The Yule Log RPG

[Bêthberry]

The Yule Log

The longest night was upon them, the winter solstice, when a fleeting few hours of sunlight waned and darkness waxed upon the land. Blinding winds and bitter snow harrowed the land outside The Green Man Free House. Yet some must venture out, for on this night must be found a beacon of light as a reminder that dark was not eternal. The Yule Log must be found, stripped of branches, decorated with holly and mistletoe and evergreen, and brought indoors to burn twelve nights, burn continuously, to mark good favour and fortune for the coming year.

On this night, man and wight, dwarf and elf, troll and bear and boar and other denizens of the sleeping forests—yea even a hobbit or three--were bound by the ancient lore. There would be feasting aplenty, and wassail and ale, and tales that chilled the soul in competition with the winter’s cold. For each night, once the Yule Log was lit, some would stand watch over it, never letting the flickering flames abate the long night long, for twelve nights. And to comfort their cold watch, they were bound to tell tales, tales of ghosts and wights and any manner of fell beast, to cheer their spirits and keep the spirits that haunted the cold outside the doors.

So this, then, is the solstice story of the Barrow Downs for this year which marks the half decade of the new millennium of the Seventh Age. Come one, come all Downers, RPGers or not, take warmth from the Yule Log, and share your tales of ghosts and goblins. Weave a new character or wrap an old one round ye for warmth and tarry here these twelve nights. Your Innkeeper be known by the name of Carr Dagnysson.

It is early in the third age, in the Iron Hills beyond Erebor and Dale and north of Mirkwood. The Hobbits have not yet begun their Wandering Days.

Merry Yule to you all, Downers. Bêthberry

[Arry]

‘Greenman . . . up ahead, I’m thinking.’ In the darkness beneath the weak stars and hidden moon, the outlines of three small figures appeared and disappeared in the swirling snow. ‘Leastwise, here’s the blaze Madoc put here last summer,’ said Andwise, brushing the flakes from the axe cut in the tall fir’s trunk. ‘Got the three smaller gouges there just above it.’

Willem urged the pony from beneath the sheltering boughs with several insistent tugs on the lead line. His brothers followed along, their cloaks pulled tight about them, as they trudged up the low rise overlooking The Greenman Free House. The lantern lit beneath the overhanging roof winked invitingly at the Hobbits the nearer they drew to it . . .

-o-o-o-

‘Was hail, you Harfoots!’ said Andwise, lifting his cup to his brothers. ‘Drink hail!’ they returned, raising their own. ‘And no goblins be near to mar our enjoyment of it,’ Andwise murmured as the rims of their mugs clinked. Willem and Madoc drank deep, enjoying the spiced concoction as it slid easily down their throats and warmed their bellies. Andwise picked out the piece of toasted bread that floated on the surface of his drink and chewed it slowly.

‘Master Dagnysson!’ called out Willem, his now empty mug waving in the air. ‘Another if you please. And one for my brother, Madoc.’

‘None for the slowpoke, there,’ Madoc added, grinning at Andwise. ‘Though if you’ll bring me his, I’ll sing you a song we have about this marvelous brew.’

‘Ah, you’ll sing it anyway, you know that,’ laughed Andwise. ‘I can see the drink has already loosed your tongue. Go on, then.’

Madoc took the cup from Andwise’s hands and took a quick swallow. He cleared his throat, humming the tune at first. At the urging of his brothers he sang the words, his clear tenor, weaving merrily about them:

The nut-brown ale, the nut-brown ale,
Puts downe all drinke when it is stale,

The toast, the nut-meg, and the ginger,
Will make a sighing man a singer,
Ale gives a buffet in the head,
"But ginger under proppes the brayne;
When ale would strike a strong man dead,
Then nut-megge temperes it againe,

The nut-brown ale, the nut-brown ale,
Puts downe all drinke when it is stale . . .

A gust of wind whipped down from the north and battered against the shutters as the last notes rang out. The Hobbits shivered, recalling stories of shadowed creatures that lived beyond the Grey Mountains and the Withered Heath. They drew their chairs nearer the warmth of the fireplace and the light from the burning log.

[Bêthberry]

A rustling and thump of branch echoed in the dark, accompanied by creak and groan of wood against wood as the winter wind whipped around the Green Man Inn, knocking oak and yew branches over the top of the wooden barricade that surrounded the small village. With imagination fired by the wassail you could almost imagine the wood singing along with Madoc's song, providing a ghostly echo to his merry words. Carr Dagnysson, his gimpy leg aching from the cold, stopped his hauling of the barrel into the kitchen long enough to listen to the song. They were strange creatures, these haflings, nearly half the size of the men in the village, but their cheery spirits could be counted on to give heart to others.

~ ~ ~

Outside, a dark shape that gleamed luminous under the moon shifted and lumbered towards the wooden stakes that provided harbour to the village. A large nose poked at the barricade, testing for weakened planks and then it caught scent of something. It stopped, motionless for a time. Then it sniffed at the air, scenting fir pitch burning and let loose a low wonking moan that seemed to be echoed from the forest beyond the village. The shape backed away from the barricade, but then, drawn by the hunger in its belly, it moved forward again, skulking around to find a north side of the wind which didn't carry the scent of the burning log.

