The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Undómë · 12-16-2005, 12:53 PM

Teluyaviel’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the Orc. Powerful indeed must be the Peace of the High King in Gondor that such creatures should now roam freely. She drew back the hood of her cloak and stared fully at the one-time foe of the Elves. ‘How should she think of him now?’ she wondered to herself.

‘My name is Teluyaviel, m’lady,’ she spoke aloud to Penn, turning her gaze back to the woman. ‘Or Telu, if the other is too much a mouthful,’ she said with a grin. ‘I do find many whose tongues trip over the longer name.’ Telu nodded toward the Orc.

‘Perhaps you had better keep your little friends close about you, Penn. The Orc looks hungry. And he’s been eyeing little Pip.’

Farael · 12-16-2005, 01:36 PM

Everyone in Farael's table was still introducing themselves - sometimes he would think people liked to make all those longs introductions rather than actually talk - when the door opened and a dark figure walked in, almost stumbling all the way to a dark corner. Immediately Farael grabbed the long knife he always kept on his boot, luckily not the same boot lil' Pip had been so happily chewing at, yet he was not sure why he had done so. Then Teluyaviel confirmed what he had feared all along. It was an orc! What was an orc doing here? Should he attack it, even here at the Inn? then he realized that the dwarves and the elf in his table were likely better in fighting than himself, at least while having only a knife.

With all these thoughts in his mind, Farael looked around for a clue on what to do next. He had only been at the Inn for less than a day and he did not know if Orcs were actually welcomed in its grounds. Something in the looks of Teluyaviel told him they were not.

Captain Grishnahk · 12-16-2005, 02:18 PM

A small click was heard under the table as Grishnahk slid a bolt into the wooded capsule of his crossbow. He knew that the people of the inn were becoming conspicuous of his presence. But he had to hide somewhere where the hunters would not look. His beady eyes stared at Farael when he was not looking, and when he did look, Grishnahk turned his head down. Grishnahk was not made Captain of the Dark Tower for no reason. He was skilled with weapons, and was a higher educated orc. He was the apprentice of Grishnakh before his disappearance when looking for The One Ring. But there was something different about Grishnahk. He had been banished from Mordor a few years back, and was sentenced to death due to his unnatural orcish behavior.

He was much like a man, having the choices between good and evil. Grishnahk was struggling with his orcish and elvish soul. He knew he was meant to do evil, and that was his only excuse for doing so. But he was also equipped with a conscience, and that was his main downfall.

Grishnahk rubbed his eyes, he had to leave soon before his death occurred. But he had to wait until the sun set.

12-17-2005, 02:23 AM

Grishnahk is sent a pitcher of ale

Barnaby wondered at the menacing fellow who sat at a table not far from his. He heard the word ‘Orc’ whispered about the room and gave the creature an appraising look. He certainly looked dangerous enough, and he had brought in some horrible looking weapons, sharp weapons. And well used by the looks of them.

The Hobbit’s eyes slid to the Orc’s muddy boots. ‘Been traveling. And a far piece, I think from the looks of it.’

Now Barnaby knew that traveling for any length of time made him quite hungry. And thirsty, too. He fished about in his little coin purse and drew out a few coins. Calling over one of the servers, he asked him to take the new fellow a pitcher of ale to slake his thirst and a wedge of cheese with some warm Shire rolls to take the edge off his hunger.

Having never met an Orc or heard much about them, Barnaby had no idea what it was exactly that they ate or drank, for that matter. But he figured a little of the Inn’s good food and ale couldn’t hurt. The server hurried away, and was soon warily standing at the Orc’s table, explaining as he sat the pitcher and platter of cheese and buns on the table that “that fellow over there had sent them along . . .”

Pivli · 12-17-2005, 02:28 AM

Miz Violet considers the Orc and comes to some Hobbitish conclusions

Violet Greengage grew tired of the small talk at her table. Her old bones did not enjoy sitting for any length of time on the hard wooden chairs of the Inn. She had left her little seat cushion on the cart seat and now she wished she had remembered to bring it in. She fidgeted for a few more moments on her seat, then stood up, leaning heavily on her blackthorn cane as she eased her old joints into a more proper alignment. None of those at her table paid the least bit of attention to the old Hobbit granny, so busy were they in talking among themselves.

