Tapestry of Dreams, Part 2 Discussion - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Formendacil · 06-13-2006, 12:53 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by mark12_30

But where would we find one of those.

alaklondewen · 06-15-2006, 03:40 PM

So...

Does Rugh know of Sæthryd? What do the Wild Men think of her if they do know of her? Are there tales of the wild-eyed woman in the mountains? Is she thought of as a witch? Will he try to change the women's minds from going toward the Paths of the Dead?

...just a few questions to raise discussion with the two characters we have.

Formendacil, how does Friday, June 23 sound as a deadline for Bergil? If that's not enough time, let me know, but it would be good to have by then.

Also, anyone who hasn't created a bio yet, feel free to post it when finished, and you all can work on first posts as well. If you have questions about locations or anything else, really. Just ask.

Celuien · 06-15-2006, 04:03 PM

I'd expect that Sæthryd would be rather well-known in the mountains. She's something of a fixture there, and is given to outbursts, so there would most likely be a warning to avoid places where she was known to appear. Warnings against the wild woman of the mountains. I like it.

First post coming over the weekend.

Formendacil · 06-15-2006, 06:49 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by alaklondewen

Formendacil, how does Friday, June 23 sound as a deadline for Bergil? If that's not enough time, let me know, but it would be good to have by then.

More than doable...

but be warned that it may be Thursday night....

Seriously, I should have it done well before then, but lazy is as lazy does... and lazy does little.

alaklondewen · 06-15-2006, 06:52 PM

Quote:

Seriously, I should have it done well before then, but lazy is as lazy does... and lazy does little.

No, no, it's called productive procrastination.

Aylwen Dreamsong · 06-16-2006, 09:30 AM

So...book two starts with the men leaving Gondor and the women sticking around?

alaklondewen · 06-16-2006, 03:13 PM

Close, but not quite. Book 1 will end with the men setting out. However, if the women run off (by dreams or rebellion or whatever), it will end with them finding out the ladies are gone and heading out in search. In game time, it would be great for the women to take off the night before so that their disappearance is discovered right before the men leave.

Then Book 2 will then begin where Book 1 leaves off.

Does that make sense?

Celuien · 06-18-2006, 03:53 PM

Dawn came grey and cold in the hills of the Ered Nimrais. The pale, chilled sun shone at its weakest over a ramshackle wooden hut, overhung by a grove of dying trees. Gloom hung in the air. Yet despite the dismal scene, a few pallid rays, mingled with light flurries of snow, made their way to shine through the unpatched chinks in the hut’s poorly repaired roof and the few spaces left around its shade-darkened windows.

The hut’s interior would now have been almost visible to a visitor, had any been bold or foolish enough to venture near it. Evil rumors surrounded the valley it occupied: rumors of a cruel witch - or wraith - who haunted the valley, turning it to a place of dread. Few of the hill-folk dared to come near. And if they did venture near the cursed valley, for so it was named since Sæthryd had come there, they returned with a haunted look in their eyes and faintly whispered tales of ill fortune barely escaped. If they returned at all. It was little wonder that the hut saw few guests.

The sun crept higher, and the light grew brighter. Now it illumined a dusty table and chairs, a few wooden dishes, metal knives, a few traps for game. And, in a corner, a few strands of blonde hair on a pillow. Below the hair, a pale face slumbered until, as the light rose again, the eyes snapped open. Sæthryd awoke.

She rose, stretching her arms above her, and stalked to her fire. Its last embers were beginning to go out. She added a fresh log and stirred the dwindling flame back to life. A red light flashed over Sæthryd, casting her shadow over the walls around her.

How many years had she been here, living this solitary existence? Sæthryd had lost count. One day flowed into the next, adding at last into weeks, months, and years. Little interrupted her routine. Up in the morning, a quick meal, and out to scavenge a few roots and herbs. To check her snares for meat. And, most importantly, to see that no intruders trespassed upon the secret ways of the mountains.

