Here There Be Dragons - RPG

[piosenniel]

Rôg

‘. . . a silver and black winged dragon . . .’

The man from Gondor’s words seemed to echo riotously in Rôg’s brain. His hands trembled, their grips loosening on the tray of melon slices he had clung to during the man’s description of his friend. The tray clattered to the ground, the slices scattering.

Bird . . . that is what Mithadan had called her. Rôg rolled the name around on his tongue. Try as he might, he could recall no one with that name in the clan lists.

A sharp tug on his sleeve brought his attention back to the tent. Miri hissed at him, pulling him across the room. She left her own tray near Airefalas and had gathered up the spill, piling it helter-skelter on the dropped tray. Nudging Rôg out the back flap of the tent, she urged him toward the midden, telling the guard that they were needing to be rid of an unfortunate melon that had been spilled on the floor.

‘You lied!’ she whispered harshly to him as they scraped the broken slices onto the heap. ‘Why did you act surprised that the man’s friend could take on those shapes? And why did you say you have never known a maenwaith who could take on more than four shapes?’

‘I did lie. I’ll not try to tell you differently. For my part though, I was surprised that she took on such different shapes and that number. It is rare, or so I have learned, for one of the tribes of maenwaith here in the south to take on that number of forms and that range of changes. And the way the man described her telling how she did so shows she is untutored in her skills. For someone so untaught as she must be, she has a rare talent . . . but a dangerous one, since she has no understanding of the process.’

‘Dangerous?’ asked Miri, a perplexed look on her face.

‘Yes, dangerous, because the form can overtake the changer and become permanent if care is not taken. That’s why I made you practice the change-back rhyme as well as teaching you to change.’

Miri nodded her head at this as they walked back toward the tent. ‘But why did you lie, Rôg?’

‘Rama’s sister did not want to believe me when I spoke with her about the ability to do changes. I doubt Rama would care to hear me blather on either about how four changes need not be a limit. I didn’t want to stir things up – I just voiced the common sentiments in your clan, hoping the man would keep on speaking. His friend sounds to be an interesting person. Don’t you think so?’

‘Well, yes, she did,’ agreed the girl as they neared the tent. She stopped, causing him to halt also, and looking up with her eyes narrowed, asked another question. ‘Why did you drop the tray of melon slices, though, there at the end? You know, when the man said his friend could become a dragon?’ Miri fixed him with an unrelenting stare, awaiting his answer.

Rôg, instead, drew back the back tent flap, and ushered her in with his hand to her back. ‘We should offer another round of tea, I think, to the guests. There will be time later for an answer to your last question.’ He picked up the teapot and marched forward, Miri following in his wake. If I’m lucky, she will forget her question he thought to himself. But I am never that lucky he argued, feeling the weight of her considering stare on him as he passed from guest to guest . . .

[Nerindel]

Sorona

Surprised by Surinen’s question and the news that the clans were no longer allied she looked at her two hosts, how long have I been away for such things to occur and what brought about such a parting of friendship? She thought to herself as she studied their stony expressions. She pressed herself to recall how long had past since she was forced from her homelands, she recalled that last day with a mixture of pain and sorrow.

“Twenty years!” she gasped startling herself as she counted the seasons past, “Yes, it has been Twenty years since last I walked these lands with our wolf brothers and sisters,” she smiled weakly attempting to regain her composure.

“Please forgive my ignorance, but you say that the Eagles are no longer allied to the Wolf Maenwaith, this I do not understand for when last I walked these lands the ties between them were strong. The Eagles ,the herders and gatherers who provided food and sustenance, The wolves, the hunters who provided the means for warmth and tools and together they worked to locate and dig new wells, they worked together for the prosperity of both clans and when the tellers came there was much joy and cause for celebration. But how comes it that such friendship has been forsaken.” She asked with genuine concern.

"Twenty years? Then surely, you must have been witness to the great Haradrim raid that sundered this friendship, ravaging the wolf clan, but sparing our own. It has served as the fire of a forge, breaking even the strongest bonds between us. Though the wolf clan has recovered, the alliance has not. We are at odds, even to this day. How is it that you do not know of this?" Surinen asked.

