Wilderness, Weathertop, & Wild Things RPG

[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…”

[Envinyatar]

Veryadan

Once they’d left their companions, Veryadan with Aidwain and Osric followed along the Great East Road until they’d passed the southern tip of the Midgewater Marshes. It was a two day journey, riding at a quick pace, but one comfortable enough to keep the horses unwearied.

Veryadan had only been to the Marshes once before, and that encounter had not left a pleasant memory. His scouting group had had to search for something along the banks as he recalled. Many’s the time his foot had slipped on the soft mud sending him knee deep into the watery muck. And the biting midges . . . everywhere . . . each and every one seeming to love the taste of his blood.

It was late evening of the second day when they turned northward along the marsh’s edge. Veryadan was already swearing into the collar of his cape as the swarms of little bugs bedeviled himself and his horse. He was thankful when Aidwain volunteered to ride ahead and find a place, away from the watery hole for them to camp that night. They had agreed they would then set out in the early morning to look for the place the sheepherder and his dog had been killed and the flock taken.

[Saurreg]

The ride from his farm to the eastern edge of Bree had taken Loudewater an entire day’s time. The sun was setting and the farmer was still on the road riding on the small little mule that seemed to be buckling under his master’s weight. Not that Loudewater was very heavy, but the little beast of burden was too young and too small. It hadn’t occurred to Loudewater that he might have been procuring an unsuitable animal for his plan that morning at the market square, but then again he hasn’t been thinking sensibly at all since the previous night at the Prancing Pony’s.

The evening air grew cooler as the sun waned and Loudewater wished for a warm place beside a fire. He knew how to make fire out in the wild but was not in the mood to do so. In fact the entire novelty of the trip did not seem to be as grand as when it was first conceived and Loudewater found himself yearning for a thatched roof over his head.

Nothing to worry about, he thought to himself, Whittleworth’s just ahead, around the bend where the Bree Road ends and the Great East Road begins.

The Great East Road, where it ends before the red mountains that touches the sky…

As Loudewater neared the bend around the road, he anticipated the sight of a plume of grey smoke rising above the top of the trees and further on, the sight of a thatched roof and finally Whittleworth Cottage itself. He heard that old Whittleworth had made quite a sizable earning from his prized wool shavings and knowing the fellow livestock breeder well, Loudewater was sure that he would reward himself and his family with good provisions for the next few days to come. Loudewater just hoped that Mrs. Whittleworth would not mind an additional mouth at the dinner table that night.

Filled with eager anticipation, the farmer gave encouraging twin taps to the side of Killer so that he would trot faster.

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

There was no smoke coming from behind the beeches and firs.

At first Loudewater thought that the sky had turned so dark that he couldn’t see the distinctive sign of a homely place in the distant. But as he neared where he thought Whittleworth Farm was, a forboding feeling clumped his chest. As unreasonable as it was, Loudewater felt that something was amiss. Something had happened.

The farmer rode on still and reached the spot where the skyline of the thatched roof and its brick chimney could be seen, but it wasn’t there. Onward he rode and yet he could not make out where the cottage and its adjacent farm buildings where.

Perhaps I have misjudged the location of the place, I haven’t been to Whittleworth’s for quite awhile. the farmer assured himself mentally. But even then, the doubt in his heart grew and he knew fear would follow The cry of large black crows was unnervingly deafening in the quietness of the night air.

He was nearing the spot where he thought the cottage itself stood and yet nothing distinctively familiar caught his wide-opened, darting eyes. It would seem that the farm had simply vanished into thin air.

And then Andas Loudewater saw it…

The cottage had collapsed and the entire roof was flattened as if some immense palm had cruelly pressed it down, overturning the side walls and crushing the rooms within. There were bits and pieces of shattered wood and broken bricks scattered throughout the vicinity. The barn was in better shape, but then from a distant, Loudewater could see that its front doors were missing.

And then there was the smell, a sickly stench that permeated in the air around the destruction. It was a stench Loudewater’s as a lifestock breeder was all too aware of. The smell of death and decay.

