The Yule Log RPG

[Envinyatar]

The sounds of the wind as it battered about the public house brought news to the two tall figures that trudged down the snow skewed path toward the door. Their walking staffs, dark and heavy from woods far from this northern land crunched against the icy underlayings of the most recent snowfall.

‘And tell me again, my dear Mori, why we’ve come to this grace forsaken place?’ The question hung for a moment in the icy air as the wind stilled itself for a moment. ‘Stamo pulled his heavy fur cloak closer about him only half expecting an answer to his idle complaint.

‘Hush, ‘Stamo. Can you not hear it yourself. There are old things moving in the darkness. Some for good and some for ill . . . and some,’ he said, closing his eyes as his ears took in the night, ‘. . . some neither, but only for themselves.’

‘Stamo shifted on his cold feet, trying to bring some feeling back to the rising numbness of his lower extremities. ‘All I can hear at the moment is the creaking of that old wooden sign. Though now that you speak, I note it’s stopped.’ The small hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he too caught a whiff of something other than the smoke from the pub’s chimney. ‘Best we move ourselves within, I think,’ he said low, nudging his companion in the back with the gnarled knob end of his staff. ‘That is, I don’t relish the thought of a stand off with those “some for ill” creatures you spoke of.’

The heavy oaken door swung open easily at Mori’s touch, and he led them into the entryway. It was warm within, the fire inviting as it crackled merrily in the grate. Stamping the snow from their boots on the thick rushy mats and shaking the snow from their cloaks, they looked about the room.

‘There, that place over there, near the blaze,’ said ‘Stamo, pointing to a table near where three small beings sat. ‘If I move close enough to the heat I think I can thaw these frozen limbs.’ He moved toward his chosen chair and sat down, easing his cloak over the tall chair back. Hiking the thick, dark blue woolen material of his outer robe to his knees he savored the warmth as it began to penetrate his boots and long knit socks.

Mori placed his own cloak over the back of his chair and leaned in toward his companion. ‘I’m going up to the counter to get us some food and drink.’ He eyed ‘Stamo and raised his brow as the man inched his boots closer to the flames. ‘And don’t think about pulling your boots off to get those toes of yours warmer. The stench will drive out those nearby and we’ll both be asked to leave!’

With a warning glare, he stood and walked up to where the ale casks stood. ‘Good sir!’ Mori hailed the innkeeper. ‘Two of those steaming drinks,’ he said, pointing to the mugs the Hobbits were holding. ‘What is it called? It smells wonderful! And would you have something for two cold and weary travelers to fill their bellies with?’ He fished for the pouch in the deep pocket of his indigo robe. And finding it, pulled out a number of oddly marked gold coins. ‘Will this do?’ he said, leaving them in a small heap on the wooden counter. ‘Pleasant place here, The Green Man. Interesting name. Is it a local one, here in the north?’ he went on.

His eyes slid about the room, noting the shutters were latched tight, and the door bore iron holders where a stout beam might be put to secure it. ‘Good,’ he murmured to himself, not wanting the terrors in the darkness to intrude upon this haven.

[Undómë]

The tall man’s question drew her attention, waking her again as had the song of the three little folk. Old Goody Holtsdottir turned her wrinkled face to where the voice had come from. The one good eye of that ancient crone peered out from between the strands of grey shot hair, focusing on the speaker. It darted down the length of him and up, coming to rest with a look of surprised interest at last on his face. He bore a certain glamour, it seemed to her. And though he wore it easily enough, she thought he was constrained by it.

Guðælfr, for that was her given name, shifted her old bones on the hard seat of the chair and looked at the man’s companion. Relaxed as a cat might be before the fire, though like a cat, she minded, his senses were not dulled by his enjoyment of the warmth. And at need, she thought, he might spring up, the mask of drowsy contentment thrown off.