Sorona stared deep into the young mans eyes searching past the fresh doubt and suspicion to see the truth in his eyes, then with a heavy heart and weary sigh she nodded assenting to answer his question. “Yes, I had the unhappy misfortune to witness the raids of the Haradrim,” she began sadly. “But I assure you there was nothing at all great about it!” she added pointedly taking in the gaze of both eagles.

“But of the sundering of friendship I knew not and can not fathom, I was not fortunate to return that day or any after until now!” seeing the blank stares of her audience she continued.

“After dispatching a messenger to the eagle camp warning my father and the clan of the approaching danger, I picked up my child and ran with the others women and children, old and young alike the men of the clan had set out two days previous on a hunting expedition and where not expected back till dark. But I became separated from my people and found myself being chased through the forest by several riders, I knew I could not out run them and that as had become custom in such times I should have taken my sons life to free him from the evil that pursued, but I could not, love stayed my hand. Therefore, I hide him high in a tree, bade him to make no sound and then I drew our pursuers away from him. The last thing I remembered was a sharp pain to my side and then I never saw my son or the lands of my birth again!”

A silence ensued as both Surinen and Latah stared in horror and disbelief; finally, Surinen broke the uneasy silence. “It is said that the men of the wolf clan returned to find their women and children dead or missing and that only a hand full of elders and some children were found cowering in the forest. The wolf clan’s youngest son went mad with grief blaming the eagles accusing us of abandoning their women and children or so my father tells it,” Surinen told her.

Sorona dropped her head in thoughtful contemplating, why would they have blamed the eagles. She sent her cousin Freya back to the eagles to warn them, oh! She suddenly thought remembering, her own words.

“Freya, quickly return to the eagles and warn my father of the approaching danger,”
“Yes cousin your father will send help!”
“No Freya, they will not come in time, I will take the clan into the forest until the danger has past! Tell my father to move the clan and we will join them later!”

What if Halfr and his clan did not know of this message, But why would they not? Why would it have been kept from them? “Oh Halfr, what have you done!” she whispered sadly.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Surinen

Latah did not speak, but struggled within herself. Surely this Sorona had been through and seen a great deal more than she herself had, but if she loved her son as she said she did, how could she simply leave him to face his fate and then disappear only to return to the eagle clan without first finding if his name was still recited among the wolves. Her son must be close to Surinen’s age by now, if he were still alive and if the tale she told was true. Perhaps she was now a grandmother, and her wisdom needed by him. But Latah worried that even if Sorona truly was the eagle she presented herself to be, what was to say that she had not now been sent back to her native people for some low purpose. She found she did not trust her, and wished that Surinen would not speak so freely.

But Surinen was now thoughtful and silent, digesting what he had heard as he tilted his mug, washing his hand under the small stream of water. The name of Halfr had given him pause, for Dinsûl was not the only one to describe him in despairing terms, but Narayad also had spoken of him when lamenting the course his people had taken. For Narayad had been of the Wolf clan, though now his true name was not called out as a member of its ranks, and by choice he no longer assumed that shape which came naturally to him. He was as dead to them as Surinen’s own sister Mîrya was dead to the eagle clan, having turned his back, no matter how reluctantly on his kin.

“Yes, what has Halfr done!” Surinen sighed, thinking of his friend’s grievances. “Not only this”, he said looking into Sorona’s eyes to see her response to his words, “but he has taken his clan and made them a jewel in the midst of a dragons’ hoard. For his people long ago joined the maenwaith who huddle under the cold wings of Wyrms like hatchlings in need of protection.” And seeing that sadness overtook the bird he moderated his stance, adding that he could not understand why the clan had allowed themselves to be led this way, for they by all accounts were a clever and skilled people, undaunted by hardship.

At this Latah stood up suddenly, and gathering their plates excused herself, taking them outside to clean. Surinen watched as she closed the tent flap behind her, wishing he could follow so that she might unburden her mind to him. For he knew that this conversation touched on matters that she found troubling, especially in light of Narayad’s current standing in the eagle community, and through him, her own.

“Is she all right?” the bird whispered, following his glance.

“I hope that she will always be so,” Surinen confessed, still looking to the door. “It has been a trying time for all of us here. For you too, if it has been so long since you have been in these parts. You must have traveled a great distance to find again your desert home. But do not worry, we will be here tomorrow also, and the Haradrim will not carry you away again from this place.”

