The Yule Log RPG

[Arry]

Willem found himself crossing his fingers behind his back as the flames drew down lower and lower into the embers. He’d piled on the shavings and stacked the kindling just so. Over it all the holly and the slender rowan branches had been placed, all at the nodding of Goody.

‘Please, please, please . . .’ he found himself whispering. Just as he had done those years past when he was a little boy wanting something to turn our right. ‘If I never get another thing,’ he mouthed toward the fireplace, as if his request might fly up the chimney with the smoke, ‘then let this be the one thing.’ He closed his eyes and wished again, and then once more.

Third time’s the charm . . .

He could remember his Gran saying that. And as the last of his little vows left his lips, he leveraged open one eye.

Willem gasped as the first fingers of flame poked up through the piled wood. They wrapped themselves about the curled shavings, the slender limbs, and crushed them greedily in their scorched fists. At the heart of the log, the embers began to glow and waver in the increasing heat.

‘The Yule Log, Granny! It’s going to be alright now. All of it . . .’

The Hobbit uncrossed his fingers, bringing his hands round in front of him. He rubbed them carefully, working the numbness and tingling from them as the blood coursed through them now without hindrance.

‘Going to be alright, now . . .’

[Rose]

He strained his eyes, trying to pierce the darkness as it rolled up and round them. How was he to face an enemy if he couldn’t catch sight of him? He looked up at the men. They seemed to be concentrating on something.

Was their eyesight better than his? Perhaps so, His father told him they were more than men, really. But since he had nothing by which to judge that, having known only those two-leggeds at the inn, he could not say one way or the other.

His father, too, had told him the old stories. Of the great hounds that had ridden with the Hunter in those long gone days; following the call of his sky splitting horn, running hard, their red tongues lolling over great, sharp teeth as they pursued the shadow creatures. The Hunter loved his hounds, his father had said.

No, the Hunter loves his hounds. That’s what he had said.

White Paw looked up at his companions, alert to any signals they might give him. At this moment, in this time, they were his pack members. Where they led, he would follow; what they asked he would do. His nose, teeth, speed, and cunning – all in the service of the pack.

A growl rumbled deep in his chest. He stood stiff legged, hackles raised. Waiting…..

[Undómë]

Goody turned her head toward the Halfling as he whispered his plea. And saw the look of relief as the flames took hold and the embers brightened. ‘Be careful with your charms and words, Master Willem. The fire that turns the year feeds on such little vowings and remembers, even if you do not.’

She smiled fondly at him. ‘Still, ‘twas said with a generous heart. For all of us. We thank you.’

The old woman turned back to the fire. Her face seemed more tired and worn. Hot as they were now, the flames did not seem to warm her, but instead seemed to draw out her little store of energy. Leeching her until she seemed almost translucent; the shadowings of her bones moving or still beneath her pale, drawn skin her only solidness.

She too whispered low as the embers flickered and shifted in their dance of renewal.

Hunter, Rider . . .
Lord of Trees, Master of Hounds . . .
Winter’s Lord, Woodland Spirit . . .
We smaller spirits call to you

Speed now to us on silver shod with gold
And recall some pity for us in our need.

[Nerindel]

Arato

Within the swell of growing darkness another shadow stalked, moving soundlessly between the great towering trees that crammed the valley’s lower slopes. Intent and filled with purpose it moved cautiously shadowing the creature as it lustfully advanced on a prey of it's own. A low earthy hum emanated in his mind, intricately, but subtly blending with the harmonies of the world to shadow his advance from this thing, this dangerous and evil thing! He could no longer in his bitterness name it, no it had forsaken that path long ago and could not turn back, the light of Illuvatar long forgotten, choked and smothered by the soul consuming seed of…. Melekor! Gah! That Name it burned acrid in his mind igniting an anger and hatred of ages past.

But this was not the corrupter no he had seen the dark one banish beyond the doors of night, been part of that very battle, Assailed by dark twisted defilements of his masters creations, orc, troll, dragon he slew them all, but not before one had taken a part of him too! His hand reminiscently traced the lines of the triple scar that marked his left cheek from just below the eye to below his right shoulder. The foolish easily corrupted, he snorted, determinedly suppressing the rage that threatened to boil over into heedless recklessness.

But no less dangerous! he sighed wearily, bending once more to study the marking of this things passage. Snow melted and grasses became dry and course in it’s wake, even the trees did not miss the malice of its ill content. Bark dry and brittle crumbled in his gloved hand, pine needles blanched, plighted by the poison of its passage. Blue eyes narrowed beneath the dark hood of his cloak, it was close he could feel it, sense its lust… its hunger!

Carefully he drew forth Mandur’mak, it’s dark surface would have made it near invisible in the darkness if not for the fine veins of silver, gold and even Mithril that ran through its polished surface, giving it an almost earthy look… like it had been drawn and moulded from the heart of some deep dark mountain.

As he drew close he was stopped by a sudden change in the subtle music of the world, he froze listening intently, recognising the subtle power being employed , his eyes narrowed as ahead he saw a soft light, in which two men… no not men though they wore that mantle, stood warding off this creatures attempt to drive fear into their souls. He grinned recognising the two strangers from the Green man and finally realising who and what they really were he stepped back. Watching and wondering what the creature would do once it realised it’s folly.

It will want to get stronger.. It will want to feast on those weaker than itself! The village! The Inn! he thought at once.

He had been in the stables of the green man that very morning, he had witnessed the shape shifters terrified return.

"Help me!" Wenda had muttered. "It's hunting me! It's coming! It's coming!"

He had know at once of what she spoke for he had not forgotten her recount the previous morning of her first encounter with this thing, in fact it was the very reason he had been in the stable enquiring after a horse. Fully intent to ride north to discover this thing for himself. He had intended to tell Mara of his departure, but the young shape shifters return had hastened his decision and he had left at once through the rear of the stable so as not to be seen. He had headed north through the forest then climbing into the lower hills of the mountain, he found a low shelf where he could see anything that entered the valley.

He had seen it come, or more over he had felt it within the hunkering almost lifeless form of one of the children of Illuvatar, Someone from the northern village Wenda had spoke of? he shuddered at the sight… at the defilement and then left his perch and had been following the creature ever since hoping to find some weakness that he could exploit.

But now realising that the village, The Green man, Wenda, Mara and the others were in danger he fully intended to place himself between them and this thing, so keeping to the shadows and employing the subtle tones that tied him to his surroundings masking his presence he moved to put himself between the creature and the village, rough oaken staff in one hand and Mandur’mak in the other he waited ready to strike.