And the wind battered the sign of the Inn, so that it swung in a sort of drumming accompaniment to the halfling's song.

[Envinyatar]

The sounds of the wind as it battered about the public house brought news to the two tall figures that trudged down the snow skewed path toward the door. Their walking staffs, dark and heavy from woods far from this northern land crunched against the icy underlayings of the most recent snowfall.

‘And tell me again, my dear Mori, why we’ve come to this grace forsaken place?’ The question hung for a moment in the icy air as the wind stilled itself for a moment. ‘Stamo pulled his heavy fur cloak closer about him only half expecting an answer to his idle complaint.

‘Hush, ‘Stamo. Can you not hear it yourself. There are old things moving in the darkness. Some for good and some for ill . . . and some,’ he said, closing his eyes as his ears took in the night, ‘. . . some neither, but only for themselves.’

‘Stamo shifted on his cold feet, trying to bring some feeling back to the rising numbness of his lower extremities. ‘All I can hear at the moment is the creaking of that old wooden sign. Though now that you speak, I note it’s stopped.’ The small hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he too caught a whiff of something other than the smoke from the pub’s chimney. ‘Best we move ourselves within, I think,’ he said low, nudging his companion in the back with the gnarled knob end of his staff. ‘That is, I don’t relish the thought of a stand off with those “some for ill” creatures you spoke of.’

The heavy oaken door swung open easily at Mori’s touch, and he led them into the entryway. It was warm within, the fire inviting as it crackled merrily in the grate. Stamping the snow from their boots on the thick rushy mats and shaking the snow from their cloaks, they looked about the room.

‘There, that place over there, near the blaze,’ said ‘Stamo, pointing to a table near where three small beings sat. ‘If I move close enough to the heat I think I can thaw these frozen limbs.’ He moved toward his chosen chair and sat down, easing his cloak over the tall chair back. Hiking the thick, dark blue woolen material of his outer robe to his knees he savored the warmth as it began to penetrate his boots and long knit socks.

Mori placed his own cloak over the back of his chair and leaned in toward his companion. ‘I’m going up to the counter to get us some food and drink.’ He eyed ‘Stamo and raised his brow as the man inched his boots closer to the flames. ‘And don’t think about pulling your boots off to get those toes of yours warmer. The stench will drive out those nearby and we’ll both be asked to leave!’

With a warning glare, he stood and walked up to where the ale casks stood. ‘Good sir!’ Mori hailed the innkeeper. ‘Two of those steaming drinks,’ he said, pointing to the mugs the Hobbits were holding. ‘What is it called? It smells wonderful! And would you have something for two cold and weary travelers to fill their bellies with?’ He fished for the pouch in the deep pocket of his indigo robe. And finding it, pulled out a number of oddly marked gold coins. ‘Will this do?’ he said, leaving them in a small heap on the wooden counter. ‘Pleasant place here, The Green Man. Interesting name. Is it a local one, here in the north?’ he went on.

His eyes slid about the room, noting the shutters were latched tight, and the door bore iron holders where a stout beam might be put to secure it. ‘Good,’ he murmured to himself, not wanting the terrors in the darkness to intrude upon this haven.

[Undómë]

The tall man’s question drew her attention, waking her again as had the song of the three little folk. Old Goody Holtsdottir turned her wrinkled face to where the voice had come from. The one good eye of that ancient crone peered out from between the strands of grey shot hair, focusing on the speaker. It darted down the length of him and up, coming to rest with a look of surprised interest at last on his face. He bore a certain glamour, it seemed to her. And though he wore it easily enough, she thought he was constrained by it.

Guðælfr, for that was her given name, shifted her old bones on the hard seat of the chair and looked at the man’s companion. Relaxed as a cat might be before the fire, though like a cat, she minded, his senses were not dulled by his enjoyment of the warmth. And at need, she thought, he might spring up, the mask of drowsy contentment thrown off.

‘The wheel of the year turns in this cold land this night,’ she said, leaning out into the light from her dark corner. ‘See,’ she said, nodding toward the hearth. ‘The Green Man gives us one of his great limbs to push back the darkness and holly from his hair with which to keep it lit. That and the good barley for the wassail, the wheat for the bread, and the fruits of the vine and flower for mead and wine. A good ‘un, he is.’ ‘Though he suffers no fools,’ she cackled’ ‘ ‘Pon you, it is, to keep from the darkness.’

She cocked her head listening to the wind as it beat upon the shutters. Her gaze flicked to the sturdy door. ‘Hear that!’ she asked. ‘There’s a voice ‘at moans in the wind. The trees beyond the village have caught it in their limbs and throw it back now. Listen! Listen now! Something hungry comes, I think.’

Goody sat back in her chair, the clarity afforded by the present moment, passing. She mumbled a few indistinct words over the cup of cooling wassail in her hand, peering into it as she swirled the fragrant liquid with a bony finger of her other hand.

[Child of the 7th Age]

'Twas the night of the winter solstice, a time of deep magic and distant memories that had been almost buried under shadow. For not only did the dwarves and hobbits and men huddle close to the fire and tell their tales, but even the creatures of the dark forests and wild plains came together to share a morsel of warmth.