Her back had been to the door when the Orc entered, and as she turned around, intending to go out to the stable for her cushion, she saw the newcomer to the Inn. ‘My, my!’ she thought to herself. ‘He’s got quite a sunburn, now hasn’t he. Fierce looking fellow. Nice hefty build, though,’ she murmured approvingly. ‘Stoutly built as a Hobbit. Well, an oversized Hobbit. But still he looks like one to appreciate his meals.’

She hobbled slowly toward him, her knees creaking in protest at their being used. He was dressed all in black, she noted, and the expression on his face seemed rather a sad one. Or so she thought. It was hard to tell. It looked, too, as if he might have been some sort of soldier, what with his beat up looking face and weapons and such. She considered his black clothing once again - perhaps someone in his family had died and he was in mourning.

‘Sorry for your loss, young man,’ she offered sympathetically as she was just beginning to pass his table and head for the door. ‘Hope you’re feeling better soon.’

Undómë · 12-17-2005, 03:25 AM

Her ears caught the muffled click from beneath the table where the Orc sat. He had a hidden weapon, and from the sound of it a crossbow. She was familiar with the sound, her father having taken her to a number of fetes in Harlindon where men with such weapons had tried to out do each other in contests of skill. They could not match the distance of the long bows of the Elven archers, but for the force with which they hit their target, and a savage force she thought it, they could not themselves be matched.

Telu noted Farael had fetched a great long knife he had hidden in his boot. Did he think to defend against the Orc with it? The distance from the Orc’s table to the man’s heart was not that far. He would be dead even before the knife left his hand.

And here she sat, no weapons of her own. Think! she told herself. Before this fair-faced one of the Edain has no chance to grow old and enjoy his grandchildren.

Her brow furrowed for a moment, then smoothed out as a small diversion occurred to her. She leaned forward, toward Farael, and laid her hand lightly on his arm. ‘It grows close in here, at least to my senses,’ she began, her head nodding slightly toward where the Orc sat. She lowered her eyes as if timid to make her request of him. Raising them again, a seeming artless look of expectation on her face, she engaged his own. ‘Might you walk about the grounds with me?’ she asked. ‘The fresh air will be welcome, don’t you think?’ She smiled at him, her eyes glimmering in the light from the nearby window. ‘My brother and I, as I’ve said are bound for Ithilien. We’ll be passing through Rohan, I’m sure. Then south toward Gondor. I’ve never been there. And I thought perhaps you could tell me of those lands.’

She stood, straightening her cloak about her. Her body blocked the view Farael had of Grishnahk. ‘And of course, you can invite your friends here to walk with us, if you wish.’ She smiled again, waiting expectantly for his answer.

Captain Grishnahk · 12-17-2005, 09:33 AM

Grishnahk grabbed at the mug of ale sitting before him, and he drank it all in two swallows. Smacking his lips, and forgetting to wipe his foamed mouth, he nodded towards Barnaby in thanks. But his thank-you was somewhat sarcastic, for he was not used to being treated in anyway but in disgust. The old hobbit that had just left seamed a bit uncanny, and most likely unfamiliar with orcs. Grishnahk also eyed the knife that Farael had, and he marked him down as an enemy.

The dark, grim Captain nibbled on the bread while making his observations of inn; the bread reminded him of the maggoty bread back in Mordor served as rations during war times. He longed for meat. Raw meat (if he could get it) his sharp yellow teeth shifted around in his mouth as he licked the backs of them. His crossbow was lightly placed in his hands, if anyone attempted to attack him, he would be ready. But for the time being, he would lay low.

12-16-2005, 01:36 PM	#2
Farael Ghost Prince of Cardolan Join Date: Nov 2005 Location: In hospitals, call rooms and (rarely) my apartment. Posts: 1,538	Farael sees his first orc, without his bow handy Everyone in Farael's table was still introducing themselves - sometimes he would think people liked to make all those longs introductions rather than actually talk - when the door opened and a dark figure walked in, almost stumbling all the way to a dark corner. Immediately Farael grabbed the long knife he always kept on his boot, luckily not the same boot lil' Pip had been so happily chewing at, yet he was not sure why he had done so. Then Teluyaviel confirmed what he had feared all along. It was an orc! What was an orc doing here? Should he attack it, even here at the Inn? then he realized that the dwarves and the elf in his table were likely better in fighting than himself, at least while having only a knife. With all these thoughts in his mind, Farael looked around for a clue on what to do next. He had only been at the Inn for less than a day and he did not know if Orcs were actually welcomed in its grounds. Something in the looks of Teluyaviel told him they were not.