The hideous cawing of the crows was near unbearable. Loudewater could only imagine too well why they were here and what they were feasting on. A particularly large scavenger perched on a piece of exposed timber that was once a beam of the cottage, eyed the farmer with its lifeless dark eyes and sent a chill down his spine.


All doubt had dissipated with the discovery of the remnants of the farm. Fear had taken its place in Loudewater’s mind and it overwhelmed him. The panic stricken farmer kicked hard at the sides of the startled mule which broke into a wild gallop pass what was left of Whittleworth’s and onto the Great East Road.

[rutslegolas]

Aidwain,Osric and Verydan had went there own way from Saddle,making their way to the Midgewater Marshes,they traveled along the Great East Road,until they came to the Marshes,as they had expected the marshes were smelly and full of Midges who seemed to relish the taste of human and elven blood.

It was late evening of the second day when they turned northward along the marshes edge. Aidwain and his horse 'Snowmount' were almost eaten out by the Midges,and Aidwain saw that his companions too were not too happy with the those pesky creatures.It was late in the evening that they thought of making camp away from the watery hole of the marshes.

Aidwain trotted along the edge of the marshes to find a dry place for them to make a camp, about half a mile towards the east he found a sufficiently dry place with a less number of Midges hovering around,but there he also found some footprints which were not clearly visible due to the dryness of the place,he immdiately rushed back to his companions to report this discovery.

" Oy ! Veryadan come and have a look here,I seem to have found some footprints,and a place to rest .",he shouted.
Veryadan and Osric trotted alongside him as Aidwain led them to the footprints,here Veryadan leapt off his horse and rushed towards the spot and knelt to low to survey the evidence .....

[Envinyatar]

After a quick look at the footprints, the three companions led their horses to the site Aidwain had found for their camp. A windblown, old pine its branches twisted toward the east from the buffeting wind served as a place to tie them. In the waning light, Veryadan and Osric returned once again with Aidwain to where he had found the footprints. Careful to keep to the perimeter of the smudgy impressions, they crouched down to inspect them.

‘Best we wait til morning for a full search of the area,’ said Veryadan, as Aidwain pointed out how the prints trailed further north. ‘The ones here looks as if whoever it was came together here, milled around a bit, then headed off north.’ Aidwain had spied something and motioned for the other two to draw near. ‘Interesting!’ said Veryadan. ‘Look how many of prints are of a uniform size – some clad in boots, some barefoot. But these you’ve found, Aidwain, are huge. And deep. Some thing or things large and heavy passed through here.’

The sun, by this time, just hung barely on the rim of the western horizon. The three companions returned to their makeshift camp for a meal. Around a smudgy fire they huddled in their blankets, the drifting smoke forcing back some, but not all, of the persistent midges.

[Alaksoron]

Osric was grateful for the fire's warmth as he made his meal. When he was finished he drew his sword and produced a whetstone from a pocket of his cloak and set to sharpening. The blade would already shave the hair from his arm, but, as anyone who has ever owned a sword knows, it can never be sharp enough. Kim had told him on more than one occasion that he was obsessive, but he didn't care. A depressive gloom set upon Osric at the memory of his wife, now buried on a plot of their little farm. And he thought of his young son, strapping lad with a quick mind, whom was now staying with Osric's brother in Edoras.

Osric checked himself as he realized he was staring blankly ahead. Brightening, he asked "Anyone want an apple?" Aidwain nodded, but Veryadan said no. Shrugging, he reached into his bags and produced two appples, one for Aidwain and one for himself. He juggled them briefly before tossing one to Aidwain. He bit into his own apple, not caring that the juice ran down his chin. He loved apples!

He watched his companions heads swivel toward him as he jerked to his feet with a vehement curse that came out quite strangled. He lifted his left hand to stare in incredulity at the blood dripping from his left palm where the midge had bitten.

A moment's pause, Osric standing with his mouth agape, and the others broke into hysterical laughter. Veryadan was clutching his sides, and Aidwain was rolling on the ground. Blushing, Osric laughed with them.