Wilderness, Weathertop, & Wild Things RPG

[Alaksoron]

"The Rohirrim horses are, indeed, the finest horses in the West, and I might say even in the known world." Osric Falkur said with a smile, but then his face grew serious. "Let us return to my question. I know that Tarondo is a swordsman, but I'd sooner think he would learn from me than I him. I am a blademaster, and a blademaster's sword is not something worn lightly." He paused, and drew his sword. "I could teach you to use the sword, if you like."

The blue-silver of the blade flashed in the sudden sunlight, for Osric had polished it only that morning, and it gleamed. It was a magnificent sword, indeed. The pommel was a silver wolfhead, highly detailed, with diamond eyes. The hilt was dark ebony, with a red-enameled serpent entwined over the guard. Taking it by the blade, dull edge on the inside of his palm, he extended it.

As Aidwain reached out to grasp the hilt, Falkur said "That is the proper way to hand a sword. There is your fist lesson for you, just to start." He flashed one of his rare smiles, and Aidwain knew he spoke teasingly.

As Aidwain hefted the sword, he noticed how remarkably light it was, how perfectly balanced. "That's Elven craftmanship," Osric spoke into his thoughts. "I call it Azar. Sindarin for lightning-blade." He said, sounding quite scholarly.

[Nuranar]

Luinien's dark head appeared at the door. "Ah! there you are, Veryadan." The Ranger admitted his presence. "Would you mind joining us in the meeting room? You too," she continued, turning to Aidwain and Osric. "Unless you're too busy, of course," she continued, a dangerous glint in her eye. Aidwain and a silenced Osric followed her and Veryadan into the inn.

Silrûth and the Northern Rangers were already in the room. Tarondo pointed to the map. "The Whittleworth farm is here near Staddle, on the east side of Bree-hill. Fen Shepherdspurse will show Silrûth and I the way there." Silrûth nodded, a small, satisfied smile on her lips. "Veryadan, you and Aidwain and Osric go here" - he pointed to a spot just east of the Midgewater Marshes - "where the shepherd was killed."

"That was a week ago," Osric spoke up. "Will there be anything to see after that long?"

"That's what we are to discover," Veryadan said coolly.

Tarondo continued, "Luinien, Thoronmir, and Menecar, you go on past Amon Sûl - that is Weathertop - to where the merchants were attacked."

"Will we meet up after we finish?" Aidwain asked.

"Yes, at Weathertop. It's three or four days' gourney from here, and we need to allow time for investigation. So we will meet no later than six days from now. If you have not even sent word by then, the rest of us will assume that you have run into trouble." He grinned suddenly. "So please be there if you possibly can. I hope that is clear?"

A few murmurs, then Menecar spoke. "What you have said is very clear. But I want to know for certain exactly what we are to be looking for."

"The King has sent us to find out what is happening," Luinien answered. That means we need to discover who is behind it. And we do that by going to the scene, studying the ground, looking for footprints, and so forth."

"All the while using our heads and thinking and fitting the pieces together," Veryadan said.

"And then we decide what to do about it." Tarondo stood up. "Fen Shepherdspurse is waiting in the common room. I suggest you saddle your horses. We can travel together as far as the road to Staddle."

[rutslegolas]

Aidwain and Osric were chatting about swordsmanship and Luinien's dark head appeared at the door. "Ah! there you are, Veryadan." The Ranger admitted his presence. "Would you mind joining us in the meeting room? You too," she continued, turning to Aidwain and Osric. "Unless you're too busy, of course," she continued, a dangerous glint in her eye. Aidwain and a silenced Osric followed her and Veryadan into the inn.

There Aidwain saw that everybody else were already there ,he went beside Tarondo who was sorting everyone into groups, " Veryadan, you and Aidwain and Osric go here" - he pointed to a spot just east of the Midgewater Marshes -"where the shepherd was killed."

' Ah! Midgewater Marshes of all the places to scout I have to go to the marshes',Aidwain thought. After the discussion they were supposed to meet in the common room. Aidwain went to his room and picked up the water skins he had purchased and some spare clothes threw them into his backpack which also contained some bread.

Picking up his backpack he went down into the common room,here he found Silruth was already ready . "So shall we saddle our horses or are you keeping an eye on him ? ",he asked gesturing towards Fen. "Indeed not ,we should saddle our horses Tarondo will bring him . "

They both went outside and saddled their horses,meanwhile all the company came outside with Fen walking beside Tarondo,they all saddled their own horses,checked their belongings and trotted along the lane . "At least we are off now ",thought Aidwain....