For those secret paths belonged to the Dead. Most had gone, years ago, before Sæthryd came to her hidden valley, before she walked along the ways they once haunted. Yet their presence remained. She knew. She saw. She heard, as now and again, the dead spoke to her. Of course they did. It was only natural that they did so. For she was dead too. Sæthryd never lived. She was born dead beneath the shadow of the dead mountain. Born dead to walk with the dead until at last her body completed its slow death and left her lifeless mind to wander free. That was how things were meant to be. That was why the dead had chosen her as their guardian. She knew it was so.

A thrashing in the brush caught Sæthryd’s ear. The valley is ours. The paths are ours. They belong to us. They belong to the dead alone. Abandoning the fire, she threw her door ajar and ran barefoot into the snow. The valley was hers. No one must be allowed to enter. She hurried to the sound, half bent at the waist, her hair flying in the waxing wind, and lunged into the winter-bare branches. They scratched her cheek, drawing blood. But she pushed on undaunted, until, the source of the disturbance discovered, she stopped.

A crow flapped in the brush, its foot caught in one of Sæthryd’s snares. She reached out grinning and snatched the bird, crushing its throat in her hands. It struggled to free itself and its wings flapped frantically. But Sæthryd did not cease the pressure of her fingers. The crow grew still. It is well. You too are now dead, little bird. As are all here. It is well. You may pass. Still smiling, she took the bird’s body and hurried back to her hut. It was cold, and her limbs ached for the warmth of the fire.

Inside, the fire was roaring. Ducking outside again briefly, Sæthryd scooped snow into a kettle and set it over the fire to melt. She sat by the fire, plucking and dressing her victim and, as she cut the bird into pieces and dropped them into the kettle, Sæthryd sang wordlessly in her mirth.

The snow began to fall heavily. A wind blew down the valley. Sæthryd’s song, like a wail both cold and wild, rose with the smoke of her fire. The noise, borne aloft by the weather, journeyed afar to be heard by the hill folk. They heard her call and whispered in frightened voices. The wild woman was awake.

~*~

Open for comments, suggestions, revision, or catcalls.

06-15-2006, 03:40 PM	#2
alaklondewen Song of Seregon Join Date: Feb 2002 Location: Following the road less traveled Posts: 1,193	So... Does Rugh know of Sæthryd? What do the Wild Men think of her if they do know of her? Are there tales of the wild-eyed woman in the mountains? Is she thought of as a witch? Will he try to change the women's minds from going toward the Paths of the Dead? ...just a few questions to raise discussion with the two characters we have. Formendacil, how does Friday, June 23 sound as a deadline for Bergil? If that's not enough time, let me know, but it would be good to have by then. Also, anyone who hasn't created a bio yet, feel free to post it when finished, and you all can work on first posts as well. If you have questions about locations or anything else, really. Just ask. __________________ At last I understand why we have waited! This is the ending. Now not day only shall be beloved, but night too shall be beautiful and blessed and all its fear pass away!

06-15-2006, 04:03 PM	#3
Celuien Riveting Ribbiter Join Date: May 2005 Location: Assigned to Mordor Posts: 1,767	I'd expect that Sæthryd would be rather well-known in the mountains. She's something of a fixture there, and is given to outbursts, so there would most likely be a warning to avoid places where she was known to appear. Warnings against the wild woman of the mountains. I like it. First post coming over the weekend. __________________ People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect. But actually, from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey... stuff.

06-16-2006, 09:30 AM	#6
Aylwen Dreamsong The Melody of Misery Join Date: Aug 2002 Location: The Island of Conclusions (You get there by jumping!)... Posts: 1,147	So...book two starts with the men leaving Gondor and the women sticking around? __________________ ...Come down now, they'll say. But everything looks perfect from far away - Come down now! But we'll stay.

06-16-2006, 03:13 PM	#7
alaklondewen Song of Seregon Join Date: Feb 2002 Location: Following the road less traveled Posts: 1,193	Close, but not quite. Book 1 will end with the men setting out. However, if the women run off (by dreams or rebellion or whatever), it will end with them finding out the ladies are gone and heading out in search. In game time, it would be great for the women to take off the night before so that their disappearance is discovered right before the men leave. Then Book 2 will then begin where Book 1 leaves off. Does that make sense? __________________ At last I understand why we have waited! This is the ending. Now not day only shall be beloved, but night too shall be beautiful and blessed and all its fear pass away!

