Wilderness, Weathertop, & Wild Things RPG

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

“Oy! Arrald! Get yerself out ‘ere and help me with these sheep!”

Arrald crept out of the cave that he shared with his brother, still scratching his armpit and yawning mightily. Even from where he stood three long troll strides away the smell was enough to curl the hair in Dim’s nostrils. “Ouch!” he cried. “How much of that farmer’s brew did you quaff last night?”

“As much as yerself!” Arrald shot back grumpily. In fact, he had downed a considerable quantity more than his brother in celebration of their takings from the farm. That and their cunning in withholding some of the gold from the orcs. Arrald chuckled again at the memory, causing him to burp loudly.

Dim squinted his eyes at his brother as he took the skin from another sheep. “What are you laughing at?” He rather suspected that it might be him, for Dim was very sensitive about his brother’s opinion. He had always known that he was the slower of the two and was self-conscious about that.

Arrald gapped and stretched again, then reaching out for one of the cold joints of goat from the night before he explained to his brother. “I’m just remembering on how those orcs were so easily taken in by us. There we were, practically falling over with the weight of the gold we had on us, and we handed over just one pouch to them. Ha!” he burped again as he chortled. “That will teach them stinking orky for calling us stupid.” Arrald and his brother enjoyed a good laugh together and the sound sent wildlife for miles around scuttling for cover. When they had regained their composure Arrald said, “Hand me over that bag of gold, Dim. I wants to count it again.”

Dim looked at him blankly. “I ain’t got it,” he said. “You ‘ave hold of the one we kept.”

“I do not,” Arrald replied angrily. “I gave my pouch on over to that orc chieftan. You know, the swaggering one as thinks he’s so smart and sharp. I handed my pouch over as you kept yours hidden.”

“No no,” Dim said shaking his head. “You’ve got it all misunremembered. I gave my pouch of gold to that second-in-commander orky, while you kept yours as you spoke with the commander.”

“No,” Arrald said, recognition of what had happened beginning to dawn upon him. “That’s backwards. I gave the gold, and you kept it.”

“No,” Dim said, growing angry. “I tells you, it’s the other way round. But why are we arguing about this? You must know what happened as you still have your pouch.”

Arrald fixed his brother with a rocky gaze. “I don’t ‘ave any more gold in me pocket as you have sense in your head you dunderbrained fool! You gave up the gold that you were supposed to keep, while I was distracting them with the gold I was giving up so that you could keep yours.” This took Dim some time to work through, but when it did he denied that this had been their plan, and Arrald insisted that it had been. Either way, it was now painfully clear to them what had happened.

They argued back and forth about it for most of the morning until finally they had a good knocking about over it which settled the matters nicely. Settling back down to their lunch and nursing their bruises they decided that at least they had been smart enough to keep the livestock and the beer for themselves.

[Esgallhugwen]

"That is precisely what we are here to discover. The King ordered us to find out the source of the trouble and take what action we can." The Elf straighted up and smiled at the others. "We can sit up all comparing the intelligence and abilities of Men, Orcs, Trolls, and Elves," he said, "but I am weary, if no one else is. We need to learn exactly what happened during these attacks before there is value in speculation."

"Aye", Silrûth replied with a small grin on her face, "forgive my hastiness, mayhaps I'll go for a short walk before I rest my eyes", she stood as the others began to leave the room, Veryadan rolled up the map and tracing neatly, taking it with him.

The Elf made her way to the front of the Inn, few patrons had stayed behind and the stragglers were too drunk to make it from there tables to the door. The fresh air pushed back the nauseating smell of alcohol and sweat, and already she began to feel her mind clear.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_

A thin ray of sunlight slid through a parting in the drapes casting a warm band across Silrûth's head. The golden circlet disappeared as she sat up and stretched the sleep out of her.

Fully dressed with saddle bags in hand she headed down the stairs, noticing her fellow companions she glided towards them and took a seat across from Menecar. She greeted them jovially and dug into the breakfast that was placed before her.

Thoronmir was off asking about the stories from young Butterbur, and her companion was no where in sight, "I don't suppose you've seen Aidwain this morning?", the three shook there heads and she nodded knowing his love for sleep.

"Well", Silrûth nudged the plate with her thumb, "I will be seeing to my horse, I'm sure he will be down soon", she smiled and excused herself from the table. Her horse nickered in greeting and recieved a few affectionate pats on the forehead. The mare had been well seen to and Silrûth had only to do a light brushing and hoove check before she was back inside.

Her seat had been taken by Aidwain who was lazily eating his breakfast, enjoying every mouthful. "Finally awake I see?" she stood next to him her leather saddle bag hanging from her shoulder.

