Wilderness, Weathertop, & Wild Things RPG - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

piosenniel · 09-09-2004, 10:28 AM

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Primrose Bolger · 09-09-2004, 08:12 PM

A little north of the Weather Hills . . .

‘Nay, brother! It’s the little ones what goes on the bottom and then them bigger pieces. And step back a bit. That scraggly old wolf skin of yours is about to catch fire!’

Grimm watched as Broga raised his great ham fist to his temple and knuckled the coarse patch of hair there in a worried manner, trying to recollect the rudiments of making a small cooking fire. Grimm wheezed out a resigned sigh, standing up from the log he’d rolled near for a seat, and went over to help his brother. ‘Here, now. Let me get this going. You ready them rabbits we trapped.’

Broga spitted the stringer of unfortunate hares, skinned and gutted earlier, on two long, thin metal poles. Four to spit, with some fat taters pushed in between them. 'Kay-bobs' they called them, remembering the word one of those Southron fellows had used. Last word, he’d used, in fact, as Broga had bashed him soundly on the skull just after Grimm had inquired what the man called that spitted meat he was holding. Very tasty, they were . . . those first kay-bobs . . .

‘Wish we had sumthin else to eat, brother,’ grumbled Broga, threading the last of the rabbits on the second spit and securing it with a fist sized tater. ‘Rabbits yesterday. Rabbits today. And don’t it just look like rabbits tomorrer.’

Grimm nodded, his beady eyes taking in the wicker cage where their hunting ferret lay curled up on some old rags - a rabbit hindquarter clutched in his paws; his sharp little teeth stripping the meet from the bones; his hind teeth and strong jaws cracking open the bones as he sucked the marrow. ‘Think we might learn him to fetch chickens for us,’ said Broga, breaking in on his brother’s perusal their little companion. The answer to that question was cut short as Grimm’s attention was caught by the slow approach of two other Trolls.

‘Best put on some extra taters,’ he muttered low to his brother. ‘Here comes old Big Nose and his shadow . . .’

Envinyatar · 09-10-2004, 01:40 AM

He could not say that The Pony had changed much. The paint looked a little fresher on the sign above the entry arch, the faces of the serving girls had changed some, grown older and a little warier, he thought. Butterbur had retired, he learned from the stableboy. His son, just as fat and forgetful, the stableboy confided with a laugh, now followed in his father’s footsteps.

Standing on the wide verandah of the Inn, Veryadan shook the dust from his cloak, watching, in a casual manner, the ebb and flow of patrons. Men, the lot of them. A brief glance in the front window threw the faces of other men into relief from the blazing fire on the hearth and the hanging lamps scattered about the beamed ceiling of the common room. Veryadan looked round at his Elven companions, wondering what stir the entrance of four of the Fair Folk would bring. ‘Won’t know ‘til the deed is done,’ he thought to himself.

With a smile and nod to the ladies he pushed open the door, entering first for a quick survey of the premises. The others of his companions followed closely on his entrance. Heads turned from their pints to see the faces of those whose bright, melodic voices preceded their presence. Conversation lulled for brief moment; chair legs scraped along the wooden floor as those in the back twisted round on them for a look-see. Following its natural short-lived course, interest in the companions waned, mugs returned to eager lips, and the low hum of conversation and laughter picked up again.

Among those, though, whose eyes continued to follow the Elves and the men with them, were two Rangers sitting together at a table across the room from the entrance. And there in the shadows of a dimly lit booth, the rat-faced visage of some man darted quickly in and out of the low burning lamp that hung near him, his glittering eyes taking in the companions with calculating interest before withdrawing into the darkness.

‘Would you just see to getting us a table and rooms?’ Veryadan spoke low to Tarondo. ‘Let me join you in a moment. Make it a table to accommodate two more, if you will.’ He nodded his head toward the two Rangers. ‘I’ll see if they will sup with us. Perhaps they have fresh news they bring with them of happenings in this area.’

A few strides brought him to the Rangers’ table. One of them indicated a chair for his use as he approached. ‘Veryadan,’ he said, nodding to each of the men. ‘My companions and I were hoping you might join us for our meal. It’s been a long road from Minas Tirith to Bree. We would enjoy your company. And any tidings of this area you might have to share with us would be greatly appreciated. What say you? Shall we pull up extra chairs for you at our table?’

