold hair that fell to his shoulders, and his cerulean eyes sparkled like sapphires when they caught the warm lights of the inn. There was a silence as the other patrons took in this new addition to the White Horse, and then the conversation broke out again in a ripple of chatter.

The new guest walked over to the bar and sat at a stool, considering his next step. He knew that his appearance gave the impression that he was a traveller, but to himself he privately swore once again the oath he had lived by for as long as he could remember: "No more will I walk freely in the wilds of Middle-earth."

"What can I get you, sir?" A voice shook him from his melancholy thoughts and he looked up to see a friendly smile. "I am Bethberry, and I am the innkeeper of the White Horse. What is your name and what would you like?"

"A pint of ale, if you would be so kind," replied the new visitor. "As for my name, I would prefer not to tell you. I keep my identity for only those that I know."

"You speak like one of Gondor. Do you come from that land?" asked the innkeeper.

"I was born there, and the blood of the Men of Gondor flows through my veins from my father's side," he replied, "but my mother was of Elven kind. She had a sister who died in the massacre of the White Horse."

"I have heard of the tragedy of the Rocconinquë," said Bethberry whilst pouring a mug of ale. There was a sense of sadness about this person that was impossible to pinpoint, as though he had lost a sibling he held dear (which was actually the truth).

"Forgive me for being so rude and outspoken, but I have been searching for decent, honest work since I arrived in this land," the figure said, his hair taking on the appearance of a waterfall of flame. "I do not suppose it would be possible to offer you my services as a worker here? I am skilled with horses and with leather, have a keen eye for archery and would be more than willing to work long hours for little or no pay."

"Well..." Bethberry tried to look serious but could not resist a small smile. There was something about this half-Elf that appealed greatly; he had a direct honesty and a tolerant spirit, as well as being instantly likeable. "I will certainly consider your offer. But first I need to know who you are - I do not like to employ people without names."

There was a silence, and then the Gondorian spoke. "My name is Maikadurion."

[ December 19, 2002: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]

[Bêthberry]

With some happiness, the Innkeeper noticed the slowly growing group of story-tellers who were frequenting the White Horse.

She watched as Sofiya found her way to the table of Galadel and Marco. Perhaps Sofiya would join their song? Or offer her own in support of theirs? Their interactions had already won an intrigued audience which was wanting and waiting for more.

But the Innkeeper's attention was drawn back to Maikadurion's earnest request. She was indeed drawn to something about this elf, who had a steady hand for the well-strung word.

"Well, Maikadurion, I suspect you will not want to be staying here for a great length of time, other stories calling out to you, but I could use help here in The White Horse as we become busier with seasonal travellers.

I will offer you room and board, plus a small fair rate of renumeration. But this you must accept as your primary work here, to weave tales out of customers. Good help in Inns know how to keep an ear out, listening to patrons and drawing them on. Do you accept this work?" Bethberry looked at Maikadurion, the sharp one, and waited while he contemplated a reply.

Turning then to this man called Guthrin, she acknowledge his question. "Indeed, there are several here who know of your tale. You might be meeting with Ælfritha shortly and will have something to share with her. I have heard it said she has her own stories to tell; perhaps shortly she will come forth, once this merchant here finishes speaking to her of his wares."

Bethberry looked over at Anglachal and hoped his labours would soon allow him more hospitable hours.

[ December 24, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Airerûthiel]

Maikadurion was deep in thought for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he nodded slowly. "I accept. My thanks to you, Bethberry, for your gracious offer. And as my primary job is to extract tales from patrons, may I start with my own?"

"Please do," said Bethberry, pouring herself a drink as she handed the half-Elf his pitcher. "I sensed you carried tales of this country, being dressed in the garb of a Ranger, and I would dearly like to hear your history if only for the sake of my own entertainment."

"My father was slain by wargs when I was two years old, and my mother died of a broken heart four years after that," began Maikadurion. "I remember little of them, so the fact they are dead does not sadden me. Orphaned and alone in Middle-earth, my younger twin brother Laitalathion and I went to the house of the Rocconinquë, where our mother's sister dwelt with her husband and children. Although they treated us as though we were their own, my brother and I always suspected we were seen as a burden that must be borne due to our blood and the relations between our two families.

"We dwelt in that place for four years, and then late one night just before the massacre of the White Horse, we stole away into the wilds of Gondor. Desiring to learn of our mother's people, we rode west to Lothlórien and Mirkwood, and later settled in Rivendell for some time. The Elves were hospitable and friendly, but we still did not feel as though this was the place of our destiny.

"Our desire to wander grew once more, so we took two white palfreys and rode back east until we came to the border of Rohan and Gondor. When we gave our names at the gates, they would not let us in; when we asked them why, we were told that our father had committed treason against the Steward of Gondor and as such all who followed in his bloodline would never set foot in that land again.

"Laitalathion said to me, 'Brother, let us go back to the western lands of the Elves, our mother's kind, where we might learn more of our family. I hear rumours that those in our aunt and uncle's house were slain, but my dreams tell me hope remains for the Rocconinquë.'

"I answered him, 'My younger kinsman, to do so would result in nothing save grief and despair. I am going to remain in this country of Rohan, and if you choose to go away and search for any family we may yet have, I give you only my blessing.'

"'If it is your wish to remain in this land, where we will be neither accepted nor resented by many, then I trust we will both live to see the other one day in our futures,' replied Laitalathion. 'Namarië.'

"He then rode away back in the direction we had come not long before, whilst I remained in Rohan for some time, wandering the wilds - I was forced to sell my horse to allow myself to buy food within a month, and so have spent some months wandering in this country. Eventually I decided that my days of walking in this land were over, and so I set out to search for honest work. Finding no-one willing to give me a job, I remembered I had seen this inn not long before and came here in the hope that you might give me some work.

"My thanks to you once again, good lady Bethberry." Maikadurion drained his mug and stood up. "When do you wish me to begin my duties in this inn?"

[Bêthberry]

Maikadurion had been proving himself a faithful servant, for he cheerfully had helped Bethberry dress the meadhall for the seasonal regale all were expecting.

Bethberry now stood back and cast her eyes around the hall. Larger, brighter lanterns hung from the rafters, illuminating the game banners in full splendour, for extra oil could be expended for the holidays. Cedar boughs were hung around the windows and stone chimneys, pine sprays graced the counters and buffets, holly and hypericum berries filled vase and carafe, clusters of gold candles stood sentry against the longest night and darkest cold. The aromas of cinnamon and cocoa competed with the scents of the evergreens and every table was graced with blooms potted in moss, white amaryllis or red begonia. Goose would be roasted for the dinner, stuffed with breads, chestnuts, oysters and berries, but old Fróma had not yet started the preparations. For the moment, time wafted, a snowflake drifting gently in easeful dance as a hush sustained the hall.

Bethberry had been mightily intrigued by Maikadurion's story. Why, several parts of it could be made into games in their own right. The Innkeeper wondered if he would remain long at the Inn, talking to the various patrons, or if he would venture forth to propose his own game or join another game.

"Maikadurion, what was it that compelled you to stay in Rohan despite our darkening days?" Bethberry observed the elves look on with interest, entranced with a land so unlike their own and wanting to know Maikadurion's answer.

[ December 24, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

An elf, clad in the elegant but rather worn clothes of a messenger of the Golden Wood burst through the door, causing quite alot of the customers, merry makers and storytellers to look up in surprise. He didnt close the door, but stood, panting by the door for a moment, gesturing wildly and spluttering brokenly in elvish.

Bethberry looked up, mildly surprised but not much; it took alot to startle the innkeeper. Drawing a pint herself quickly she handed it to the messenger who smiled thankfully at the gracious Bethberry before taking a few deep pulls of the drink and sitting in the seat proffered by Galadel, who recognised one of her own home.

When the messenger had recovered his breath enough to speak kissed the hand of Bethberry with thanks, then kissed Galadels as he held a murmered conversation with her during which the maidens eyes widened. Then he stood, addressing all in the inn.

"My Lords and Ladies, I come from The Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien. There is dilemma in the Wood; a band of men have wandered for some time near the wood and now their threat I fear is reaching its limit; they have stolen not only goods but also a young elf has gone missing.

I implore anyone who may be of help to find the girl, Nuhrive Fleetwood, to come with me to the Golden Wood."

Kidnapped! is the name of the game in which this tale is taking place and I invite elves and men to help. And we have not yet heard from the wrongdoers, a band of men wandering the borders of Lorien. Sign up at the Kidnapped discussion.

[Topaz]

Stepping forward from the shadows of the corner niche, a tall wood elf emerged. The cloak and manner of dress were of the Laurelindórenan families of old. "I am here to aid you. I have been waiting for the news of this to reach Rohan whereby we may enlist the help of the brave hearts that gather here."

The elf stepped forward, and offered his arm in a salute of brotherhood that only the citizens of Lorien knew. The messenger realized at once this tall elf was from his own homeland. Relief eased the worry etched around his eyes. He drained the drink with welcome gratitude.

"I am Lilebrian (leel-EB-ree-un) Longbow and I am ready to join the archers of the Golden Wood and all who aid their fight. Long have we suffered at the hands of our 'friends'; those who would use our home for their sport. Where do we draw the line? Do we wait until our sisters and daughters are drawn away from us one by one?"

The elf scanned the faces of the patrons there. Indignation flashed in silvery eyes of cold fire. Who indeed amongst them would aid in the protection of the Lady's Wood?

Scanning the faces, one by one, others stepped forward ready to find the wronged elf female, and rise to the challenge put forth by the elf.

[Airerûthiel]

Maikadurion pondered Bethberry's question. Usually when asked questions by others, he had an answer that seemed to appear in his mind and form itself into sentences within a matter of moments - but this was because strangers generally asked him the same questions. But this was far more difficult and complicated than most of the inquiries made of - or about - him.

"It is a strange question you ask of me, Bethberry," the half-Elf said eventually, "and it carries with it a long answer. But so as not to occupy the precious time we have in this season, the reason I chose to remain in Rohan was because it seems to me that here is a country where I can remain, neither welcomed nor scorned. Gondor is my true home, but if I set food over the borders of that land I will surely be slain because my father was a traitor to the Stewards. When Laitalathion and I ran away from the house of the Rocconinquë to go and find the Elves, I thought that maybe we might be accepted by our mother's kin in Mirkwood. But there we met with the same reception we always had - that of being tolerated, neither wanted nor rejected.

"Ever since the death of our mother, there has been no place in the world for the two orphan sons left behind by Théomer of Gondor and Orowethwen of Mirkwood. Here in Rohan, none know of my family history, so I am seen as what I am - a former Ranger now working in the White Horse Inn. There is no stigma attached to me here, no pressure placed upon me to live up to the divided ideals of the two races whose blood flows in my veins. I can be the person that has been created by my world, my family - and my heart."

[Garen LiLorian]

The young man had entered some time before, unnoticed by all save the bright eyes of the innkeeper who had started forward to greet him in the customary manner, but was held back by the gentle upraising of one hand. He stood fair and tall, clothed in gray after the manner of the Elves in Lothlorien, and indeed there was an elfish air about him, as one who had spent long in the company of the Firstborn.

He moved forward with a small limp, a reminder of a battle recently fought. Girt at his side was a long sword, and a spear, used as a walking stick, helped him as he found a seat.

"I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold…"

He sang softly to himself as he waited and watched.

Not long had passed when an Elf messenger burst through the doors. As he spoke, the young man paled and leaned forward in his chair, intent upon the speech. Upon completion of his message, the Man sat back as one who hears, but cannot believe. His face was troubled as he stood.

"Know ye that I am Garen, son of Galthun, and of the house of Lorien, the Elf-friends. Long have my fathers watched and guarded the northern borders of the Golden Wood, as was our agreement with the lord Celeborn many lifetimes of Men ago. That now bandits and rogues should wander those fair lands unchecked is a mark against the honor of my household, that they attack citizens of the Wood is an offence that I cannot let sit idle. I would pledge you my spear in this task, and aid in any way that I can."

He returned to his seat, but all joy had left his expression.

[ December 26, 2002: Message edited by: Garen LiLorian ]

[piosenniel]

Pio had ridden hard on her way back to Gondor, borne swift and sure on the back of Rochfalmar, the mare gifted her by Garulf when last she had passed through the Riddermark. She had hoped to find him at The White Horse, to bring him news from Eriador and to ask of recent happenings to the south. Alas! She did not see him as she entered the door to the Inn, though she stood for some moments allowing her eyes to adjust from the bright daylight to the interior of the room.

‘Falmar she had left with the stablehand, instructing him to wipe her down well, and see her comfortable and fed in a clean stall. She flipped him a silver penny from the Shire, saying the twin would follow if she found her mount brushed well tomorrow and her mane and tail combed free of tangles. He pulled at the yellow lock of hair that peeked from out his knitted cap, saying that she would shine like the sun. ‘I shall hold you to that, good Sir.’ she returned, a smile lighting the countenance of her travel-grimed face.

She stood for a while in the entryway, taking in the sensual attractions afforded by the Inn. Lanterns and bright banners delighted her eyes, as did the vases filled with holly and hypericum. Amaryllis,the white of it in stark contrast to the red of the begonias, and the boughs of evergreens which festooned the windows and counters . . . reminders of the constancy of of life, of hope, and of beauty in the face of shadow. Pio plucked a sprig of her namesake, holly, from a nearby vase, and fastened it in her raven-black hair, laughing as the sharp leaf pricked her finger. ‘Pretty, you are.’ she said, ignoring the drop of blood that welled on her skin, as she wrapped a lock of her hair about its stem. ‘Pretty . . . and dangerous.’

The Elf shut her eyes, taking a deep breath, and reveled in the scents that assailed her. Spices, and fruits, and the deeper aroma of a holiday feast being prepared in the Inn’s generous kitchen. She could, even now, see the sure hands of Fróma, as they mixed the ingredients for the stuffing. Her mouth watered at the thought of it.

The ebb and flow of words ran over and round her, pulling her attention like an insistent wave runs over the strand and pulls the sand and pebbles along in its retreat. Bethberry was here! She heard the low, welcoming counterpoint of her voice beneath the competing talk. Opening her eyes, she saw her standing at the bar with a young man in a ragged cloak. In the light of the lanterns, his red hair glinted with gold against the somber black of his clothing.

Pio made her way to where the Innkeeper stood, waiting until she had finished speaking to her guest. Then catching her eye, the Elf motioned her to where she stood, and pointed to two small casks she had brought in with her.

‘For you, Bethberry, a present from the Shire for your celebration. Mead from the wild flowers that grow on the slopes of the Evendim. One a Cyser, made with that very honey and juice of the finest apples from the old orchards round Hobbiton. And the other, Metheglin, to cleanse the spirit, flavored with thyme, rosemary, a pinch of silver sage, and bay leaf from the Old Forest.’

Pio placed her right hand over her heart and bowed to the keeper of Rohan’s finest inn. ‘May good fortune follow the Riders of the Riddermark. May their herds prosper with all the grace and swiftness of the Mearas of old.’

[Bêthberry]

Never before in all her days could Bethberry ever remember hearing of so many elves come to Rohan. One would almost have thought a cock had crowed and that a man named Peter had reinvented The White Horse for a popular film.

Yet gathered here they were, and, sadly, for all that they were welcome and for all that their manner was courteous and civil, she knew their presence spoke of dangerous times and dark trouble ahead. No number of lanterns could dazzle the bleak recesses of the stories which had come forth in answer to Guthrin's gentle invitation. So strange that his calm and gracious manner did not meet with the sympathetic response which it deserved.


"Come, elf messenger from the Fearful Lady of Lorien, your errand and message brings little cheer, but we shall not return in kind your story. Let Fróma warm your stomach if not your heart with a full plate. And I will need you to inquire of your lady, Aman, what manner of colour and symbol she should wish for the banner of her story, Kidnapped, to hang here in the Inn." The elf gave a half-bow of courtesy to the Innkeeper, and silently took his place at the long table, where he was soon joined by Garen, son of Galthun, and Lilebrian in whispered conversation about the strange times in the Golden Wood.

Bethberry then quickly found herself in discussion with Maikadurion: "True it is that Rohan is a borderland, pulled this way and that by the shifting alliances and incursions of others. Its independence is hard-won but has taught the people of the Mark not to refuse hospitality to those who have been jostled out of their native place. Well met, half-elven, and may you find the job here you wish beyond what I might offer here at the Inn."

Just then, a familiar voice drew the Innkeeper's attention, and Bethberry rose to see a companion from old days arrive. She ran to Pio, a warm, hearty hug in open arms to greet the tired traveller. The gifts of her homeland, the mead kegs, earned Pio two kisses, one on each cheek, and the two were soon lost in conversation--so distracted that they saw not the sudden departure of Ælfritha.

==================
A muffled neigh and many whinnies caught Ælfritha's ear in the midst of all the festivities at The White Horse. Despite the inky darkness of the sky and the biting cold, she grabbed a large lantern and exited promptly to the stables, where she found the main doors swinging open, the stalls empty, the stable boy, Heórrend, unconscious.

Dropping to her knees, she held him, wiped blood from the large dark welt at the back of his head, and shook him gently. Relief softened her shock as he returned to consciousness. He was one of the few people in Edoras with whom she had forged any kind of acquaintance beyond simple formalities and her concern was honestly felt. His club foot had rendered him unfit for duty as a Rider and often shunned by other more able-bodied men, but he was one of the most knowledgable horsemen in Edoras despite his young age.

"Men," he choked, "many men, Easterlings dressed as us. They wanted the horses." Ælfritha nodded silently, her face in the lantern light an impassive stone of fury.

Woozy and unstable, he climbed to his feet but fell against her. Cradling him, one of her arms around his shoulder, one of his around hers, Ælfritha led him back to the Inn, to Bethberry's quiet alcove, where the Innkeeper immediately rang for aid and a call to arms.

Sickened and fearful, Ælfritha strode into the main hall. "Good people of Rohan and guests of the Mark, we are abused and assaulted within our very gates. Our horses have been stolen, four of them mine, those of others as well. One of our own has been wounded. Who will join me in pursuit to recover the horses?"

================

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[ December 26, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[ February 06, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Estelarion and Menelduliniel sat in a corner. They saw a small woman of slim stature wander into the Inn and sit at the bar.

"Well, that certainly does not appear to be a warrior," Menelduliniel commented, "Even the Dwarves must be heavier than she is..." she looked at the other side of the room "Is that Parin?"

Estelarion looked, "Aye, 'tis."

Menelduliniel raised one eyebrow, "It is a very small world, is it not?"

"Aye, 'tis," Estelarion said, still looking at the small woman at the bar, "She can hardly be taller than a Dwarf. But look how small she is."

Menelduliniel eyed Estelarion, "Why not go and make her acquaintence?"

Estelarion looked at Menelduliniel, startled. "What is that?"

"Well, maybe you can make history. You can be the first male of the kindred to marry a mortal woman. Instead of those who benevolently find death snatching up one of our women, and leaving us to mourn their death."

Estelarion looked at Menelduliniel again, "Now that is a pessimistic attitude."

"Well, you cannot deny that it is true," she said.

Estelarion went back to looking at the small woman, "Aye, 'tis."

Menelduliniel rolled her eyes and snorted into her ale.

After she took a drink, she stood up.

"Where are you going?" Estelarion asked.

"To speak to Desseg," Menelduliniel said, naming the woman Little Maiden.

"Wait!" Estelarion said, grabbing out for Menelduliniel's sleeve. He missed, however and, before he could stop her, she was talking to the smiling young woman.

"My friend, over there, would like to meet you," Menelduliniel said.

"Really?" the tiny woman said, her eyes glimmering and a smile on her face. She was not beautiful, but she was cute, Menelduliniel had to admit.

"I am Menelduliniel. What are you called?" Menelduliniel asked.

"Well, I cannot repeat some of the things that I have been called in polite company," the woman said, giving Menelduliniel an even broader smile, "But I am known as Izrênna to most. And your handsome companion is...?"

