The White Horse Inn, Act III

[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!"

[Esgallhugwen]

"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!"

The shady figure of Rand paused for a moment, then he laughed, a cruel terrible thick laugh that would peel the meat from bones if it could. "So's thats howya want it then, eh? Seems there ain't much a stuffed in that there head but straw, eh blondie?"

He stepped forward as the heroes raised what weapons they had to counter any impending blows. "What's mine is mine as tey say".

"I'm not yours any more Rand!", a small but fierce voice spoke out above his chortling.

"There now, you've gone and done it in now, I was a gonna be taking yer back all nice and sweet like, but seems as things are gonin' now I'm gonna have to use some force after all".

He pulled a stained staff out from under his cloak, Gudryn cringed, stained with her own blood, the memories came wailing and clawing back like winter wind against a bolted door. "Seeing as I'm not too fond of talking and you're doing most of it", Rand raised the staff ready to strike Eodwine in the head.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

As the blood-stained staff rose, Saeryn's fear rose with it. She could not understand what this man was doing, ruining her first bit of comfortable belonging. Pure rage replaced her nerves, fizzing through every vein and causing a stream of curses she'd forgotten she knew to run through her head. For a moment, the image of a straw-haired hostler, ruddy cheeked and handsome, ran through her head. She saw a pretty red haired teenage girl throw her arms about his neck and kiss his cheek. Resolving to think about the image later, Saeryn of the Folde did perhaps the stupidest thing of her life: she broke away from the firm hold of her brother and leapt upon the man, Rand.

"No!" she screamed, flying for him.

It was pure surprise more than anything that stopped him. Assuredly it had not been her weight as her slender frame could not have weighed all that much over a hundred pounds. With a swift gesture, Rand slammed the girl away from him and into Degas, looking blankly at her. The room went dead silent as she stood clutching her still tender ribs and breathing heavily. She breathlessly muttered a curse, murmering to her brother. "That really hurt." she whispered as she stared foggily up at the man, waiting to see if her rashness and anger had just gotten her killed.

[littlemanpoet]

[edit: reworked]

Rand tossed the wiry frame of Saeryn back at Degas as if she was no more than a rag doll.

"Now that's scorched it!" Garreth bellowed.

In the time it took him to speak his wrath and raise his poker, Eodwine rushed in and raised his sword. Rand raised his bloody staff to parry Eodwine's blow, and did; but the man of the Eorling was a seasoned warrior, and his skill gave power to his sword, and Rand's staff broke in two.

Garreth charged the ruffian, as did his twin brother from the opposite side of Rand wordlessly. Harreld and Garreth were big men, easily as tall as Rand, and no mean specimens as blacksmiths went, and their weight combined was more than Rand's; but they did not reckon that a man so big could move so quickly. He ducked and their blows that had been intended for his head, careemed into each other's weapons with a clang. However, both twins were good wrestlers, having had each other to practice on often and recently, and their free hands laid strong holds on the rascal; Harreld grabbed a tuft of Rand's hair whilst Garreth had him round the neck.

Eodwine stood back a moment while Harreld and Garreth grappled Rand; he sheathed his sword and then dove, tackling Rand by both legs, receiving a forceful boot in his middle for his efforts.

Falco, standing on a table top, held a mug in his throwing hand, watching the four wrestle, waiting and watching for an opening. He wound up, ready to wing the mug. It was hard to find what he wanted in the mess of limbs flailing and heads rising and lowering. He saw his opening and let loose his mug, arrow-quick, which caught the ruffian right between the eyes.

[bilbo_baggins]

Oin Stealthanvil crept into the Inn just in time to see the scuffle ensue. How interestingly vague the action seemed to be, even though it was so real. Good thing that ruffian was knocked out, or that fight could have soured.

Sitting in a corner, he gathered his cloak about his sturdy frame. It was so hard to sit right in chairs made for humans.

It had been a long time since he had been here, and it still seemed like just a few weeks ago. He wondered if the Innkeeper still remembered him. Ah, she and that Ruthven were wonderful with memories. He couldn't place names on all of the people here. Amazing.

He went and got a small cup of mead, to soothe his throat. It was wonderful to be back.

[littlemanpoet]

Rand went down like a tree and lay still, except for his breathing.

"Good shot, Master Falco!" said Eodwine, wiping his brow, kneeling by the very sizable legs of Rand.

"Ruin of a good mug," Falco replied darkly, and hopped down from the table.

Garreth and Harreld blew out sighs of relief, and Garreth said, "He's a big 'un, no wager."

Before one could say 'I thought he was out', Rand reached up and grabbed Harreld's and Garreth's heads and smacked them together. The twins' eyes went up into their heads and they slumped overtop of the ruffian. With a bellow he pushed them aside and got to his feet, sending Eodwine stumbling back toward Falco, who caught him from catching his head against the table.

"Gudryn, welp, cmere!"

With a quick thanks to Falco, Eodwine jumped to his feet, drew his sword and raised it toward Rand. Now there was fire in the eyes of the Eorlinga.

"Gudryn has claimed me as father. To get her you must win through me, beast."

[Bêthberry]

Ruthven barely had time to see a familiar face saunter in and grab a mug of mead from the shelf outside the kitchen--for who was taking orders at a time like this?--before she watched, stunned, as this Rand fellow threw off the assault. He was a big 'un and it would take more than her potion to bring him down.

She called out to Eodwine, "'Ware, Messenger. Watch him, as very soon he will start to show certain effects from mybrand of fighting."

The twins, a pile of arms and legs all akimbo, looked over at Ruthven with disgust and surprise mingled on their faces, a guffaw ready to echo 'round the hall despite their close encounter with the floor. Degas held Saeryn and both looked with undisguised perplexion upon the rag lady. Gudryn quavered with fear and confusion. Eodwine, much miffed with the intrusion upon his heroic stance, yelled out, "By ogre and boggart, what do you mean, woman? Are ye daft?"

Ruthven chuckled and pointed back towards the brigand.

A huge whelt was forming on his forehead where Falco had landed the blow, and a cut, small but bleeding freely, had been opened. Rand had tried to lift his hand and sleeve to wipe away the blood from his eyes and found his arm was not obeying his command. Instead, it hung at his side, stiff. Not even his fingers could he move or bend, and he began to stagger over to the one side. With his other, unaffected hand, he lifted his arm to inspect the hand. But he misjudged the paralysis and instead swatted his own face with his stiff hand, wiping the fingers all the same in the bleeding wound. He dropped his useless arm and roared even louder, as if sound could be a weapon.

"There's monkshood for you," quietly remarked Ruthven. "And if there's any of that ale left on your hand, you've just rubbed it into the wound. But watch him, Eodwine, for he will be unbalanced now and his movements hard to predict."

Eodwine looked over at Ruthven with a nod. "Remind me to offer to do some weeding for you later, in thanks."

"'Tis Bethberry's garden, not mine. You can thank her. Now, carry on, Eorlingas."