The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Envinyatar · 04-18-2005, 02:03 PM

Derufin drew the conversation round to the subject of the Spring Faire. It was only a few weeks away. He’d been to one of them in the Shire, and truth be told, it was much like the small ones held yearly in his own small village. First lambs were shown off; pies from the last of the past year’s dried fruits; quilts and weavings done over the long winter months were brought out – all to be oohed and aahed over by friends and neighbors.

And the contests, of course. Out of doors, knife throwing, and archery, and slings. The great logs needed to be cut down to size and who could do it the most quickly. Inside, darts and the ever present ‘Shove Ha’penny’ game.

Last, and most fun, was the great tug-of-war game played over a fair-sized mudpuddle made especially for it on the Inn’s grounds. Derufin had been on the loosing side last year, and it was his desire to see his ‘foes’ streaked with mud this year.

‘You’ll stay, won’t you?’ he asked Anyopâ. ‘By the time we’re through with the wood that needs chopped and hauled and stacked, your muscles will be in grand shape. In fact, I’ll claim you for my team right now . . .’

piosenniel · 04-18-2005, 02:12 PM

‘Hmmph!’ declared Cook, looking at the two men. There sat Derufin all smug with his early choosing. ‘If you’re to have him, then our side is claiming Master Benat!’ She gave them an arch look, as if she had already won the victory.

Buttercup chimed in with a claim on Cullen, too. But Derufin protested, reminding her it was against the rules to bring in animals of any sort. ‘Falowik, then!’ she said firmly.

‘And what about the Elves?’ asked Cook. ‘I can’t recall any of them on our teams before.’

The others looked at her, considering her question. ‘Course we’d need to make sure they held to their brute strength . . .’ Cook offered. ‘No tricksy magics of any sort . . .’

Undómë · 04-18-2005, 02:24 PM

The trading had gone faster than he expected. His wares were gone, and his little wagon was filled with supplies needed back home. Hob’s purse, too was a little heavier with coin he had gotten for the finer objects. It had been a satisfying morning, and he planned to top it off with a mug of dark ale and a relaxing smoke by the Inn fire.

Strawberry plodded up the path to the Inn, turning right as she neared the front entryway to head for the stable. She, too, was ready to relax. Plodding along from shop to shop, stall to stall, was tiring in its own way, and she longed for the bridle and traces to be taken off and some sweet hay to plunge her nose into.

Hob left his pony to the stableboy, and secured his wagon beneath the stables eaves, lashing down the canvas covering over his goods. A few steps brought him back to the front door. And only a few more got him to a table near the fireplace. He settled in and caught the eye of a passing server. ‘Ale, please, he said. The dark.’ He watched her scurry away as he fetched his pouch of pipeweed from his vest pocket and began to fill his pipe.

Fordim Hedgethistle · 04-21-2005, 01:47 PM

With nothing to do with himself while the little ones were at their lessons Hearpwine wandered out of the classroom humming a tune beneath his breath. It was an old tune that he had been toying with of late, for he had never been entirely happy with it. When played slowly it was a melancholy and even dour, but when played quickly it became a odd jig-like piece that lumbered about without really giving life to the song. It was odd, for he enjoyed the tune but had yet found a way to use it in performance, so difficult was it to match with an appropriate song. He had decided, after much thought, to alter it as best he could so that he could sing it for others – but he was proceeding cautiously with the alterations, for one did not simply change a piece of music without great care!

As he paced about the yard his stomach growled slightly. He had breakfasted well, but he had been so long on the road that one good meal was not sufficient to satisfy him, apparently. He passed by a window to the Common Room and glanced inside and while there were a number of people about talking and drinking it did not appear as though luncheon was being served yet. His stomach gave another growl and he decided to raid the kitchen.

He stalked through the doorway and found several Halflings busily at work with a number of other folk milling about. Hearpwine addressed a stout Halfling woman who seemed to be in charge. “It is early yet for luncheon, I fear, but is there any crust of bread of rind of cheese for a hungry patron? I would be happy to lend a hand to any task you might like in return for a bite – or if you like, I could give you all some music to work by!” His hand moved to his harp, his fingers already twitching at the prospect of music.

