Scarburg Meadhall

[littlemanpoet]

“Is something amiss?” asked Léof. “Is there a better way which I have overlooked?”

"Nay, Léof," Eodwine smiled, "Thornden fears that I will not allow you to use any wood, for I wish our new hall to be built of stone."

A look of surprise came over Thornden's face, but he kept his peace.

"However," Eodwine continued, "the ruined hall will have to be cleared away at some point, and there is much wood there, though much is beyond use; still, I would like us to see what may be found in there first, to use as makeshift fenceposts or other things we need. What think you, Léof?"

[shaggydog]

Oeric cursed softly as he caught a sight of the cause for the call for help. An extremely odd looking individual was stuck up to his shoulders in a patch of bog! The marsh was riddled with them, and those who were luckless to stumble into one were destined to remain, until and unless rescue came their way. And this man, if man he was, was certainly going nowhere by virtue of his own exertions, except perhaps further down into the hole. For that was the way of these boggy patches, the mixture of water and land gripped the body and sucked you down. Struggling only resulted in sinking deeper and could easily result in bringing about a swifter death.

The strange looking man seemed to have realized this as he was not attempting at this point to extricate himself. His dark face was unusually composed for one in such a predicament, and by this Oeric reasoned the fellow was one used to dealing with crisis. That was a plus. If he stayed calm, the chances were greater that someone would come to the rescue in time. . . if they had heard him call out.

Oeric silently willed the man to call out again, and again if necessary. Casting his mind back to his childhood days, Oeric tried to gage how well sound would travel over the ridge. He also was mentally calculating both the time remaining before the man sank completely and what materials might be at hand to get the fellow out, if it should come to that. As several minutes passed, he could see that the man was also apparently making some calculations of his own. Several more times he did call out, waiting to listen between times for sounds of approaching footsteps. But as the minutes passed, no such sounds came to either man’s ears. This added to Oeric’s growing conviction that, as no sounds of the new settlement to be reached him here on the far side of the ridge, in all probability the man’s cries were not going to reach his companions, assuming he was one of them.

Cursing again, Oeric made up his mind and wriggled as quickly as he could backwards out of the copse of willow scrubs, got to his feet, and ran as swiftly as he could back in the direction from which he had come.

[littlemanpoet]

Excused from the tent by Æðel and Modtryth, Rowenna went first to the latrine before returning to her duties at the baker. To her left Léof, Thorden and Eodwine were working on the animal pens. Rowenna saw Garstan with Lys; Garstan was standing with his hands on his hips, looking toward the front road as if looking for someone. Beyond the ruin was Harreld at his temporary smithy, and there was Ginna sitting opposite him! Rowenna had thought that little flirtation had ended, but perhaps not. So the girl was back at it again, which seemed odd considering how many other men there were to choose between. Maybe there was more to that than had seemed so at first.

The latrine was back in an outlier of the scar, hidden from view on all sides by boulder and dirt and bracken - unless someone scrabbled up to the slope on his stomach on the other side and peeked down. It was quiet back here, maybe too quiet.

On her way back to the kitchen, she came close to one of the outbuildings of the ruin which had escaped destruction. It was hard to tell from the outside what it might be used for, whether as a meat curing shed or tool shed, or a crib for seed or harvested grain. This one smelled odd, which suggested it could have been the meat curing shed. The door was shut. She tested it, and found it unlocked. She opened the door and was struck by a terrible stench. She plugged nose and squinted through suddenly teary eyes into the darkness.

It was a dead body. Her gorge rose but she forced it down. It was half decomposed, half eaten. There was a small hole in one corner of the shed through which animals had apparently had access to ready food. It had been a man. She pushed the door shut and rushed away stumbling, and fell to all fours, panting for good air. The crabgrass growing in patches around her smelled sweet by comparison to what she had confronted.

Eodwine would need to be told. After regaining her composure, she got up and went straight to the animal pens under construction.

[Folwren]

“They probably think you ran off!” the new comer said in parting. Javan frowned as he turned away. What an unlucky thing for the man to have said!

“‘They probably think I ran off,’” Javan grumbled quietly between his teeth. He trudged back towards where Garstand waited, the two boys following him. “Of course I didn’t run off, and it wouldn’t have taken so long if they hadn’t fought.”