There were two paths that led to the Green Man Free House. The one skirted the front facade of the Inn: a path filled with two-leggeds and the animals they called their own. But another smaller track came around the back, leading up from the river and a vast thicket of trees. Here there were few two-leggeds but, instead, all kind of creatures rambling and lumbering and leaping into the outer courtyard of the Inn, right next to a broken down shed.

A snowy owl sat on the eve of the Inn, staring down at the small assemblage of beasts who had made their way into the back courtyard. Several had slipped and slithered under the gate; three creatures had flown down from the trees, and a few of the larger visitors had pushed over an old board in the fence, intent on wriggling their way inside. A small pile of garbage had been set to burn earlier that day, and a few smouldering coals yet remained to throw out its warmth over the animals now slinking inside the courtyard.

[Folwren]

Berrick waited half a second before sitting in the place that the dwarf made for him. He paused in answering Egil's question as his eyes drifted over the gathered company, and then - just before he could actually make any sort of reply to his inquiry - one of the hobbits (joined at that instant by another two of his kind) suddenly let out a horrific shriek and went surprisingly limp.

Berrick blinked and then chuckled quietly and turned to the dwarf. Others had already gone to the fainted Halfing's side and were attempting to revive him.

'I am merely traveling,' he said, 'and in such freezing weather, any shelter is a welcome sight. I'll likely be on my way tomorrow. . .or sometime.

'But these tales being told are very intereting,' he went on, turning to look at the figure in the grey cloak. 'I do not know much about the history of the lands Northward, nor much doings of the elves. . .I come from farther south, but we have our tales. Let me think of one that might interest you.'

He fell silent and lowered his eyes to think. . .

[Folwren]

After some little time, Berrick lifted his head again. 'Aha!' he cried. 'I've got one. It may or may not be true, don't ask me to verify it, for my Uncle told it me. I won't deny, though, that he didn't tell me many a tall tale in my younger days. This was one of his more serious ones, though, and it's not easily forgotten. . .'

It happened in the Autumn of that year when my Uncle was practically a boy - no older than twenty-four summers - that he got word that the Silver Fox had been seen roaming the Grey Wood. Well, my Uncle lost no time in getting a horse and going off to find the fo. He and two companions rode off together.

Days passed, and still no sign of the Silver Fox was seen. My Uncle’s companions gave up the chase and returned home. They laughed at my Uncle’s persistence and told him he’d do better to go home and hunt for eggs.

My Uncle Brimbor paid no ear to their jeering and when they’d gone, he continued his hunt. That very afternoon he scared up the fox out of hiding and cross country he led my Uncle and did his best to loose him, but Uncle Brimbor had a fine horse beneath him and they kept to the fox’s heels until the little animal was caught and cornered in a bay of rock with only one entrance.

“Very well, you have trapped me,” the Silver Fox panted, turning around to face him. His tail drooped and rested on the ground and his eyes were sad. “But it would have been better for you had you not. For the last treasure is at the foot of the Mountains and guarded by a black demon named Gorlab. I would not go there, if I were you.”

But my Uncle cared nothing of some rumored demon and his eyes glowed with the thought of treasure. So the Silver Fox told him where to go and how to find the place of the treasure and Uncle Brimbor left him. He returned home and got his two friends and together, they rode off to find this treasure.

After three days journey, they came finally to the place the fox’s directions led them. It was a rocky, dim, and gloomy cleft at the bottom of a tall Mountain. The three companions dismounted and led their horses over the broken and rocky ground. The air was hot and still and suffocation, but the three young men seemed not to care. Their minds were on the treasure waiting for them.

As they passed up through this narrow gorge, they saw ahead a bridge or arch of stone cross over their path. They stopped before it and looked up. On it, words were inscribed of many tongues, old and new. They read in the language they knew:

“Stranger, past this place, your life is forfeit. Take one step further, and you shall go no farther.”

“Twas a witty fellow who wrote that,” my Uncle’s companions said. “But it’s nothing but a pack of fairy tales. There’s nothing ahead as far as I can see that would harm anyone.” Indeed, it certainly looked that way, for beyond the arch, the way grew less rocky and there were green plants growing. But no sooner were those words out of the young man’s mouth that Uncle Brimbor’s horse began to rear and plunge and try to get back. It dragged Uncle Brimbor back away from the arch in his attempt to hold him, but it finally broke loose and bolted off. My Uncle’s companions laughed and mounted their horses.

“We’ll wait for you at the treasure,” they called to him, and urged their horses forward under the stone gateway. As soon as their horses’ fore hooves touched the shadow cast by the stone, a great, pitch black cloud rose from the ground.

Uncle Brimbor could later remember no definite shape the black thing took, but such terror flowed from it that he cowered back against the stone walls of the gorge and covered his face. He heard the horrible sound of two horses screaming, and a great yell from one of his companions - but then there was utter and complete silence.

After a long time, he ventured to open his hands and look. There was the arch, and there was the grim writing but no where did he see a trace of that terrible black shadow, nor of his two companions and their horses.