12-16-2005, 02:18 PM	#3
Captain Grishnahk Wight Join Date: Sep 2005 Posts: 106	A small click was heard under the table as Grishnahk slid a bolt into the wooded capsule of his crossbow. He knew that the people of the inn were becoming conspicuous of his presence. But he had to hide somewhere where the hunters would not look. His beady eyes stared at Farael when he was not looking, and when he did look, Grishnahk turned his head down. Grishnahk was not made Captain of the Dark Tower for no reason. He was skilled with weapons, and was a higher educated orc. He was the apprentice of Grishnakh before his disappearance when looking for The One Ring. But there was something different about Grishnahk. He had been banished from Mordor a few years back, and was sentenced to death due to his unnatural orcish behavior. He was much like a man, having the choices between good and evil. Grishnahk was struggling with his orcish and elvish soul. He knew he was meant to do evil, and that was his only excuse for doing so. But he was also equipped with a conscience, and that was his main downfall. Grishnahk rubbed his eyes, he had to leave soon before his death occurred. But he had to wait until the sun set. __________________ "Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens." --J.R.R. Tolkien

12-17-2005, 02:28 AM	#5
Pivli Pile O'Bones Join Date: Jul 2005 Location: Goose Hollow Posts: 14	Miz Violet considers the Orc and comes to some Hobbitish conclusions Violet Greengage grew tired of the small talk at her table. Her old bones did not enjoy sitting for any length of time on the hard wooden chairs of the Inn. She had left her little seat cushion on the cart seat and now she wished she had remembered to bring it in. She fidgeted for a few more moments on her seat, then stood up, leaning heavily on her blackthorn cane as she eased her old joints into a more proper alignment. None of those at her table paid the least bit of attention to the old Hobbit granny, so busy were they in talking among themselves. Her back had been to the door when the Orc entered, and as she turned around, intending to go out to the stable for her cushion, she saw the newcomer to the Inn. ‘My, my!’ she thought to herself. ‘He’s got quite a sunburn, now hasn’t he. Fierce looking fellow. Nice hefty build, though,’ she murmured approvingly. ‘Stoutly built as a Hobbit. Well, an oversized Hobbit. But still he looks like one to appreciate his meals.’ She hobbled slowly toward him, her knees creaking in protest at their being used. He was dressed all in black, she noted, and the expression on his face seemed rather a sad one. Or so she thought. It was hard to tell. It looked, too, as if he might have been some sort of soldier, what with his beat up looking face and weapons and such. She considered his black clothing once again - perhaps someone in his family had died and he was in mourning. ‘Sorry for your loss, young man,’ she offered sympathetically as she was just beginning to pass his table and head for the door. ‘Hope you’re feeling better soon.’ __________________ Far and near as fool's fire,/they come glittering through the gloom./Their tongues as strong and nimble,/as would bind the looms of luck . . .