"He is Estelarion."

"He is of the Elves, is he not? And so are you, I guess, judging by your clothing and appearance," Izrênna said.

"You have traveled enough to know of us?" Menelduliniel asked. Most women, she found, did not travel.

"Well, I have not met many Elves," Izrênna admitted, "Although there has been a dirth as of late. But there are many tales in this land."

"Well, come meet my friend and tell us of these tales!" Menelduliniel said. She dragged the teeny woman over to her table.

"This is Izrênna," she said to Estelarion, "I have told her your name."

Estelarion shot her a small look, then smiled at the small maiden.

"Suilannad," he greeted, rising and bowing a bit, and the small woman began to laugh. "What?" he demanded.

"Nothing," she said, "You are just so formal."

Estelarion gave a slightly confused look.

"Do not mind him," Menelduliniel said, "He is of noble birth."

"I am not," Estelarion protested.

"You are of rich birth, in any event," Menelduliniel pointed out.

"Yes, well...that has nothing to do with it," Estelarion said.

"Well," Izrênna said, "It was nice meeting you."

She extended her hand and shook Estelarion's, her small hand disappearing among his long fingers.

"And it was certainly lovely meeting you," she said to Menelduliniel, "I hope we meet again."

"We probably will," Menelduliniel said, "Most of the people that I have met in these Inns have been present at other such gathering places."

"Yes, 'tis true," Estelarion said. He got a swift smack from Menelduliniel, "What?" he found himself demanding again.

"If you say 'yes, 'tis...' one more time," she said, trailing off.

Izrênna smiled again, "I really hope I find time to travel with you two someday."

"Especially Estelarion right? Is he not the most handsome Elf?" Menelduliniel said, knowing that Estelarion would scold her later, but not really caring.

"Of course," Izrênna laughed, as she returned to the bar and ordered a bar.

"Well, what do you think?" Menelduliniel asked Estelarion, "Have I finally found you a mate?"

Estelarion smacked Menelduliniel this time. She laughed merrily and went back to her ale. She watched Izrênna at the bar every now and then...

Then, a stranger burst in. Horses had been stolen.

"Let us aid!" Menelduliniel said to Estelarion.

"Nay," he said, "We will remain here."

"Where is Izrênna?" Menelduliniel said, looking back. The small maiden was gone.

"I suppose she has left. Maybe she will aid," Estelarion said, "I swear, you are more fascinated with this maiden than I am."

"So you admit you are fascinated with her?" Menelduliniel asked.

"No," he said, and went back to his drink, indicating that the conversation was over...

[ December 27, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Morai]

The door of the White Horse creaked open. A raven haired elf entered letting in the cold air. Her green eyes scanned the room, Aranel Nowane saw many familar faces. She stood next to the door waiting for the Inn Keeper. Aranel had just arrived from Isengard still worn and torn from battle. Remembering the adventure from "Reawakened Mordor" still weighed on her heart....

[ December 28, 2002: Message edited by: Morai ]

[Kiara]

After a restless dream-filled sleep, Parin awoke in her dark chamber in the inn with a fright. The wholesome slumber she had sought had eluded her, and she had been troubled in heart and mind by visions of darkness. Cold shadows where light did not dare tread cobwebbed her mind to the point of distraction and shudderings.

Well, i just need some water after all that coffee, that's all., she thought to herself; but the thought of the usually comforting ebony liquid only served to intensify her black thoughts.

Stumbling down to the tavern commons, she sought the kind innkeeper for a jar not of ale, but of clear, clean water to combat the ills that had awakened in her soul.

Mother always said water would cure what ails a body.... Perhaps Bethberry would be able to explain to her the disturbing images that had flitted through her making her heart flutter.

"Excuse me, ma'am" she stammered to the gently smiling innkeeper, "Would I be able to get a jar of water?"

[Airerûthiel]

"Elen síla lumenn' omentielvo, mellon."

Aranel turned at the sound of a greeting in the Ancient Tongue to see a half-Elf standing behind the bar. He had shoulder-length red-gold hair that looked like a waterfall of flame when it caught the soft warm haze of the lamplights' glow, and cerulean eyes where fire and ice danced. "Welcome to Rohan, to the inn of the White Horse. You seem weary and lonely. Here, drink this; it may help you," the bartender said.

Maikadurion handed the Elf-maiden a pint of ale, and she took it gratefully from him. Feeling that one of them should introduce themselves to the other, he offered his weather-worn hand to her. "My name is Maikadurion, and I come from Ithilien in the land of Gondor. As a worker for Bethberry, who is innkeeper here, I am always greatly curious to hear the stories of the travellers that come through this inn. What is your name and your tale?"

[ December 30, 2002: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]

[*Varda*]

Varda sat in the Inn, sipping her ale, minding her business. Her eyes opened when she saw a friend she had not seen for many years enter the Inn, whereupon she swiftly got up to welcome her.

“Malienna! It has been some time!” The tired woman looked up to see Varda, and smiled.

“Varda! What brings you to Rohan?” she asked.

“Rest from my travels,” Varda sighed, “but I have not seen you in this Inn before. What brings you here now?”

“Horse thieves,” Malienna said. “I come to speak to Aelfritha, and wish to set out to help rescue these horses. Are you helping?” Varda shook her head.

“It is no business for an elf,” she answered. “In any case, I come here seeking rest, unless my services are urgently called for.”

“Then I will see you when – if – I return,” Malienna said. “Farewell, friend.” Malienna left to prepare for the journey, and Varda took up a seat near the door.

[Morai]

"I am called Aranel Nowane. I've just arrived from Isengard." She replied, sipping her ale. Looking up, Aranel saw a banner honoring her adventure.

"Many greetings Aranel, but what was an elf such as you doing in the city of Orthranc?" Maikadurion asked.

" Saving Middle Earth full of Inn's like these from traitors such as Saruman. An adventure such as that is very difficult. My companions and I did not escape without wounds." Aranel answered showing the scars surrounding her wrists.

Maikadurion gasped....

[ December 28, 2002: Message edited by: Morai ]

[Gryphon Hall]

Marco looked up as Dadrantor left. 'What is going on?' he thought. He can still see vestiges of the forest around him in his mind's eye, but it was rapidly fading. For some reason, he was grieved that it was ending and he wished there was more.

'Oh, well,' Marco thought, trying to be resigned. He drank some more of the coffee (Powerful nutty stuff this is! he thought), then looked up. What he saw made him clutch his head.

'Wha-?' Marco saw several superimposed images of people moving around the inn. Some, like Galadel, Bethberry and some red-haired/golden-haired guy who just came in seemed seemed solid, but others seemed to waft in and out of the air, one moment taking on solidity, the next disappearing altogether. Most of them were elves. He looked around him and saw that, except for a few chairs and benches, the inn itself looked solid and real, probably the only reality at this point from where Marco can see. He saw the banners waving among the rafters in colorful splendor, the food going around, the mead, the coffee... and Bethberry, who seems to see all and notice all.

Bethberry looked at him and smiled, and some of his confusion was allayed.

Just then, two events seemed to happen, simultaneously.


-My Lords and Ladies, I come from The Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien.-

Galadriel! thought Marco, I thought she was dead, or gone. What's she doing giving summons? He tried to pay attention to the other semi-solid talking.


-Men, many men, Easterlings dressed as us. They wanted the horses.-

-There is dilemma in the Wood; a band of men have wandered for some time-

-Good people of Rohan and guests of the Mark,-

-near the wood and now their threat I fear is reaching its limit;-

-we are abused and assaulted within our very gates.-

-they have stolen not only goods but also a young elf has gone missing.-

-Our horses have been stolen, four of them mine, those of others as well.-

-I implore anyone who may be of help to find the girl,-

-One of our own has been wounded. Who will join me in pursuit to recover the horses?"-

-Nuhrive Fleetwood, to come with me to the Golden Wood."-


'`Tis a bad thing to steal any of the horses of Rohirrim, you know,' said the dwarf beside him. Marco turned to agree, and was surprised not to see Parin, but Corrin! 'Master-?' he began. 'Yes, awful bad thing. Might as well steal one of their women or babies, it doesn't matter,' continued Corrin, a male dwarf with a long brown beard, also carrying two bundles like Marco himself was carrying. 'The Horse-lords will go after 'em like nothing and make 'em pay.'

'Maybe,' Corrin added, 'maybe I go with them and test this out.' He was fingering an axe made in the mode of Erebor. Corrin looked at the lad he was talking to, but he was gone. 'Corrin, my boy,' said the dwarf to himself, '`tis a shame that you can no longer hold your liquor, talking to thin air like that.' Still, he greedily gulped his ale. 'But where's the fun if such good drink doesn't make you imagine stuff awhiles.' He raised his tankard to Bethberry, who smiled back.

Marco saw the dwarf, his master fade away with the messenger telling of the horses just before the messenger from the Golden Wood also fade. He looked at Bethberry, who smiled and said, 'Hmmmmm... do you think he would go after the horsethieves? Will they let him?' Then she chuckled to herself, as the red-haired/golden-haired elf eyed him with interest.

That elf! Marco thought angrily. That old, bewitching elf! And, and that tall elf lady...

Galadel suddenly looked pointedly at him and said with some heat, 'We had nothing to do with what you saw. It is just the property of this inn to attract adventures and quests from all times. You saw messengers calling for adventurers to quests from before you were born.' Eeeeep! thought Marco, You really stuck your foot in this one.

Galadel softened, than added, 'Don't worry overmuch.' Then she, too, smiled.

'Might as well bring my cart into the stable,' said Marco aloud. 'Can't leave it parked out in front.' He got up and awkwardly swung his arms and stamped his feet, then resolutely marched up to the entrance.

'Your room will be ready when you get back,' called Bethberry after him.

[ December 28, 2002: Message edited by: Gryphon Hall ]

[Nurumaiel]

Culoth Luinloth Eluial Celeblhach, daughter of the Rider of Rohan Thoan, who was commonly called Rochriel, pushed open the door to the White Horse and stepped in. Many eyes turned to look at her, and she smiled cheerily at them all.

Culoth had never been to the White Horse before, but, though her name was Elvish, she had been born and raised in Rohan. She did not recognize any of those at the White Horse that night, but she rarely ever saw anyone besides her own family, seeing as they lived in an out of the way house on the plains.

As she moved towards the counter to order a drink, Culoth saw that there were many elves in the inn. Strange, she thought. Elves don't usually come to Rohan. In fact, I've never seen any elves in Rohan at all until just now. But, being that I know a little Sindarin, I'll at least be able to speak with them.

Ordering a cup of tea from the friendly-looking innkeeper, Culoth looked around the room once more. In her eyes they all looked kind enough. She was eager to meet them all, so when the innkeeper handed her the tea, she gave a quick thank you and a smile, then hurried off to sit down, hoping she hadn't sounded rude.

[Airerûthiel]

'It is not right that one so young should suffer so much for so many,' thought Maikadurion as he took in the Elf's wounds. 'Great danger is brought to Middle-earth with every day that the power of Saruman and Sauron grow stronger against the few.'

"Forgive my asking this, but you say you are one of Ithilien, yet you speak the Elven tongue as fluently as any of that race," said Aranel. "How can that be?"

"My mother was an Elf of Mirkwood," replied Maikadurion, "but my father was a Man of Rohan who settled in Gondor. Although they died when my brother and I were too young to remember them, they still affect our lives today; we cannot cross the borders of Rohan to that land because my father was a traitor to the Stewards.

"But enough of my tale - you seem like kin to me, in the sense that you appear in the guise of a Ranger, a wanderer of the countries of Middle-earth. I have not heard news outside of this land for nigh on two winters, and I greatly desire to learn of what goes on outside the land of the Horse-lords."

[Nurumaiel]

Culoth leaned back in her chair and looked around the noisy room. Many people were engaged in conversation, and she sighed. She would love to go and introduce herself to someone, but since she hardly saw anyone else besides her family, she had grown up being shy of strangers.

If only I could gather up enough courage to talk to one of the elves, thought Culoth. I've never spoken with an elf before, and many of the elves here seem so kind. I've always imagined elves being kind of like me when I'm dreaming… far off and not wanting to speak or be spoken to.

Culoth suddenly wished her father were there. He'd have no trouble introducing her to someone. He probably knew them all anyway. He had been to the capital of Rohan many times. In fact, he'd gone to just about everywhere in Rohan, and knew just about everyone. And he wasn't shy, either.

A strand of Culoth's hair fell forward and she brushed it back. Her parents had always loved her hair. It was golden, with a touch of red. That's why she had been named Culoth. Where the red in her hair came from, she did not know, but was content to look as she did. Her hair matched her fiery personality.

A loud whinny sounded outside and Culoth recognized it. It was her grey steed, Celeblhach (which was also one of her names), wanting something to eat. Standing up and going to the counter, Culoth shyly asked, "You wouldn't happen to have any sugar, would you?"

"Yes, plenty of sugar," the innkeeper Bethberry replied.

"Well, could I have a little? It's for my horse out there," said Culoth.

"Of course," said Bethberry, smiling kindly. She went and got the sugar. Culoth thanked her and hurried out the door. A stable boy was holding Celeblhach's reins.

"I'm sorry he wasn't in the stable," the boy said. "I tried to lead him but he didn't want to go. He just stood here firmly and wouldn't move."

"That's quite all right," replied Culoth. "He does that to me, sometimes, as well."

Celeblhach snorted and pawed the ground impatiently. "Sîdh, rochen. Tíra man garim," said Culoth softly, holding out her hand. Celeblhach greedily ate the sugar and then consented to go with the stable boy.

"Hannad," said Culoth as the boy led her steed off. "Thank you." Turning, she went back to the door and entered the inn once more. The peaceful quiet that was outside was not in the White Horse that night. Culoth hurried over to her table again to finish her tea, wondering if she'd be able to bring up enough courage to speak to one of the others.

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry was pleased to see the young woman return from feeding her horse the sugar cube. With the adacious theft of horses and the preparations for the pursuers, Bethberry had been remiss in caring for the patrons of The Horse.

She whispered a request to old Fróma to bring two plates of dinner, one for herself and one for Culoth, and then she approached the shy young woman.

"Forgive my inattention. We have had a busy time here, with two stories being launched and a posse gathered. Now, however, I have some time, before the New Year arrives, to welcome you. Will you join me for dinner?"

The young woman smiled a shy hello and the Innkeeper sat beside her, ready for a diverting bit of pleasant conversation.

==========

Happy New Year to all the patrons of The White Horse and all the gamers at Rohan. May the new year bring us many imaginative games, truly creative role playing, and good writing.

Bethberry

[Nurumaiel]

OOC: I say the same as Bethberry… have a happy New Year, all.

================================================== =

Culoth blushed as she gave a shy hello to Bethberry. She tried to think of something to say, but found she couldn't speak. Bethberry helped her.

"Where do you live, Culoth?" she asked.

"Here in Rohan," Culoth replied, then looked up and laughed a little. "Oh," she said. "My family lives out on the plains, away from all of the other people of Rohan. And, please, don't call me Culoth. My family calls me Rochriel."

"Very well, Rochriel," said Bethberry with a smile. "Do you know anyone here at the inn?"

"No," said Culoth. "My family lives so far away from everyone else that I don't really know anyone, except when Father takes me with him when he visits people."

"What's your horse called?"

"Celeblhach. Maybe you'd like to see him later?"

"If I find some time. It's usually busy at the inn, and I wouldn't want to leave someone without a drink and a meal."

Culoth felt a slow smile spreading over her face. Now that she had spoken a little with Bethberry, she knew she would be shy no more to this kind woman.

[Yavanna Kementari]

Nibinwing slowly pranced down the dark street to The White Horse. Pennuialiel's bright green eyes searching this way and that as if looking for something she lost. Ahead she saw a girl feeding a beautiful horse and then a boy taking the steed into a stable. "Just a little a farther now Nibinwing and you will have a full stomache indeed," Pennuialiel said with a smile as she patted her horse on the flank. "And me too!"

They arrived at the Inn and Pennuialiel hopped off her horse,and tied him up. Nibinwing gave her an impatient nudge with his muzzle. "I'll be right back!", she said with a laugh.

As she walked into the Inn and headed to the bar a woman stood up from a table and rushed to the bar to greet her. "Hullo," she said in a cheery voice, "What can I get for you?" Bethberry stood there smiling as the Elf looked at her with large green eyes. Slowly Pennuialiel said, "I need some oats and some apples." As she waited for Bethberry to return, she realised she was being watched.

Bethberry returned with a small sack of oats and a few apples. "Thank you very much" She said to the Innkeeper. "I will be back to order something for my self,after I've fed my horse." She started back across the floor as she went she noticed the girl that was outside, looking at her with wonderment and intimidation. Pennuialiel smiled at the girl and crossed the floor to where the girl was sitting. "Is that your horse I saw you feeding or are you a stablehand?" Pennuialiel remained standing for fear if she sat, the girl would run like a spooked coney. Culoth sat un-answering with an expression of complete awe on her face.
" Do you have a name?" Pennuialiel asked. The girl very quietly and slowly said,"Culoth." The Elf smiled so bright that it seemed to set her green eyes a flame "Well, Culoth I would love for you to show me your horse." Pennuialiel waited for a reply but Culoth said nothing. "I have to feed my horse I'll be out there if you wish to join me." The Elf smiled and went out to feed Nibinwing.
(OOC I'm a little new how am I doing so far please let me know, and Thank you Bethberry for inviting me!)

[ January 01, 2003: Message edited by: Yavanna Kementari ]

[Nurumaiel]

Culoth watched Pennuialiel leave the inn, and she suddenly wished she had spoken up. Smiling at Bethberry and saying quickly, "I'll be back soon," she left the inn, just in time to see Pennuialiel disappear into the stable, leading her steed with her.

Culoth slipped quietly into the stable and walked to the stall where Celeblhach was being kept. Stroking the grey neck of her horse, she looked over at Pennuialiel shyly. The Elf smiled softly at her and Culoth blushed, looking down.

After Pennuialiel finished feeding her horse Nibinwing, she walked over to Culoth. "Your horse is very beautiful," she said.

"Yes," said Culoth quietly.

"What's his name?"

"Celeblhach... Silver Leaping Flame." Culoth gathered up enough courage to look up into Pennuialel's eyes.

The Elf laughed at Culoth's expression of awe. "Why do you look so stunned?" she asked.

"Well," Culoth said, looking down again, "I've always wanted to meet an Elf, and now I have." Suddenly she brought her head up and smiled widely. "I'm not shy with you anymore," she said, laughing.

[Yavanna Kementari]

"Celeblhach, thats a fitting name."
" Beautiful name for a Beautiful horse."

"Oh I am Pennuialiel, my name means Green Eyes. You can call me Pennu for short."

Nibinwing nudged Pennuialiel in the back hard enough to push her forward. Feeling as though he was being left out of the conversation,the large silver stallion winnied loudly.

"And this,is my horse Nibinwing-or Silver Wind."

Afer he was introduced he bowed his head low and then put it up high.

"He is beautiful too!!" Culoth said.

" We have something in common, we both like silver!"

Pennuialiel and Culoth laughed as Nibinwing and Celeblhach began to befriend each other.

"Well then, I think that we should take it as a sign."

Pennu looked at Culoth and she was still looking at the ground.

" Culoth, you look at me as though I were a Vala, please don't."

Pennu bent down and kind of ducked to see Culoths face, and as Pennu stood up Culoths eyes followed.
"There thats better."
"You do not need to treat me any different than a mortal."

Culoth smiled at the Elf.
" I am very hungry I haven't eaten in 4or5 days."
Culoth looked with pity at the Elf
and her jaw dropped slightly.
"Days?" She half whispered,raising one eyebrow, as Pennu was walking toward her horse.

"And you are feeding your horse first?"

"You really love your horse huh?"

"Would you like to come join me?" Pennu asked the girl.

" Sure,"said Culoth."That would be nice."

The two put the horses back into stalls side by side because Nibinwing and Celeblhach would not be separated.