My Uncle went home and told people of his adventures, but few believed him. However, it could not be denied that his two friends were missing. . .and that they were never found or heard of again.

[Arry]

‘It’s alright, boy,’ said Andwise to Birger. ‘He has a weak constitution when it comes to ghostie tales and such. Here, let us rouse him.’

Madoc grabbed the bun and cheese Willem had left on the table and waved it back and forth beneath his companion’s nose. Andwise raised the stricken Hobbit’s head a bit, saying all the while to him, ‘Come now! The Inn’s cat is about to make off with the last of your breakfast. Best get up and make a stand!’

There were faint groans as Willem roused himself, grabbing the cheese-filled bun from Madoc. ‘Cat, my . . .’ His voice trailed off, remembering he was not at home, nor in the company only of his brothers. The blood had returned to his head now and he blushed. Andwise and Madoc leveraged him up to his chair and shoved a hot cup of tea in front of him that Birger had brought, laced with a strong spirit. ‘That should put the starch in your backbone,’ Andwise remarked, sniffing the cup as he passed it to his brother.

[Koobdooga]

‘A good story, Master Andrail!’ Egil chuckled and shook his head, drawing some curious stares from those who’d been listening to the man’s tale. ‘Oh no, ‘ he said, ‘it’s not that I’m thinking the tale was in the least funny. It was chilling, to be sure. And especially in light of the other news those gathered here have brought.’ He chuckled again. ‘It’s just that I never held much with horses. Always thought them devilish beasts – too big, too ornery. But I must say, the one your Uncle Brimbor rode appeared the most intelligent creature in that party. And, well, I never thought to hear my self say that of such a beast!’

Egil called the server over and had his and Berrick’s cups refilled. ‘You said you might be leaving tomorrow, Master Andrail. I was thinking of heading out then, myself.’ He paused and took a drink, collecting his thoughts. 'I was going northward, but the news I’ve heard of doings there makes me think I ought to take another direction. If you don’t mind my asking, will you be heading back south? Or west, perhaps? And if so, would you like a traveling companion? I’m a fair fighter with my ax. And two to keep watch at night would give more sleep. But think it over, think it over. I don’t mean to pressure you . . . naught but an offer on my part.’

[Tevildo]

Pleased that he would be able to show off in front of the guests, Tevildo waited for the animals to be silent and then began to speak....

"In the First Age of Arda in the far eastern land of Hildórien, the Secondborn Children arose. Now many of the Vala were taken with these upstarts and believed they could do no wrong. Only Melko could see and understand the true state of things. He was impatient with the slow designs of the Music and warned the others that no good would come from the Aftercomers. Yet Manwe and the others paid no heed to his warning, but unwisely shut him out from the company.

Now, even in those earliest days, the Apanónar took great delight in themselves and often acted as if they were masters of all of Arda, though we all know this is definitely not true. And some of their number were so full of themselves that they decided to follow the course of the Sun and began journeying towards the West. Seeing the Secondborn Children struggling along the road, that busybody Varda decided to try and help, for the earliest Men did a very poor job of hunting and were constantly in need of food. It is also said that these Men were lonely and cried out for a companion.

And Varda travelled to the Secondborn in disguise and she brought with her a pack of giant hounds and made a gift of them to the leaders of Men. And she said these words to the Men: "Here is a companion who will be with you forever. These hounds will be a reflection of my love for you. Regardless of how selfish and childish and unloveable you may be, this new companion will accept you as you are and will love you as I do. And the hounds were pleased to be with the Men and wagged their tails in approval.

Now, when the wise Melko saw all this, he was sore distressed. For he knew what would happen. And he warned the others but they did not heed him. But one day Varda went again to the camps of the Men and what she saw filled her heart with sadness. The Men had all become filled with pride. Each one strutted and preened like a peacock and believed himself worthy of the rule of Arda. For every day the Dogs looked into the eyes of men and told them they were worthy of honor, and the foolish Secondborn Children believed this lie.

Varda did not know what to do to correct her mistake, and even Manwe was upset to hear what had happened. Finally, in desperation, the couple turned to Melko for help."

Cat stood up and pranced about the firepit, looking each of the animals directly in the eye. "And now, my friends, before I go any further, does anyone in this fine circle know whom Melko called upon to correct Varda's terrible mistake?" Tevildo glanced from one animal to the next and waited for someone to speak.

[Undómë]

The tall men had come back into the room. Shaking off the snow from their cloaks as ordinary men would do before they entered, stamping the slush from their boots on the rushy mats of the vestibule. And now they sat at their ease near the fire, drinking another cup of the warm wassail. Again, much as ordinary men would do.

Their boots had clopped solidly on the wooden floor when they walked she noted, but their footsteps, in her mind, trailed off to and from lands beyond her ken, she thought. And their eyes took in all with a considering look, as if weighing the scene and those involved in it in some hidden balance. She wondered if this little gathering was found wanting.

Goody felt a prickling on her scalp, and a sudden chill that trickled down her bent old back bone, though truth be told the chill was more of an excitement than a feeling of ill will. Some would say the Sight’s come on her. But Goody would laugh and poke fun at such nonsense. ‘Nothing but my years!’ she would cackle. ‘And I pays attention and remembers.’