[Ealasaide]

As he made his way through the dark camp back in the direction of his tent, Fador's mind churned. So much had happened over the course of the last several days. There still remained so much to be done, to be seen to, with the passing of Ayar so near at hand. Wyrma’s assassin had done his job well, he thought grimly, coming and going unseen and unheard like a deadly breath of wind. At first Fador, like the others, had believed that the leader of the Eagles had merely taken ill. He had tried to take advantage of her illness with the fire, but now realized that the sabotage of the incense pot had been a mistake. Wyrma’s man had done his job with lethal effectiveness. All he had managed to do, himself, was focus suspicion upon the person of his own daughter, Latah, who was completely innocent. Her husband, Narayad, another innocent, had also fallen under the blanket of suspicion and was being sent away for it. His action had been a grave miscalculation.

“Foolishness,” he muttered. He should have left well enough alone. Not one to dwell upon failures, however, Fador turned his mind ahead to the group awaiting him in his tent. He had offered his hospitality to the two Gondorians, who had arrived in such an untimely fashion, not so much out of generosity as out of the desire to watch them, that he might best ascertain what their intentions were and how he might bend them to his own purposes... if he could bend them. That possibility still remained to be explored. While he had caught a distant glimpse of them earlier in the day and heard many wild rumors, he had yet to meet either of them face to face.

As he neared his tent, Fador saw Latah step through the open flap, carrying an armload of dirty dishes. Catching sight of him, Latah set the dishes down and smiled.

“You return at last!” she exclaimed. “We have kept dinner warm for you.”

Fador smiled back at her, nodding in the direction of their tent. “I hope you have been a good hostess to our guests. I should hate to give our Gondorian friends a bad impression of us.”

“Oh...” Latah glanced nervously over her shoulder. “Unfortunately, they are not here. We only learned at the last moment that they had made their dinner plans elsewhere. I have been a good hostess only to Surinen and one of our long lost kin, Sorona.”

Fador shot a sharp glance through the open flap of the tent. Sorona? He had heard talk among the other elders of the arrival of another supposed stranger, a female, trapped in the form of an eagle. Could it be the same Sorona who had once been one of them and married into the clan of the Wolves? If so, the timing of her return was intriguing. He had thought her dead, killed years ago in the Haradrim raids that had driven the Eagles deep into the south and created the rift between the two clans. Why had she returned? Why now? Catching sight of the stately form of the eagle, he frowned slightly. It was impossible to tell her identity for certain in her current form. The Sorona he had known had not even been capable of taking that form when he last saw her.

He nodded to Latah. “So I see. And where have the Gondorians gone?”

Latah colored slightly and shrugged. “I am afraid I don’t know, but I expect they shall return shortly.”

“Very well, then,” he said patiently, agreeing that he would have to wait to meet the northerners until their return later in the evening. Turning, Fador entered his tent, giving Surinen a courteous nod in passing, but focusing the majority of his attention upon the eagle.

“Greetings, Mistress Eagle,” he said pleasantly. “I am Fador. Welcome to my home. I trust my daughter has taken proper care of you?”

“She has been very kind,” answered the eagle. “I thank you both for your hospitality. I am Sorona.”

“Sorona,” echoed Fador, giving the eagle a long gaze. “I used to know someone by that name a very long time ago,” he said. “She married into another clan and I lost track of her, but that was many years ago.” He smiled. “Allow me to welcome you to our encampment. Do you plan to remain with us long?”

[Nerindel]

Korpúlfr

Kórpulfr sat close to the dying embers of the campfire his blanket pulled tightly about his shoulders to ward off the biting chill of the cold desert night, both his companions were now sleeping soundly their light breathing marked only by the steady rise and fall of their chest against the red glow of the fire light. Korpulfr stared through the flames at Tinar; several days alone in the desert seemed to have matured the young man considerably and calmed his impulsiveness. As he studied the peaceful features of his young friend, he wondered if this change was temporary or if as the elders of his clan believed, Tinar actually possessed the potential to someday take his mother place as head of the clans. Did this boy really possess something that the others of his clan did not?