Butterbur Jr. had rushed over to them, "there's a man just o'er there who 'as some bad news of recent 'appenings at the Whittleworth farm, would any of you be willing to lend an ear?"

[rutslegolas]

Aidwain had come down to breakfast rather late and nearly everybody else had finished their's,he lazily sat down and cursed his habit of geeting up late.He sat down rather out of anguish and started eating . " Have any of you learned anything frm the locals ? ",he asked. " Not until now but we have made an announcement in the Inn as you would know ",replied Menecar " And yes before I forget Silruth was asking for you ,she has gone out to look after her horse".

After a while Silruth herself came inside with her saddlebags," Finally awake I see? " she stood next to him. Nrxt moment, Butterbur Jr. had rushed over to them, "there's a man just o'er there who 'as some bad news of recent 'appenings at the Whittleworth farm, would any of you be willing to lend an ear?"

[Envinyatar]

Fen Shepherdspurse

The door to the Inn swung open for a moment. Fen looked up, he could hear Butterbur’s voice somewhere a short distance before him, but saw only the large dark blur of him against the bright white light of day which framed his ample outline. The common room was still dim, only a few of the shutters had been opened and just a single lamp in the center of the area had been lit. Fen’s eyes narrowed at the bright light that now flooded in. He could hear the Innkeeper speaking to someone and the calm low voice of someone still unseen give answer. It was someone tall who followed closely after Butterbur; someone very tall, in fact. Golden haired. The daylight behind threw a nimbus of radiance about the person’s head causing Fen to squint harder as he tried to pick the features out in the darkened face.

The door to the Inn closed. Fen spluttered in his mug of ale as the features of the woman came into focus. No, not just some woman . . . Blast that brainless barkeep! Butterbur had brought one of the Elves to speak with him! Fen had little liking for the Fair Folk. He’d heard too often they could pry behind your eyes, to see if your mouth was telling lies. He swallowed hard at the short sword she wore so easily against her hip. He could almost feel the keenness of its sharp blade against his neck. His eyes darted about the room looking for an easy escape should this ‘interview’ not go well.

Butterbur was hurrying the Elf along, drawing nearer to where Fen stood. Her fair face looked up often as the Innkeeper nattered on, grey eyes coming round often to rest coolly on Fen. A thin bead of sweat broke out on his upper lip; his face turned a whiter shade of pale at her imminent presence. Fen jammed his hands hard into the pockets of his breeches to keep her from seeing them shake. He pinched his thigh hard through the thin material of one of the pockets, the pain of it driving away his rising fear. Thoughts refocused, he counseled himself with the consideration that perhaps he needn’t tell any lies if he doled out the truth with care.

By the time the two reached him, Fen was looking quite distraught . . . with a pale grey skin, ragged demeanor, of one who has seen something quite horrible.

‘Here he is, m’Lady,’ said Butterbur. ‘The poor blighter what saw such grisly sights as I was telling you.’

Grisly sights?! frowned Fen. What’s he been telling her?

Silrûth appraised him silently as the Innkeeper spoke. Fen, a moment of inspiration coming upon him, began blubbering; his breath coming in sobbing gasps. His shaking hands flew up to knuckle the tears from his eyes as he let out a desperate wail. ‘Oh, Lady! I’m so glad the King has sent you to give us poor folk some help. There’s wild nasty beasties of some sort as has come to bedevil us. Last night . . .’ And here he seemed overcome with genuine grief . . . ‘last night the Whittleworth’s ‘n their hands was cut down . . . murdered most foul by a ravening band of evil fiends. Killed ever one of ‘em. Children, too, so I heard.’ He shook his head at the thought of it, wiping his now dripping nose on a begrimed rag he’d fetched out of his pocket. He looked up at her with his red rimmed eyes. ‘You and your friends have come to pertect us, right?’ he asked in a fawning manner. ‘Afore they get to us, right here in Bree and kill us all as we sleep in our beds . . .’

[Nuranar]

When Luinien opened her eyes, she saw her baggage piled neatly against the door. Strangely enough, that innocuous sight sent her leaping out of bed and into her clothes. As she paced across the floor, grappling with the buttons that closed up her gown, she muttered disgustedly. Usually her inner clock was most reliable, waking her up on the dot just before dawn. Every so often, though, it chose to malfunction. And it would be the morning of their first day in Bree.

“What ho, sleepyhead!” Tarondo’s voice, muffled but still clear, came through the door.

“Come in!” she called to him, securing the last stubborn button with a quick twist of her fingers.

“I was beginning to wonder,” began her brother, but Luinien interrupted him.

“Never mind that. I’m up now. Is everyone else downstairs?”

