The Hills of Evendim RPG - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

littlemanpoet · 11-01-2003, 11:02 PM

The center of Falowik's world came near, speaking a light jest. She lightened his heart with it, but the easing did not reach his face. He had not even noticed the stones until she spoke of them, for he was looking through them at the image-fraught thoughts captive in his mind. Falco's scorn. Thoronmir's under-reckoning of them, which smacked of arrogance; but he would keep that to himself, for it was only first impression. Maybe the Ranger was able to keep them all safe. Time would tell. They'd need it; a motley bunch they were. Moody Elven ladies. Bumpkin Hobbits who were either overweaning or untried. A Ranger woman who seemed half Elvish herself, bearing their melancholy as if she'd breathed and eaten it all her life. He was no better than any of them, he knew, but he had hoped that they would be. Maybe the tests of the road would prove out hidden mettle. Falowik hoped so. He wished Doderic was coming with, to shepherd the three Hobbits, none of whom Falowik believed had much to offer. He would, of course, keep all of his impressions to himself. Uien seemed to be the only one of all of them, beside Thoronmir, who had anything of worth - that Falowik could see - to bring to the search.

Her hand came to his shoulder. She brushed his cheek; her touch sang within him like a lute's strings.

"Will you show me this place that was your home, my love?" His heart went cold. He turned and her hand fell. Memories of his harsh childhood flooded his mind. Her head tipped to one side and she watched him quizzically, as if wondering what his thoughts were, and with pleading in her eyes.

"Please, Laurëatan?" She clasped her hands before her. Falowik did not like seeing her looking like an abject beggar. He scowled, then looked from her hands to her face. Her heart, given to him, was in her eyes.

Come, old man, you've shared the story with her already. What hurt is there in walking its paths with her? Falowik allowed himself to hope that it might be well to bring her to those old rags of bitterness and regret. His face softened.

"We'll save The Prancing Pony for last." His hand reached and would take her by the waist and lead her walking close beside him, but Falowik forced himself to give her his arm to hold. She smiled and took his arm, and they walked into the road.

The Prancing Pony backed onto the hillside and faced west where the road curved westward to cross The Greenway, and southward to circle the hill. Falowik led Uien away from the hill with its Hobbit holes, and down to the hedge and dike that circled Bree from north to south on the west. Along the Hedge Road stood the shops and houses of tradesmen; it was there that Falowik had scraped and scrounged to keep body and soul together. He told Uien of Al Tanner, a hardbitten chap back then, and probably an old codger now, who gave him work and paid him a morsel of bread and a ragged blanket among the dogs out by the dike. Then there was Sam Miller, who had given him grain for payment, telling him to make his own bread; Falowik had worked for Miller just once. Falowik told the story of each of his Breeland caretakers; some had been worse than Miller, some hardly better than Tanner; except for Barliman.

The sun was nearing its height when they came to the place where Hedge Road met up with the East Road. Falowik pointed to the houses across the Road and closer to the hill, and told Uien how he had never gone up there because the wealthy of Bree lived there and would not have him, mistrusting him for a child thief.

They made their way back to the Prancing Pony, for Falowik was hungry. He was not sure if it had helped to tell Uien his stories. His tone had been sombre at first, but lightened as the day drew on. Still, he did not like it that all through the morning, he had sounded like one who could do nothing but complain; which was why his tone had become lighter with each story; this is how it was, plain and simple; it matters not to me anymore. But it did. His hardships had shaped him into a stunted, crooked tree, as it were, baked under the hostile sun, his roots reaching beneath the earth to slake his thirst in a sun baked, dry land. Uien walking with him was like a lake of fresh, clean, and clear water. But he wanted to know her mind.

"What think you of the stories of my childhood?" His tone was light, but his eyes and twitching cheek betrayed him.

11-01-2003, 11:02 PM	#11
littlemanpoet Itinerant Songster Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: The Edge of Faerie Posts: 7,066	The center of Falowik's world came near, speaking a light jest. She lightened his heart with it, but the easing did not reach his face. He had not even noticed the stones until she spoke of them, for he was looking through them at the image-fraught thoughts captive in his mind. Falco's scorn. Thoronmir's under-reckoning of them, which smacked of arrogance; but he would keep that to himself, for it was only first impression. Maybe the Ranger was able to keep them all safe. Time would tell. They'd need it; a motley bunch they were. Moody Elven ladies. Bumpkin Hobbits who were either overweaning or untried. A Ranger woman who seemed half Elvish herself, bearing their melancholy as if she'd breathed and eaten it all her life. He was no better than any of them, he knew, but he had hoped that they would be. Maybe the tests of the road would prove out hidden mettle. Falowik hoped so. He wished Doderic was coming with, to shepherd the three Hobbits, none of whom Falowik believed had much to offer. He would, of course, keep all of his impressions to himself. Uien seemed to be the only one of all of them, beside Thoronmir, who had anything of worth - that Falowik could see - to bring to the search. Her hand came to his shoulder. She brushed his cheek; her touch sang within him like a lute's strings. "Will you show me this place that was your home, my love?" His heart went cold. He turned and her hand fell. Memories of his harsh childhood flooded his mind. Her head tipped to one side and she watched him quizzically, as if wondering what his thoughts were, and with pleading in her eyes. "Please, Laurëatan?" She clasped her hands before her. Falowik did not like seeing her looking like an abject beggar. He scowled, then looked from her hands to her face. Her heart, given to him, was in her eyes. Come, old man, you've shared the story with her already. What hurt is there in walking its paths with her? Falowik allowed himself to hope that it might be well to bring her to those old rags of bitterness and regret. His face softened. "We'll save The Prancing Pony for last." His hand reached and would take her by the waist and lead her walking close beside him, but Falowik forced himself to give her his arm to hold. She smiled and took his arm, and they walked into the road. The Prancing Pony backed onto the hillside and faced west where the road curved westward to cross The Greenway, and southward to circle the hill. Falowik led Uien away from the hill with its Hobbit holes, and down to the hedge and dike that circled Bree from north to south on the west. Along the Hedge Road stood the shops and houses of tradesmen; it was there that Falowik had scraped and scrounged to keep body and soul together. He told Uien of Al Tanner, a hardbitten chap back then, and probably an old codger now, who gave him work and paid him a morsel of bread and a ragged blanket among the dogs out by the dike. Then there was Sam Miller, who had given him grain for payment, telling him to make his own bread; Falowik had worked for Miller just once. Falowik told the story of each of his Breeland caretakers; some had been worse than Miller, some hardly better than Tanner; except for Barliman. The sun was nearing its height when they came to the place where Hedge Road met up with the East Road. Falowik pointed to the houses across the Road and closer to the hill, and told Uien how he had never gone up there because the wealthy of Bree lived there and would not have him, mistrusting him for a child thief. They made their way back to the Prancing Pony, for Falowik was hungry. He was not sure if it had helped to tell Uien his stories. His tone had been sombre at first, but lightened as the day drew on. Still, he did not like it that all through the morning, he had sounded like one who could do nothing but complain; which was why his tone had become lighter with each story; this is how it was, plain and simple; it matters not to me anymore. But it did. His hardships had shaped him into a stunted, crooked tree, as it were, baked under the hostile sun, his roots reaching beneath the earth to slake his thirst in a sun baked, dry land. Uien walking with him was like a lake of fresh, clean, and clear water. But he wanted to know her mind. "What think you of the stories of my childhood?" His tone was light, but his eyes and twitching cheek betrayed him.