Wolf blood? The thought came unbidden and in the soft firelight, Tinar’s sharp angular features suddenly bore a frightening resemblance to that of his father, the Raakaharn. Clenching his jaw defiantly, he rose from the fire pulling his blanket tighter as he turned and strode purposefully away from his sleeping companions, angrily he tried to dismiss the cold realisations that filled his mind. However, he could not if Tinar was blood kin to the Rakaaharn then it made sense that the elders would wish to see him as Wyrma’s successor and that their friendship was necessary to form a strong and influential alliance between the two clans.

Shaking his head he realised he was debating the advantages of a lie. Tinar is not wolf blood! He reminded himself. No, he could not believe his father would betray his mother’s memory in such a way, though he could not deny that his father’s behaviour of late was a concern, he took to locking himself in his study for hours on end, and when he did appear he was secretive and evasive. Kor looked back at the sleeping form of Hasrim wondering if his cousin knew any more than he did what was going on in his father mind.

No, he decided thoughtfully, if Hasrim knew anything, he would have told him already. I am being paranoid finding fault in what could only be stress brought on by Wyrma’s demands on my father; he concluded laughing at his own suspicions. “If I’m not careful I’ll begin to sound just like those fools who think that the Wyrm clan have some ulterior motive for uniting the clans!” he whispered shaking his head.

I have to find something to do, to prevent these foolish thought! He thought restlessly, and then looking out over the sandy horizon, he remembered the encampment that they had seen during their earlier scouting of the area. Several hours as the Raven flies! He thought contemplatively. Hasrim seemed to think the Gondorians would be stopping there for the night and although Kor did not doubt his cousin he thought to have a closer look, perhaps he could find something out, like who guided the Gondorians so will through the desert, carefully avoiding until now the other clans!

His mind made up he returned to the camp and gently roused his cousin, “Hmpf! What… What is it, what’s happened?” Hasrim asked sitting up and instinctively reaching for his sword.

“Calm cousin, nothing has happened,” Korpúlfr laughed, laying his hands assuringly on his cousin’s arm.

“Then what do you mean by rousing me before it is my turn for watch,” Hasrim scowled relaxing slightly as he looked up to note the moons position in the clear night sky.

“I am restless cousin, I wake you early that I may go take a closer look at the camp we espied earlier,” he grinned hoping to pacify his older companion.

“Are you sure that is wise?” Hasrim asked his scowl deepening into a concerned frown, “There is any number of clans who would not welcome unwanted guests in the night and we do not know if these are friend or foe!”

“Worry not cousin they won’t even know I am there, I will be back by morning!” he winked, then turning he shifted into his raven form and took to the air, his blanket falling to the ground beside his stunned cousin.

************************************************** ***

Hasrim

Hasrim stared at the fallen blanket for a long moment before rising, his dark, usually complacent eyes narrowing in cold and bitter unrestrained contempt, as he looked out in the direction his cousin had just flown. Angrily he picked up the blanket and violently tossed it aside, if only all things could be so easily cast aside he thought darkly. “Foolish boy!” he hissed through gritted teeth, He would ruin everything if he were captured or killed by a rival clan he chided bitterly, casting a cautionary glance to where Tinar lay, making sure the young Wyrmling was still sleeping.

His initial instinct was to follow Kor and make sure himself that the young wolf cub did not find any trouble, after all this was the task his uncle had assigned him to do. However, staring at Tinar through the orange glow of the fire he knew if something were to happen to him in his absence, his life would not be worth living, Wyrma would see to that! Frustrated he kicked the dry earth beneath his boot, watching it spit and hiss in the warm glow of the fire. He hated not being in control and having to trust that his younger cousin, who was pivotal to all his plans, would stay out of trouble grated him deeply.

He paced contemplating those plan, a play he had so carefully devised and set into motion with the death of his grandfather, he grinned wickedly as he remembered how easy it had been to slip the poison into the old mans drink. He did not die at once off course that would have drawn to much suspicion, especially since the old wolf was having his doubts about Wyrma’s grand plans, but rather he slowly but gradually became ill as if some mysterious sickness plagued him until at last his strength gave out and he finally passed away. Kórpulfr had been so upset he and his grandfather had been close, too close! He conceded bitterly. But he had insured that it was he who had been there to comfort and support his cousin and he who over the years had became his close friend and a trusted family member, Kor trusted him implicitly, even valuing his advise, just as he had planned! A twisted grin framed his dark features as he took satisfaction in his own cunning.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Rama & Miri

Ráma did not move her eyes from Mithadan's face even when Rôg dumped the tray on the ground and Miri scurried forward to retrieve the fruit. The Man from Gondor could be lying or confused, but Ráma did not think so. There was a calm assurance and honesty in both his tone and demeanor that convinced her he was speaking the truth. If he said Bird had mastered five shapes and that one was an Ent and another a dragon, then it must be so.