Lasbelinion · 04-21-2005, 02:49 PM

Lithmîrë set down his empty mug considering if he should call for one more. He’d been rude. He could read it in her eyes. But upon reflection on that fact, he found he simply did not care. Little chit! There was no room for manners, in that place from where he’d come. One grabbed what one could, and if by some small piece of luck, there were those beneath you; then, their service was simply expected. Just as he had had to grovel and obey those who stood over him.

One gets by, as one can . . .

His cough had abated; the pain eased in his arm and face. The fleeting rictus that passed for his smile came with a nod to the man who now sat at the table. ‘A pleasure speaking with you,’ he said in a less gravelly voice, the tone of scorn laid lightly beneath his words. Gathering his cloak about him, he stood. A few quick steps marked his retreat from the increasingly busy room to the wider outdoors.

His heart was pounding. What a fool, he thought, to think he could stand to be in the press of so many people. He found his way to one of the great trees that grew behind the stable. In the welcoming shadow of its branches, he sat down on patch of grass that spread out from the tree’s roots. His back found support against the trunk. He leaned his pack against his outstretched legs, and let his head rest back against the smooth bark. The quiet and the fresh, clean scents borne on the breeze comforted him.

Weary from travel, the Elf was soon dozing.

littlemanpoet · 04-21-2005, 09:05 PM

Falowik

The Elf with the mottled features took his leave in a courteous enough manner, though the scorn with which his tone was laced was not lost on Falowik. It brought back memories he tried to keep buried, from Bree. The same scorn had condemned him a half-orc due to his lack of any lineage, his mother having died giving him life, his father unknown. Thinking on it raised the bile in his throat. He was glad Uien thought better of him than that, though he deserved it not.

Uien

Uien allowed the sun to soak into her gown, her long blonde hair her only shade. Little by little the carving was beginning to take shape. Three figures, two taller, one half height and between the tall ones, stood on grass. She imagined that she knew who these figures were, or at least who they represented.

She was distracted by movement, and saw from where she sat, a figure move behind the stable and settle not far from her by a tree. He did not seem to notice her, and she did not call attention to herself. But there was something about him that was strange; she did not know what it was, and looked carefully with her Elven eyes. He had already fallen asleep. But his face was mottled and scarred. What from? She could not hold her thought back, her curiosity was so roused, and she probed the edges of his thought; he was an Elf! So dark! Hot lancing pain. Cruel, dark laughter. Uien shivered, reminded of her captivity in the mountain of Caradhras. She shivered again and pulled her thought away, looking back at her carving.

Her knife had not ceased its cutting while her mind wandered, and she was horrified at what lay in her hand: an woman of the Eldar and a man of the Eldar, and between them a child of the Eldar, who held them each by the hand. Is this what I want?

Lasbelinion · 04-22-2005, 12:47 AM

GET OUT!

Lithmîrë’s dark grey eyes flew open at the soft touch of the inquisitive Elf.

Bad enough the body is beset by His foul minions. Yet worse the breach of mind and spirit by the Master. But worse than all is to be dishonored by one’s own.

Stay out, young one. I do not appreciate your curiosity or require your aid.

He paused for a moment, her unguarded thoughts spilling out.

And it seems you have problems of your own.

As quickly, he turned away from her thoughts. Getting up, he moved away from her, seeking a quiet place to rest.

04-18-2005, 02:12 PM	#2
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	‘Hmmph!’ declared Cook, looking at the two men. There sat Derufin all smug with his early choosing. ‘If you’re to have him, then our side is claiming Master Benat!’ She gave them an arch look, as if she had already won the victory. Buttercup chimed in with a claim on Cullen, too. But Derufin protested, reminding her it was against the rules to bring in animals of any sort. ‘Falowik, then!’ she said firmly. ‘And what about the Elves?’ asked Cook. ‘I can’t recall any of them on our teams before.’ The others looked at her, considering her question. ‘Course we’d need to make sure they held to their brute strength . . .’ Cook offered. ‘No tricksy magics of any sort . . .’ __________________ Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.