06-18-2006, 03:53 PM	#8
Celuien Riveting Ribbiter Join Date: May 2005 Location: Assigned to Mordor Posts: 1,767	First post: Sæthryd Dawn came grey and cold in the hills of the Ered Nimrais. The pale, chilled sun shone at its weakest over a ramshackle wooden hut, overhung by a grove of dying trees. Gloom hung in the air. Yet despite the dismal scene, a few pallid rays, mingled with light flurries of snow, made their way to shine through the unpatched chinks in the hut’s poorly repaired roof and the few spaces left around its shade-darkened windows. The hut’s interior would now have been almost visible to a visitor, had any been bold or foolish enough to venture near it. Evil rumors surrounded the valley it occupied: rumors of a cruel witch - or wraith - who haunted the valley, turning it to a place of dread. Few of the hill-folk dared to come near. And if they did venture near the cursed valley, for so it was named since Sæthryd had come there, they returned with a haunted look in their eyes and faintly whispered tales of ill fortune barely escaped. If they returned at all. It was little wonder that the hut saw few guests. The sun crept higher, and the light grew brighter. Now it illumined a dusty table and chairs, a few wooden dishes, metal knives, a few traps for game. And, in a corner, a few strands of blonde hair on a pillow. Below the hair, a pale face slumbered until, as the light rose again, the eyes snapped open. Sæthryd awoke. She rose, stretching her arms above her, and stalked to her fire. Its last embers were beginning to go out. She added a fresh log and stirred the dwindling flame back to life. A red light flashed over Sæthryd, casting her shadow over the walls around her. How many years had she been here, living this solitary existence? Sæthryd had lost count. One day flowed into the next, adding at last into weeks, months, and years. Little interrupted her routine. Up in the morning, a quick meal, and out to scavenge a few roots and herbs. To check her snares for meat. And, most importantly, to see that no intruders trespassed upon the secret ways of the mountains. For those secret paths belonged to the Dead. Most had gone, years ago, before Sæthryd came to her hidden valley, before she walked along the ways they once haunted. Yet their presence remained. She knew. She saw. She heard, as now and again, the dead spoke to her. Of course they did. It was only natural that they did so. For she was dead too. Sæthryd never lived. She was born dead beneath the shadow of the dead mountain. Born dead to walk with the dead until at last her body completed its slow death and left her lifeless mind to wander free. That was how things were meant to be. That was why the dead had chosen her as their guardian. She knew it was so. A thrashing in the brush caught Sæthryd’s ear. The valley is ours. The paths are ours. They belong to us. They belong to the dead alone. Abandoning the fire, she threw her door ajar and ran barefoot into the snow. The valley was hers. No one must be allowed to enter. She hurried to the sound, half bent at the waist, her hair flying in the waxing wind, and lunged into the winter-bare branches. They scratched her cheek, drawing blood. But she pushed on undaunted, until, the source of the disturbance discovered, she stopped. A crow flapped in the brush, its foot caught in one of Sæthryd’s snares. She reached out grinning and snatched the bird, crushing its throat in her hands. It struggled to free itself and its wings flapped frantically. But Sæthryd did not cease the pressure of her fingers. The crow grew still. It is well. You too are now dead, little bird. As are all here. It is well. You may pass. Still smiling, she took the bird’s body and hurried back to her hut. It was cold, and her limbs ached for the warmth of the fire. Inside, the fire was roaring. Ducking outside again briefly, Sæthryd scooped snow into a kettle and set it over the fire to melt. She sat by the fire, plucking and dressing her victim and, as she cut the bird into pieces and dropped them into the kettle, Sæthryd sang wordlessly in her mirth. The snow began to fall heavily. A wind blew down the valley. Sæthryd’s song, like a wail both cold and wild, rose with the smoke of her fire. The noise, borne aloft by the weather, journeyed afar to be heard by the hill folk. They heard her call and whispered in frightened voices. The wild woman was awake. ~*~ Open for comments, suggestions, revision, or catcalls. __________________ People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect. But actually, from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey... stuff.