" Why haven't you eaten in days?" Culoth asked Pennu.

" Umm because I had an unfortunate 'accident'
that had to do with a large rushing stream and a muddy bank," Pennu said blushing.

The two headed back to the Inn together.
" So whats good to eat?"

[ January 01, 2003: Message edited by: Yavanna Kementari ]

[Nurumaiel]

Culoth and Pennu went to the table where Bethberry had been waiting.

"Hello," said Culoth cheerily. "Pennu hasn't eaten in a long while, so I was wondering if it were possible to get something for her to eat?"

"Of course," said Bethberry, beginning to stand up.

"Oh, I'll do it," smiled Culoth. "I can cook a little and you probably need a rest from running about all the time. I'll be back soon!"

Without waiting for an answer, Culoth hurried off into the kitchen. Opening up all the cupboards, she found all the ingredients she needed and set to work on making some stew.

A few minutes later she came out of the kitchen with three bowls of steaming stew. Sitting down and handing Bethberry and Pennu each a bowl, she smiled at them both. "I've said before, but, please, call me Rochriel."

"And as I said before, very well," replied Bethberry, smiling. Pennu nodded. She was too busy eating, and Culoth smiled at her, wondering it was like to be hungry.

Picking up her spoon, Culoth began to eat.

[Galadel Vinorel]

After Estel had been escorted by Bethberry to the stable, Galadel had remained kind of quite. She rarelly spoke up to the people who sat at her table, for she was thinking over memories, some best left forgotten. Hearing the door of the Inn open again, Galadel saw an Elf and a young woman enter into the hall and sit down to eat by Bethberry. Galadel peered curiously at the elf, for she did not recognize her and could not tell where the elf came from, which Galadel could usually tell by an elf's clothing.

Looking down at her drink, the lady elf realized that it was now empty, so she excused herself and walked to the bar. THe man at the bar smiled as Galadel approached adn said, "What may I do for you, my lady?" Galadel smiled and said, "Could I please have another ale?" The man nodded and quickly refilled her glass and Galadel turned and looked around the room at who she should talk to next.

Deciding, the elf walked to the table that Bethberry, the elf, and the young woman were sitting at. "May I join you all?" asked Galadel, "Oh and by the way, my name is Galadel. Elen sila lumen ometilvo." Galadel bowed to each of them in turn and then sat down in the seat offeered by Bethberry and waited for someone to introduce themselves.

[Nurumaiel]

"I'm Culoth," said she. "But most just call me Rochriel, so I would love for you to call me that, as well."

"All right," said Galadel, smiling.

Culoth jumped up. "I just finished getting a meal for these two, so maybe I'll get you one as well. Or have you eaten?"

Without waiting for a reply, the girl rushed off into the kitchen. She soon came back, holding a plate. "I can cook all right," she said, setting it down in front of Galadel. "I hope you like it," she said with a smile.

As Galadel settled down to eat, Culoth asked, "Where do you come from?"

[Galadel Vinorel]

Looking up from her plate, Galadel looked over at the young woman who had just asked a question.

"I come from the land of Lothlorien, the Golden Wood, and the Home of Elvendome in Middle Earth. Quite a fancy title, but that is its true name, and not the Sorcerer Queen's Wood, as some have called it." said Galadel fiercly.

Then the lady elf calmed downed and asked, looking over with a smile at Rochriel, "Where do you come from, Rochriel?" Galadel began to eat her food then, while listening to the answer to her question.

[Bêthberry]

It was a sombre Innkeeper who sat down in the quiet after the unimaginable events of the last night and day. Never before had horse thieves struck so close to Edoras. Nor had they ever taken so many at once. Perhaps it was Ælfritha's horses which had attracted attention; they were the finest stock in Rohan after the mearas. It would be near financial ruin for the horsebreeder to lose all four. And it was ruin to the sense of peaceful community. Already whispers were flowing around Edoras and people were taking harsh second glances at faces which weren't immediately familiar. An edge had crept into the community on sly cat feet and it had cut into the easy familiarity which all had known.

Yet Bethberry sat eating the stew which Culoth had prepared with a calm patience. The effort and earnest desire to serve which had motivated Culoth must have touched Fróma also, for to her surprise there had been no swift quelling of the culinary insurrection. Culoth had been allowed to prepare the dish in peace. With effort, Bethberry turned her attention to the patrons sitting near her, trying to divert her mind from the troubles at hand.

[ January 13, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Nurumaiel]

"From here," replied Culoth. "I've lived in Rohan all my life. We used to live at the capital but now we live in a house all alone out on the plains." She looked curiously at Galadel. "You're an elf?"

"Yes," said Galadel with a nod.

"I've never met an elf before... though I'm trying to learn to speak their tongue, Sindarin.

"Lots of people here in Rohan speak evil of the Lady Galadriel, but my father taught me differently. I don't know how he knows what he does about her... I think maybe he knows some elves. But all the stories I've heard about her are beautiful, wonderful stories."

Culoth found herself staring at Galadel in wonder. She suddenly thought she realized who this fair Elf before her was, so she asked, "Do you know the Lady Galadriel?"

[Galadel Vinorel]

Culoth found herself staring at Galadel in wonder. She suddenly thought she realized who this fair Elf before her was, so she asked, "Do you know the Lady Galadriel?"

Galadel laughed; she had been found out. "Yes I do, Rochriel, " said galdel, smiling broadly, "I am Lady Galadriel's daughter. Her second child, and I am now the Lady of the Golden Wood, since my mother departed over the Sea,"

Culoth stared at Galadel in awe, and the elf nearly laughed again. "Now don't stare at me like that," said Galadel, and then she changed the subject, "How much Sindarin do you know, Rochriel? Elen sila lumen omentilvo." Galadel nodded as she said this and then faced the young woman and waited for her response.

[Nurumaiel]

"Le i Brenniliel! (you are the daughter of the Lady)" Culoth gasped. "A i Brennil Malthen Taur! (And Lady of the Golden Wood) Oh, please forgive my inaccuracy of in speaking Sindarin, for I have only just begun to learn."

"Can you sing?" asked Galadel abruptly.

"Why, yes, I can," said Culoth. "Would you like me to?"

"Yes, please. Sing a song in Sindarin."

"Very well. It's called Fael I Celyn." Culoth opened her mouth and began to sing in a strong, clear voice.

Ir cordofath galaned Hithui
Ir gweloth galaerin galadh
Ir less calen ned Girithron
Ha dorath nalain.
Im reviahe emyn ar he imled
Gorn naer cenim
Dor alluir isto leithian
Ar fael he celyn norlain.

Im sogana i gur he gweth
Ha thelyn i sennui gargwanath
Na cui ned i ring angwidh band
Na togad hain u-fyrn.
Elo le si ir min baur le
Lachaman i naur iuitho nan
Le nori lyss o medui rhiw
Ar fael he celyn norlain.

Lend cuil ir ha nallren
Moe i sogair ha parch
Bain i ir ha gwanu
Milui i gwaew ha naergon
Maer ned nith ir ha brun
Gell ned hin u-tira
Ir ennas naer ned silanor ar loth
Ar fael he celyn norlain.

[ January 08, 2003: Message edited by: Nurumaiel ]

[Galadel Vinorel]

"You sing very beautifully, Rochriel. Did you say that you father taught you how to speak Sindarin? Well, then did he travel to Rivendell or some other Elven Kingdom in Middle Earth? Also, is it he who also taught you that song which you just sang?" asked Galadel curiously, smiling over at the young woman.

[ January 11, 2003: Message edited by: Galadel Vinorel ]

[Nurumaiel]

"No, my father never travelled to any elven lands... not that I know of," said Culoth. "He never told me how he learned Sindarin, but he's taught me to speak it rather well. But, as you can probably see, or rather, hear, I'm not that good at it.

"My mother taught me that song," said Culoth. "It's beautiful isn't it? She also taught me this one. It's a little lullaby, in my people's own tongue."

Culoth began to sing once more, this time in Rohirric. The song was gentle and lulling, as most lullabies are.

Restan nu, fæger an
Fore nanwuht nu fyrhtu
Eall niht fæger eac giet
Restan eac don ne fyrhtu.

Restan nu, giet an
Fore eorcanstan lyft niht
Mæst eorcanstan scinan beorht
Restan eac don ne fyrhtu.

Restan nu, min cild
Na pleoh on niht
Na fæhðo hwæþer guð
Restan eac don ne fyrhtu.

Culoth finished and started once again, this time singing in the common tongue so Galadel would understand.

Sleep now, fair one
For there is nothing now to fear
All nights are beautiful and still
Sleep and do not fear.

Sleep now, still one
For stars are in the sky tonight
The moon shines brightly
Sleep and do not fear.

Sleep now, my child
There is no danger on this night
There is no battle or war
Sleep and do not fear.

[Orual]

A lean figure limped into the inn, shouldering his brown pack. He looked around the room, taking in all of his fellow patrons, and nodded slowly. He took a deep breath and a seat at the bar. In a voice hardly louder than a whisper, he asked for an ale.

He was quite a sight, with his thick flaxen hair falling into his sharp grey eyes. He kept pushing it away impatiently, but to no avail. It had become his nervous habit. He wasn't an unattractive young man, but very thin, and his limp was distracting. His tawny-coloured shirt was dusty and too large, making him look even smaller than he already was. His eyes darted to and fro around the room, as though anxious that someone would attack him. He thanked the innkeeper when his ale came, and drank it quickly. It seemed to relax him; he leaned his head back and sighed. Éorlan was his name, and he had come to the Inn to recuperate from his journies and to look for good company, good tales, and perhaps even a good adventure.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Frain's stout and short figure stepped noisily into the White Horse Inn. Three loud thunks sounded as he brought both feet and a walking stick onto the wooden floor of the Inn. People all around talked, ate and drank. Though he had never been in Rohan, he brought news that the patrons may wish to hear.

Frain searched the faces of the Inn, looking for a friend. There she was! Bethberry, honourable innkeeper of the White Horse!

Frain, with a smile lighting up his face, walked over to Bethberry. She did not looked surprised, or perhaps she hid it well. They exchanged a hug, though Bethberry had to kneel to bring herself to the dwarf's level.

"It has been a long time, good Bethberry! I have news that may interest the writers and adventurers among us," Frain began as he took an empty chair near the innkeeper. "Though we dwarves may not go along. Hmph! Sure. We are allowed to send the news to others, yet we are asked not to join in the adventure! 'Tis for Humans."

Bethberry smiled and looked at Frain. Of course! thought Frain. He was getting off-topic. Save your opinions for later!

"May I?" Frain asked Bethberry, spreading his arms, referring to the Inn. She nodded approval, and Frain stood on his chair to make him taller. He took his walking stick and knocked it onto the chair-seat loudly. No one seemed to notice.

"Seems their ears aren't what they used to be, eh?" Frain grumbled. He tried a different approach. "Listen up!" He called out in a deep, booming voice. Seconds later the commotion and talking in the Inn stopped, and only the sound of glasses on wooden tables could be heard.

"Alright then! In Dale, there are old legends and children's tales of a lost race. Not only that, but a book, that was said to document their habits and their secret medicines, potions, and remedies for sicknesses that still plague us! Interested? Take a look at the 'Search for the Book discussion'!"

For a moment, everybody stared at him. Frain was a bit uncomfortable, with all so many eyes on him. He mumbled under his breath for a moment, until he called, "Well don't just sit there and stare! Get back to yer drinks or hurry over to Dale!"

[ January 14, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry caught old Fróma's frowning nod and went to speak with him. He was none too pleased, but then chefs who submit to having others use their kitchens rarely are. He tore a strip up and down about the mess which Culoth had left the counters in and the disorder to the cupboards where she had checked for foodstuffs. The Innkeeper listened for several minutes, nodding, commiserating, adding an occasion "No doubt", and then finally offerred a suggestion to the cook. He considered it for several minutes, the Innkeeper sweetened the suggestion with a glass of ale, and he finally agreed. He went off then, to the market, to order new stocks. The Innkeeper returned to the MeadHall.

In a loud voice, she summoned both Culoth and Galadel.

"It would seem that some tidying up is required in the kitchen, from those who took liberties to prepare their own food. Culoth and Galadel, there is a large stack of dishes, pots, pans, glasses, all manner of utensils needing cleaning, and Fróma has other work to attend to. You can sing while you clean up in the kitchen, and there will be a tankard of ale for you when you've done. But mind now that you don't break anything. And scour everything well. And tell us about it." She smiled broadly at the two as they went off to the kitchen.

Directing her attention elsewhere, the Innkeeper then sat down with Éorlan and Frain, wrapping a large tartan shawl around her shoulders, for the day was proving cold with a harsh blowing wind outside.

"Frain, I will post a notice here, for any who drop by to read, about this tale from Dale of the lost book. Éorlan, your walk suggests you have a sombre story to tell. Will it please you to tell it to us?"

=======

If you are interested in the game which Frain has told us of, go here to read about joining it:Search for the Book-- Discussion (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic&f=20&t=000026)

[Orual]

Éorlan, your walk suggests you have a sombre story to tell. Will it please you to tell it to us?

The young man looked up and smiled shyly. He fingered his mug, seeming reluctant to say anything.

"Your pardon, lady," he finally said, "I seem to have forgotten my manners. Yes, if it pleases you, I'll tell my story."

He sighed. "My family lived on a homestead on the far outskirts of Rohan. That is, my mother and father, and my sister and I." He paused for a moment, struggling with himself it seemed. Then he continued. "My father was never a very popular man--never held the common opinion on anything, and always said everything he thought loudly. Don't get me wrong, most in Rohan found him harmless, even amusing, for my father spoke loudly but acted seldom. But there were a few who disliked, even hated him for speaking too much about things they didn't want said. My father's tales were not limited to politics and things of the world, but often included people and their doings. For years my mother tried to stop him from 'shooting off his mouth', as she said, but he refused, said that he had the right to say anything he wished. And that he did, I'll tell you. He did that.

"As I already said, we lived far away from the towns and seldom got visitors, so my family was very tight-knit. My sister and I didn't fight like I've heard tell that siblings often do. She was my only friend. Is my only friend," he corrected himself hastily. "Is. We went into town occasionally, but it was always a big holiday and we never met any of the town children, and no one ever bothered to come up to our house to see us.

"It wasn't that long ago, I don't suppose...no, less than two weeks, though I can hardly believe it. It was the dead of night, and a chill was in the air. I had just come back to my room from giving my sister an extra blanket when I heard a noise in the front. I suspected that it was some large animal, so I took my father's bow from the wall and went to see what it was. I looked out of the window, and saw three men.

"I called my father, and he came out and took the bow from me. My mother and sister followed him into the front room. He told them to stay back as he opened the door, but little aid it would give them in the end.

"As I don't doubt you've guessed, these three men were some of those who my father had angered in the village. He'd said things about them that they didn't appreciate, and so they'd come to do something about it. I guess that they were more than a little drunk, for even men such as themselves wouldn't have done what they did, though they were ruffians and criminals." Here Éorlan paused, and rubbed his eye tiredly. "They killed both of my parents and took me and my sister. I would still be with them but for my spill out of their wagon--that's what gave me this limp." He stopped. "That's my story, lady. It's not a very good story, not with a happy ending or a moral like the stories we all asked to hear as children, but it is what it is, and whether anyone--least of all me--likes it or not I can't change it."

[ January 15, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Nurumaiel]

OOC: Bethberry, I'm editing my post and putting in more description as you asked. If I say something about the kitchen that isn't true (I expect you know your own kitchen best smilies/wink.gif) then you may PM me and let me know. Thank you!

===============

Culoth paused for a moment to listen to Éorlan's story. Such sadness! His parents had been killed. Was there anyone in Rohan who did not have some terrible story to tell? Her father's tale... his mother... her grandmother... she had never known her grandmother. She had been killed. But it was by the cruel blades of fire, not by the hate of another man. Could anyone be as horrible as they were in Éorlan's story?

She hurried into the kitchen to do as Bethberry asked. Now, cooking was one thing, but cleaning up afterwards... that was another. Culoth despised housekeeping in every way, but being the only girl in her family, she had to do a lot of it.

The kitchen was rather large, but that came as no surprise to Culoth. It was a busy inn, where many meals must be made. She walked from cupboard to cupboard, opening each up, and seeing they were all as full as they could possibly be. There was a small fireplace where a fire was burning merrily, but soon it would die without being tended to. Next to the fire a few logs were piled up neatly.

Culoth first tended to the fire, and then found a large pot. Going out the kitchen door that led outside to a well, she filled the pot with water and then brought it back in, hanging it above the fire. She would need some hot water to do the dishes. She sorted out the dishes, looking curiously at Galadel the whole time. There was much she still wished to know about the daughter of Galadriel.

The water was now hot. Culoth set the pot down on the wooden table where the dishes were stacked, and set to work. Galadel did the same.

Maybe I can tell a tale after I finish here, Culoth thought. The story about my adventure with the orcs. She shuddered. But, no, my father never passed his gift for storytelling along to me. And I don't like to remember what happened to me.

Culoth gave a deep sigh, and started on the next stack of dishes, glad she had Galadel to keep her company. Well, if the daughter of Galadriel could do dishes, so could the daughter of a lowly man of Rohan.

"Galadel," she said rather shyly, "what brings you to Rohan?"

[ January 17, 2003: Message edited by: Nurumaiel ]

[doug*platypus]

The Dwarf Bard

An eerie whistle of the wind wound its way through the White Horse Inn, as the door opened to admit a weary and footsore dwarf. The chatter died down as most faces turned towards the newcomer. With a long, slow glance, he scanned the room, narrowing his eyes against the glare. Seemingly convinced of its worthiness, the dwarf reached his hand up to the inconveniently placed handle and pushed the door closed.

Having doffed his deep blue hood and cloak, the dwarf lifted up his arms, stretched and gave an almighty groan.

"Oh, that's better!" he said to noone at all, clearly glad to have his journey behind him. Seasoned traveller though he was, the leagues from Erebor to Edoras were a great many in number.

He strode around the room, looking here and there at tapestries and artefacts of Rohan; he had never been in the Riddermark until now. He paused when he came to a fresh piece of parchment on the wall, some kind of notice. The dwarf's eyes bulged as he scanned down the page, until he looked rather like some kind of fish, his lips blubbering in excitement. In true dwarvish fashion, he then glanced from side to side with a sneaky look, one eyebrow raised. Thinking himself (wrongly of course) unmarked by any, he then quickly tore the parchment off the wall! Folding it hastily, he tucked it away inside his tunic and turned to casually walk to the bar. Turned, that is, right into a table, and then onto the floor with a flailing and a clatter.

A large and ferocious mattock, such as the Dwarves of the Iron Hills used in battle, struck the floor with an almighty crash, and the purloined notice, a pouch of pipeweed, several pipes, a wooden recorder and numerous coins all launched themselves out of the poor dwarf's pockets.

"Ooh, ah, I see your notice has fallen down, miss! Here you go," he held it out as a very amused innkeeper approached. Inwardly praising the suave way he had handled the situation, the dwarf pushed his fallen belongings into a pile by the nearest stool and sat down as if this was what he had intended all along.

After a few minutes musing on the notice he had just read, the dwarf retrieved his recorder, and began a slow solemn tune. It was an old ballad of the Lonely Mountain, such as had been learned by rote by every dwarvish bard for many years now. Given the strangeness and unsurety of his surroundings, the dwarf bard started soft, but low and sweet. When he had gained the attention of several patrons, he gradually moved into the more usual form of the ballad, weaving the notes in and around each other as each verse echoed the last. The refrain he played throughout tugged gently at the hearts of all who listened to it. Even without a harp or viol, the music was able to stir the emotions of the listeners, to arouse in them a feeling for the magnificence of the deep places of the world, and the caverns of the dwarves of Erebor. No other dwarf kingdom save one had ever produced so many fine bards.