12-17-2005, 03:25 AM	#6
Undómë Shade of Carn Dûm Join Date: Mar 2005 Posts: 400	Her ears caught the muffled click from beneath the table where the Orc sat. He had a hidden weapon, and from the sound of it a crossbow. She was familiar with the sound, her father having taken her to a number of fetes in Harlindon where men with such weapons had tried to out do each other in contests of skill. They could not match the distance of the long bows of the Elven archers, but for the force with which they hit their target, and a savage force she thought it, they could not themselves be matched. Telu noted Farael had fetched a great long knife he had hidden in his boot. Did he think to defend against the Orc with it? The distance from the Orc’s table to the man’s heart was not that far. He would be dead even before the knife left his hand. And here she sat, no weapons of her own. Think! she told herself. Before this fair-faced one of the Edain has no chance to grow old and enjoy his grandchildren. Her brow furrowed for a moment, then smoothed out as a small diversion occurred to her. She leaned forward, toward Farael, and laid her hand lightly on his arm. ‘It grows close in here, at least to my senses,’ she began, her head nodding slightly toward where the Orc sat. She lowered her eyes as if timid to make her request of him. Raising them again, a seeming artless look of expectation on her face, she engaged his own. ‘Might you walk about the grounds with me?’ she asked. ‘The fresh air will be welcome, don’t you think?’ She smiled at him, her eyes glimmering in the light from the nearby window. ‘My brother and I, as I’ve said are bound for Ithilien. We’ll be passing through Rohan, I’m sure. Then south toward Gondor. I’ve never been there. And I thought perhaps you could tell me of those lands.’ She stood, straightening her cloak about her. Her body blocked the view Farael had of Grishnahk. ‘And of course, you can invite your friends here to walk with us, if you wish.’ She smiled again, waiting expectantly for his answer. __________________ Young she was and yet not so. The braids of her dark hair were touched by no frost, her white arms and clear face were flawless and smooth, and the light of stars was in her bright eyes, grey as a cloudless night . . . Last edited by Undómë; 12-17-2005 at 12:21 PM.

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12-16-2005, 12:53 PM	#1
Undómë Shade of Carn Dûm Join Date: Mar 2005 Posts: 400	Teluyaviel’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the Orc. Powerful indeed must be the Peace of the High King in Gondor that such creatures should now roam freely. She drew back the hood of her cloak and stared fully at the one-time foe of the Elves. ‘How should she think of him now?’ she wondered to herself. ‘My name is Teluyaviel, m’lady,’ she spoke aloud to Penn, turning her gaze back to the woman. ‘Or Telu, if the other is too much a mouthful,’ she said with a grin. ‘I do find many whose tongues trip over the longer name.’ Telu nodded toward the Orc. ‘Perhaps you had better keep your little friends close about you, Penn. The Orc looks hungry. And he’s been eyeing little Pip.’ __________________ Young she was and yet not so. The braids of her dark hair were touched by no frost, her white arms and clear face were flawless and smooth, and the light of stars was in her bright eyes, grey as a cloudless night . . .

12-17-2005, 02:23 AM	#4
Gwyn ap Nudd Guest Posts: n/a	Grishnahk is sent a pitcher of ale Barnaby wondered at the menacing fellow who sat at a table not far from his. He heard the word ‘Orc’ whispered about the room and gave the creature an appraising look. He certainly looked dangerous enough, and he had brought in some horrible looking weapons, sharp weapons. And well used by the looks of them. The Hobbit’s eyes slid to the Orc’s muddy boots. ‘Been traveling. And a far piece, I think from the looks of it.’ Now Barnaby knew that traveling for any length of time made him quite hungry. And thirsty, too. He fished about in his little coin purse and drew out a few coins. Calling over one of the servers, he asked him to take the new fellow a pitcher of ale to slake his thirst and a wedge of cheese with some warm Shire rolls to take the edge off his hunger. Having never met an Orc or heard much about them, Barnaby had no idea what it was exactly that they ate or drank, for that matter. But he figured a little of the Inn’s good food and ale couldn’t hurt. The server hurried away, and was soon warily standing at the Orc’s table, explaining as he sat the pitcher and platter of cheese and buns on the table that “that fellow over there had sent them along . . .”

12-17-2005, 09:33 AM	#7
Captain Grishnahk Wight Join Date: Sep 2005 Posts: 106	Grishnahk grabbed at the mug of ale sitting before him, and he drank it all in two swallows. Smacking his lips, and forgetting to wipe his foamed mouth, he nodded towards Barnaby in thanks. But his thank-you was somewhat sarcastic, for he was not used to being treated in anyway but in disgust. The old hobbit that had just left seamed a bit uncanny, and most likely unfamiliar with orcs. Grishnahk also eyed the knife that Farael had, and he marked him down as an enemy. The dark, grim Captain nibbled on the bread while making his observations of inn; the bread reminded him of the maggoty bread back in Mordor served as rations during war times. He longed for meat. Raw meat (if he could get it) his sharp yellow teeth shifted around in his mouth as he licked the backs of them. His crossbow was lightly placed in his hands, if anyone attempted to attack him, he would be ready. But for the time being, he would lay low.