He stopped as he came insight of Garstan, waiting with his hands on his hips. Suddenly self-conscious, Javan felt for blood on his face and he glanced sideways at Cnebba. This could look very bad, he realized. Oh well, he shrugged, and walked forward.

“We’re back,” he said to Garstan as they got closer. “Sorry it took so long.”

[Gwathagor]

"I'm Kara, assistant cook here. And yourself?"

And there it was. His name and vocation. Crabannan took a deep breath and looked away briefly, staring up towards where the sky and the Scar met, grey against blue. This question made him uneasy, as his name frequently earned him a quick ride out of town. And then he had done and been so many things, that he hardly knew what to describe himself as anymore.

He considered mentioning that he had been a soldier of Rohan, but decided against it, as the matter of how he had come to leave the ranks of the muster might come up in conversation. No, best avoid that subject for now.. So, after a few seconds' deliberation, he settled on the occupation that he had until recently held and that he deemed would be the quickest way to the heart of this particular villager. It had worked in the East Emnet...for a little while, at any rate.

"Nice to meet you, miss. My name is Crabannan - " and here he cast a quick glance in Kara's direction to see if the name had rung any bells. It hadn't. " - and I'm a kitchen-worker."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized she would never believe him. He knew he looked like a highwayman or a bandit. The arsenal of weaponry helped little. How many kitchen workers carried two swords, a longbow, and a knife? Or a harp?

Kara raised her eyebrows.

"Oh?"

Evidently she was skeptical. Crabannan assumed a look of utmost sincerity.

"Yes, indeed. I was, until recently, a kitchen-worker. "

Kara raised her eyebrows a little higher.

"Mm-hmm," she said, and looked at him a little askance.

Crabannan sighed and looked about him, then back at Kara. He smiled at her a little wryly, and also a little embarrassed. Better to be honest this time, he thought. Maybe these people are different.

"I believe my looks are against me," he said. "To be honest with you, Kara, I'm a bit of a wanderer. I did work in a kitchen, once, but I was, um, very bad at it. A great many dishes were broken while I was there."

He suddenly realized he was quite tense and was fingering the large hunting knife which he carried strapped to his left leg. He pulled his hand away without drawing attention to i and looked down at his plate.

Biting into his bread, he continued: "I've done a great many things - too many to count, sometimes. I have trouble staying one place very long. I've been a soldier, a guide, a farm-hand, a hunter..."

He trailed off. That about exhausted the list of respectable occupations he could muster. There were many others which he wouldn't dare mention around these people, not unless he wanted to be sent on his way as quick as he could pack his bags, which were few. He had been a bard before the War, but he always felt pretentious bringing that up. And that was a long time ago, he reminded himself.

This conversation was making him irritable. Crabannan had learned to deal with his past by accepting it and not dwelling upon it; he did not apologize for it and he did not speak about it. Unfortunately, being around these happy, friendly people was making him thoughtful, something he tried very hard as a rule to avoid. Curse you, Kara, he thought. Why couldn't you have left well enough alone? He changed the subject abruptly, for her good as well as his own.

"Tell me about the settlement," he said, gesturing vaguely towards the tents. "How long have you all been here? Who is the eorl?"

Crabannan chided himself for being even mildly angry with Kara, as he knew her curiosity was natural. Hopefully she won’t pry too deep, he thought, as he drained his wine in one long swig.

[shaggydog]

Oeric made little attempt to avoid detection as he wound his way through the muddy patches and over small hillocks of last year’s dry and matted grass. The byre was but a few minutes away, a one time winter’s shelter for the sheep he had helped tend. He hoped that the fool stuck in the bog had the sense to keep still just a bit longer, and he thought perhaps he should have made himself known before leaving to get the rope he knew to be in the tumble down shed. On the other hand, there was still a chance that one of the dark man’s own would hear him or happen upon him and then Oeric’s help would not be needed, if they knew the proper way to extract one as deeply mired as that one was. If, if, if . . .

Oeric let out a big breath of frustration. Why did these people come here, come now? Why couldn’t he have been left alone in his shame and grief? Why did that fool have to go and get himself stuck? Why had the one called Nydfara used his brain and run the other way, while he, like an idiot, had gone running straight towards discovery and his own undoing? Shaking his head in anger, Oeric none the less kept on his course and soon arrived at the shed.