He played on until eventually the song ceased just as it had begun, blending back into the usual sounds of the inn. The dwarf sat in silence for a moment, unconscious of several approving looks directed his way. Then he lifted up his head and asked without hesitation as if from years of practice,

"Right then, who'll buy me a pint?"

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry shook her head in a vain attempt to wake up and trudged over to the large announcements board. This early in the morning, the Inn was usually very quiet, so it was a good time to accomplish chores, but that didn't make early mornings any more attractive.

Her first notice concerned the new thread which Mithadan has started about Rohan game proposals. It looked to be a very interesting thread, providing discussions of what a good game story is, so she was sure the patrons of The White Horse would want to check it out.

Making RPG proposals in Rohan (and The Shire)--a tutorial (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic&f=20&t=000028)

"Well, one down," said the Innkeeper to herself. Now for a coffee before I place the other announcements.

[ January 22, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Hirilaelin]

The door to the inn opened. A woman, dressed in shades of grey, green and brown stepped inside, pushing the hood of her dusty cloak back.

Looking around, she did not see many people. At the bar sat a very thin and nervous looking young man, his eyes darting back and forth. Walking over, Hirilaelin sat down next to him.

"Something to drink please," she said, putting her pack next to her seat. Looking over at the young man, she smiled. "Hello," she greeted him.

Eorlan looked at the woman as she walked into the inn. When she sat down and said hello,he replied, in barely above a whisper, "Hello."

At his reply, Hiriaelin spoke again, holding out her hand. "My name is Hirilaelin, though most call me Hiri. I am a traveler, but hail from the North. Who may you be?"

[ January 22, 2003: Message edited by: Hirilaelin ]

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry watched the puffs of her breath form ice crystals on the window panes. The paint was peeling slightly around the frames; she would have to make a note for the spring cleaning, to paint the windows of the Inn. Come to think of it, she was acquiring a long list of things that needed to be done around the Inn. It was time she hired more help.

Walking to the announcements board, she wrote, in a large hand,

Help Wanted

Hobbit to help with small jobs around the Inn. Apply to the Innkeeper with a character and references.

Then she turned to the small group of recent guests at the table nearest the fire.

"My dear Dwarf-with-no-name, I know that Ballad of the Lonely Mountains. It has long been a favourite of mine. Will you play for your supper?"

"Hirilaelin, welcome to The Horse. We are quiet now, with several games running, but soon we expect a large crowd to gather as one game concludes. I might have to hire extra help for that party. Are you handy in a kitchen? Culoth will need help, now that Galadrel has been called away."

Bethberry then sat down beside Éorlan. "Such are the tales which we begin to hear of all too frequently these days in Rohan. How recent was this? Do you want to round up some of the patrons here, to track these murderers and find your sister? What plans would you have to propose?"

So saying, Bethberry signalled Fróma to bring ale to the guests, for tongues wagged faster when watered.

[Hirilaelin]

Hirilaelin turned in her seat, where she was talking to Bethberry, and said, "Certainly! I can cook quite well. Please tell me when the party will start, and I will be glad of any assistance I can give."

Bethberry thanked her and Hiri said, "Would you have anything to drink? I am quite thirsty from my travels! Also, could you tell me more about Rohan? Maybe where I could get a horse?"

[doug*platypus]

With measured grace, the innkeeper made her way around the assembled company, chatting to patrons and performing the myriad of tasks required to keep The White Horse running. As she neared the bard's tale she hailed him.

"My dear Dwarf-with-no-name, I know that Ballad of the Lonely Mountains. It has long been a favourite of mine. Will you play for your supper?"

Chuckling inwardly at the misnomer "Lonely Mountains", the bard was nevertheless pleased to find such fine treatment in a far land. Too often had he found strangers who were unfriendly to the dwarves for whatever reason. Sometimes this was because of the dwarves' own mistrust of the other races, but not in this one's case. Never a miner or a worker in stones or metals, and not strictly speaking a warrior, his profession was not always well regarded amongst his people. The bard could ill-afford to be picky of which races he associated with, and his travels had seen him make friends with many men or little-folk.

He mulled the suggested fee over for a few seconds, and then agreed to a meal and a pint of beer, as the price for the previous ballad and for another song or tale later. The innkeeper then moved on to the other guests. At the bar sat a very thin and nervous looking young man, who appeared to have some tale of woe. The dwarf listened in carefully as the innkeeper talked closely with him.

He managed to pick out the words, "Do you want to round up some of the patrons here, to track these murderers?" and as the innkeeper's glance strayed around the room, the dwarf developed a sudden interest in a richly carved rafter. Whistling casually, he continued to examine it until all chance of being singled out appeared to have passed. This week was, as it turned out, a most inconvenient one for him to be murdered in, and the dwarf was much more interested in the Search for the Book. He thought he would stay at the inn long enough to recover his vigour, and then head off immediately to join the quest.

One of the innkeeper's helpers shortly came around with a tray of ales. The dwarf's tired eyes lifted as he saw this, and he took one with a very hearty "thank you", trying not to seem rude for his reluctance to track down murderers.

[Bêthberry]

Chuckling at her dwarf patron, who would be welcome to stay as a non-combatant providing he sings and plays for his supper, Bethberry returned to her desk and found a clever missive from an old friend. It read:


Bethberry had just entered into the kitchen and began helping the cooks begin the cooking of the breakfasts for the many guests staying at Bethberry's fine Inn, The White Horse.
She smiled as she looked around at cooks working diligently and the cook hands rushing around the kitchen fetching spicies and other such ingredients and soon there was lovely smells of eggs and bacon sizzling in pans, bread baking in large ovens and the clanking as large canisters of milk were brought in by delivery boys.
Then she heard the flapping of wings and a beautiful falcon flew through the open door to the kitchen, startling a delivery boy carrying a canister of milk nearly making him drop it and landing on the back of a small chair sitting against the back wall near the chopping blocks. Tied to it's leg was a small parchment. Bethberry smiled knowingly and said quietly to the falcon stepping closer to it:

'Hello Wyrd...How have you fared?'

The falcon made a small noise and turned it's head sideways. Bethberry laughed, wiped her hands on her apron then took the parchment from the bird's leg. She untied the twine that held it together and unrolled it, it read:

Dear Bethberry,

I have been on one of my many wanderings and noticed you are the proprietor of a fine establishment named The White Horse . Upon inquiring around Edoras I found one was only to gain entry through the approval of the inn keeper herself, and in this way I found out you were the inn keeper.
So now I ask of you if I may be welcome in the White Horse and be able to write with and pit my wordsmith skills against those of this fine establishment. I hope you remember the old times of your stay at Minas Tirith and the adventure we started together with Gandalf The Grey, Orofacion Of The Vanyar and Madmartigan.

I hope to hear from you soon....Wyrd knows the way

Adanedhel

Bethberry put the parchment down on the table and absent mindly stroked Wyrd's head thinking over what the note had said......



"Now why would such a clever friend think he needs a special invitation?" thought the Innkeeper to herself. "Of course Adanedhel is welcome." She set off to write a reply in case he didn't see the one here.

[Adanedhel]

A tall blacked garbed stranger silently entered the inn of the White Horse. He was unremarkable with the exception of his height (A rather large 6ft 2”) He tipped back the cowl of his black cloak and ran his fingers through his thick dark hair then rubbed his stubbly chin ‘Time for a shave’ he thought to himself. He scanned the common room quickly as a hunter and mercenary does in unfamiliar territory, and found a seat near the rear of the inn. He un-slung his two handed sword from the baldric on his back and lent the sword against the edge of the table, out of the way but easy enough to reach if the situation arose which he both hoped and knew it wouldn’t.

He sat in the seat ordering only one pitcher of ale as he watched the patrons of the inn of the White Horse. He saw Bethberry but she was busy on other duties so she did not see Adanedhel sitting in the chair with his barely touched pitcher of ale. He smiled as he saw her again. It had been many a month since he had seen the healer. She had been traveling with Adanedhel and a company headed for Umbar on a mission of great importance until Bethberry had been taken ill. They had left her at Rivendell and then moved on none of which the company rarely saw within the walls of the white city of Minas Tirith.
He saw that she had recovered well from that and as well she should the incident being many months ago now.

Adanedhel sat a while longer and took no more than three sips of his ale then rose and strode purposefully towards Bethberry as she went towards a table with a plate stacked high with a patron’s breakfast. Adanedhel smiled one of his usual cheeky grins as Bethberry put the plate down for the man nodded politely then looked up to see who was walking towards her. At first she didn’t realize and she started to say:

’What can I do……’

She stopped mid-sentence and smiled one of her beautifully big smiles, one that made Adanedhel’s grin go even wider. He stopped a few feet away from her and bowed low:

’We meet again…..lovely Bethberry’

[ January 24, 2003: Message edited by: Adanedhel ]

[Orual]

Do you want to round up some of the patrons here, to track these murderers and find your sister? What plans would you have to propose?

Éorlan looked up, startled at the offer. A flash of hope passed his face, then he quickly veiled it. He looked around the room, glancing hesitantly at each of the patrons. He shook his head wearily. "I am a stranger here. Would they be willing to aid me in my search? I don't doubt that these men want me dead, and won't look kindly upon any who are with me."

He sighed. "Please, don't get me wrong, I dearly wish to see my sister again, if she's even alive." Again he looked around the room, and his face softened. He looked back at Bethberry, his haggard face looking younger, but his wary eyes looking older. He laughed a little, and said, "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. Your offer was beyond my expectations. I only expected to come here and regain my strength. If any are willing, I will not turn down help.

"As for plans..." Éorlan's face fell, and he grinned dryly. "I have none at the moment. I think I know where they were headed, but I don't know what they did once they sobered. Perhaps they really hated my father enough to kill my sister. More likely they fled with her in terror of being caught." He dug into his pack and brought out several sheets of paper, his grey eyes showing a vigour and energy not previously present. "I'll sketch out the murderers, see if anyone knows them. Then--" He stopped suddenly, as though struck, and looked at Bethberry with a shy look. "I guess I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I?"

[ January 24, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Bêthberry]

"Cheeky indeed you always have been, Adanedhel, and cheeky you remain," joked the Innkeeper, giving the young elf a quick hug of welcome. "I beg to remind you though, my dear young elf, that I do not do the dishes here, nor the serving. And I am ages older than you. Now, tell me, how have you been? Who have you danced with at the Polygon in my absence? Are you here to stay for some time? We would welcome a strong sword such as yours, for Edoras is come upon strange and difficult times." Suddenly, she stopped, realizing she had too many questions for her old companion in gaming.

While Bethberry waited for Adanehel to answer, she turned to Fróma and signalled him to bring a large ale to Hiri. "Hiri, your question brings up much sadness. We had many horses in our stable, some of which were for sale, but they were stolen, taken beneath our very eyes. We have not yet heard back from those who went out to recover the horses and deal the thieves their just measure for such adacity. Two doors down from the Inn you will find our blacksmith, Hrethric. He is a surly soul and much given to complaining about the state of his labours, but he should know where you can find a horse. See him later today, after lunch. He is often more content then." The Innkeeper then turned to Éorlan.

"Not at all, Éorlan. The sketches will be most helpful. I think we should find someone to take them to The Golden Hall. I wonder if Deorlin will be returning soon. He would be the ideal person for such a task."

[ January 25, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Adanedhel]

Adanedhel smiled and waited for Bethberry to finish with the other patrons she was talking to before answering her questions.
Yet again he scanned the Inn and when his focus returned to Bethberry she held sheets of parchment in her hand which had rough sketches of some surly looking men.

'Trouble in Edoras you say?'

Bethberry nodded and Adanedhel continued:

'Minas Tirith is holding up quite well, though the influx of new citizens is good it is creating more and more rubbish in my most favourite section of the city 'The Green Dragon'. There are the odd new citizen who was like yourself, much respected and respected the city and what it stood for'

Adanedhel sighed and his cheeky grin seemed to disappear all together

'but it seems they are a dying breed. There are some of course who keep the integrity of your gaming alive, seldom others keep the gaming at a high level'

He rubbed his chin stroking the stubble and a frown creased his features then he went on

'That is why I have wandered abroad and come here, as I have ventured here many times before'

A sudden thought struck him and he started talking quickly in his excitement but then just as quickly slowed down as he noticed that Bethberry had trouble understanding him

'I must sincerely apologize for not answering any of the messages you have sent me over the months. My visits here are very infrequent and I only got the messages not a week ago'

He bowed again and said in a sincere tone

'For this I am sincerely sorry and I am at your service'

He rose from the bow and the cheeky grin returned to his face as did the twinkle to his sapphire blue eyes then he said with a slight chuckle:

'As long as it isn't anything too strenuous………’

His face suddenly went serious and he said in low tones:

’What strange and difficult things are happening in Edoras?’

[ January 26, 2003: Message edited by: Adanedhel ]

[Hirilaelin]

"Stolen you say? Who would do such a thing? I had thought that the White Horse was a respectable place..."

"No, no, it usually is," Bethberry hurridly assured her. "This act was... An anomally. Usually it is a VERY respectable place, but this..." Hiri sipped her ale as Bethberry talked, savouring the taste of her ale. Hoping to take the worried innkeeper's mind off the stolen horses, she said, "This ale is excellent."

Bethberry seemed to brighten. "Thank you! Our ale is some of the finest in the city." "Yes, I do believe it is! Most excellent ale." But Bethberry's momentary brightness faded as her thoughts wandered back to the incident that had occurred.

Hiri took another sip, then said to Bethberry, "I was also wondering if there are any availible rooms? I might stay awhile here." She sipped the superb ale and looked at the various patrons, deepin conversation, or simply eating or drinking, as she waited for Bethberry's reply.

[Orual]

Éorlan took out two pencils and began quickly to sketch out a rough picture of the men. He bent over his work, one arm wrapped around the page as though to keep others from seeing it, and he was lost to the Inn for several minutes until he had satisfactory sketches in his hand--very good likenesses, even for Éorlan, who had spent much of his time as a child learning to draw.

He scowled at the drawings. Perhaps they were a little too much like the men, for him, at least. The faces on the paper seemed to leer at him, taunting him. He stopped himself from tearing them apart, but just barely.

He then turned to Bethberry, but she was talking, so he just slipped them under her hand and went back to his drink. He looked up at the ceiling, a strange smile on his face. What luck! He had truly never expected help...he had expected to recover here, and go to find his sister on his own. With companions, his chances of finding his sister rose by unforeseeable amounts. But would any come? He looked back down, grounding himself in reality. He was a stranger. No one knew him, or of him, or had any reason to care for his sister. He could not blame them if they did not choose to join him. But even the possibility...

With that happy thought in his mind, Éorlan smiled and sat back in his seat.

[doug*platypus]

Having finished his meal, the dwarf bard pushed his plate aside, and extracted his pipe from the mess of his belongings on the floor. He also stopped down there for long enough to put all his possessions back in order about his person, and to tie up a stray bootlace.

After a few minutes at the pipe, he drew a long draught from his tankard, and stood up where he was. The time had come to pay his fee. A bard by profession since he could ever remember, he made no apologies for the length of his story, and hoped that despite their troubles the patrons would be eager for a tale of the north. He had been put in mind of one about a book.


The Burning Book

"I will tell you now of the Burning Book; the ancient text of a powerful sorceror and mage of the Realm of Angmar.

"Nay! It is not the Witch-King himself I speak of, but one of his greatest servants. Although great, this sorceror had not the terrible power of the King of Angmar, and was but a vassal to him, having nothing of his own to command save his extraordinary talents. This sorceror's true name was long forgotten, but the Elves knew him as Gûl Carnen, the Red Sorceror, for his robes were red as a furnace fire, and his hands also. The Dwarves' name for him was not so pleasant. For many years, he aided the Kingdom of Angmar in its persecution of my people, the Longbeards. For the foes of Angmar, whatever the Elves may have you believe, were not only west of the Misty Mountains.

"It is said that this sorceror owed most of his power to one fiery tome in which many incantations of the ancient world were recorded. Indeed, the language of men which it was written in was even then forgotten to all but a few. The Witch-King could not have know it, or he would surely have taken the book, desiring no other sorceror but himself to hold power so great. But even had the Fell King been able to use it, he dared not approach the book, for the sight of its burning pages was as a smouldering brand in the heart to him. So he hated his lieutenant, and yet feared him nigh as much.

"For years, until he began to unlock the secrets of the Burning Book, the Red One used it only with great pain. For the pages of the book, by some ancient art, burned with a fierce fire and yet they were not harmed. Whatever was to touch the flaming leaves would be singed and seared terribly. The lure of the book was so strong to the sorceror, however, that he could not leave it alone, or lay it aside. Closed inside its binding of dragonhide, the mage carefully carried the book with him wherever he went. No spell he knew could be made to help him, and no golem he created could be manipulated to use the book for him. The book was no doubt enchanted to prevent enemies of its maker from using it. But its rightful owner had long ago gone to his grave, and the secret of its unlocking was lost. By supernatural powers of will and discipline, Gûl Carnen constrained his hands to fight through the horrible pain it took to turn the pages, and he began to learn its secrets.

"By and by the mage grew in power, and as he brought himself to turn each new page, though his hands and his face would burn until they bled, his knowledge increased. Eventually he found he no longer needed the hands that Ilúvatar had given him. Through a devilish spell gleaned from the Burning Book, he was able to recreate flesh and sinew when his own hands were finally destroyed. Ever after his hands looked perfect, but they glowed red and orange like hot coals. His face, though, he could not heal, and he was horribly scarred until the day he died.

"As has been said, the King of Angmar hated and feared his servant, the moreso as the Red One's power increased. He devised a plan to rid himself of the troublesome mage. At that time in the troubled lands of the north there still still lingered great fire drakes, remnants of the ancient world. Although fierce and independent, these creatures had throughout history ever been ready to the will of evil. The Witch-King desired their power to use against the Free Peoples of the north, and resolved to bring them under his dominion. Foolishly, for only one power has ever been able to sway a dragon against its will, and to parley with a dragon is madness. But in this reckless venture, the King of Angmar also saw a chance to rid himself of the Red Sorceror, whose knowledge and power was now advancing by the day. The Red One had long before cast away all his old scrolls and tomes, and everywhere he went, he would be seen clutching his precious spellbook, to the scorn of his fellows. He was often seen in those days at the forefront of battle with the Eldar, with the men of Arnor, or with the Dwarves. Standing tall in his red robes with The Burning Book open before him in his hand, it was said he would call down horrible portents of fire and stone from the heavens, or stir the spirits of the slain to spread mayhem across the field of battle.

"The Witch-King sent him now with a small company on his most difficult task yet, to persuade or to ensnare dragons to serve the ends of Angmar. The Red One accepted this task knowing that many hoped he would be destroyed rather than succeed. But he also knew that if he refused, the Kingdom would rise against him as a traitor, and he would be taken and slain since he had no army to command. Indeed he had no servants at all, for that was not his desire. He was a mage, a destroyer by fire and by fear, and he was above the rule of others, as others were below being ruled by him.

"As intended, the Red Sorceror did indeed meet his end in the wastes of the north. If you can believe such a strange tale, I may tell you that some of my own forefathers witnessed this, as they hid waiting to attack the men of Carn Dûm, having heard rumour of them from ravens. But my kin did not have the chance to draw blood. Gûl Carnen and his company were met by a huge winged fire drake, as they were encamped on the waste, weeks out from Angmar. The dwarves were preparing to attack as the sun rose to its zenith, when the unmistakeable flapping of immense wings was heard across the barren plains. The Red Sorceror strode out to meet the red-golden drake as it alighted. For hours they stood there facing each other, the mage in his fiery robes, Burning Book open in his hand, and the red-golden creature on its haunches, one of its huge unlidded eyes fixed on him. Not a word was uttered aloud in that time, but all who were watching knew the dragon and the man were communing with each other. The men of Angmar were stricken and afraid, and they stood outside their pavilions and tents unmoving. The dwarves could not be told apart from the grey stones about them, and barely did they even breathe.