She eyed the man nearest her as he bent forward to feed a stick of holly to the fire. Her old ears strained to hear the melody he seemed to hum. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, her curiosity roused at the unfamiliar tune. ‘Your tune – are there words to it?’

[Huan]

Birger’s eyes lit up as he heard the barking draw near. ‘White Paw!’ he called, dropping down to one knee in the snow. The dog put his front paws on the boy’s shoulders, nearly knocking Birger over as he licked the boy’s face. Birger stood, scooping up a large handful of snow as he did so. He made it into a hard snowball and threw it far in the direction he and Mara were moving. With a wolfish grin, White Paw chased after it.

‘My dog, Mara m’am,’ he explained brushing his hands off on his thighs. He thought she had looked a little concerned as the wolfish looking dog had bounded toward him. ‘Well, the Green Man’s dog, really. But I take care of him.’ He shaded his eyes, looking after dog who was now trotting back, snowball held delicately in his maw. ‘He’s my friend,’ he said, glancing up at her, to see how she would take this small confidence on his part.

They had come almost to the small stand of yew that stood all bare and twisty in a small fold of the long extending foothills. Birger hauled two a canvas slings from the back of the hand cart, handing one to Mara. ‘Looks like the wind and age has downed some branches. Let’s collect them in our slings first, then see if there’s any more need to be cut.’ He took stock of the trees, chewing on his bottom lip as he watched the breezes blow the snow on them about their crowns. They looked like those old ladies with the swirling white hair Goody sometimes talked about; the ones that danced beneath the moon to turn the seasons right.

White Paw had come to stand beside him, leaning just a little against his leg. ‘Think we’ll just pick up the blowed down branches today,’ he half whispered to the dog. ‘Wouldn’t be right to take axe or saw to such today, I’m thinking.’

[Envinyatar]

Mori smiled as he turned to the old woman. ‘Was I singing, Mistress Goody? Stamo often chides me for it. Though, usually I’ve no idea I’m doing it.’ He looked toward the floor, his mind recalling the notes he had been humming. ‘Ah, that one has no words.’ He looked toward Goody once again and hummed part of the interweaving melody. ‘Pretty isn’t it . . . and pleasing.’

The two men sat with the old woman as morning past into late afternoon. They spoke with her at times, in low voices. And of times she would be seen to nod at what they said, and at others she would shake her finger at them as if they had gotten something wrong. And she would speak, then, flicking her eyes briefly at times from the fire to the two men.

[Undómë]

At the insistence, the cajoling, of Mori and Stamo, Goody said she would eat a little soup with them and perhaps some of the cook’s soft bread to dip in it. She wasn’t hungry, really; she rarely was these days. And when she did manage to get something down, it made her nauseous. She managed a few spoonfuls of broth, pushing the vegetables and meat about with her spoon.

‘They should be back by now,’ she said, as Stamo finished his soup and sat back in his chair, his gaze on her. Goody picked at her piece of bread, dropping the bits into her bowl. ‘Birger. And the woman. They were going to collect some holly and rowan, too. For the fire. I shouldn’t have sent him for yew, too. Too far on these short days. Too far.’ She shivered, pushing her bowl away from her.

[Rose]

It was hunger, mostly that made White Paw begin to hurry his boy and the other along. While they had gathered branches at their various stops, the dog had gone out hunting. He was normally quite successful at nosing out the odd brave rabbit or even the less satisfying small mouse. He would hear their skittering footfalls as they tracked along the snowy crust and stalk them until he made his kill. But today the woods were unnaturally quiet, with only the fall of a clump of snow from some branch breaking the thick silence.

The two-foots were oblivious, it seemed.

Something seemed to press in upon the woods. Something waiting and watching. All the animals had gone to ground, and no solitary raven kaw’d from the trees.

Hunger turned to an uneasiness that prodded him to herd his charges home. A nip here at Birger’s ankles, a tug on the woman’s cloak. The sun was sinking well below the lower branches of the trees as the trio neared the gate to the village.

Behind them, in the darkening foothills a moaning cry rippled through the snowy firs . . .

[Envinyatar]

Mori bid the creatures in the little courtyard stay near. ‘Even you, badger,’ he called out to the furry rump that was just scurrying toward the hole beneath the fence. ‘Your fierce temper and long claws will be no match for what has frightened the skin-changer.’ He tapped the end of his staff against the wooden structure. ‘Nor is there a burrow deep enough beneath the ground to escape him should he turn his will toward you.’

He turned, heading for the door when one of the smaller animals called out. ‘Well, then, who will protect us? The fence is a poor excuse for a barrier. We’ll all be killed . . . or worse . . .’ Mori looked down. It was one of the mice speaking. The little brown fellow stood on the toe of his boot now, stretching up on his hind legs, whiskers twitching with worry.

‘It will hold today and through the night, mousekin,’ Mori said in a firm voice. ‘Tomorrow will have to see to itself. Those inside will have had time to devise a plan.’ He smiled, looking up where the snowy owl perched. ‘My companion and I will help as we may. But stay in the courtyard, you will be safe for now.’

