The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Bêthberry]

Of course, not all the denizens of The White Horse fell upon the telling of this tale. For some, newly arrived, the hectic pace and sudden intrustion of fear, derring-do and fisticuffs, raised dire warnings. Odessa looked at her brother Faleron. This was what Ioreth had sent her here to learn! Healing! Healing! The sacred arts of care and nurture and the secret powers of plants against the wicked of this world. Odessa could not believe her apprenticeship had arrived so quickly. Moving away from the scene of the most recent arrival and action, she whispered to her brother.

"Faleron, I overheard them! I know what I can do! Come, come, Aunt Ioreth will be so pleased with us!"

Faleron for his part was loathe to remove himself from this tale of knuckle-busting and he frowned upon his sister's insistence, shaking his head and nodding his wish to remain. She refused to allow him that satisfaction, pulling upon his sleeve, and drawing him away, out towards the kitchen, stopping on the way to speak with Frodides, and then curtseying their withdrawal, moving quickly out the back door while the faithful cook's back was turned as she answered a call from Ruthven.

At the back, Odessa quickly sought the herb garden. She had often observed her Aunt Ioreth in the early morn in her herbarium and watched her actions. Odessa decided now to imitate those actions. Faleron protested but meekly, remembering the injunction laid upon him, and submitted to his sister's impetuous plans.

The two sought out the raised beds of the herb garden, the wattle fences of which could hide them if they slunk down amid the herbs and plants and shrubs. The sun had set, but what was that to such neophytes? No one had told them that the healing herbs must be harvested at sunrise, under oath of silence, and facing west, where shone the beams of the rising sun. Instead, the last flickering rays of the sunset skimmed their heads and pointed to the perfidious east.

Nor did either child really know the rituals of harvesting herbs. Neither bore silver blade nor iron blade and instead wacked and cut and slashed whatever plant Odessa could remember hearing about. Thus did they raise the ire of the natural world against the protections which Bethberry and Ruthven had called upon. The mort myre fungi in particular protested against their rough feet and the mandrake cried when stepped upon. The snape grass blew back and forth in the wind and whistled a silent news unheard by the two earnest but unfortunate youth.

"There," pronounced Odessa, as she tied into a bruised bundle a bunch of monkshood and snapdragon, wrapping it with nettle instead of blackberry vine. "We have made more amulets to ward off evil. Bethberry will be pleased with us!" Faleron was not so sure, for it had been he who had cut the stinging nettles, at the edge of the herb garden, and he had paid for his efforts. Angry red welts were appearing on his hands and arms.

The two snuck back into the kitchen, removed the small sliver of a knife which they had used to prop open the door, and, skirting around the room, made their way out towards the main hall unobserved. Where Bethberry and Ruthven had hung an amulet, they hung their own amulet, using hemp instead of red wool. Little did they imagine what their efforts could lead to.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine, Falco, Harreld and Garreth seemed oddly quiet for the moment. In sooth, they seemed to be frankly soulless, their eyes glazed and their mouths drooping; which was not entirely out of character for Harreld and Garreth, but it made Eodwine and Falco look positively ridiculous. In point of fact, it seemed that a certain etherish party had pulled their souls from their bodies and was being used by some infastidious subcreator elsewhere for his dubious purposes. As long as Bethberry and others could handle being in two places at once, however, there was little to worry about.

At one point, the word, "cerebriations" slipped from Eodwine's lips.

Others gave him a quizzical stare, then shrugged, and went back to the business of being in an adventure at The White Horse.

At another point, "limerickalickalickal" slipped from Falco's mouth. Now this was getting a bit suspicious, but what was one to do? Perhaps it was best to wait out the etheric party before the four LMPish characters were called upon for more than an astounding belch. And so the evening continued for the nonce.

[Esgallhugwen]

Gudryn looked at the four heroes with a questioning glance, their sudden odd behaviour startled her. Whatever possesed them or dispossesed them, for their eyes were dull but they still breathed though with strange words flowing from their lips, she hoped it would pass before Rand came to claim her.

"What is happening to them?" Gudryn asked, looking around as if to find the answer, which to her dissapointment she could not find.

"Something strange is afoot", Bethberry noted and wisked herself away towards her Herbarium and apothacary to the answer that she seeked. And still the heroes stood their, most Gudryn noted with a hint of disgust had drool collecting on the sides of their gaping mouths.

She could not tell if the others were being affected for they were mulling about in their own business, she seemed to be immune thanks to the cream coloured linen scarf imbued with Bethberry's art. She sat back down in the chair when a loud bang was heard at the door.