[Esgallhugwen]

Sitting on the window sill as the sky slowly brightened with the coming sun, Silrûth breathed in the fresh cool air before it was warmed by the dawn. She smiled to herself knowing she should savour the moment, chances such as this would come far and few between on the journey they were about to undertake.

Reluctantly snapping out of her reverie, she entered her room through the window and gathered up her belongings. She quickly dressed and headed out the door, down the stairs and out of the Inn.

Her silver white mare, Falma, greeted her warmly, "come, we must fetch some supplies before the day breaks and we are off".

Luckily for the two they weren't too early as the shops were open, even when no one was really about. First to the Smithy to get my sword sharpened, she pulled her sword out examining it with her keen Elvish eyes, yes one side was beginning to wear slightly.

~*~*~*~*~*

After she made her rounds and gathered all the supplies she needed she found herself once more inside the Inn, for her last time. Thoronmir was found walking towards her, "we will be having one last meeting before we depart". The walked side by side then single file as they entered the meeting room.

They seated themselves similarly to last night, around the small oak table. Murmurings began before everyone arrived but it did not take long for the others to be in attendance.

"The Whittleworth farm is here near Staddle, on the east side of Bree-hill. Fen Shepherdspurse will show Silrûth and I the way there." A small smile played on Silrûth's lips satisfied she would help to keep an eye on the shady Fen Sheperdspurse.

Each group had been organized, and each knew their purpose. Silrûth was waiting by the door for her compatriot Aidwain, "So shall we saddle our horses or are you keeping an eye on him ? ",he asked gesturing towards Fen.

She shook her head "Indeed not ,we should saddle our horses, Tarondo will bring him. "

With their saddle bags laiden with supplies they harnessed and saddled their horses along with the others. Fen was brought out by Tarondo a most displeased look was on the old man's face.

Silrûth reigned in her horse next to Aidwain's as the company rode off, Tarondo was in front of them with Fen on a dusty grey pony. The company trotted down the lane and soon left Bree all together.

[Meneltarmacil]

A mumak trampled over Valamir. Targon's head was chopped off by an Easterling chieftan's axe. A troll's war club knocked Halbarad to the ground.

Thoronmir woke from his nightmare of the Pelennor Fields and the deaths of his friends. He got himself together and went downstairs, where some of the others had gathered.

"Good morning," Menecar said. "Sleep okay?"

"Um, yes," Thoronmir made no mention of his dream.

"We'll be having a meeting here in about half an hour," Tarondo said. "Make sure you're here by then."

"I'll be here," the ranger said. He walked up to the bar. "How about some coffee?"

"Sure thing, Thorondor," Butterbur said.

"Ummm..." Thoronmir started to say.

"What?" Butterbur asked, clueless as usual.

"Never mind." Thoronmir got his coffee and didn't say any more. He went outside. The day was quite sunny with only a few small clouds. He walked out to the stable to feed his horse, Awyrgan, who was happy to see him, then bought supplies for the long journey ahead of them. On the way back to the Inn, he ran into Silrûth, who was also on her way to the Inn.

"We will be having one last meeting before we depart," he reminded her. They entered the Inn together.

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

"So, we're going to check out where this shepherd was killed?" Menecar asked his old friend.

"Yes," Thoronmir said. "Right near Weathertop, and a very ugly sight if travelers' tales are accurate. That's right about where my scouting party disappeared when I sent them to investigate."

"Do you think some of your scouts might still be alive?" asked Luinen.

"I highly doubt it," Thoronmir replied, knowing the ugly truth. "These guys don't seem to like taking prisoners. Anyway, we must be cautious while searching for clues. On the journey, it would be best if we keep up a watch at night. Nobody should ever go off alone. If someone disappears, don't run off after them or you'll likely get killed. Do we have enough supplies for the road?"

[Envinyatar]

Fen Sheperdspurse

Fen had had plenty of time to slip away from the Inn and speak with the Orc chieftain after he’d given his information. The companions had taken a couple of days to make their decisions on the other two places of attack to be investigated. Once done with that, they needed to replenish their provisions. Fen had hung about long enough to confirm they would meet at Weathertop. Late at night, then, he had stolen away, saying he was going to fetch his own horse so as not to slow down the search party.