“Veryadan, Osric, and the Rangers have already eaten, and I think Silrûth is nearly finished. Aidwain just came down. I think he may rival you in terms of sleeping late.”

Luinien gave a refined snigger. “I am not the one who slept through the meeting last night.”

“True, I had forgotten that.” Tarondo grinned, then sobered. “Thoronmir has been speaking to our landlord. Butterbur talked about some stolen livestock and a burned cornfield, and several others volunteered similar information.”

“That sounds like thieves. At least, the missing stock does.” Luinien stood before the small mirror, braiding her hair. She frowned at her reflection and at Tarondo, sitting on the bed behind her. “But burning crops? That’s simply destructive.”

“Maybe it was an accident.” Tarondo toyed absently with his bootlaces, then looked up. “Luinien, that man was in the common room again.”

“The one who tried to hide when we came in yesterday?” The Elf paused to consider. “I don’t see that it matters. Why shouldn’t he eat here?”

Tarondo sighed. “There is no reason. But he appeared both very tired and very wrought up in some way. There is probably no reason for concern, but I would like to keep it in mind. And do not forget that Menecar thought someone was outside the door last night.”

“I will remember it, and be careful,” Luinien assured him. “Are you hungry?”

“Famished, as usual,” he said, jumping up.

A thought struck her. “Wait a moment. If you have not eaten, what were you doing? Don’t tell me you were sleeping, too!”

“No, thank you, I was studying Veryadan’s maps. It has been some time since I have traveled in this area, and I wanted to get the lay of the land back into my mind.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

In the common room, Veryadan was reclining negligently at a somewhat bare table across from Aidwain, who was eating. When Tarondo and Luinien joined them, the serving girl remedied the table’s nakedness with plates of eggs and ham still hissing.

“Where are the others?” Tarondo inquired, between bites.

Veryadan gestured with his head. “Thoronmir got an earful from Butterbur, and then he announced to everyone in here. He and Menecar are over in the far corner right now, asking for details. Osric’s somewhere about. Oh, Butterbur came up and said he had someone else with news; Silrûth went over there with him.”

Luinien followed his pointing finger, and her eyes widened in surprise. “Tarondo, look!” said, in a hushed voice.

Her picked up his mug and drank, letting his eyes slide quickly to the far end of the bar. “Ah, the man in the shadows again. Very interesting.”

“Are you going to warn her?”

Tarondo was surprised. “If you mean, Shall I interrupt their conversation, of course not. But when she reports what he has to say, I shall simply keep in mind that he did not appear, shall we say, sympathetic to Elves and Rangers when we first saw him.”

Luinien nodded and quickly finished her meal. “I am going out to find some shops. I will probably find something I need, but I think that would be another good place to hear the news.”

“Very true. You may see me about later.”

Luinien nodded and left the Inn with her swift, silent stride. As she passed the pair at the bar, she caught Silrûth’s eye with a lightning admonition to be heedful.

[Envinyatar]

Veryadan

Once Veryadan had finished with his meal, he’d gone upstairs to get his map of Breeland and the surrounds. There were a number of patrons of the Pony already standing about in little groups talking over the dark rumours they’d heard of merchants waylaid on the byways off the main road, the livestock gone missing. Gruesome stories of the farm dogs found dead, their skulls crushed, rumpled bodies heaved to the sides of the grassy fields where their now missing charges were pastured.

‘We thought they was done in by them wolves from up north. Happened a long time ago, as my own grand-da used to tell in his old stories about the time before the King,’ one grey pated sheepman said, shaking his head at the thought. ‘But,’ his brother went on, ‘in the old man’s stories, the wolves kilt a few sheep, ripped their throats out like. Ate what they could and dragged off a few of the lambs. This is sumfin bigger. Sometimes whole flocks is driven off over the rocky ground.’

‘And most times now, you hear the farmer’s house is hit, too. People been kilt. What savings they had and any fancy things - taken.’

The Ranger cleared a space on one of the tables and spread out the map he and the others had marked last night. He motioned those telling their stories to gather round and tell them one more time. ‘One at a time, if you please. And come stand near me here.’ The older man who’d spoken of wolves and his grand-da’s stories came up slowly, a rather sheepish grin on his face as the gazes of the others fell on him. He’d taken off his battered leather hat and stood twisting it in his hands, unsure of what the Ranger was wanting. He looked at the map perplexed; it was not something he’d seen before.

Veryadan drew his attention with a pointed finger at the little outline of Bree he’d drawn on the thick vellum. ‘Here’s Bree,’ he said, and the little dot here, The Pony. Just imagine you’re some sort of bird flying over and peeking down at the land below. This here’s your hedge and dike . . .’