She flinched as it came again more insistant this time, the door creaking under the pressure of the unknown force. The third time was followed by the grinding rasp of a hateful voice, "Gudryn!", it roared checking the door again with it's body.

"Gudryn, I know ye be in t'ere sweety, come out so as to not make me hurt any of 'em other ones", there was a pause before the voice hissed, "come out me little child, let me see your pretty face".

The four heroes miraculously snapped out of the spell that had trapped them with eccentric words, and so they came face to face with the aggressor. The door swung open with a sharp snap, gusts of cold wind chilling all to the bone entered the room as the tall immense form stood in the doorway.

He was hooded and cloaked, everyone stood their gaurd waiting. Gudryn could sense something was wrong but was yet unable to place it.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Desi, leave. Now." Faleron spoke. His tone left no room for debate. "Odessa, OUT!" he roared. Staring daggers at him, Odessa ran from the room, not stopping until she had reached her room and blocked the door. She had never before heard that tone in her brother's voice, and it scared her.

Back in the common room, Faleron covertly drew his knives, joining the heroes. Degas backed away, weaponless because of his bandaged hands. He took the hand of each lady, Saeryn and Gudryn, and drew them close. "No fears, ladies," he whispered hoarsely. Saeryn was terrified... if she had ever been in such a situation, her current state of mind did not allow her to know. They waited, the three, behind a table, with Degas for protection as the four heroes... five now... blocked them from view of the loud and frightening stranger. They waited silently for the next move.

[Bêthberry]

Ruthven shook her head. She had thought the door was closed, lock, stock and barrel as the old saying went. Mayhap it wasn't locked after they let in the lad Degas. Fine bunch of heroes they turn out to be. Nonetheless, she moved covertly, taking something out of her pocket and surruptitiously shaking it into one of the tankards in front of her. Then she coughed and wheezed a bit.

The old rag lady rose from her table, wobbly with her stiff bones and creaky joints. Her tankard she held high in her hand. Another tankard appeared in her other hand. She appeared to be tipsier than she really was, which made her appear harmless.

"The Innkeeper is unavailable at this moment. May I take it upon myself to welcome you to our humble Inn. I am Ruthven, the rag lady and secondhand dealer of Edoras. A tankard on the house, if you will?" Ruthven took a gulp from her tankard, leaving foam in a small dribble around her upper lip. She offerred the other tankard to the hooded man.

He stared at her. At least, it appeared he stared at her, given his face was covered by his hood.

"I'm lookin' fer a wee lassie wot's mine," he stated.

"Ye must be tired from all yer searchin. Here, have an ale."

"You silly old bag. Tink 'ye I'll be wanting an ale when the girl's right there in front o' me?" He walked over to Ruthven and knocked the tankard out of her hand, spilling the precious dark brew over his hand, his sleeve, his side.

Ruthven jumped back, out of his way and out of the way of the ale. Twas a great loss, to tamper with such delectable drink as that, but she had had no choice. Now she moved further away from him, making him think she had simply wanted him to drink. Little did the cloaked marauder know she had hoped to spill the ale on him and let Bethberry's potion take its course.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas could not understand why the five men were not acting upon this brigand, but it was of no importance. The fact was, this man... this Rand... was here, and he was moving toward the ladies. Unacceptable, he thought, straightening to a height which, suprisingly to himself, matched that of his former attacker. The other man, however, weighed quite a bit more than the lanky youth.

Degas stepped forward, his face set. "Sir, you make demands for that which is no item that you may possess. I highly recommend rephrasing to ask the lady if she desires your company, and should that fail, which I have a strong suspicion it will, given your apparent sensitivity, I recommend even more putting your back to us and taking a long trip far from here."

The young man was almost amazed at his own audacity, but after his rocky past with the near stranger that had beaten him bloody, he was surprised to find that he didn't give a purple pea what anybody thought of his rudeness.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine momentarily smirked at Degas' fine string of words. He raised his sword.

"If you be Rand," Eodwine said, "we know what manner of man you be. You are not welcome here, outlaw. Leave before it goes badly for you. We will not let you have the lass Gudryn, upon our lives."

"Aye," said Falco, raising a short sword none of the others had seen until now.

Harreld and Garreth said nothing, but moved around one to each side of the man Rand, there weapons raised. This Rand was a big man, bigger than the two smiths, but not bigger than both combined.

Rand eyed them each darkly in turn, his huge meaty hands opening and closing as if ready to rip and tear.

"A guard told us of your coming before you broke the door and entered, and he is off to the Golden Hall for more guards. They will be on their way. You will soon be face with large numbers and taken captive to the king's judgement. One last time we say to you," Eodwine raised his voice, "leave before you give new cause for judgement. Now!"