‘The wheel of the year turns in this cold land this night,’ she said, leaning out into the light from her dark corner. ‘See,’ she said, nodding toward the hearth. ‘The Green Man gives us one of his great limbs to push back the darkness and holly from his hair with which to keep it lit. That and the good barley for the wassail, the wheat for the bread, and the fruits of the vine and flower for mead and wine. A good ‘un, he is.’ ‘Though he suffers no fools,’ she cackled’ ‘ ‘Pon you, it is, to keep from the darkness.’

She cocked her head listening to the wind as it beat upon the shutters. Her gaze flicked to the sturdy door. ‘Hear that!’ she asked. ‘There’s a voice ‘at moans in the wind. The trees beyond the village have caught it in their limbs and throw it back now. Listen! Listen now! Something hungry comes, I think.’

Goody sat back in her chair, the clarity afforded by the present moment, passing. She mumbled a few indistinct words over the cup of cooling wassail in her hand, peering into it as she swirled the fragrant liquid with a bony finger of her other hand.

[Child of the 7th Age]

'Twas the night of the winter solstice, a time of deep magic and distant memories that had been almost buried under shadow. For not only did the dwarves and hobbits and men huddle close to the fire and tell their tales, but even the creatures of the dark forests and wild plains came together to share a morsel of warmth.

There were two paths that led to the Green Man Free House. The one skirted the front facade of the Inn: a path filled with two-leggeds and the animals they called their own. But another smaller track came around the back, leading up from the river and a vast thicket of trees. Here there were few two-leggeds but, instead, all kind of creatures rambling and lumbering and leaping into the outer courtyard of the Inn, right next to a broken down shed.

A snowy owl sat on the eve of the Inn, staring down at the small assemblage of beasts who had made their way into the back courtyard. Several had slipped and slithered under the gate; three creatures had flown down from the trees, and a few of the larger visitors had pushed over an old board in the fence, intent on wriggling their way inside. A small pile of garbage had been set to burn earlier that day, and a few smouldering coals yet remained to throw out its warmth over the animals now slinking inside the courtyard.

[Arry]

‘What’s that she said?’ whispered Madoc turning round to where the old woman had disappeared into the shadows. ‘Something hungry? And coming this way?’ He frowned and cocked his head toward the nearest shuttered window. ‘Can’t hear a thing, save for the wind and the snow as it mashes against the wooden siding.’

‘Well I heard something moaning when she was talking.’ Willem’s eyes grew wide as he spoke. ‘Reminded me of something.’ He let the images form from the old stories that he’d heard. ‘You know how granda used to tell those tales his granda used to tell him? The one about where he and his brother lost a nanny from their herd, is what I’m thinking of. T’ the west there . . . where the Grey Mountains touch the forest. They hunted high and low among the mountain ash and the firs. There were things in there, granda said, that walked among the trees. Like shepherds to them as we be to our goats.’ He took a sip from his cup and went on. ‘Granda said they were careful to keep out of sight and out of the way of those creatures. Not that they looked fierce or mean or such. But so concerned with their flock were they, that it seemed they would have no regret or the slightest reluctance about trampling right over you if you got in their way. And anyway what I was trying to say was that he said they had a booming kind of voice and a sort of echoing moan when calling to their trees.’

‘It’s just the wind as has you spooked,’ said Andwise. ‘You know we’ve been on those slopes many a time, and seen no such creatures as granda spoke of. The trees were all rooted nicely on the mountainside, ash and fir alike. And not a bit of calling passed among them as I remember.’ He chuckled as he raised his mug to Willem. ‘Now, not saying granda’s tetched or such, but mayhap the cider he’d brought for his lunch had turned hard. And its spirits set him daydreaming.’

Willem eyed Andwise and snorted. ‘If granda said it happened that way, then that’s the way it was!’ Madoc shrugged, not wanting to choose sides and went back to considering his cup of wassail.

‘Granny!’ Willem turned round in his chair and leaned forward to where Old Goody sat. ‘Begging your pardon, Granny . . . but about that Green Man fellow. I know you said he’d given his limb for the Yule fire, but you don’t suppose he’s reconsidered the giving, has he? And come to take it back . . . ?