Ráma was less certain how others in her clan would respond to Mithadan's plea. However softly phrased, his description of Bird implicitly challenged some of the Elders' teachings. She was not sure whether the Man from Gondor even recognized this.

She had apparently been taught things that weren't true. Not all dragons were base and dishonorable. And there was at least one talking, sentient creature whose form had been taken on by a maenwaith . Quickly, her mind made another giant leap. It wasn't only the Ents. In the ancient tales, the wyrms could speak to each other and even with Men. Why had she never made this connection before and recognized that the limits about talking creatures had certain exceptions? She had always accepted what the Elders said about who she was and what she might and might not do. It was not that they had lied to her. They were good Men and Women who knew a great deal more than she did. But they did not know everything.

The Elders had constantly drummed a simple dictum into her head: only clan leaders could take on four shapes; all others, including herself, were restricted to three. The message had been clear: do not squander your forms, or you may find you have none left when it comes time to take your place among the adult Eagles of the clan. You will be one of the dispossessed who harbors an Eagle spirit, but with no physical form in which it may find its expression.

Perhaps, the Elders had been mistaken that day on the beach when they had scolded her. And her own mother had been right to urge her to look for help among the wyrms. Maybe the key to her past as well as the fate of her people lay in accepting the same hard lesson: although goodness never changes, ways of thinking and acting do, and we must master those changes with grace and an honorable heart, just as we master changes in our form.

Impulsively lurching to her knees in front of Mithadan, in full view of her astonished dinner guests, Ráma spoke loudly so all could hear: "Man of Gondor, you say more than you realize. But I believe you. I swear that I will not rest until I help you and Airefalas find this Bird. For your search and mine have become one. Perhaps this Bird was sent to us for reasons we cannot altogether know, perhaps even to lead us to her other Dragon kin who have not forsaken the old ways. Tomorrow, we will speak more on this and see where we will begin this search. For now, it is late, and I would ask you to return to your tents. Say nothing more of this to anyone until I have had a chance to speak with my sister." With that she turned and, beckoning Miri to her side, quickly left the tent.

****************************


Miri looked up hesitently at her older friend as Ráma took her by the hand and briskly whisked them out of the tent, preparing to take her home. The girl was not certain exactly what to say. So much had happened between her and Rôg, and now Ráma was acting in a way she could not understand.

They stopped for a moment by a large barrel that stood nearby to ladle out two small cups of water. After they had drunk, Ráma threw her head back, looked up at the stars, and began humming a song to herself. Miri could see that she was acting very strangely.

"My mother will be pleased!" Ráma confided. "I know she will be excited to hear about Bird." Perhaps, she mused silently to herself, Ayar will feel better after she's rested and I can speak with her in the morning. As they reached the end of the row and stood in front of the tent belonging to Miri's family, Ráma halted for a moment to speak with the girl, "I wanted to see if Rôg would be willing to help us recruit among the tribes to the south. But so much happened at the end that I never had time. I know you are close friends with him. Perhaps you can tell me. Do you think he would be willing to speak with his clan so that they could help us? Do you know what form his clan takes to defend itself?"

Miri hastily shook her head, looking uncomfortable. "You'll have to ask him. I don't know much about this. Anyways, I'm not sure if he can help. He's going to visit his family."

"The ones he mentioned earlier who are camped south of here."

Miri shook her head, "Not exactly. Some other relatives.....very old ones." She was feelng a bit uncomfortable and hoped Ráma would stop questioning her. "I think his whole clan is going for a visit. They live in some caves on the rim of the northern desert. Not too far from the Sea, I think. Anyways, ask him yourself. He'll only be gone a little while."

At that point Ráma's face blanched. "But that's not possible. There is no place like that in Harad."

Miri shrugged her shoulders, "Well, he never said it was Harad. Maybe it's someplace else."