04-18-2005, 02:24 PM	#3
Undómë Shade of Carn Dûm Join Date: Mar 2005 Posts: 400	The trading had gone faster than he expected. His wares were gone, and his little wagon was filled with supplies needed back home. Hob’s purse, too was a little heavier with coin he had gotten for the finer objects. It had been a satisfying morning, and he planned to top it off with a mug of dark ale and a relaxing smoke by the Inn fire. Strawberry plodded up the path to the Inn, turning right as she neared the front entryway to head for the stable. She, too, was ready to relax. Plodding along from shop to shop, stall to stall, was tiring in its own way, and she longed for the bridle and traces to be taken off and some sweet hay to plunge her nose into. Hob left his pony to the stableboy, and secured his wagon beneath the stables eaves, lashing down the canvas covering over his goods. A few steps brought him back to the front door. And only a few more got him to a table near the fireplace. He settled in and caught the eye of a passing server. ‘Ale, please, he said. The dark.’ He watched her scurry away as he fetched his pouch of pipeweed from his vest pocket and began to fill his pipe. __________________ Young she was and yet not so. The braids of her dark hair were touched by no frost, her white arms and clear face were flawless and smooth, and the light of stars was in her bright eyes, grey as a cloudless night . . .

04-21-2005, 02:49 PM	#5
Lasbelinion Pile O'Bones Join Date: Apr 2005 Posts: 24	Lithmîrë set down his empty mug considering if he should call for one more. He’d been rude. He could read it in her eyes. But upon reflection on that fact, he found he simply did not care. Little chit! There was no room for manners, in that place from where he’d come. One grabbed what one could, and if by some small piece of luck, there were those beneath you; then, their service was simply expected. Just as he had had to grovel and obey those who stood over him. One gets by, as one can . . . His cough had abated; the pain eased in his arm and face. The fleeting rictus that passed for his smile came with a nod to the man who now sat at the table. ‘A pleasure speaking with you,’ he said in a less gravelly voice, the tone of scorn laid lightly beneath his words. Gathering his cloak about him, he stood. A few quick steps marked his retreat from the increasingly busy room to the wider outdoors. His heart was pounding. What a fool, he thought, to think he could stand to be in the press of so many people. He found his way to one of the great trees that grew behind the stable. In the welcoming shadow of its branches, he sat down on patch of grass that spread out from the tree’s roots. His back found support against the trunk. He leaned his pack against his outstretched legs, and let his head rest back against the smooth bark. The quiet and the fresh, clean scents borne on the breeze comforted him. Weary from travel, the Elf was soon dozing. __________________ In the twilight of autumn the ship sailed out of Mithlond,until the seas of the Bent World fell away beneath it,& the winds of the round sky troubled it no more,& borne upon the high airs above the mists of the world it passed into the Ancient West…

04-22-2005, 12:47 AM	#7
Lasbelinion Pile O'Bones Join Date: Apr 2005 Posts: 24	GET OUT! Lithmîrë’s dark grey eyes flew open at the soft touch of the inquisitive Elf. Bad enough the body is beset by His foul minions. Yet worse the breach of mind and spirit by the Master. But worse than all is to be dishonored by one’s own. Stay out, young one. I do not appreciate your curiosity or require your aid. He paused for a moment, her unguarded thoughts spilling out. And it seems you have problems of your own. As quickly, he turned away from her thoughts. Getting up, he moved away from her, seeking a quiet place to rest. __________________ In the twilight of autumn the ship sailed out of Mithlond,until the seas of the Bent World fell away beneath it,& the winds of the round sky troubled it no more,& borne upon the high airs above the mists of the world it passed into the Ancient West…