[littlemanpoet]

The sun was well past setting. Out of the northern woods came a pair of reindeer running side by side, hitched to a sleigh. The sleigh was piled high with skins, tied together with sinew-string, into sacks holding rumpled and unknown contents. A rider sat amongst it all. The runners, of tree rind, shaped under knife, cured and oiled with care, made new tracks in the deepening snow.

The Green Man Free House came within sight. Bright it was against the dark of night, its windows like eyes looking cheerily.

The sleigh slowed before the House. The rider jumped from the sleigh, flinging the reins over the reindeer horns, wrapping them to post, pulling out two feed sacks, tying them to so that the animals could feed or not, and munch snow if they wished for their water. The rider tied down all that was needed to stay on the sleigh, and pulled off one sack from it and slung it to shoulder, trudging to the front door.

Not over tall was the rider, the leather footwear home-made, not very large. The hooded figure's face was hid as opened was the door and light of warming fire shown on the sack bearer. A work roughened hand was revealed as fur lined gloves were removed, and the large hood was pushed back to reveal a face fair and beardless, hair yellow as summer grain and a braided ponytail thick as a dozen year sapling. The jaw was strong, the cheekbones high, the brow broad though fair.

"Where's the welcome for Wenda?" she said with a smile as she stamped the snow from her leathern boots and slung the sack from her back.

[Undómë]

Goody roused herself from her ale-tinged ruminations. There in some less fuddled corner of her mind was a voice, a question. ‘Granny!’ now who would call that out to her, she wondered. The only seeds she’d sown and nurtured had been those herbs she’d grown for simples. No get from her barren belly e’er got babes of their own.

‘Begging your pardon, Granny . . .’

Her eye focused on the halfling’s face as she recalled his question. ‘The Green Man? Take back his gifting?’ she cackled loudly at the thought. ‘Nay, nay, my little friend.’ Her gaze shifted round the room, peering into the shadows. ‘But that’s not to say there’s not others would douse the light and swallow us whole.’

She pushed back some straying strings of hair and tucked them loosely behind her ear. ‘Something’s moving in the darkness. Best poke up the fire, good sir, and drive it back.’

She laughed again a phlegmy undertone rattling against any merriness she’d intended. Goody held out her cup to Willem. ‘Granny’s throat is dry lad. Fill my cup to keep it wet, and I’ll tell you a story ‘bout those creatures your grandfather spoke of . . . the ones as watched over the trees.’

[Bêthberry]

Carr Daynysson trundled into the large hall that led out from the kitchen and nearly stumbled into the furry bundle that was Wenda. "Of course, ya wench, there's great welcome. Come and warm yourself with the likes of the folk here who be willing to tell the tales to keep the log burning."

The two marched past the great fireplace where the Yule Log was burning. Wenda betook herself to a chair beside the two tall men while Carr carried a huge, steaming urn which he placed upon the table, while behind him hurried a young lad of maybe ten or twelve year, who balanced a large tray filled with mugs of various shapes and sizes. The boy was small but wiry, large dark eyes wide with excitement at being allowed up this night with the adults. His ears had heard every comment, comments which Carr had not always heard, given his deaf ear, and so the lad had proudly informed the Innkeeper that his attention was wanting.

"Tankee, Birger, you're a handy spare ear or twa," observed Carr as he opened the spiggott of the urn to fill mugs all round. He handed two to the men identified as Mori and Stamo. "Your coin is good for several more," he announced, "and more particularly your apparent curiousity in the Green Man."

Mori raised an eye at the Innkeeper and helped himself to some of the warm brew to chase the cold away from his belly. Carr handed a mug to Wenda, refilled the halflings' mugs, and peered into Goody's mug. He eyed her sombrely and then refilled it.

"There's strange knockin's and noises outside. Best get on wit' your tale, Goody."

And with that he poured the lad a small mug and himself a tall one.