"And then the strangest thing of all happened. The mage turned around, and suddenly after the hours of silence he spoke. He read aloud an incantation from the Burning Book, his right hand stretched out towards the men of Carn Dûm. They stood dumbfounded, still held under the spell of the dragon, whose wicked laughter now burst forth from the depths of his form. One by one, Gûl Carnen singed each man to the bone, leaving their charred remains on the ground where they fell. He razed the pavilions, and then, his energy spent, dropped his arms to his sides, staring straight ahead like a blind man. The tome of fire dropped on the stony ground beside him, falling so that it closed itself firmly. The great dragon lumbered up, slammed his spiky tail into the book, and flicked it neatly up and into his vast maw. The great beast swallowed, and spurted immense tongues of flame out of his nostrils until the fire of the book had been all expelled into the air. He then grasped the back of the still unmoving mage's robes in his teeth, picked him up off the ground, and flapping his wings began to spiral slowly up into the air and away north.

"After a while the dwarves regained their wits. When they were sure the dragon had gone, they searched through what was left of the men's camp. Nothing did they find there but twisted and melted metal, and singed bones. Having been robbed of their vengeance, they cursed once more the name of every dragon they had ever known, and made their way back the long leagues to Erebor. None could say for sure what happened to the sorceror, whether he was consumed, if he was spared, or if he was kept in torment for the pleasure of the vile beast. But to a dwarf, they ever after had nightmares of a Burning Book, and the laughter of the dragon."


Having finished, he ceased his walking about the room, and returned to finish his neglected beer. After exchanging pleasantries with those in the common room and with his gracious host, he retired to a room that she selected for him. He made up his mind to leave as soon as he woke up in the morning. We must away ere break of day and all that, he thought to himself with a smile as he turned in.

[Nurumaiel]

Culoth smiled satisfaction. All the dishes were done! Now she would head into the common room to listen to some tales and songs, and maybe even tell a few herself.

She went back into the common room and settled down at a table. Glancing about, she caught sight of Bethberry, but saw she was busy. Culoth knew she would have to be returning home soon to help her mother, but she hoped to hear something interesting before the left the inn.

[cole]

A Person in a black cloak walked in. He did not seem like a threat, after all he had no visible weapons and did not causing trouble.
On his back was a traveller's pack. Well worn and slightly battered. It was a faded brown color. He walked to a seat in the corner and sat down. He was evidently a newcomer. From far distance the man looked liked a naz^gul (because of the cloak). he reached into a pocket in his pack and pulled out a small canteen, he took a sip of the contents and put it back, with his hood still up the person sat there, face looked at the floor, possibly asleep, such a frightening person nobody would possibly speak to him so he would probably not speak to someone else.

[ January 28, 2003: Message edited by: cole ]

[ January 29, 2003: Message edited by: cole ]

[Nurumaiel]

Culoth looked at Éorlan curiously. He looked familiar, and his name sounded familiar as well. She wanted to go speak with him but felt very shy.

He saw her looking at him and gave her a very friendly smile which overcame her fears. She approached him and sat down next to him.

"Éorlan you said your name was?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"Your name sounds familiar, and you look familiar. Might I ask... from where do you come?"

[Susan Delgado]

Susan made the trip from Gondor in near-record time, but she waas still late. By all rights, she should have been at the White Horse weeks ago. Well, she was here now, and Bethberry would have to be satisfied with it. She wouldn't be surprised to find herself mucking out stalls for a while, though. She probably derseved it, anyway.

The Inn was full of the usual rabble, some telling tales, some drinking or eating, some just sitting not doing anything. She glanced toward the bar, but Bethberry was speaking to some young Elves and hadn't noticed Susan's entrance. She approached the bar, not drawing attention to herself. The Innkeeper was busy and Susan was perfectly willing to postpone the anticipated explosion. After time, Bethberry noticed Susan standing near the bar, wearing a sheepish grin.

"Well, there you are at last. What took you so long?"

Susan consiidered for a few moments, thinking of all the things that had happened to her in Gondor. "I...was delayed."

"Delayed, uh-huh. Why don't you look around, get acquainted with the Inn, and I'll find you when I need you."

"All right." She went upstairs and deposited her pack in an empty room and came back downstairs to mingle, always keeping an eye on the Innkeeper.

[cole]

He pulled down his hood and sat back tired but thankful to be in a actual place that would accept him. His light blue eyes and dark blonde hair appeared from the gloom of the hood. he again took a drink from his canteen. Hoping to actually talk to someone now that he showed his face.(which was not a regular occurance when in strange territory)
This was a new place to him. he was from the far north, and travelling when the mood took him. He took off a weird glove from his right hand and massaged his fingers. It hurt to have the glove on but at least it helped to cover the scar and stopped people from asking questions.

[Kiara]

Enthralled by the ancient story of her kinsman, Parin (who had been sitting in the shadows nursing her seemingly eternal cold with wholesome chicken broth) sat gaping in wonder and awe. Her unfortunate spoon, though she did not notice it, so vision-filled was her little head, had slowly slipped to the wooden floor beneath her. The gentle clatter it had made was not enough to rouse her from her revery. But now, the retreating figure of the mysterious dwarf and the possibility of losing the opportunity to make his aquaintance grew slim. Yes, now she needed to act, or suffer the consequences of sloth.

Jumping up from her table, she nearly sent her bowl, contents and all, to the same dismal end as her spoon, but from some smile of fate, the bowl pirouetted once, twice, thrice, before settling calmly in the center of the table, as though ready for applause from the gathering in the room. But it remained, as she had been, unnoticed in the corner, until now....

"Master Dwarf, do you retire so soon? I would seek a word with you, if you would be so kind as to flatter a young dwarven maid's fancy. If it is fatigue you seek to ward off, may I offer you a coffee on me for your pains? I assure you, the black bean Bethberry uses for her brew is the finest I've tasted!"

This was received, however, by uproarious laughter in the dimly lighted inn, for as high and fine as her words sounded, she had not counted on the effect of her crowded sinuses....What they heard was this:

"Baster Dwawf, do you retiwe so soon? I would seek a wowd wid you, if you wouwd be so kide as do fladder a young dwarben maid'z fanzy. If id is fadigue you seek do wawd off, bay I offew you a coffee on me fow youw painz? I assuwe you, duh black beand Bedberry uses fow hew bwew is duh finesd I've tasded!"

Oh no!, she thought,Now he and everyone else is going to think I've been at the drink!

So, completely abashed, Parin began to slink back into her corner, amidst the continued chucklings of those around her....

[silverstorm1321]

Smith of the Word stood outside the inn called the White Horse, watching the fire from the window at the front of the inn, its warm light flickering against the pane of glass, and the people milling about inside. Smith debated with herself, unsure of whether or not she should enter the warm and inviting atmosphere. The cold wind of night swirled around her strong, comely frame, lifting her cloak and making it dance in the eddies created by its gust. The wind chilled Smith to the bone, and the fire within the White Horse seemed rather inviting. Faced with a choice between another night of cold wandering and a night seated by a warm fire, Smith opened the small wooden door and entered the inn.

The smells that bombarded Smith's senses brought a smile to her face: a roaring fire, mead and ale, roasted meat. Smith looked around, seeing none but strange faces and an empty seat near the fire. She strode across the room and took the seat, her large brown eyes keen and watchful of all that went on around her.

Her mind recalled a story that she remembered her grandfather telling her, a story of elves unlike her kin-elves that lived deep within Fangorn Forest. Her eyes switched from a keen awareness to a deep inward stare as she warmed herself by the fire and watched the scenes of the story play itself out in her mind.

[ January 29, 2003: Message edited by: Smith of the Word ]

[Orual]

Éorlan frowned, trying to dig up any memories of this person. None came. "I'm from the outskirts of Rohan," he replied, turning to look her in the eyes. "A homestead, to the northwest of Edoras. This is my first time in these parts--it was a long trip to any towns."

He looked at her carefully, desperately reaching back in his memory for anything that had to do with her. He just hoped that he didn't look rude as he stared intently at her face. Something passed his mind, then was gone. He looked down, frowned hard, then looked up again and smiled. "I seem to recall your face, but I don't know where I have seen you before. What is your name?"

[silverstorm1321]

Smith was startled out of her thoughts by a kind young man who approached her seated by the fire. "I am Smith of the Word, but most simply call me Smith," she smiled, answering the young man's question. "I am from north of here, and I was a long journey for me as well. What is your name, and how goes things in Rohan?"

[ January 29, 2003: Message edited by: Smith of the Word ]

[Nurumaiel]

"Culoth Luinloth Eluial," she replied promptly, once again deciding not to add 'Celeblhach.' "I used to live in Edoras, but now I live in a little home with just my family; nobody nearby."

She could see he did not recognize her. Indeed, she did not recognize him, but he seemed vaguely familiar to her somehow.

"Perhaps you have met my father, or maybe heard of him? He's a Rider for the Mark, and his name is Thoan. Or my uncle, Éonirth?"

A strand of Culoth's golden-red hair fell forward, and she brushed it impatiently back (she was always getting annoyed by her hair), then stopped. "If you've ever seen a girl of Rohan with hair that's more red than golden, that's me," she said with a grin. "Where my red hair came from, I do not know, but it's there all the same. That's where I got my name.

"So do the names of my father, Thoan, or my uncle Éonirth sound familiar to you? My mother is called Inres, and I have two brothers, Rochir and Mithgwath, as well. I'm just trying to think of anyone you might have seen, or met, before. You look so familiar but I cannot place you..."

Her voice trailed off and she smiled cheerfully at him, waiting for his answer.

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry sat beside Adanedhel, deep in conversation about shared adventures in the past and this new threat here in Edoras.

"Indeed, Adanedhel, the thieves entered Edoras itself, and took the horses from the Inn's very stable. We have not yet heard back from those who pursued. It is my understanding that The Golden Hall may start a special watch, but I know not for sure. Would you be willing to take up such employment here, if you will stay awhile?"

While Bethberry waited for the Dark Warrior to think of the offer, she thought back to the dwarf's tale of The Burning Book. He seemed to be anxious to leave, that dwarf did, yet his story lingered on in her memory. She wondered what more stories he could tell. Perhaps she could delay his departure, or at the very least, engage him in a promise to return.

Her attention was called away by the conversation which had developed among Culoth, Smith and Éorlan. It was good to see that developing. In the back of her mind, she hope that Deorlin would return soon with the horse pursuers and be able to take those drawings up to the Hall. Then she noticed the dark stranger and warily watched him for some time.

"Excuse me," she said to Adanedhel, "I just remembered something I must attend to."

So saying, the Innkeeper rose and approached Susan. "Susan, your worries merit a good-natured laugh. Your presence here, no matter how tardy, is quite appreciated. I wonder if you would keep an eye on that dark stranger we have here, the one with the gloved hand. Perhaps you could chat him up and see where lies his business? We would be wise to keep an eye on strangers, without troubling them grievously."

As she spoke, Bethberry glanced over at Hirilaelin, wondering how she was doing.

[Rochelle]

Lauromae dismounted from his silver companion. "Dartho Nienna" The mare stood patiently as the elf entered the inn. Quietly he looked around before he sat at one of the empty tables. He had left Mirkwood only this season and had not settled in one place for long since then.

His notable long, blonde hair hung loosely down his back. A full quiver was visible yet his bow still remained hidden. Eyes of almost lavender looked about the people then quickly through the glass to make sure Nienna was still in view. He trusted his mare, but this was a new land to him. He had not been here since the war of the ring when Theoden was king. He had been a friend to Rohan and he had been bestowed Quellë, a direct male descendent of Shadowfax. He smiled slightly, knowing the steed was with his daughter. She would be taken care of.

As of yet, he did not know where his path would lead him. His skills were sharp and he was still as active as he was when he had only seen twenty seasons. Perhaps he would join a govannas or perhaps he would move on to the lands of Gondor...

[Envinyatar]

He pulled his brown cape closer about him. It was colder here. He had forgotten. The birds had gone south, and he had followed them, their patterned forms against the sky, leading him on. Now he must return to his dwelling, leaving them to follow him.

Up the Harad Road he had trudged, taking the western fork to Pelargir. The South Road beckoned, leading him north. He hurried through Minas Anor, stopping only briefly at the great library there. Some drawings for the librarian, to place among the stacks.

Past the Grey Wood, he made his solitary way along the foot of the Ered Nimrais, the tap of his staff on the pathway ticking off the miles of the Great West Road. At the boundary of Gondor, he paused in Firien Wood, taking stock of the birds which had wintered there beneath the shelter of the trees and the watchful eye of Halfirien. Then, crossing into The Mark, he pushed on to the River Snowbourne.

It had grown even colder as he entered Edoras. The sign of The White Horse was a welcome sight. He paused at the door, looking for the owl he had seen here in previous travels, but he could not spy him. With a shrug, he pushed open the door to the Inn, and stepped inside, letting the air, warm from the fire and the bodies of the patrons, rush over him. He made his way, unobtrusively, to a table by the window, and sat down with a weary sigh.

A server brought him a small mug of spiced wine. The sweet, heady scent of it preceded the dark, heavy taste as it coursed warmly from lips to stomach. Just the thing to take the edge off the chill. He raised the mug again and sipped at it pleasurably.

A hot meal and a snug bed for the night, he thought, then he would press north, to Fangorn.

[ January 31, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Hirilaelin]

Hiri sat at the bar, sipping her ale and looking about her. Everywhere in the inn, people were talking and drinking. Just then, she heard someone speaking.

"Baster Dwawf, do you retiwe so soon? I would seek a wowd wid you, if you wouwd be so kide as do fladder a young dwarben maid'z fanzy. If id is fadigue you seek do wawd off, bay I offew you a coffee on me fow youw painz? I assuwe you, duh black beand Bedberry uses fow hew bwew is duh finesd I've tasded!"

Hmph. Been at the brew to hard it seemed. People were laughing gaily at the slurred speech. But, as she looked harder at the speaker, she saw a young dwarvin maiden, embarrassed by all the uncomplementary attention she was recieveing. Strange. She didn't look drunk. Standing, she pushed her way through the crowd towards the maid, who was trying to fade away from all the laughter.

Finally fighting her way through the crowd to the dwarf, she spotted her sitting unhappily at a darkened corner table. Pushing back her cloak and sitting down, she introduced herself, "Greeting. My name is Hirilaelin, newly arrived here. Who may you be called?"

[cole]

Cole relaxed a bit in the seat. He asked a server for some ale. The drink would be better than the one that he has grown accustomed to drinking.

While waiting he sang a bit of one of his songs, in a small whisper to pass the time. Then he muttered."I wonder why none of these good people do not wish to speak to me, even the server was afraid for some reason."
So he waited.

[Orual]

Éorlan thought for a moment. "I believe my father did mention the name Thoan, and I think I may even have met your brother, Rochir...I knew I'd seen hair like your's before!" He laughed a little bit. The Inn was relaxing his tense nerves and relieving his grief. "Yes, if your brother is who I am thinking of, then I've certainly heard of you before. He spoke quite well of you." Éorlan paused for a moment, and a little flush rose to his face. "If I'm not mistaken, he's a little older than me, is he not? Well, I think that he thought that...eh, well..." Éorlan fumbled for words. "Well, I think that he thought that I might fancy meeting you." He laughed a little, hoping that he wasn't quite the vivid red colour that he was afraid he had turned.

Another young woman's voice broke in, and he wasn't sorry for the distraction. The discussion had taken an unfortunate turn, and he was quite embarrassed. "I am Smith of the Word, but most simply call me Smith," she said. "I am from north of here, and I was a long journey for me as well. What is your name, and how goes things in Rohan?"

Not being the most adept at manners, he briefly stammered his leave of Culoth and turned to face Smith. As he did, he wondered briefly what his father would say. Here he was, surrounded by lovely young women, all on his own. A grin flashed across his face as he imagined what his father would indeed say. "I am called Éorlan, and I come from the outskirts of Rohan, north and west of Edoras. I'm not quite sure how things go in Rohan, to be honest--I've spent the last few weeks trekking to this Inn to rest until I leave again." He smiled at Smith, then at Culoth (to make sure she didn't think that he was ignoring her) and sat back. It was a bit of an uncomfortable situation, trying to carry on two conversations, but he didn't really mind--he hadn't spoken with anyone in so long, it was a welcome release.

[ February 01, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Susan Delgado]

Susan nodded and rose from the table. She approached the dark stranger, whom she'd noticed was looking around shyly, as if wanting to talk but too afraid to start a conversation of his own. On the way, she asked one of the ubiquitous servers to brink two mugs to the table, mead for her and ale for him.

She sat, startling him. "Hello, I'm called Susan. I noticed you were here all by yourself and thought I'd buy you a drink." She said politely. She didn't menetion that all the drinks she bought were on the house.

He looked around, as if wondering where she'd come from. "I'm Cole. Um...thanks for the drink," he added as they arrived. He glanced into his mug, then sniffed it. "Ale," he commented noncomittally.

[Adanedhel]

Adanedhel sat and mulled over Bethberry's offer of the 'special watch' that would be set up in Edoras. He again rubbed his chin, a sign to anyone that knew him that he was thinking deeply over something.
His weather worn face set into a look of deep concentration. You could see the dark tan of his face from being exposed to the elements his whole life, battle scars on his arms beneath the black cloak he wore proving he was the veteran of many battles and skirmishes and his bright blue eyes showed a depth and understanding of the world rare of one his age. Adanedhel knew people were sometimes unsettled by his eyes, he had been told by some of his closest friends his eyes seemed to see into the person they were looking at, and Adanedhel used this to his advantage locking eyes with people and trying to see through the window to their soul.
His piercing blue eyes still sweeping over the room quickly, watching people and learning their ways. He watched as one woman went and sat with a man dressed not unlike himself in the black cloak sitting in the corner doing as he did, watching the people and making his own assumptions on their intentions and whether or not they were ones to trust.

His blue eyes were drawn to Bethberry as she spoke with the woman that ended up with the dark stranger in the corner and Adanedhel instantly knew that something was going on and kept one eye on the dark stranger and the woman.

Adanedhel felt strange being back in Edoras, for many a year he had traveled abroad hiring his blade out to any that would have it. Ever since he was a young boy he had not been to Edoras, though a man of the Rohirrim he was unaccustomed to their ways and felt very out of place in the realm of the horse lords. When he was a young boy he and his parents had left Edoras for Minas Tirith, his father was a blacksmith and looking for more work and Minas Tirith offered it. On the way there they were besieged by a band of raiding Orcs and Adanedhel’s parents were tortured and killed, Adanedhel barely escaping with his life.
When he fled he ran for weeks and weeks, living off the berries and small animals he could catch until finally he came to the eaves of a great forest. Mirkwood. He flittered on the edge of the dark wood, afraid to enter until he was caught by an Elven Hunting party and taken to the King. He took pity on the orphaned boy and Adanedhel grew up as an Elf, learning their ways and eventually earning the Elven name Adanedhel, meaning in the common tongue ‘Elf-Man’ and the two-handed sword he wields, one that when used in battle comes afire as though infused with magic.

Bethberry then came back to Adanedhel and put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of his reverie of the past. She noticed his surprisement and said in a low tone:

‘Are you okay? You seemed startled?’

Adanedhel smiled and replied:

‘Just thinking of the past….’

Bethberry nodded in understand and then sat at the chair she had vacated before and placed her arms on the table clasping her hands together.

‘Have you thought of what I asked?’

He nodded, is shaggy black hair bouncing as he did so and replied seriously in answer of the question

‘I have been away from Edoras too long, it is time I returned for a while and gave something back to my place of birth, my heritage’

He leaned back in his chair slightly and brushed strands of his thick black hair out of his eyes with his hand his blue eyes thoughtful.....

[ February 04, 2003: Message edited by: Adanedhel ]

[Airerûthiel]

It had been a long journey back east, but he knew it was no use not to stop walking - not now, not when he was so close to his goal. As he reached the citadel of Edoras, his heart seemed to be dragging him further and further eastwards, back to Gondor, back to his true home in Ithilien. But he couldn't go back, no matter how much he wanted to. He could never wash the blood stains off his hands for good.