It was the work of but a few seconds to enter the dim interior of the byre and fish about in the moldy hay of years past, clutching the rope in his hand and setting off once more, back the way he had come. How often since finding it had he not thought long and hard about its possible use, the one remaining cross beam of the ruined roof standing starkly silhouetted against a starlit sky, beckoning. And now it would be used to save a life instead. Even a simple mind such as Oeric’s could grasp the irony of that.

Hurrying back, his mind inventorying the scattered willow boughs he had seen littered about the copse, Oeric paused once more at the edge of the patch of scrubby trees. Straining his ears, he heard neither any sound of approaching rescue from the camp, nor did he hear any further cry from the fellow in the bog. Well, fate had decided this one it seemed. He quickly selected the boughs he would need and with no further thought for secrecy, crashed through the willows to meet that fate.

[Groin Redbeard]

The Sun was high in the sky and progress was slow. Traveler slumped and sagged as he walked behind Erbrand, his mane was damp with sweat and each breath came out in long sighs. The humans were as tired as their animals, not one of them had any rest since they set out that morning.

It was not long before Balvir found a place with shade, under a large oak tree. The hunting party unloaded their game off of their horses and let them roam free to graze, while the men drank from their water flasks. Their spirits were lifted by the needed rest and soon all four of them were laughing at hunting stories. Lithor told them about the time that he learned to shoot from horseback, shot, missed the deer, fell off the horse and broke his arm, Erbrand howled with laughter until tears came from his eyes. Now of course seeing a man fall and brake his arm would be an offal thing to behold, but everything seemed so far away right there and then, plus, Lithor told it in a most amusing way.

Soon Erbrand began asking questions of the three men’s youth and where they grew up. Lithor told him that he grew up on a farm in the West-March near the river Adorn. Matrim told Erbrand that he grew up in the town of Ethring, his father was a noble in the town. Balvir grew up in the southern ends of Gondor in Belfalast, and Erbrand listened as Balvir recounted his days in the city of Linhir looking out each morning on the Bay of Belfalas. All the while Erbrand listened with intrigue at the stories of strange places, he didn’t interrupt their accounts to ask a question, and instead he let his imagination fill in the blanks.

“Tell me,” Erbrand asked when Balvir finished speaking, “I’m new to Scarburg and I’m desperate to make sure I know who everybody is, and I was wondering if you could help me out?”

“Well the first people you’ll want to meet is Harreld,” said Lithor, “He’s a smithy you see, and a darn good one at that, he is shy around strangers, especially the lady folk, but you’ll find that out soon enough.” Lithor laughed at his own joke, and the two Gondorians laughed with him. Erbrand didn’t know what they meant, and he took it for some inside joke.

“Let’s see,” Lithor said, counting with his fingers, “There’s Stigend the carpenter and Leofric, he’s the fellow you saw at the stables this morning, he takes care of our horses back at Edoras, and Garston the stone shaper. Then for the ladies there’s Ginna, Frodides, and Kara, who all work in the kitchen.” Lithor chuckled to himself again. “And then there’s Rowenna, now you better watch yourself with her.”

“Why is that?” Erbrand asked.

“Her past has been a terrible ordeal,” Matrim chimed in, “While she was still a young woman she was abducted from her farm by brigands and has seen death come to her father and two children. Her experiences has made her awfully determined at some things and frequently causes trouble if she is to gain from it, but when you’ve been through what she has been through you can’t really hold it against her, nasty business. You just make sure you never get on her bad side.”

Erbrand solemnly nodded his head. Balvir stirred from his comfortable dormant position, his back against a tree, and got up.

“Well, let’s break it up, we should be getting back Scarburg. We’ll go round up the horses,” Balvir motioned for Matrim to follow him.

Erbrand sat for a little longer pondering the names of the occupants of Eodwine’s household. He knew that the day would be nearly gone by the time he got back to camp, no socializing today. His back was ached as he rose from his spot, Balvir and Matrim returned with the horses and he began slinging the deer over Traveler’s back.

They reached the scar around an hour later; it wasn’t long before they were back at camp. Lithor broke into a fast song that was familiar to the group and they all joined him in singing. Erbrand’s thoughts of the strangers at camp faded from his mind, he was accepted as one of the group by these three and that was all that mattered.