‘Oh, aye!’ said the man, the light of understanding come into his face. ‘And this little line’s the Great Road what runs past us, isn’t it?’ Veryadan nodded. The man’s brother hovered near and pointed out the little patch of crudely drawn trees to the east of Bree. ‘Why there’s the woods and the little towns are marked with them circles.’ Murmurs from the others who had crowded in about the table brought recognition of other places on the map. ‘Well, I’ll be,’ said one fellow. ‘If that don’t beat all! There’s that old road up to Deadman’s Dike.’ ‘And old Weathertop’s marked here,’ cried another, quite pleased with his find.

Now that the group had gained some understanding of the map, they spoke with confidence about the incidents they’d heard discussed. Once again, Veryadan placed the thin parchment over the original map, pointing out to them where the other Rangers had placed their tales of the marauders. The men looked shrewdly at the map, saying the stories they knew of were happening closer now to Breeland. ‘Here’s the one old Tom told me,’ said one of the farmers in from Archet. He put his grubby finger down on a place just north of Weathertop, leaving a dirty smudge in which Veryadan marked an ‘X’ and asked about when did the incident happen. Others crowded in then, eager to have their stories heard, their marks put on the Ranger’s map.

When they were all heard, Veryadan called for a round of ale for the group and thanked them. They hung about the table, looking at the patterns of ‘X’s he’d put there. One of them shook his head, voicing the unspoken concern that was beginning to dawn on the group. ‘This don’t look good for Bree, Master Veryadan,’ said one of the younger fellows. He took a gulp of his beer, then shook his head at the map. ‘Whatever it is what’s been attacking the outlying places is moving closer to Chetwood. Don’t it look so to you fellows?’ Others nodded their assent.’

‘Well, if that’s so,’ said one grizzled old pig farmer from out Archet way, ‘then you’ve got to think whoever it is moving their camp in closer, don’t you think?’ Veryadan clapped the man on the shoulder, saying that’s one of the reasons he’d wanted to use the map. ‘I haven’t been in this area in a very long time. Since before the War, really.’ He turned the map round so that the bulk of the men could see it. ‘If you were going to look for the source of the trouble, where do you think a good place to start looking might be? And we’ll need a place to all meet back and share what we’ve learned. What’s the easiest place to get to if we go out to see about some of the places I’ve marked from your stories?’

Murmurs of Weathertop followed from some with grunts of affirmation from the others. ‘Easy place to get to,’ a few said. Tracing some tracks on the parchment that were not yet drawn in. ‘Good place for a look-see, too,’ the lot of them agreed.

Veryadan looked over the throng, toward the bar where Silrûth stood talking to a familiar looking figure. He hoped to catch the Elf’s eye. Perhaps the man could place another ‘X’ on the map for the searchers to take a look at . . .

[Esgallhugwen]

Silrûth silently stood before the haggard man as his story unfolded in wailing gasps. She noticed before he spoke his display of nervous behaviour, though he tried to cover it.

His eyes watered up perveying emotion, but the Elf kept her gaurd up, noticing the familiarity of this man's eyes to the same beady ones that had watched them so closely the night before. She showed no trace of emotion not even sympathy as she listened intently to every word that spilled from his blubbering mouth.

She made sure to neither acknowledge or deny the involvement of the King and nodded at the appropriate times during his story telling. Butterbur Jr. had bounced off to serve his other patrons breakfast, as they had begun to shout for it, accusing him of ignoring the other regulars in favour of the Elves and Rangers.

Sighing as he begged for their protection she answered, "we will do what we can to see that these attacks stop and to see those accused have a swift end".

Luinien passed by, giving Silrûth a warning with her eyes, the blonde Elf nodded slightly, knowing what the warning was about, Luinien had recognised this man as well, and no doubt her suspicions were of like mind.

"Tell me good sir, what is your name? So that I may tell my companions from whom this tale comes so that I may spare you further grief. Such troubling news is not easy on the heart, and you seem to be shaken quite badly" she looked quietly on the man, but his gaze strayed away from hers as if her grey eyes stung his own.

"I...I..ma....my nam" he stuttered fumbling with his hands in his pockets, his eyes shifted from side to side then finally back up at her. "My name is Fen, Fen Shepherdspurse" he blurted out at last looking anxiously around the dusty room, after a moment he managed to regain his composure.

She nodded cooly, turning on her heel, she stopped smoothly catching the intent gaze of the Ranger, Veryadan, as he looked across the gathering of people, looking directly at her she quickly turned again to face Fen. The man seemed distraught again, now that she had turned back facing him.

"Mr. Shepherdspurse would you kindly assist us in locating this Whittleworth Farm? It would greatly improve our chances of finding the assailants and ending this horror", She questioned him politely with her smooth lyrical voice.