And yet...if he went back, it would only be justice. He would die for what he knew were his crimes, yet in the eyes of Gondor he would die for what they thought his father had done. The hour grew late, and his silver-grey mare whinnied softly as her hooves clicked on the cobbled courtyard of the inn. He stroked her neck lovingly, speaking to her in the language of his mother's people. But even though he loved this horse, his one companion and trusted friend, more than life itself, he could not look into her soulful eyes.

He dismounted and quieted her in the tongue of the Elves and of Rohan. After stabling her for the night, he stared up into the sky. The stars twinkled like pinpricks of light buttoning down night's midnight blue velvet cloak. But written in their patterns he saw only the deeds that had haunted his steps for what seemed to be his whole life. Sighing heavily and loosening his grip on the sword that had done the deed, he walked into the inn.

~*~*~*~*~

A blast of cold wind came in through the wooden door of The White Horse, along with a hooded and cloaked figure dressed in black. His head bent low, he walked towards the bar and sat down at a stool, barely looking up to grunt his order of a pint of ale. Normally strangers were disregarded in The White Horse; they were stared at momentarily and then conversation was resumed again. But this time it was as silent as the grave for what seemed like eternity.

He drained the mug's contents in one go, surprising even a group of burly Dwarves in the corner who were sure to be flat out on the floor after their next celebratory pitcher. In the background somebody started a slow clap, but was quickly quieted by the sound of "Ssshhh!" from the other end of the bar. Lighting his pipe, the stranger glanced around warily, as though suspecting someone was going to leap out and attack him, and then stalked almost menacingly over to an empty table in the corner.

Accustomed as she was to strangers visiting the inn, Bethberry couldn't help but stare with the rest of its occupants. She was intrigued by this person; he reminded her of someone from her past, and yet she couldn't think who. Mysteries were becoming more common in the borderland of the Horse-lords, but none so strange as this Ranger. "Who is he?" she asked herself. "And what business does he have in the Riddermark?"

[cole]

Cole drank a bit of the ale. It tasted good to him. That could have been from the drink he had packed in his canteen. It could make pretty much anything taste sweet. He offered her some.


"Here, this is a drink I encountered in my journeys. It is very good, you might like it." As he passed the drink he glove fell off revealing the heart shaped scar on his wrist. He reached for his glove quickly but couldn't find it anywhere. He sighed and admitted defeat, he lost it.

He tried to draw attention away from his wrist he covered it in his cloak sleeve. "Why is everyone scared of me susan? Nobody wishes to speak to me other than you. Was it something I did?"

[the real findorfin]

Again the doors of the White Horse opened and Fin stepped inside. His heavy black cloak covered his fine garb and gave him the appearance of a grave figure. He looked around at the scene that greeted him, 'what no looks?'

He had travelled far from the west and in those regions every newcomer was watched an inspected for faults. In a way he enjoyed the lack of attention and he strode towards the bar, but a glance from several females certainly did nothing to dampen the half-elf's spirits.

"A pint my friend," he said jovially.

As the drink was poured, Fin sighed happily. He had been sleeping rough for many a day and now it was time to relax before he moved on again. He had made good time since Rivendell and had many weeks to spare before the meeting. If the common room was anything to go by, he would be staying for quite some time.

He picked up his pint and took a long swig.

"Ahh, that's better!" His loud comments attracted some attention but many were deep in their own conversations. Fin wondered if anyone would talk to him, or would he have to make conversation.

"We'll see," he murmured, "we'll see."

[Kiara]

"Well met, Hirilaelin," came the reply from the stuffy-nosed dwarf, "I am Parin Stonemouth, of the lands of Erebor, and I am not drunk!" she said, still somewhat flustered by the chuckling from earlier. Parin dropped her head to hide the crimson stain of embarassment which she felt burning into her cheeks.

Peering once more into the depths of her wholesome broth, the reflection of the gay face across from her showed not a laugh of disdain, however, but a warm friendly grin, and the little dwarven lady dared to raise her head again risking the perusal of those shining eyes.

"From whence do you hail, my lady?" she said, trying hard to enunciate and communicate through the thickness of her cold. Her deep brown eyes shone with curiousity and excitement. The same passion that thrilled in her heart whenever she heard the stories of those who visitied the inn was rising at the possibility of a tale. Perhaps Hirilaelin had a story to tell of adventure and romance! Oh, the little dwarf yearned for adventure, and as she inclined her head to hear what the lady had to tell, her bonny blond braid fell into her soup without her notice, so dreamy had she become....

"Please, tell me your story," she entoned in a hushed voice....

[ February 04, 2003: Message edited by: Kiara ]

[Hirilaelin]

Hiri smiled at the stuffy nosed lass. "My story? There is not really much to tell. And I doubt that you would find it interesting." She took a sip of her ale. Parin, noticing her braid was in the broth, pulled it out and shook her head vigorously. "No no! I'm sure that your tale would be quite interesting. Full of adventure and what-not."

"Adventure?" Hiri laughed. "I have had no adventures. I am but a traveler, going where my heart wills me."

"But," Parin protested, "you must have had some adventures! How can you say that traveling is not adventuresome?"

"Traveling, if it is one thing, I would pick cold. I have slept under a bush many a time. That is really all. But, if you wish it, I will tell you my story, at least up to this point. You may find it dull and dreary however." Parin shook her head again, and said firmly, "No, I will not find it dreary, or dull."

Hirilaelin laughed, and said mischieveiously, "Fine then. But remember, you asked for it!" Settling back in her chair, she stretched her legs outin front of her, and took a sip of ale before she began. "I was born in Dale, on thye Long Lake." She paused, and asked Parin, "Have you heard of it? It is near the Lonely Mountain."

Parin nodded. "Indeed. Some of my family lives there." Hiri nodded, satasfied. "Well, as I was saying, I was born in Dale. I had a wonderful time there, but when I was twenty, I decided that I wanted to travel. Dale suddenly seemed small, and my feet restless. I yearned to have some of your "adventure." So, with the blessings of my parents, I left Dale, and journeyed down the river to Mirkwood, where I visited the elves."

'After spending a fair amount of time with the elves of Mirkwood, King Thrainduil decided to send some elves across the Misty Mountains to Rivendell, and I decided to go with them, wanting to see the fabled Imladris as well. Traveling southwest, we came to the high pass. On our way over, a small band of orcs waylayed us, and we lost a man to a poison arrow. We killed the orcs, and continued over to Rivendell."

Parin's eyes were wide open. "You do not call that adventure? It sounds... Well, it sounds adventurous! And dangerous." Hiri laughed. "I suppose that at the time, it was quite an adventure. But I was terrified when the orcs attacked. It was my first "adventure" I suppose, but I performed awfully." She paused to take a sip of her ale, which she noticed was almost empty, then continued.

"As I said, we crossed over to Rivendell, and were recieved warmly. When the others decided to go back to Mirkwood,they offered to take me with them, but I declined. I had decided that I would stay on this side of the Misty Mountains for a time. Also, I had met someone. His name was Cúeledh, and I did not know it at the time, but I was in love with him."

"What hapened?" asked Parin. "Where is he now?"

Hirilaelin sighed. "I do not know. He departed for Valinor, and I have not seen him since." She paused, lost in memories of other times. Parin sat silent. Presently, Hiri stirred, and said, "Where was I? Oh yes. I left Rivendell after a time, and wandered over the lands, living in the wild. I decided to come south, because I had heard tales. And here I am now."

Parin commented slowly, "That was a very adventuresome story I would say."

"Yes, you could say that I suppose. It seemed so at the time at least. Looking back, it seems like no more than a small part of what I have done. But now," she said, "tell me your story! What is a dwarf doing here is Rohan? Where do you come from, and why do you travel? Please stop me if I seem nosy."

[Bêthberry]

Cold, rainy, even icey weather had not deterred traffic from coming to The White Horse. Bethberry looked over the many patrons entertaining themselves and each other and was thankful that the coffers would be full this week. It had cost much to outfit the pursuers who went after the horse thieves but with crowds like these, it would be possible to recover the costs. she hoped fervently that the horses would be recovered and everyone would be back soon. The delay in their return worried her, had nagged her through out the weeks. Finally, she returned to her work alcove, opened the small window, and whistled for Wyrd. He appeared; she fed him, attached a hurriedly written message to his leg, whispered to him, and, carrying him to the window, set him off. What good he could do she knew not, but a sign by any means might be helpful.

But there were patrons to see to. Closing the window, she returned to the mead hall. There she was happy to see Éorlan, Smith of the Word and Culoth putting their heads together, and that Hirilaelin and Parin, were chatting--Bethberry wondered if Lauromae would join them or this strange new visitor who looked vaguely familiar. He wore the clothes of a Ranger but had the air and carriage of a guard of Gondor. Strange. Perhaps Adanedhel would be interested in talking with him. She hoped soon to be able to discuss her plans with him. Susan appeared to be bringing that quiet soul Cole out; they were talking warily it seemed. Then there were the patrons Bethberry needed to speak to directly.

She approaching a most affable looking half-elf who seemed to favour the ladies.

"Fin, I believe your name is. It is a supper you are wanting and ale? Silver talks mightily here. Show me yours and your dinner will be here in ten minutes, whatever you chose."

He eyed her with a grin and handed over the payment ere she moved on.

The man who chose a table by the window had kept his brown cape wrapped around him. He watched Bethberry as she moved around the mead-hall; nor did he remove his eyes as she approached him.

"Our spiced wine meets your approval?" she asked him cordially. He nodded.

"Will your dinner be as good, and your rooms?" he asked, a hint of insouciance in his voice, but just a hint.

"It would not be otherwise, Master Traveller, for even were our fare poor, hungry travellers are often not fastidious in their tastes."

He managed a grin and a nod.

"Dinners are three pieces of silver, a bed, with a fireplace, eight pieces, if you need to stay the night. We have rooms for a longer stay should you require it. Shall I tell the maids to prepare one for you?" Intrigued by his manner and anxious for any news of other travellers on the road, Bethberry sat down at the table opposite him.

[ February 06, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Susan Delgado]

Susan declined the offer as politely as she could. Ale was not to her taste; she much prefered the honeyed taste of mead.

When the man before her plaintively asked why no one would speak to him, why they seemed to be afraid of him, she had to pause for thought. She glanced him over, taking in his dark clothes and sharp hooded visage. Did he really suppose he looked inviting? She herself had only approached him because she had been directed to. He continued to gaze at her pleadingly... she had to make some response.

"Cole...you don't look very inviting, sitting there, huddled in a dark corner. Maybe you should try mingling a little more."

[ February 05, 2003: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[Adanedhel]

As Bethberry sat with the man that seemed by all accounts to like the ladies she motioned to him towards the new comer that had entered the Inn. As many that would rather not draw attention to themselves this ranger was wearing the long heavy black cloak, the cowl still pulled low over the strangers face, dark eyes peering out from underneath regarding all and taking in all.
Adanedhel rose collected his sword and carried it over to the strangers table on the way motioning to a flustered serving girl to bring two pints over to the table he was headed towards. He sat in the chair opposite the stranger leaning his giant two handed sword against his chair, his blue eyes twinkling as he regarded the cloaked figure. For a while they both sat there in silence staring at each other, neither speaking and neither looking away, locked in a contest of both determination and will as neither would subject to the other and look away. The serving maid came and went both tankards of ale sitting on the table neither combatant touching the amber liquid least they look away.
To any person who happened to look over and see the two cloaked figures on opposite sides of the table staring at each other each with a tankard of ale that neither had touched, one his black cowl down the other with his cowl drawn back to reveal his shaggy black mane of hair and ice blue eyes, a stubbly beard beginning to show as he had not shaved in many days.

After a while Adanedhel smiled and said with a twinkle to his eyes:

‘A fine contest this is indeed stranger but I must say it is thirsty work, lets say we stop and take a drink?’

The stranger did not answer just slid his eyes from Adanedhel’s and picked up his ale downing the glass in one gulp. Adanedhel raised an eyebrow and chuckled to himself then he too picked up his ale and drank it, savouring the taste by drinking it slowly wishing not to let the alchohol affect him in any small way.
He still watched the stranger and he took one more sip savouring the liquid in his mouth, swilling it around slightly then swallowed smacking his lips as he finished. He then said to the stranger in a tone of seriousness:

‘What be your name stranger and where would you hail from?’

[Envinyatar]

It was not that he was indifferent to custom only that it was so changeable as it met with time, and oft he could not recall which convention now held the stage. But he stood as Bethberry sat with him, inclining his head toward her in welcome.

‘Some wine?’ he asked, sitting down once again. ‘Or do you prefer something other?’ He reached out with his rowan walking staff and tapped a passing server. ‘Another mug of mulled wine, good sir. This evening finds me chilled to the bone.’ He inclined his head toward Bethberry. ‘And whatever the Lady desires, if you will.’

He opened his cloak, fumbling at the clasp of the leather purse hanging at his belt. ‘About the meal, and the bed for the night. I should pay you now, while I remember that you asked me.’ His fingers fished out a small handful of shiny objects.

A passing look of surprise crossed his face. ‘I find I have no silver coinage to give you.’ He chuckled, his dark eyes meeting hers. ‘But perhaps these will do.’

His thick fingers pushed two small objects over the smooth wooden planks of the table toward her. Charms, their features picked out in the polished metal. A mearh of white gold, Nahar. And a small, finely wrought kestrel in yellow gold, its wings outstretched, hovering in an unseen wind.

[cole]

"Hmmm, you are correct I don't look that much of a friend, more of an enemy." Cole looked a bit at his ale and finished it off, He offered her the small steel canteen again. "Inside is a drink I found on my travels. It is called lun^anu, I think it is elvish. Although I am not extremely sure.
I and my travelling companions split up when we neared here. A few went south, west and north. I stayed here, but that was a few days ago and they should be returning soon."

[Airerûthiel]

OOC: This post is based on the presumption that the character Adanedhel is speaking to my character. If this is not so, this post may be deleted.

~*~*~*~*~

Even Laitalathion was surprised at the length of time that passed between him and this stranger without either of them uttering a word or drinking from their tankard. In a strange manner it was comfortingly companionable. 'But will this person want to associate with me once he knows what I have done to my own brother?' he thought to himself. "I am a honest person above all, and I do not like to harbour secrets about who I am."

"My name is Laitalathion son of Théomer, and I am a Gondorian," he said to this stranger, not wishing to reveal more than was possible. "I am a child of the Elves and of these eastern lands of Men. My family lived in Ithilien until my twin brother and I were but two years old, and then my father was slain by wargs. My mother took her family to the house of her sister near the border with Rohan, and there we lived until she sickened and died of grief. Know you the tale of the massacre of the White Horse?"

The dark-haired stranger nodded, his ice-blue eyes never blinking or focussing on anything other than Laitalathion's face. "I have heard that story spoken long years ago," he said, "but I knew not of what truth lay in it. Am I right in assuming this was the house you lived in as a child?"

Laitalathion said, "You are right. My brother and I ran away to the woodland realm, the home of our mother's people, some years before it happened. But alas! there we were merely tolerated, neither wanted nor rejected, and so after some years we returned to the lands of Men. We tried to go back to Ithilien, our rightful home, but our way was barred by guards of Gondor. They accused my father of treachery against the Lord Denethor and said all of his line were outlaws in that country."

"My brother remained in Rohan - what happened to him after we argued and parted company, I know not." The half-Elf was forced to curb his tongue from revealing the truth of his past deeds, wrestling with his inner sense of truth in order to keep in company with another. "I returned back west to the place they call the Shire, and met by chance with the last survivor of the Rocconinquë. Airerûthiel she now calls herself, after her mother; the true name she was given has left my memory.

"But I see I am boring with you with my tale - besides, I am intrigued to hear about your history, friend. I know that your name is Adanedhel, having overheard the good lady Bethberry call you by that not long before. What brings you to this inn at Edoras?"

[Adanedhel]

Adanedhel nodded understandingly as the story finished but had a feeling that the Gondorian had left something out of his story. Knowing his place Adanedhel said nothing then begun to tell of himself:

‘Aye, my name is Adanedhel and I am intrigued by your story. There are not many Half-Elves that wander these parts’

Laitalathion nodded and said nothing Adanedhel instantly continuing:

‘I am by heritage a man of the Rohirrim though I have not been near Edoras since I was but a small boy, maybe six summers old’

He gulped down the last of his ale wiped his mouth and continued his blue eyes still studying the other intensely

‘I grew up with the Wood Elves of Mirkwood, King Thrainduil took me in as I was orphaned because of a roving band of Orcs attacking my parents as they travelled’

Adanedhel stopped there and wished to go no further, he didn’t tell many of the story of his sword and the Elven magic contained therein or of the skills he had learnt from the Wood Elves. He reached for his ale, realised it was empty instead brought out a block of a red wood and a whittling knife carving slowly taking long strips out of the strangely shaped piece. He looked up from the wood as he got a rhythm going and looked back at Laitalathion

‘I come to Edoras as I have need to visit it once more. I gained messages from Bethberry the fine innkeep here and I came to see her as she is an old friend that I had not seen in many a year’

This was how Adanedhel finished his narrative he didn't talk much as a rule not wanting to give too much of himself away. Looking down momentarily at his knife and wood making sure that everything looked well and that he hadn’t miss carved anything. He looked back up and leaned back again in his chair shavings of the red wood tumbling to the floor......

[ February 08, 2003: Message edited by: Adanedhel ]

[Susan Delgado]

Susan took the flask and shook it a little. About half full. If it truly contained Elvish drink, he must havee had it for quite some while. Elvish...she had been so cut off from her kind for so long..she gingerly took a sip of the flask and stifled a grimace. It was Elvish, all right, but coarse, like something made by Men. She swallowed what she had in her mouth and handed it back with a smile. She glanced around, noticed the armless chair currently sitting empty by the fireplace, and had an idea.

"Tell me, do you know any stories?"

"Stories?"

She indicated the chair. "Yes, stories you can tell the patrons of the Inn. That would certainly break the ice!" She smiled winningly.

[ February 06, 2003: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[cole]

"Stories.... I know a few but most are not of ceatures of people of middle-earth. Most of the stories I have heard were passed down from elves and dwarves I have encountered on my journeys. I don't know if anyone would want to hear about 'the fight of the ruling tribes' or 'The warrior awakens' or even 'The taming of the black scales.'"

Cole took a drink of the elvish drink and pulled a face, he then said. "It seems that I've had this too long. It must be going bad or it must have been the way I made it. Susan do you think I should tell any of the stories I have been told?"

Cole took a final sip of his drink.

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry raised her hand to the server and with some amusement shook her head. "No mulled wine, thank you."

A cheery grin broke out over her face and her laughter proved lighthearted rather than throaty.

"Our customs here are more plain, perhaps less sauve, than those you may be more familiar with, Master Traveller. Folk here do not stand on ceremony nor observe some of the more intricate rituals of lands more sophisticated than ours. I have come to ask you if you saw any others on the road? Came you from Minas Arnor? The Great West Road? There would be several riders, perhaps leading many horses. We had a theft here recently and those who pursued the thieves have not returned. I have sent my falcon, Wyrd to look for them, but he has not returned yet either."

The traveller shook his head. "No, my lady."

"Ah. I had so been hoping," remarked the Inkeeper with undisguised disappointment. "We are much worried."

He nodded.

Bethberry then looked down at the charms, and turned them over in her small hands.

"These are uncommon and quite lovely. You are sure you wish to part with them? It must then be your custom to barter goods as you travel?

[ February 07, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Kiara]

Parin was really enjoying her chat with Hiri. Though the lady did not think her story of much interest, it had captured Parin's imagination enough to distract her from her all-around stuffiness of head and nose. In fact, it was amazing what a good bit of distraction could do to heal a cold! And as Parin was one of those happy individuals who viewed all of life as one big adventure, she was very receptive of the lady's description of her travels, and eager to share the small details of her own life in return.