Mori opened the door; the edge of his long cape swirled about his ankles. He felt it catch on something for a moment, then pull free.

-----

Stamo got up from his seat near Wenda as Mori entered, nodding for his companion to join him a little ways away. ‘One of His strays,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Must have got loosed somehow from the northern prisons he kept them in. Not just a wight, either, or so I’m thinking.’

‘Seeking a strong body for his uses,’ Mori returned, shrugging his cape from his shoulders and laying it over a chair back. He nodded thoughtfully at Wenda. ‘And wouldn’t she be just the prize he was seeking.’ He flicked his gaze about the little room, taking the measure of its occupants. ‘Have they thought on what they might do,’ he asked. ‘Not yet, I think,’ Stamo answered. He looked over to where the old woman was fussing with the fire.

Goody had just thrown another few branches of rowan on the log, and now she was poking at the core of the blaze. ‘Setting it to rights?’ he asked, drawing near. ‘Let me give it a stir.’ He poked the tip of his staff into the darker area of the embers, positioning the new fuel at the heart of the fire. The log end blazed up white, licking round the edges of his staff. He seemed to murmur a few words as he tapped the log thrice and withdrew his staff. ‘There you go, Mistress Goody. Burning bright as ever . . .’

[Huan]

Birger sat on his little stool near the doorway to the kitchen. His chores were done, and Cook had everything in order for the midday meal. She would call him, she’d said, sending him out to sit for a while and drink a cup of steaming tea.

He was all eyes and ears as he strove to hear what the others were talking about. He shivered, despite the layers of clothing he had on. More from dread though than from the cold. Mistress Wenda looked very bad and scared, too. And she was someone he never thought to look so. She walked tall in his little world, like some untouchable being, brave and strong and fearless. He was hard put to reconcile how he saw her now with the image of her he’d always had.

White Paw sat next to him, leaning against his legs. Birger was glad of the warmth and of the friendly, secure feeling the dog gave him. ‘Can you hear them, boy?’ he asked, whispering in the dog’s ear. ‘Something about a terrible wight and such and coming after Mistress Wenda?’ He shivered again, thinking how just yesterday, he and Mara had gone far from the little village, to the north. No wonder White Paw had tried to hurry them home!

He glanced over at Old Goody who was herself watching one of the tall men as he stirred up the fire for her. There was an odd look on her face, he thought, as she glanced into the flames. But the fire had blazed up as he watched her, drawing his attention. And the light from it and the dancing flames brought a kernel of hope to him. He put his arms about White Paw’s neck. ‘It’ll be alright, won’t it, boy?’

[littlemanpoet]

The big man called Stamo came in from outside. He took his friend Mori aside and whispered, reckoning not quite aright that they were out of hearing, for Wenda's ears were uncommonly sharp; but not so sharp as to catch every word. 'strays ...' whispered Stamo. '... loosed ... north ... prisons ... kept ... Not ... wight either ...' Mori hissed back, 'strong body ... uses ...' Then Mori turned a little and nodded at Wenda meaningfully; Wenda was careful not to show that she more than caught his look out of the corner of her eye. ‘ ... she ... just ... prize ... seeking.’

Wenda's eyes widened. There was no mistaking his meaning. The thing was after her! She was not sure what the quiet thing was, wraith or worse. Whatever it was, it was the worst thing she'd ever come across in all her days, few as they were. Ravenous wolfpacks hungry for her two reindeer, Pada and Muna, she could outwit and outrace. This was beyond her. The being was beyond all the others here as well!

"I need to go from here," she murmured.

"Stay here," said Mara. "You are safe here."

Wenda turned on her, wide eyed with terror. "No one is safe here! I must leave! It seeks me! Not any of you, but if I stay, you are doomed too!"

"Hush! Hush! Do not say such things!" Mara soothed. "We will find a way."

Wenda subsided and stared into the fire. Stamo came over and exchanged pleasantries with Goody, then made to add his staff to the fire. He murmured some words, tapped the log thrice; the fire was hungry for it, or so it seemed. Then he withdrew his staff; Wenda expected the blaze to calm, but it did not. That staff. Wenda looked at Stamo again. Did her eyes see aright? Was that staff not charred, where he had put it in the fire?

Wenda thanked him for setting the blaze higher, and watched him a while.

Then she noticed the boy sitting by his dog, staring at her wide-eyed with fear. He put his arms about the dog's neck. ‘It’ll be alright, won’t it, boy?’

Wenda's heart went out to him. She thought a moment: Bergir was his name. It was not good that the boy should fear so. She wished it were otherwise, and that maybe she could allay his fear. She smiled.

"How is your dog called, Bergir lad?"

"White Paw, ma'am."

"A good name and a beautiful dog," she smiled. "Would you sit closer to the fire, you and white Paw? I would be glad of your company, and maybe you of the warmth?"

[Rose]

His master was a shy boots, especially about the females. White Paw nudged Birger’s thigh with his nose and giving a low growl, sat smartly on his haunches, one paw on Birger’s knee. His tail swish-swished back and forth on the wooden floor.