04-18-2005, 02:03 PM	#1
Envinyatar Quill Revenant Join Date: Jan 2003 Location: Wandering through the Downs..... Posts: 849	Derufin drew the conversation round to the subject of the Spring Faire. It was only a few weeks away. He’d been to one of them in the Shire, and truth be told, it was much like the small ones held yearly in his own small village. First lambs were shown off; pies from the last of the past year’s dried fruits; quilts and weavings done over the long winter months were brought out – all to be oohed and aahed over by friends and neighbors. And the contests, of course. Out of doors, knife throwing, and archery, and slings. The great logs needed to be cut down to size and who could do it the most quickly. Inside, darts and the ever present ‘Shove Ha’penny’ game. Last, and most fun, was the great tug-of-war game played over a fair-sized mudpuddle made especially for it on the Inn’s grounds. Derufin had been on the loosing side last year, and it was his desire to see his ‘foes’ streaked with mud this year. ‘You’ll stay, won’t you?’ he asked Anyopâ. ‘By the time we’re through with the wood that needs chopped and hauled and stacked, your muscles will be in grand shape. In fact, I’ll claim you for my team right now . . .’ __________________ ‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’ – Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age'

04-21-2005, 01:47 PM	#4
Fordim Hedgethistle Gibbering Gibbet Join Date: Feb 2004 Location: Beyond cloud nine Posts: 1,844	With nothing to do with himself while the little ones were at their lessons Hearpwine wandered out of the classroom humming a tune beneath his breath. It was an old tune that he had been toying with of late, for he had never been entirely happy with it. When played slowly it was a melancholy and even dour, but when played quickly it became a odd jig-like piece that lumbered about without really giving life to the song. It was odd, for he enjoyed the tune but had yet found a way to use it in performance, so difficult was it to match with an appropriate song. He had decided, after much thought, to alter it as best he could so that he could sing it for others – but he was proceeding cautiously with the alterations, for one did not simply change a piece of music without great care! As he paced about the yard his stomach growled slightly. He had breakfasted well, but he had been so long on the road that one good meal was not sufficient to satisfy him, apparently. He passed by a window to the Common Room and glanced inside and while there were a number of people about talking and drinking it did not appear as though luncheon was being served yet. His stomach gave another growl and he decided to raid the kitchen. He stalked through the doorway and found several Halflings busily at work with a number of other folk milling about. Hearpwine addressed a stout Halfling woman who seemed to be in charge. “It is early yet for luncheon, I fear, but is there any crust of bread of rind of cheese for a hungry patron? I would be happy to lend a hand to any task you might like in return for a bite – or if you like, I could give you all some music to work by!” His hand moved to his harp, his fingers already twitching at the prospect of music.

04-21-2005, 09:05 PM	#6
littlemanpoet Itinerant Songster Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: The Edge of Faerie Posts: 7,066	Falowik The Elf with the mottled features took his leave in a courteous enough manner, though the scorn with which his tone was laced was not lost on Falowik. It brought back memories he tried to keep buried, from Bree. The same scorn had condemned him a half-orc due to his lack of any lineage, his mother having died giving him life, his father unknown. Thinking on it raised the bile in his throat. He was glad Uien thought better of him than that, though he deserved it not. Uien Uien allowed the sun to soak into her gown, her long blonde hair her only shade. Little by little the carving was beginning to take shape. Three figures, two taller, one half height and between the tall ones, stood on grass. She imagined that she knew who these figures were, or at least who they represented. She was distracted by movement, and saw from where she sat, a figure move behind the stable and settle not far from her by a tree. He did not seem to notice her, and she did not call attention to herself. But there was something about him that was strange; she did not know what it was, and looked carefully with her Elven eyes. He had already fallen asleep. But his face was mottled and scarred. What from? She could not hold her thought back, her curiosity was so roused, and she probed the edges of his thought; he was an Elf! So dark! Hot lancing pain. Cruel, dark laughter. Uien shivered, reminded of her captivity in the mountain of Caradhras. She shivered again and pulled her thought away, looking back at her carving. Her knife had not ceased its cutting while her mind wandered, and she was horrified at what lay in her hand: an woman of the Eldar and a man of the Eldar, and between them a child of the Eldar, who held them each by the hand. Is this what I want?