09-09-2004, 08:12 PM	#2
Primrose Bolger Wight Join Date: Sep 2003 Location: Near Bywater Pool Posts: 196	A little north of the Weather Hills . . . ‘Nay, brother! It’s the little ones what goes on the bottom and then them bigger pieces. And step back a bit. That scraggly old wolf skin of yours is about to catch fire!’ Grimm watched as Broga raised his great ham fist to his temple and knuckled the coarse patch of hair there in a worried manner, trying to recollect the rudiments of making a small cooking fire. Grimm wheezed out a resigned sigh, standing up from the log he’d rolled near for a seat, and went over to help his brother. ‘Here, now. Let me get this going. You ready them rabbits we trapped.’ Broga spitted the stringer of unfortunate hares, skinned and gutted earlier, on two long, thin metal poles. Four to spit, with some fat taters pushed in between them. 'Kay-bobs' they called them, remembering the word one of those Southron fellows had used. Last word, he’d used, in fact, as Broga had bashed him soundly on the skull just after Grimm had inquired what the man called that spitted meat he was holding. Very tasty, they were . . . those first kay-bobs . . . ‘Wish we had sumthin else to eat, brother,’ grumbled Broga, threading the last of the rabbits on the second spit and securing it with a fist sized tater. ‘Rabbits yesterday. Rabbits today. And don’t it just look like rabbits tomorrer.’ Grimm nodded, his beady eyes taking in the wicker cage where their hunting ferret lay curled up on some old rags - a rabbit hindquarter clutched in his paws; his sharp little teeth stripping the meet from the bones; his hind teeth and strong jaws cracking open the bones as he sucked the marrow. ‘Think we might learn him to fetch chickens for us,’ said Broga, breaking in on his brother’s perusal their little companion. The answer to that question was cut short as Grimm’s attention was caught by the slow approach of two other Trolls. ‘Best put on some extra taters,’ he muttered low to his brother. ‘Here comes old Big Nose and his shadow . . .’ Last edited by Primrose Bolger; 09-09-2004 at 08:16 PM.

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09-09-2004, 10:28 AM	#1
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	Please remove your signature from EVERY post to the game thread - including "Saves". Thanks! ~*~ Pio, Game Moderator (Will remove this once everyone has posted)

09-10-2004, 01:40 AM	#3
Envinyatar Quill Revenant Join Date: Jan 2003 Location: Wandering through the Downs..... Posts: 849	He could not say that The Pony had changed much. The paint looked a little fresher on the sign above the entry arch, the faces of the serving girls had changed some, grown older and a little warier, he thought. Butterbur had retired, he learned from the stableboy. His son, just as fat and forgetful, the stableboy confided with a laugh, now followed in his father’s footsteps. Standing on the wide verandah of the Inn, Veryadan shook the dust from his cloak, watching, in a casual manner, the ebb and flow of patrons. Men, the lot of them. A brief glance in the front window threw the faces of other men into relief from the blazing fire on the hearth and the hanging lamps scattered about the beamed ceiling of the common room. Veryadan looked round at his Elven companions, wondering what stir the entrance of four of the Fair Folk would bring. ‘Won’t know ‘til the deed is done,’ he thought to himself. With a smile and nod to the ladies he pushed open the door, entering first for a quick survey of the premises. The others of his companions followed closely on his entrance. Heads turned from their pints to see the faces of those whose bright, melodic voices preceded their presence. Conversation lulled for brief moment; chair legs scraped along the wooden floor as those in the back twisted round on them for a look-see. Following its natural short-lived course, interest in the companions waned, mugs returned to eager lips, and the low hum of conversation and laughter picked up again. Among those, though, whose eyes continued to follow the Elves and the men with them, were two Rangers sitting together at a table across the room from the entrance. And there in the shadows of a dimly lit booth, the rat-faced visage of some man darted quickly in and out of the low burning lamp that hung near him, his glittering eyes taking in the companions with calculating interest before withdrawing into the darkness. ‘Would you just see to getting us a table and rooms?’ Veryadan spoke low to Tarondo. ‘Let me join you in a moment. Make it a table to accommodate two more, if you will.’ He nodded his head toward the two Rangers. ‘I’ll see if they will sup with us. Perhaps they have fresh news they bring with them of happenings in this area.’ A few strides brought him to the Rangers’ table. One of them indicated a chair for his use as he approached. ‘Veryadan,’ he said, nodding to each of the men. ‘My companions and I were hoping you might join us for our meal. It’s been a long road from Minas Tirith to Bree. We would enjoy your company. And any tidings of this area you might have to share with us would be greatly appreciated. What say you? Shall we pull up extra chairs for you at our table?’