Tugging at Birger’s breeches with his teeth, White Paw pulled him toward a bench nearer the fire. One very near the chair on which the woman sat. There was something particularly intriguing about her his nose told him. And he felt an instant liking for her, a trust. White Paw sat leaning against the boy’s legs once again, but his eyes were fixed on the woman; his gaze following her every move.

[Huan]

Once the Halflings switched to their plain tipped arrows, Birger moved a little apart from them on the roof top. He fished about in his pocket and found his little sling. He grasped it in his right hand and dipped into the pouch of stones that he’d hung at his belt. His fingers felt a nice largish stone, one with some sharp corners here and there.

Birger spied out a certain wolf who was leaping and snapping at the birds and at the cats, too, who were darting in here and there to harry him. He took careful aim and let fly the missile toward the beast. It could not, of course, kill the wolf, but it hit him hard and sharp on his snout, causing him to cry out in pain.

One of the cats seized the opportunity and went flying toward the beast's head, his sharp front claws sinking into at least one of the wolf’s eyes as his back claws raked mercilessly at the already painful snout.

[piosenniel]

It was curiously quiet as wren peeked down from his perch beneath the eaves. The new day’s light was just creeping across the foothills of the mountains, running along the long plane from which they rose. Wren looked down at the courtyard; no creature stirred. And all the bloody leavings of yesterday’s battle had been covered over by a light falling of snow.

Smoke still drifted upward from the chimney. He could see that now as he flew out to the bare, gnarled branches of the apple tree that stood just outside the stone wall of the courtyard. A few glowing embers drifted up with the smoke, burning brightly in the early morning.

Wren shook himself, fluffing out his feathers to keep what little warmth there was trapped against his little form. He hopped about on his branch, hoping soon to see the back door of the Green Man come open and the sturdy arm of the man who worked there begin to scatter handfuls of bread crumbs and other leavings.

As he fluttered about, Wren’s eye caught sight of a small flock of dark birds as they rose up from a stand of trees . . . there in the distance . . . in the forest that blanketed the foothills. They wheeled about in the morning’s air and then scattered. Wren shivered, not from the cold, but from the thought that they had come from that part of the forest where the shadow creature had been . . .

[Tevildo]

Tevildo's post

By the time Tevildo awoke from his sleep, most of the Inn's servants were bustling about the Inn and its grounds, clearing up the considerable mess that had been left over from the night before. Breakfast was being served in the common room. Several guests had arisen early, finished off a platter of biscuits and eggs, and were now joining in the general effort to repair fences and gates as well as to chop up fallen branches that could be used for the firepit.

Tevildo watched all this activity with great interest but without the slightest desire to participate or help anyone. Once he thought no one was looking, he tried out his legs and, to his great delight, discovered that he could now walk from one end of the room to the other, if only with a pronounced limp. He had to admit that under the circumstances he had not done badly. He was nestled in a snug box with piles of blankets in which to luxuriate. He could feel the warmth radiating from the stove as well as the pale winter sunlight that stole in from a window just above.

Before he'd drifted off to sleep, he had heard two of the fellows discussing his deeds in such laudatory terms that even Tevildo could think of no reason to complain. These same fellows dropped by every now and then, scratching him behind the ear, and leaving choice tidbits that he could eat.

Tevildo had always viewed domestic house cats with disdain, thinking them almost the lowest form of life in Arda. After all, what was life without an adventure and a bit of fighting? Still, he was now beginning to have serious second thoughts. It was so pleasant to have folk cater to him. He rubbed against their legs and purred and saw admiration reflected in their eyes. These poor two-legged did seem to have a definite weakness for fluffy white cats, and Tevildo was not adverse to getting out of them everything that could be got.

By the time the servers had finished cleaning up from breakfast, Tevildo had made his decision. It would not be admiss to spend a spot of time at the Green Man; he could bask in the warmth of the common room and charm the guests out of good chunks of their dinners. On the side, he could also make life miserable for wren and the other twittering chits. He might be too fat and well fed to hunt them down, but he could certainly give them a little scare.

Outside, it was cold and snowy. Perhaps by spring, he would decide to take off when the flowers came out and the sun shone bright. For now, however, he would bide his time. He was, after all, a cat and enjoyed lives aplenty. Unlike these poor mortals, time was one thing he possessed in great abundance.

_________________________

Child of the 7th Age's post for Owl:

"My friends, listen carefully," Owl nestled down on the bare, snowy limb of the old oak tree to speak with the birds and beasts who now crowded together in the courtyard. "Mid-winter is long past, and we have overstayed. No one can quarrel with what we have done here. You have much to be proud of. Still it is time for us to leave the world of Men and return to our homes. For some of you, that will be very close." Here Owl glanced over at Wren who was perched on a fencepost. "But for others, like Bear, the path will be long and hard indeed."

"Wherever you go, to whatever realms your journey takes you, do not forget what happened here today. Tell the tale to the trees of the forest and sing soft lullabyes to your little ones so that the brave deeds here, both by men and beasts, shall never be forgotten. Next January, when the clock strikes midnight on Midwinter's eve, we shall meet again in the courtyard of the Green Man. For so it has been for countless years, and so it shall be for numberless ages stretching out towards the end."