"No, you're not being nosy at all! I don't know that you'll find my life much more exciting, but I do think that it's interesting the way life weaves into its fabric, and then unfolds more and more as you watch it...."

The lady nodded at this thought, which encouraged Parin to continue.

*****************************

(OOC: this post under construction!!!!)

[Carrûn]

The door of the Inn creaked open in protest and a shadowed figure glided through with the cold breeze wailing behind it. A dark, weathered man, old to the casual glance but with piercing green eyes that betrayed his youth. His dark brown hair fell loosely around his shoulders which were covered by a billowing cloak which was blackened by wear and tear; all this building an omnious presence around him. No blade was obvious but a glint of steel flashed from various sections of his garmets as he moved.

Avoiding eye contact with the other patrons and ignoring the bar entirely he made his way to a seat close to the fire and as far away as possible from the center of attention. He let out a small groan as numerous joints popped as he streatched his legs. Producing a pipe from within his jerkin he spent some time in frustration before it finally lit. A wisp of smoke curled around his face and raced the flames towards the ceiling.

The man stared at the fire in thought. Even for the well-travelled there were firsts. While his many journies had taken him through the land of Rohan he had never stayed in any establishment there before. His eyes swept across the room, but any of the others who momentairly caught his gaze quickly dropped it. He sighed and allowed himself to sink into a light slumber, the pipe still in the corner of his mouth.

[Adanedhel]

The two men sat in silence still and soon Adanedhel lifted his finished piece to eye level and gazed at it critically. It was a carving of a great eagle going for the kill, it looked very lifelike as though he had caught the essence of the bird in that piece of wood. Large wings outstrected and sharpened talons extended and opened, the beak and eyes seemed to glint slighly as though from the way Adanedhel had carved it was slightly polished.

Adanedhel smiled and placed the great bird on the table looking at it for a second then pulling out a second piece of wood, this time a very dark brown colour and he again began to carve. This time brown shavings tumbling to the floor to mix with the red shavings already there.....

[Susan Delgado]

"Certainly, stories are a wonderful way to break ice with strangers. Should I tell one? Then you can tell one, after you've seen how simple it is." She smiled again and approached the chair near the fire while Cole watched attentively.

She stood near the chair and politely cleared her throat for attention. A few people looked up; more than enough.

"I'll tell you a tale of Far Harad, far distant in Time and Space.

"Long ago, a man lived, a hunter of great prowess and pride. His name was Jongo, and he believed himself to be the greatest hunter ever to roam the plains of Harad. Indeed, his neighbors believed this too and he it was who was always sent out to fetch meat for the larders of Durwenna. He always hunted alone and often stayed for weeks, sometimes months. He had no children and his wife was always able to find a manner of entertaining herself while he was away, so his lifestyle suited everyone and it seemed it would never change.

"On one such trip, when he was stalking the elusive Spotted Deer, he camme across an old man from the distant village of Luriwenna. The old man, whose name has been lost to the passage of time, was one of great reputation, greater even than Jongo's. But the man was dying. Jongo could see it immediately, in the pool of blood on the ground and the way the old man's leg was crushed and ground into the soil.

"'Old Sir, what has happened?' He rushed to the old man's side, but could not heal him. The old man had only moments to impart his final advice.

"'Young Sir, listen to me! I was huntimg the Spotted Deer, as I've hunted them all my life. But, see--' The old man indicated his bow, which was on the ground, cleaved, 'My bow did not fire. It broke usunder instead, and the Deer were startled. I had not time to flee. I have been lying her for many hours; if I had hunted with a partner, I might have lived, but if I had taken the proper care of my tool, my true partner, my bow, I would not have been overcome at all. Always remember, Young Sir, care for your bow as if it were your very life, for as you can see by me, it is!' and with those words the old man spoke no more and in a moment was dead.

"Jongo the Hunter forever after heeded the old man's words and cared for his tools as they deserved and when the time came for him to leave the Circles of the World, it was as an old man in his bed, not lost and alone in the forest, and he taught all the young hunters the old man's wisdom and made certain they heeded it as he did.

"This tale is still told in the Inns and Taverns of Far Harad, and to this day if you go there, you will hear it, the Tale of the Hunter's Bow."

Finishing her story, Susan bowed and returned to the table. She watched Cole, curious to see his reaction.

[cole]

Cole had listened to the whole story. Hardly breathing listening to every word spoken. It was then that you could finally see him do something that never happens, Cole actually smiled. After susan sat down Cole said to her. "That story.... It was great! But now I don't know which of my stories I should tell,
all of them I have heard before and all are magnificent, but I don't know which one I should tell. What do you think susan?"


Cole waited for a bit, drinking a bit more. he then took out a map that was oddly not fully finished. Cole drew a bit on the map and wrote a small note in a book that was with the map. Cole said to susan who seemed to be wondering what he was doing.


"I'm drawing how far me and my comrades have came and drawing what used to be unseen territory to my friends. Just in case me and my comrades have the chance to make it back to my homeland they would want to know about the places we've been to and the things we have seen."

[Bêthberry]

A strange, cold draft circled Bethberry's shoulders despite the heat of the large hearth. She looked away from the traveller towards the door. There, standing alone and with a face of forelorn defeat stood Ælfritha, unmoving. Bethberry excused herself and almost ran to the woman. A few words between them, and they retreated to Bethberry's office.

Awhile later a subdued Innkeeper emerged, spoke with a snarly Fróma, and then searched the meadhall for Culoth.

"Culoth, we might be have a large group of gamers show up and Fróma is in no condition to prepare a large dinner himself. Will you help him? I offer you room and board for today and tomorrow. Do you know of anyone else here who could help?"

"Gladly do I accept the offer. I think Rochelle could help."

"Fine, let's both go talk with her and see if she is interested."

The two approached Rochelle, the Innkeeper introduced Culoth and the offer of room and board in exchange for help in the kitchen, and then waited to see if Rochelle would accept.

[Airerûthiel]

The stranger who had just entered distracted Laitalathion's attention from watching his companion's intricate carvings. She looked tired and dishevelled, as though she had just returned from a long and fruitless journey. He wondered who she was, for she seemed to carry a past that would make for many tales. Her eyes looked haunted, as though she had seen terrible things happen before them and been powerless to prevent those fell deeds.

The half-Elf asked Adanedhel to excuse him for a few moments while he went to get another pitcher of ale for them both. Drawing back his hood to reveal a waterfall of flame-coloured hair and dark blue eyes that seemed almost black, he said, "Another pitcher of ale, if you please."

Suddenly Laitalathion was aware of a white-hot gaze boring into the back of his neck. He turned slowly to see the woman he had invited to drink with him gazing at him from inside Bethberry's office, struck dumb as though he was a ghost from her most terrifying nightmares. "Maikadurion?!" she gasped, and the Gondorian paled instantly. "No, it can't be! You got lost from the main group and weren't seen again...until now." She shook her head. "My mind's playing tricks on me. Just because I lost everything I had in the world doesn't mean I'm going mad too! As sure as my name's Ælfritha, you're a ghost! You can't be real!"

"Cancel my order." Laitalathion's voice was hard and cold, yet retained an air of fear. "I have to step outside for a moment." Not even bothering to meet the woman's eyes, he ran out into the bitterly cold night and flung himself against the wooden walls of the stables, unable to control his tears of anger and hatred at himself for the deeds he had done and would forever be cursed with.

[Envinyatar]

He had closed her hand over the charms saying they were meant for Rohan and her keeping. And when she excused herself to see to some urgent business he stood once again as she left the table. One of the servers passed by, and he asked for a plate of bread and cheese and whatever fruits might be gotten in this season.

As neatly and thoroughly as the birds he followed, he ate the offering laid before him. And with a quiet air, he found another to take him to his small room. Sleep would prove a welcome companion to his tired body.

On the morrow, he would leave before the sun rose and make his way north, passing through Fangorn, then Lothlórien, and up the Anduin to the Old Ford. Then east, and home.

He lay down on the cot, drawing his brown cloak over the blankets for extra warmth. His eyes closed, and dreams came readily. And he smiled, walking once again in the fragrant gardens of Lórien, along the shore of Lake Lorellin.

******************************************

Long before the storm had raced down the mountains from the north and west, the traveler had awoken. Perhaps it was the whisper of the cold wind against the shuttered window, or the plink of the first snow star against the eaves. His grey eyes opened wide, knowing he must leave.

He gathered up his few possessions, the pack, his staff, and belted his thick brown cape round him. Out the kitchen’s door he strode quickly, stopping only to secure the latch. He paused on the path, well away from the door, murmuring a few soft words. The wind picked them up and flung them at the Inn and over it.

Down the dark way to the Onodló under a clouded, starless sky he went. Then, north to shelter beneath the trees of Fangorn. He had business there; he was expected.

[ February 13, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel looked at Estelarion in surprise as the return of the leader of the company without any members as well.

"Was not Izrênna amongst those that went?" Menelduliniel asked, looking a bit worried. She watched the leader speaking quietly and in a defeated manner to others in the room.

"I...think so," Estelarion said, in a shocked voice.

The two looked at each other in amazement. To think that they had only just seen the girl a little while ago. She had been so small...

They remained quiet for a few minutes, both out of respect for the tiny girl, and out of shock that she would never be seen again.

[Adanedhel]

Adanedhel was surprised as Laitalathion, the stranger he had just met, fled from the room as if in fear of something. Adanedhel frowned and soon found the source of Laitalathion distress, a young woman who was standing in the doorway of Bethberry's office was staring, as if in shock, at the door that lead outside and through which Laitalathion had run.

The Half-Elf rose the frown still firmly set on his face as he strode from the room, slinging his sword across his back as he did so, many patrons looked up as the drama unfolded and were probably wondering what was going on, but as the tall Half-Elf left ducking out in the cold night air they all quickly returned to whatever conversations or activities they were engaged in, no more thought returned to the two men that had just left.

The air had a chill bite to it and Adanedhel had stopped just outside the front door of the Inn, eyes quickly adjusting to the dark as he pulled his cloak about him tightly and stuck his hands underneath his armpits to keep them warm. He stood for a few moments, listening to the night air trying to pick up anything that was out of place something that the Elves of Mirkwood had taught him as a young child and saved his life on more than one occasion. A frigid breeze blew, Adanedhel shivered and heard barely on the end of it a quiet sobbing coming from the rear of the inn.
Straight away Adanedhel strode off, fogetting the cold he jogged around the side of the inn and saw Laitalathion lying on the freezing ground curled up as though dying clutching himself and crying bitterly. Adanedhel walked slowly up to the sobbing Laitalathion bent down and quickly slid his hands under the Half-Elf's armpits and lifted him up standing him on his feet.

'I saw what made you run....What troubles me though is why?

Adanedhel stood ice blue eyes concentrating fully on the man before him.....

[ February 10, 2003: Message edited by: Adanedhel ]

[Airerûthiel]

Laitalathion could not look Adanedhel in the face; he could barely face his inner self. As he looked at his hands, his eyes still saw the scarlet stains spreading from his palms to his fingertips, and he shook as though a localised earthquake had occured just beneath his feet. Swallowing the vile taste of fear that had settled in his mouth once again, his dark blue eyes slowly met the other's icy azure orbs.

"That...that woman," he stuttered, barely able to allow the words to escape from his mouth. "S-she called me b-by my b-brother's name! She thinks I am his ghost. She knows he is dead. But she must never know what I did to him. If she knew my brother, that means they were friends. And that means...if she knew the fell deeds of my past, no doubt she would have me slain." He was choking on his own tears, unable to face his companion.

"What exactly did you do, friend?" asked Adanedhel, still not sure whether to trust this person. "We are both half-Elven, both with Mirkwood in our beings. It seems as though we have been destined to meet one another. I am a traveller like yourself; I will not tell anyone your secret. It clearly troubles you, yet I do understand why you wanted to run. The good lady you seemed so afraid of appears perfectly ordinary."

Laitalathion took a deep breath. "You will surely never wish to see me again should I tell you the truth about my brother and I," he said, his voice filled with hatred and sorrow. "Many that live deserve death, and some that die deserve life. My brother deserves life, and I should be the one who was slain, not him.

"The horse I ride - Formenelen, the North Star - he was a wedding gift from my father to my mother. Some time ago he was stolen from this very stable. Maikadurion, who I learnt had been working at the White Horse, set off after him. Some other horses belong to Ælfritha - the woman you saw in the inn - and various other patrons were also stolen, and my brother was part of a quest to find the stolen steeds.

"They must have been nearing the end of their quest before I next saw him. Hiding behind an assumed name and a Gondorian guard's uniform, I had spent some time working under the Lord Denethor as a member of the military. My party was out patrolling the borderland between Gondor and Rohan when my captain found Maikadurion, who seemed to have lost his way. They recognised him as who he was, and I was forced to slay him.

"It was only after I had struck the fatal blow that I realised who my opponent had been. The rest of my party left the area, while I gave my only family a decent burial and exchanged garments with him. The trek back west was long and hard, but I only survived due to the fact that I was doing this for my brother's sake. I scratched a living by working for various people, and did well in my trade.

"Formenelen returned to me not long ago - he must have escaped his captors and caught my scent at Maikadurion's grave site. To have that horse back did little to soften the blow of my brother's murder, but he is all I have to remember my now slain family by. Since that fateful day I have declared myself an outlaw, never to forgive the heinous crime I committed against my own kin. A killer should not forget his deeds.

"Now are you sure you wish to associate with me any more, knowing that it is because of me that my own brother - he who shares my bloodline, the last of our house - lies dead and alone on some field in the eastern lands? I cannot go back into the inn; I feel I need the time to think. Whether you choose to stay here with me or return back to the inn and forget this conversation is your choice - I care not what you decide."

[Mithadan]

An errand rider entered The White Horse, dusty from the road and weary from hard riding. Nonetheless, he had his responsibilities to discharge ere he could take a seat and refresh himself at the Inn.

He walked slowly to the end of the bar and withdrew a scroll from his pouch. The vellum he unrolled and posted on a board which hung prominently there. The patrons of The White Horse gathered round to read the notice. It read:

"Greetings, denizens of The Shire, Rohan and Gondor. It has now been nearly three months since the Three Realms were established and all storytellers, adventurers and patrons of the Inns are invited to post their comments concerning the governance and efficacy of the Realms. Your comments may be made HERE (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic&f=21&t=000012). Please stop by and tell us what you think and make your suggestions."

[Susan Delgado]

Susan smiled. It seemed Cole was finally coming out of his hiding place.

"I'm not sure, Cole. I don't know what stories you know. Why don't you tell us about yourself? That's always a good way to introduce yourself. It's even how I became a storyteller." She smiled slightly at the memory, then frowned. Whatever had happened to those two Elves she'd spoken to? Were they still in the Seventh Star, in Gondor? She absently turned her head in that direction, as if seeking a scent. The man had been sweetly naive and pleasant to talk to for no other reason than that, but the woman had been so perceptive...moreso than anyone Susan had spoken to in a very long time.

She shook her head and turned back to Cole. He was looking at her curiously and she wondered how long she'd been sitting here staring into space. "Well, how about that story, Cole?"

[Burzdol]

Silently the dwarf paided the driver of the carriage. He walked out the small door into the wailing wind. The sign said it was the right place. He walked up to the door and sat in front of it. He was quite young and was unsure of what was to come inside the inn. He had heard many people came and went, but from his perspective it looked abandoned. Well, better go in. It's getting cold.

Upon opening the door he wasn't greeted, no one looked at his entrance. He walked in a bit. His black cloak covered him completely. As he flipped down his hood he dropped the large double headed axe. Nobody even turned. They kept talking and laughing. I guess everyone keeps to themselves.

As the dwarf sat down at a small table he ordered a large malt beer. Someone brought over his drink and he paid gratefully. The dwarf hadn't had anything to eat or drink for a few days except a little stream water. The dwarf slowly took his last gulp and drifted into a peaceful slumber on the table not to wake for a while.

[ February 16, 2003: Message edited by: Burzdol ]

[Adanedhel]

The cold air bit at Adanedhel's face slowly making him feel numb on his nose and ears, he had watched Laitalathion the whole time he had been telling his tale of shame. Adanedhel could see by the way his face changed and the tone of his voice he felt the most utmost remorse and shame as to what he had done and if he could have changed it he would have.
Adanedhel’s steely gaze softened and he placed a reassuring hand on the Half-Elf’s shoulder and said in soft tones:

‘The fate of some is a sometimes strange and difficult road but I think I would travel it with you maybe part of the way’

Laitalathion seemed to lift his head slightly as though those few words had somehow made it that little bit better. Adanedhel took his hand from Laitalathion’s shoulder and shivered slightly then said with a furtive glance at the first snow flakes that began to fall from the sky.

‘Let us get out of this frigid night air the snow seems to have begun fallling and if my senses prove correct it will continue doing so few a few hours to come’

Laitalathion looked up a slight frown creasing his brow and Adanedhel reassured him:

‘We won’t go back in if it worries you, the stable boy’s room just beside the stables will be good enough so that their no unfriendly ears will hear us’

Adanedhel walked to the end of the stable where a small shack had a beam of light peaking through the curtains drawn across the window and the small crack under the door. He rapped twice in the wooden door and a young boy answered his slender frame wrapped in a cloak far to big for him.
His eyes were suspicous as he asked:

‘What would you like sir?’

Adanedhel smiled warmly and replied:

‘Just a loan of your quarters son’

The young boy was still suspicous until Adanedhel drew a small leather bag of coins that jingled sharply in the night air. The boy’s eyes lit up and he reached for the bag, eyes transfixed on the money bag.

‘Anything else sir?’

The suspicous tone totally absent from his voice now and Adanedhel’s grin widened:

‘Just a pitcher of ale if you please’

The boy bowed quickly and sprinted off towards the rear door of the inn the door opening and closing quickly as he didn’t slow through the door then as the two Half-Elves entered the small shack they heard the crash of plates and the yells of surprise and anger.
Adanedhel laughed and even Laitalathion couldn’t help but smile then the two sat at the plain table in the middle of the room, to one wall a bed and to the left a small fireplace, a merry little blaze crackling away.

‘Does this suit you better?’

Adanedhel smiled and produced a worn leather case, out of which he pulled a deck of cards. He smiled wickedly and said with an inccocent tone:

‘Do you play cards by any chance?’

[ February 12, 2003: Message edited by: Adanedhel ]

[cole]

"A story, about myself?" Cole says then thinks for a bit. "Ok I'll tell one, but I doubt anyone will listen."


"I'm not going too far back mind you, just how I got into these lands. It started a few months ago when me and my companions had heard alot of middle-earth and wanted to see the places there for ourselves. Not a single person we knew of ever came to middle earth. So me and my companions decided to go on ship to middle-earth and do some exploring. After a while of exploring we came to a place called the Shire." Cole shook his head a bit and continued.


"We didn't stay there long, and were soon back on our way. A few of our companions continued towards a place some called rivendell. The rest including me continued south. and soon after continued to here."

Cole was finished, or was he? He went back to his previous seat with susan and whispered to her. "I didn't tell all of what happened, It's for the best."

[tangerine]

The door to the hall creaked as a young bard, small and thin stepped inside. The hood of her ash-grey cloak was pulled down far over her eyes, and shadow hid her face from the few who turned to see who entered now, turning away to chuckle into their mead to see this little person who seemed to be traveling alone.
Ignoring them, she walked over to an empty table, exhausted. She had walked for days to get here, resting or eating for a few hours at a time, with long periods in between. The Road might be great and long, but it was by no means a place where she could drop her guard when travelling alone. Stretching her head to the side, she winced slightly as the muscles in her neck cramped up once again.
She placed her meager-looking pack-sack on the table before her carefully. Everything she had in the world was in there, including her little wodden harp, most precious of her possesions. She would not play tonight, most likely; Her throat felt cracked and dry, and her fingers were stiff and sore; the price she had paid for sleeping in a tree the night before.
The sack was open slightly; a silver rod, burnt at on end, rolled out. She caught it before it could roll on to the floor, and looked at it for a moment, as if recalling a fond memory. She placed it back in the sack, opening it up enough for the base of her harp to stick out. Carved in block letters on the bottom of the harp was "HINURA".
She swallowed, rembering her thirst, and signalled for a drink.