"Miri, look at me!" Ráma commanded. "I want you to repeat exactly what Rôg said....."

[piosenniel]

Miri

‘I don’t remember exactly what he said,’ Miri said, screwing her mouth up in consternation. ‘I thought he said one thing earlier today and before, too. But then he lied tonight. When that man from up north was speaking; he just flat out lied.’ Miri’s little hands were on her hips as she spoke, her speech perplexed and angry at the same time.

‘Perhaps you misunderstood,’ began Rama, wondering if the girl would come round to answering her question.

‘No! I didn’t!’ Miri said shaking her head fiercely. ‘Because I asked him and he said he did . . . but not to me.’ She glanced up sharply at Rama wondering if she should tell her that the reason he lied was to keep Rama from telling him he was crazy and what he said just couldn’t be true, as her sister Narika had already done. Her child’s understanding of friendship clamped her lips tight on revealing anything Rôg had told her previously about changing shapes. Though he hadn’t asked her to do so, she didn’t want her friend made fun of or scolded for saying things that others disapproved of. In her child’s way she understood quite well how sometimes you had to keep things hidden away because the grownups just wouldn’t understand.

Miri narrowed her eyes, sliding them away from Rama. It was obvious that Rama was not going away until she had something from Miri. Well. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell her about his visit to his clan . . . she reasoned, knowing that he had shared the information freely with her and with the old fellow he traveled with.

‘Rôg arranged for his old friend to stay with our Clan,’ she began hesitantly, hoping Rama would not start questioning her on each point. ‘He’s going away for a week’s time, I think. He promised his mami and da that he would visit with them when he came south. And his Clan leader, he is supposed to talk to him about something, too.’ She looked up hopefully, making sure Rama was following along. ‘Anyways . . . his clan is down south at the end of our mountains right now. They make things, you know, and bring them round to the marketplaces . . . he told me his own family made the . . .’

An ahem! from Rama and the raising of one of her friend’s eyebrows reminded Miri to stay on track.

‘Anyways,’ she began again, ‘they don’t really live down at the end of the mountains. They’ve just been staying there for a while . . . until all the bad things were over. Now they’ll be going back to their real home . . . the desert, way up north, by the eastern sea where their Elders are waiting for them.’ Miri clapped her hands together and smiled. ‘Oh, I’ll bet those red mountains are so pretty! He told me they were. They’re right on the edge of the desert . . . and they have caves in them, Rama. That’s where their Elders have been staying . . .’ She saw the confused look on Rama’s face. ‘Well, not all of them. Some of them stay in the desert camp with the rest of the clan . . .’

Rama shook her head in disbelief. ‘Oh, Miri, it sounds as if your friend has woven you a tale of moonbeams on spider webs.’ She smiled down at her little friend. ‘He’s pulling your leg,’ she said gently, reaching out to put her arm round the girl’s shoulders. 'There's no desert up there and even if there were, there's no way Rôg could go and come back so quickly.' She smiled sympathetically at her little friend. 'You must have known he was jesting . . .'

Miri pulled away, indignant at being talked to as if she were a baby! ‘Hmmmph!’ she snorted . . . ‘Since you think it’s all stories, I won’t even bother you with the dropped melons and the dra . . .’

Their attentions were caught at that moment by a an out of breath voice calling out Rama’s name. The young woman and the girl turned to watch as one of the night guards from Ayar’s tent came running toward them. His face was pale, and grim, and his breathing was labored from his exertions. At first, it was difficult to understand him, and Rama laid a hand on his arm, asking him to slow down a bit and speak in a clearer manner. As he did so, her own face paled, and she clutched Miri’s hand so hard that the little girl cried out.

Others of the clan had drawn near; their voices saddened and fearful at the news the guard had brought. One of the women reached out for Miri, saying that she would see her to her parents’ tent. Another put her shawl about about Rama’s shoulders and pushed her in the direction of the messenger. ‘Go,’ she said to the young woman. ‘Your sister has summoned you.’

The small group watched as the guard and Rama hastened to Ayar’s tent. Then, the whispers began; the soft calling out to those still in their tents spread outward in rippling sighs, bringing the awaited but unwelcome news.

The meldakhar is dying . . . Ayar . . . it is Ayar . . . her light is fading . . .