What small amount of information he had, he passed along to the Orcs. He’d been disappointed, expecting a little reward. But the Orc had leered at him, saying if the information proved true he would be paid well. ‘Just tell me something,’ Fen said, as the Orc turned to go. ‘What do you have planned? Should I be afeard for my own skin?’ ‘Let’s just say this,’ the Orc, said laughing. ‘Once your party gets near the top of Weathertop, I’d say you want to turn tail and run.’

The pony he’d fetched for his purposes came from one of the farmhouses he’d slunk by on his way back to the Inn. A raggedy old grey gelding, but good legs by the feel of them, Fen thought. ‘And we’ll be needing them, my friend,’ he whispered to the pony as he led him away from the ramshackle barn.

-----

The morning of departure had come. Fen walked out of the Inn with Tarondo, a bit disgruntled at having some female Elf to contend with. Elves gave him the shivers anyway, and she, with her cool eyes, unnerved him even more. With little ceremony, the group mounted up. Fen prodded his steed with his bony knees and trailed after Tarondo. He drew back even further as the group left Bree, leaving the others to chatter on. He snorted, looking at them.

Cats with sharp claws and long teeth waiting for you, my little chattery birds! he thought to himself with some satisfaction. His fingers twitched against his reins, already counting his monies . . .

---

Arrival at the Whittleworth Farm . . .

A half day of steady riding brought the companions to the outskirts of Staddle on the southern edge of Chetwood. The three smaller groups then went their separate ways. Fen and his Elven companions would head north just a bit to where the Whittleworth farm was located. The others he recalled were heading further east – one group just beyond the Midgewater Marshes and one the other side of Weathertop. Tarondo reminded the other two groups they would meet at Weathertop in five days time, then each group went their separate way.

‘If we keep riding, we can be at the farm by the middle of the night,’ commented Fen as Tarondo took the lead with Silruth following last. She said she was keeping a lookout for trouble, but Fen had the sneaking suspicion it was him she meant to keep and eye on. ‘Now if I was you,’ Fen went on as he brought his horse alongside Tarondo’s, ‘I wouldn’t want to be riding into the Whittleworth farm in the dark.’ He shook his head and shuddered a little as if he were thinking of the awful events of that previous night. ‘I know a place we can’t shelter for the night, safe like. Then in the bright light of day you can see them grisly things what I was telling you about.’

It was late evening when they cam to the sheltered camp area. Tarondo and Siruth split the watch and the night passed uneventfully. A quick morning meal eaten cold in the saddle the next day and they were off toward the farm. It was well past noon when they cleared the little rise and looked down on the scene of carnage. No one had dared go to the secluded little place since the killings. The bodies lay strewn where they’d fallen. The reek of death washed up the little hill, borne on the afternoon breeze. And here and there, hopping among the fallen were the busy crows and the ravens. They cawed loudly as the three riders approached, declaring their ravenous sovereignty.

[Envinyatar]

Saurreg's post

Andas Loudewater was humming an old melody to himself as he approached the farmstead riding upon his latest acquisition – a brown little pack mule. He had sauntered upon the live animal market at the town square on the way home and suddenly decided to take a look. It wasn’t long till he set his eyes on the said crossbred and fell for it’s dark black liquid eyes that seemed to convey ”Buy me Andas, buy me! I’m worth your entire month’s earning and more!” This was what the farmer did, much to the delighted surprise of the mule owner who knew that the value of the animal was far less than the amount of guineas he was receiving. But Loudewater did not mind, not one bit. He wanted an animal from the market square (which incidentally could have been a pair of sleepy salamanders further down the stalls) that day and he was pretty sure that he would not be leaving town without a buy. Besides what was money to him anyway?

Andas Loudewater was a new man. He was a happy man who wanted to go on a trip. He was also a new man who named his animals.

Meet “Killer”, Loudewater’s steed extraordinaire.

The mid-morning was blazing as the farmer arrived at his destination. He got off the mule, gave it an affectionate pat between the long furry ears before marching briskly into the cottage. He stepped onto the porch, swung the door open with aplomb and promptly hollered,

“HONEY I’M HOME!”

His enthusiastic introduction was greeted initially by the silence of the main room, but the inevitable was ensured. And it came from the solar,

“ANDAS LOUDEWATER! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! WHY WEREN’T YOU HOME LAST NIGHT?!”

The joy. It tickles your heart and keeps your body warm, like the gentle embrace of a loved one. The joy, it is a key that unlocks the door and let the bright rays of the sun in. Nourishing all with indescribable delight and hope.

“I WAS OUT DRINKING! I SLEPT IN TOWN!” Replied the farmer as he headed up the stairs towards the bedroom in brisk light steps.