[Bêthberry]

Even the charms in her pocket seemed cold, as she held them and rubbed them between her fingers. The bird and the horse. Bethberry wondered if the old wizard recognized she would be unable to part with them, drawn to the art of their composition. She chuckled to herself and wondered if he would head on after the storm let up.

Even the shutters shuddered as the winds blew and the story banners in the rafters flailed at times when the gusts grew great enough. Snow piled high against the outside walls of The Horse, almost to window height. It had been difficult for the staff to wade through the snow to close the shutters, protecting the windows and the halls from the worst of the violent storm.

Even the roads in Edoras were impassable, let alone the roads either south or north or east. In storms like this, the prominence of Edoras at the mountain's edge was its weakness, for it was enveloped in whiteouts, giant drifts, ferociously cold winds. Frozen, time stilled almost.

No one would go anywhere. All were captive in the Inn.

"Well," thought Bethberry, "perhaps we will talk about our tales a bit, instead of living them." She proceeded to write out an announcement on the large notice board.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

We have had a great deal of fun developing characters here at the Inn; you have done a great job exploring their lives. Yet these lives have not led many gamers to develop plots and stories. We have not moved on from character to plot. Perhaps it is time now to talk more about plot and story than character.

To that end, I would like to invite patrons of The White Horse to talk about their experience with games. I have invited Aman, Aylwen, and Susan to come here and explain how they came up with their ideas for games, what it was like developing their ideas, and how well they think the proposal system aided their interests in gaming. (They can come in the character of their games, or as their nick personalities, as they prefer. )

I also welcome other gamers to talk about why they like to game, what they look for in a game, how they choose which games to join, where they get their ideas for their characters.

The Blue Mountain gamers will also be coming here to discuss their plans for their new game now that Blue Mountain has concluded. It might be interesting to see how they work it out. I'm looking forward to it. smilies/smile.gif

Gamers of Rohan, this is your chance to talk about why you RPG and to share sources for where you find your ideas.

This does not mean that we can't game in character here. Indeed, we will shortly be seeing some subplots developing out of the Inn. But it does mean that the Inn will also become a place where Rohan gamers can talk about their games.

Please feel free to contribute, at any level or topic. This is your chance to let me know how I can help you game at Rohan.

Bethberry

[ February 13, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Lugbúrz]

As I've come to realise, in this short span of time that I've been writing interactively, role-playing is all about writing creatively.

In a nutshell, this is how I would describe interactive role-play stories: It is the art of telling character with tale, and of telling tale with character; all puns included. smilies/smile.gif

I'll drop by later to see what everyone has to say, and maybe add on a little of my own perspective.

[Adanedhel]

I, like Lugbúrz, in the short amount of time that I have been role playing (A year and a half) I have come to realise Role Playing for what it really is, creative writing.
Though role playing is a lot more easier to understand and to keep track of, you are only looking after one character per role play at anyone time (sometimes two, though it is rare). Writing in a role play, though, requires of you to employ skills in writing otherwise not used, skills like interaction between other characters of whom you nearly know nothing about and drawing other people into the story, a skill of which very few possess and use well. I have been in many role plays on other message boards and only one here of which I played a minor role, I have always look for one thing that makes me want to join a role play.

An original and exciting idea.

Though there are many that have been done before and more still that are not very exciting or interesting which dooms their failure and demise to slowly become deserted by the gamers. Without an interesting idea and plot then the role play would not function well and would fade into nothingness, the more involved the players can get into the game and the amount the the players can develop their characters and the relationship between the characters the better. One role play that I think embodies this is one that I have been involved in ever since I first started role playing. It was the first role play I was ever involved in and it is still going to this day. Though some people have had to leave their places have been taken by others, though these holes cannot be filled just like life the characters have come and gone with the exception of two. Myself and one other.
The other thing I look for is a good Thread Master, without one of these then the role play will be a shambles, people won’t have a direction or sense of purpose. The RP of which I spoke of above has had the Thread Master leave but replaced by one that has been involved in the RP since the start and so the RP has continued........As Bethberry would know well smilies/wink.gif

If it wasn’t for reading the Hobbit all those years ago I would never had started writing and never have found the wonders of Role playing with people who have such skill with words. Role playing, in my humble opinion, is like music for the eyes, bringing images through words instead of the notes of an instrument, and emotions through their form, be it joy, sadness, anger, despair or hope. All of these things writing can give you but only if it is used properly, and only through practice and by watching and learning from others.

Writing is a very powerful thing and one of the many instruments through which to channel imagination and creativeness, but it not always works and is hard to master.......

[Airerûthiel]

The thing that appeals to me about role playing is how like creative writing it is, except that you have no idea where your story will go because it lies in the hands of every gamer as opposed to just your own. This often makes for a tale littered with twists and turns, which keep me (speaking as both a reader and a writer here) wanting to know what happens next and may possibly give me an idea for my next post in that game.

When I think about joining a game I look for ideas that are a little different from the norm - while I'm not denying adventures don't appeal to me (indeed they do, all the games I have played in except the inns were/are adventur games), I like those that are a bit different and more challenging. This, I believe, enables the potential RPGer to push themselves further and strive to improve their writing in order to meet the standards of a particular game.

I haven't actually 'chosen' to join any games whilst I've been an active Barrow-Downs member (which is only since around Christmas), having been invited every time. Usually I start off in the inns and then see where my character goes from there - for instance, if a game comes up and my character has not been particularly active for some while, I will volunteer if the game appeals to me.

My characters generally start off with the names of friends/families/celebrities going into a name generator and then taking whatever I get as a starting point. I usually try to give my characters unusual features to make them seem a little bit different and 'off-the-beaten-track' as it were. Some of the appearances and personalities are based on people I know - for instance, Maikadurion from 'Ride' is largely taken from my tomboyish best friend. Another thing I like to do is to link my characters' backstories, such as them being related to or good friends with another character, in order to give them more 'bulk'.

[Ithaeliel]

Greetings all,

If you don't know me already, I'm Ithaeliel, one of the players in The Blue Mountains RPG. As Miss Bethberry has said, we'll all be coming here soon to discuss a new RPG. We (we meaning Brinniel, Mattius, Auriel Haevasawen and myself)have decided to keep it open; anyone who wants to join can, if the character is appropriate to the plot that is developed. I don't want to represent everyone so much, though; I just wanted to make that statement.

I have something to say for roleplaying: it's a wonderful world. It helps you effectively exercise your creativity, at the same time improving your writing skills and boosting your ability to work with a team. Due to this combination, you know when to say what, and then what to say. You learn to develop ideas on the spur of the moment, basing it off of something that you did not plan. It's great for having to write off of a prompt, as well as other things. I'll elaborate further when I have the time.

Thank you,
Ithaeliel

[Amanaduial the archer]

Amanaduial looked up from her corner where she had been quietly sitting with her wolves as she heard the sound of chalk on a board. Her green eyes met those of the mysterious innkeeper Bethberry, although the other would probably say the same of her.

"A snowstorm?" She questioned, not being able to see the noticeboard, but easily able to see the snow gathered at the windows and doors. Bethberry smiled and nodded. "What apt timing." Aman said more softly to herself. She sighed and stood from the comfortable fireside chair, to give her part.

****

Greetings all,

I was invited by Bethberry to give my views here, and I think Ill give them as myself, rather than as my character. I will be more careful here when I express comments, to avoid something like the A Measure Of Success board! smilies/biggrin.gif

As a few of you may have noticed, I am an addict. I have a terrible and incurable addiction to RPGing, and I therefore tend to play quite a few more at a time than I probably should. I love RPGing; its a total escape from my life, especially as I no one here outside cyberspace. I like writing, and looking at different styles of writing by so many people, all so different, is a great experience and one that I try to help improve my writing with. The experience of playing with other people rather than writing alone is one that I always enjoy, and the discussion threads are as much of a reason that I play as the actual RPs! I am currently forcing myself not to join anymore games, as nine is enough for anyone, not until I finish a few of the nine.

I have never left a game without actually killing off my character or making them leave the game with a reason, as that annoys me sooo much. When I choose games, I look at the other writers involved, and usually look on the search to see what other games they have been in, and what their writing is like; I also do this when I have started a game, or am running it, and someone asks whether they can join. When games are coming to their end, I dont usually feel sad, instead rather satisfied, if the game has been played well, and the discussion has been well conducted and friendly.

In my newest game, I am continuing wtth a character I have already used, something I havent done before, simply making him a few years older; I haven done this before, but its working quite well, and allows me to work with him further, even using memories from the game he was in before, working with another of the players who was also in that game.

This RP section is the best and widest ranging RP section I have ever been priveliged to see. Some of the games on here honestly deserve to be published, but the feeling in the discussion threads is one I value as much as the games.

There. Im not all that sure how much sense that all makes. Sorry to be so longwinded. Im feeling a little bashful because I havent visited to Horse in so long. *smacks hand.* Must remember to in the future, especially with the subplots bethberry mentioned coming up.

-Amanaduial

[Auriel Haevasawen]

A blast of snow shot into the room from the open door. A few heads turned in that direction to see who had entered but most were busy with their own discussions and drinks.

An old man dressed in brown and a younger one who could have been elf or of the race of men entered. The old man shook the snow from his long gown and nodded toward Bethberry. Quietly he found a space in the crowded parlour for himself and his companion.

********

Now to introduce myself properly. I have been working in the Blue Mountains with Ith and playing Radagast. I am fairly new to the business of RPG but I really enjoy it all the same because it gives me the opportunity to write using a genre I don't usually use and to meet and collaborate with interesting people from all over the world. It also provides a great escape from real life. A good RPG is one that contains a mixture of careful planning and spontaneous tangents that weave a good, compelling story and where everyone involved feels they are valued.
Is this the kind of thing I'm supposed to write here? Please excuse if I got the wrong end of the stick. The people who've been working with me will tell you I'm not that smart!

[Mattius]

Mattius bashed his boots onto the hard wooden floor getting rid of the snow meshed under them. Radagast passed him a drink of something strong (the best kind) and the elf with human features knocked it back.

*******

Greeting everyone, I am Mattius and have been posting on the Blue Mountains as a character with the same name. I know Ith, Auriel and Brinnel have or wil be posting here soon. We are planning a 'sequel' (I hate that word) of sorts to the RPG The Blue Mountains. First though I think we need to distinguish how far into the future it will be set after the rpg, 100, 500 years? Also what about location, I have heard Bree, Rhun and Moria mentioned but what do you all think?

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aylwen pushed the door open, and rushed inside to escape the bitter cold. Snow had piled up in a wall outside the Inn door, and clumps fell from the mound before Aylwen closed the door behind her.

With cold, red cheeks, and snow-covered hair, Aylwen was quite a sight.

"My apologies, for being late, good Bethberry," Aylwen nodded to her good (not old, I tell you!) friend. "Seems the cold weather has caught up with me, leaving me sick as can be. Got here as soon as I could though, I promise!"

Sitting in an empty seat near a warm fire, Aylwen shook the snow from her hair.

"Seems you patrons of the White Horse are having similar weather to my homeland! Learning shall not take place for at least a few days now! Anyway, to the point! I am known usually as Aylwen Dreamsong. Though for those who take the time to read the Rpg's may know me by other names as well! Frain Thaneson, Aislan the Hostler, Jemel and Aniram of the Golden Wood, Jadae the Smith, Rolan, and Jerika! So, as you can see:

I am an addict.

Why? Role-playing not only offers a chance to write and storytell, it lets you read others' writing styles as well, and you can learn from that!"

"My characters often spring from certain characteristics that I (sometimes unfortunately) find in myself." Aylwen turned to face Mattius, and smiled.

"I regret to say that I have had no time to read through The Blue Mountains Rpg! I have heard nothing but wonderful things about it, though. I do not doubt that either, based on the wonderful writers that took part in it! Perhaps you could explain the basic plot of your tale, so that we may understand better?"

[Mattius]

Mattius smiled gleefully at the chance to tell his tale and rubbed his hands as Radagast smiled as he lit his pipe.
"It began, in the Blue Mountains..."

***********

Wow, quite a question there Miss Dreamsong! Okay let me see. First of all let me give you the main chracters, those who stayed from beginning to end-

Radagast- Wizard
Mattius- Elf
Endereth- Ranger Elf
Calentoliel- Elf (sister of Rothalle)

Other characters included Rothalle but unfortunalty the member who played this part didn't post after the first few days (I think it was a computer problem). Also were a few hobbits included a guest appearnce from Pippin and also Tom and Bethberry!

Well plot wise these individuals are brought together to the Blue Mountains tracking a creature known as "The Black Beast". Together they attempt to destroy it taking them from the Ered Luin, to Hobbiton, the Barrow Downs, Tom Bombadil's house and back to the Blue Mountains.

As the story goes on they become great friends and Rothalle is revealed as Calen's sister as well as Mattius revealing his real elevn name of Firnlord and reciving Angmarth, a sword created by Manwe to destroy the Black Beast.

Through many expolits they fight and defeat the beast in a final epic battle in the Blue Mountains and the group disbands with Radagast and Mattius travelling together, Calen and Rothalle staying together and Enderth returning to her native Lorien.

Wow that took longer than I thought it would!! If any of that makes sense then well done! Of course to find out more about the chracters just check out the thread!

[ February 16, 2003: Message edited by: Mattius ]

[Burzdol]

The dwarf woke up on the floor. Obviously he had fallen whilst sleeping. He pulled himself up on to the chair. He then stood up and started to leave. As he got to the door he remembered his mission. Now, where is he?

The dwarf pulled out the small paper. It read:

Rendli Icewater
Dwarf
He is a very short and round dwarf. He has red hair and a long red beard. He carries a large double bladed war axe. In his belt he conceals two throwing hatchets. He is very deadly. You will notice him in his all brown apperal.

Your mission, kill Rendli before he gets to the Green Dragon Inn. We do not want that party to reach Erebor. I have sent a man to dipose of Bali. Try not to make a scene. Hogar, I am counting on you. Do not fail me or else.

Rereading the description he looked around the inn. It didn't take long to notice the dwarf leaving the inn. Hogar waited a few moments and walked out after him. At first Hogar couldn't see him. Then he spotted a man hooking up a carriage and a dwarf standing near by.

"I'll just wait inside the carriage while you hook this thing up," the dwarf said to the driver. He walked into the carriage. Now's my chance to get him. Hogar walked over to the man.

"Hello," the man said as the dwarf walked up.

"Hi," he took out a change purse, "Can I talk to you?"

The two conversed for a bit. The change spilled into the man's hand, and a greedy smirk came upon his face. The driver walked away. Picking up a torch, Hogar got into the driver's seat. He started moving along the path. When they were concealed in the woods he stopped the horses and spoke to the other dwarf, "We have a small problem with one of the wheels, it'll be fixed in a moment." Hogar walked to the doors and locked them.

"What's going on?" Rendli asked.

"Saftey percaution," Hogar replied. He unhitched the horses and kept the one that was saddeled. Then the dwarf picked up the torch and laid it on the roof of the carriage. He made sure it started burning and then turned his horse and left towards the Shire. I'll disrupt that party if it's the last thing I do. They'll never get to Erebor.

[ February 16, 2003: Message edited by: Burzdol ]

[Brinniel]

The inn door swung open and in stepped a woman. The woman brushed the snow off herself and pulled off her hood, revealing black hair and pointed ears. Though many would identify this woman as an elf, the way she was poised did not seem to match the description that word.

The woman turned and looked around the inn, her dark eyes searching. When she caught glimpse of an old man in brown and his younger blond haired companion, the woman smiled. She found whom she had been looking for.

The blond haired companion, named Mattius, was speaking with a stranger the dark haired woman did not recognize, and as he spoke she could overhear the familiar words, the Blue Mountains and the Black Beast.
Mattius paused in his story and turned around only to just notice the smiling woman. He smiled back.
"Calentoliel," he said. "It is about time you come."
Calentoliel sat down next to Mattius. "It is good to see you Mattius, Radagast," she said, glancing over at the old man. She looked over at the stranger. "And who are you?"
"I am Aylwen Dreamsong," the other responded. "Your friend here has been telling me of your adventures."

**********

Good day, everyone. As you have noticed, I am also part of The Blue Mountains RPG, playing Calentoliel. This was my first RPG and what a great first experience I had! I look forward to playing the sequel to our RPG and hope to see some new faces who are willing to join us.
I think 500 years later is a good time setting for the RPG. As for a location, I think a small town would work, but not Bree, as that is not a likely place for any of us to be in.
Also were a few hobbits included a guest appearnce from Pippin and also Tom and Bethberry!
Don't you mean Goldberry? Thought I might point that out.

[Mattius]

That..................................... is a very good point Brinnel!! A small town sounds good, is anyone here interested in joining this RPG?

Also The Blue Mountains was my first RPG that I have ever done! It went really well and want to thank all involved with it!

[Maros An Doramor]

Unnoticed, Maros An Doramor stepped into the inn. The journey from Minas Tirith had been harder than expected, a result of the bad weather over the plains.

Wearily, he walked over to a pew in a far corner of the room. Here, he lay his pack, and his fathers beloved sword, before taking a seat himself. The smell of pipeweed and ale hung around him, surrounding him in a musty, yet not unwelcome, odour. The smoky mists and joyful singing in the Inn reminded Maros of the inns in the White City.

However, this was not Minas Tirith, but a distant land, with borders he had not stood in for over ten years. He remembered the day his father Gorlan brought him here. How he had loved the flocking of the horses on the far-reaching fields, and the sun setting behind the Golden Hall.

But now Maros was no longer a child. At twenty-one, he was not accompanying his father on some diplomatic trip. No! Maros was here for a purpose, and as a solier of Gondor he would fulfil that purpose.

Maros noticed another individual in the inn looking at him, sitting alone in the corner. Not liking this feeling of being watched, Maros spread a tattered map on the table and lowered his head.

[Ithaeliel]

A tall, lovely elf woman walked through the door, out of the storm. Brushing her hood away to reveal intense ice-colored eyes, she was relieved to be greeted by the warmth of the common room of this inn. Shaking the snowflakes out of her dark, wind-whipped hair, she sighed and looked around. As her eyes fell on familiar faces, how surprised Endereth of Lorien was! Walking over toward the table, she placed a hand on the shoulder of an elf maiden, who turned her head at the touch. Endereth's face broke into a smile. "Calentoliel!" she cried, "mae govannem, my dear." Calen replied with a smile.
Looking at all the other people sitting there, Ender added, "And here I find Mattius and Radagast, my other friends. Mae govannem to you also. It is good to see you."

Taking a seat with her companions, the ranger was introduced to Aylwen, who claimed that Mattius had already told of the events occuring recently in the Ered Luin.

***********

Hello Mattius and Brinniel! Glad to finally be getting the discussion on its way. I think it would be wise to decide what, who and where the plot concerns. And what kind of plot? It could be an expedition, a conquest, a search/rescue party... or we could just get chased around by orcs smilies/wink.gif(not). A small town is a very generic starting point; you could go anywhere from there. Somewhere in the middle of everything is good also.

As for years later, I'd say around a thousand. Can't get too creative, but you're not barred too much.

[Mattius]

Mattius mulled over the beverage in his mouth before gulping it down with a smile. He puffed on his pipe weed before turning to Ith.

***********

Hey Ith, I agree a small down is a little unamiginative but could perhaps be rectified if we sort of created one from scratch wherever in Middle Earth we wanted to, even outside the confines of the map in the books and away east somewhere. A busy place is also good such as Minas Tirith. I particulary like the idea of a rescue story but who would we be rescuing and who would be the 'bad guy'? There are always the 2 Blue Wizards who we could use as potential enemies. Their inclusion would make things very interesting on the Radagast front!