"Say your goodbyes and be off as quickly as you can. I bid you adieu till next year." With those final words, Owl flapped his wings and flew upward, heading straight and true towards the great pine forests of the north. And each of the birds and beasts slipped off, some in groups and others on their own, to return to their homes. And, flying through the ash grey sky, Owl was content to know that all was well: another yearly cycle had begun.

[littlemanpoet]

Toward mid-morning, a strange party of wanderers wended their way toward the Green Man Free House. It would be more appropriate to say that three of them walked, two trotted, and one strode in great big, earth-clutching strides.

Wenda did not speak. Mara was attentive to Wenda's wellbeing. Arato kept his own counsel. Pada and Muna trotted ahead for the most part, but every once in a while they doubled back to nuzzle their noses against the unresponsive palm of her hand. Then they would walk slowly by her side, until a scent or sound caught their awareness, and off they went again.

High above them strode Greenbeard, hooming and humming to himself, mulling and supposing and wondering about the Green Man Free House Mara had told him of. He was the first to see it, and the last to speak of it.

"There's chimney smoke wafting ahead," Arato announced.

"Humm!" mumbled Greenbeard.

"Ah! The Green Man at last!" said Mara. "I'll be glad to get indoors and get you under some nice warm blankets, Wenda. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Wenda nodded stiffly but said nothing.

"Hoom! Hom! You call it the Green Man Free House; an odd name. What do you mean by it, if that does not take too long to tell?"

"I think you should ask old Goody about that," Mara replied.

They came out of the thickness of the trees. There stood the outbuildings and fencing of the Green Man, hiding the cozy inn from view; that is, the view of the humans. The Ent could see the entire roof and much of the grounds over fence and roof.

"Hmmm and haroom! There has been much agoing on here judging by the trodden snow in so many places."

"I judge me that they've a story of their own to tell," Arato said. "I'll go in and tell them we're here."

The others waited outside, the Ent humming tunefully and introspectively all the while.

[Undómë]

‘Well, I never.....’

Goody shook her head slowly, trying to clear her vision. She rubbed at her eyes, too, but no amount of fussing would change what she saw as she stood on the step just outside the public house. There, heading toward The Green Man was the crown of a tree.

‘.....thought to see something like that again!’

Not the small, neatly leafed crown of the lady tree she’d seen in her childhood, stirring the plants to life in her Gran’s garden. Nay, this was one of the tall walkers; the sort she’d only heard tales of and never seen.....no, not for all her own walking in the woods at the foot of the hills.

Still, he hummed as the lady had done that long time ago, though in a deeper voice. Goody smiled as the memory and the reality merged, and she found that she did not fear his approach.

‘Welcome, welcome to The Green Man!’ she called out. There were others with him, and though she recognized them, they were but dim images on the periphery of her vision. So focused was she on the lordly tree.

She hobbled out slowly to where he stood, leaning on the knob of her twisted, yew walking stick as she went along. She found, as she walked, her step grew light. And her aching, bent back began to loosen of itself so that her last few steps she stood tall as her small frame allowed and carried her stick in one hand.

‘So very pleased to see one of your kind again,’ she said as she drew near him. Her words seemed to float before her, thin out.....like so much smoke in the wind.

He did not answer, but looked beyond her, a considering look on his face. She turned, wondering what it was that caught his attention so. There on the ground, a number of steps behind her, lay some crumpled form, still as death upon the snowy ground her stick beside her. Four figures gathered about the old husk, two women and two deer. And now from the Inn came others.....

Goody stepped back a pace, to take in more fully the great figure of the tall walker, the tree lord. His deep eyes had turned from the small commotion before him back to the forest from which he’d come.

‘Well, I guess I’ll see you there some time, then won’t I?’ she said, stepping around him as she headed toward the trees herself. ‘I’ve a mind to see where he walks these days,’ she went on. ‘The Green Man.’

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower drives my green age..... she hummed to herself as her footsteps carried her across the snow to the forest canopy. And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind how time has ticked a heaven round the stars.....

She slipped quietly beneath the dark boughs and in less than a wink, she was gone.....

[littlemanpoet]

Wenda looked at the lifeless form of old Goody, and moaned. "No! I needed to-" she lost the use of words and dropped to her needs by the body, caressing the old leathery face, weeping for many losses. Presently, Mara gently lifted her to her feet and drew her into the warmth of the Green Man Freehouse. Others of the House bore up Goody's body and laid it somewhere appropriate - Wenda didn't know for she was overcome.

Mara cooed over her as gentle as a mourning dove, but presently went seeking others, speaking her worry of Wenda to them, for she feared that the young woman might not be whole enough of soul and spirit to fare as she had before.

For her part, Wenda sat before the fire, staring, huddling into her cloak, her face blank, as if she had nothing to wait for her, nothing to plan for. Maybe she needs time, others said nearby.

A bowl of porridge was placed in her hands and she ate absently, as if it had no taste. When the bowl was empty, she held it loose in her hands, staring into the fire, until someone took it from her. They saw how her face was blank, and shook their heads. Would she remain so all the morning, and into the afternoon? They waited and watched, and left her alone all morning; only Mara came and sat by her and now and then whispered questions to her. She said no word.