He entered the bedroom, pulled his muddied boots and stripped off his soiled garments, tossing them carelessly onto the floorboards. He then reached for a large wicker case, flipped open the top and pulled out a white linen shirt, another brown tunic and a pair of trousers and put them on.

The now-familiar disembodied voice boomed,

“AND WHO SAID YOU COULD SPEND THE NIGHT OUTSIDE?! THERE WERE CHORES TO BE DONE THIS MORNING ANDAS! YOU HAVE RESPONSIBILITIES!”

The joy, it was louder than rolling thunder yet softer than a lover’s whisper. It was the uncontrollable laughter of innocent children at play but also the measured tones of a sagely storyteller.

Loudewater ignored the outburst and continued to put on his clothes. He took a sniff at the new tunic and decided that it needed further smoking.

There was the sound of a furry of steps and Helga appeared before the doorway of the bedroom, eyes blazing with unbraided anger. But that soon gave way to shock as she espied the guilty pair of boots and the crumbled heap of clothes.

“My… My floor,” She stammered without taking her beady little eyes off the obnoxious footwear, “Andas, what… what have you done to my nice clean floor?”

“Oh those! I was changing and I had to take them off. You can’t expect me to take off my trousers with those oversized things on could jah?” Loudewater replied nonchalantly as he struggled to buckle his leather belt.

He then picked up the offensive pair of scalawags, put them on again and headed out the door, sidestepping his wife who was still in a mystified state of disbelieving. Heading down the flight of stairs, he entered the kitchen and proceeded to raid the cupboard.

“Andas! How dare you! You… you…”

Helga was threatening her husband as she entered the kitchen but stopped mid sentence when she saw what he was doing. Loudewater was whistling to himself as he wrapped a large piece of dried spiced beef in fine muslin, he had already consigned a loaf of rye bread and generous wedge of aged cheddar to a similar fate. Beside them stood a large wooden flask filled with cheap ale.

“I love the smell of spiced beef in the morning,” he drawled teasingly to his wife, eyes sparkling with mischief, “it smells… it smells like success!”

The deed done, he then reached for a large sheepskin fanny pack and stuffed the mummified foodstuff into it. A couple of wind-dried (but still good) apples plucked from the tree in the backcourt were tossed in for a good measure. Loudewater then buckled the large bulging pouch onto his belt and grabbed the flask by its shoulder strap.

“Well, all packed and done. Time to go!” He proclaimed as he headed back towards the main hall, not even giving Helga the briefest of glances.

“Go? Go where?”

“Why, a trip of course! I’m heading east on the main road.”

“But why Andas? You can’t just go! You’ve got chores. The sheepfold needs fixing and the roof leaked last night, you have to thatch it!”

“That can wait dear. It won’t rain anytime now and you’ll just have to keep an eye out for ‘em sheep from time to time. But for now, TRIP!”

Andas affixed the sheath of his trusty old dagger onto the straining leather belt and grabbed the cope by the hood before opening the front door.

“But what about last month’s earnings from those wool shavings and the cabbages? Are you still holding on to the money purse? And what about me?” Inquired Helga, nonplussed and voice quivering. The fire had died in her eyes and was replaced by the dullness of doubt and fear.

“Not to worry dear,” Replied Loudewater confidently as he beckoned Helga to join him at the door which, she did so hesitantly, “I have invested it in this fine animal that will earn us great dividends in the near future! Helga, meet Killer!”

Loudewater pointed at the little brown mule which had somehow found its way into the garden vegetable garden and was helping himself to young immature greens. Killer took in Mrs. Loudewater with his dark liquid globes and whined appreciatively (at least that was what Loudewater thought). Helga just stood solidified, lower jaw hanging by their hinges.

“Well, gotta to go now, ‘tis a good day for riding.”

Loudewater stepped off the porch, went to Killer and led him out of the patch by the reins. As he led the mule onto the dirt road, the farmer cocked his head and deliberated.

He turned around and gazed at Helga with eyes that momentarily shone with compassion, love and surprise instead of the maniacal glint the dominated the entire morning. His voice wavier wavered and choked with emotion as he said,

“By God woman, you look… beautiful. By God…”

Loudewater stared at Helga for a while before turning towards Killer, mounting him and delivering the twin taps to its sides with the back of his heels that sent the animal trotting down the road, head bobbing up and down.

Loudewater’s thoughts were still on Helga. Mouthing over and over again,

“By God... by God…”