The White Horse

[Bêthberry]

The White Horse

Gateway to Rohan
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of a single voice, crisp and measured, could be heard reciting aloud a tale of adventure and derring-do.

It was quickly swallowed up by boisterous rounds of applause and cheering calls of acclaim. A busy hum foretold excited activity in this den of the wordhoard.

Catching sight of those outside, the Innkeeper, Bethberry by name, called to them in a melodious voice which carried clearly through the crisp air of the Riddermark.

"Come in, come in, to the mead hall, famed where names can be made for oneself and renown gained. Come rub shoulders with veterans who tell their tales of warriors and kings, heroes and saviours, and with eager young braves ready to prove themselves in wordlore and win the name of glory afixed to their pen."

The large-gabled hall with rafters of splintered red fir met the eyes of the eager valiants. High above, banners proclaiming various endeavours and rewards swayed gently in rhythm with the curling smoke from a large stone fireplace, the fire of which burned with a particular intensity. Its warm cheer illumined face and muse.

Benches and tables flanked the walls, surrounded by all manner of food and drink, pot and vessel, paper, book, quill, and quire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Welcome to Rohan, the RPG kingdom where you can cut your teeth on your own storyline and play with veteran and new writers alike. It is a place to develope an appreciation for challenge and achievement, accomplishment in word and story well-crafted.

Here at The White Horse you can develope new characters, get to meet your fellow Rohirrim writers, and find new adventures to play. Stay in character, though.

You can contact the Innkeeper at Bethberry@barrowdowns.com

The Inn is currently closed and under construction, but will soon be open.

[ November 19, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

Barrow-wight unlocked the small wooden door and walked slowly into the dark room within. Carefully, with arms outstretched, he shuffled across the floor searching in the inky blackness for the lantern that should have been setting next to the door but was not. He cursed quietly as his knee came into sharp contact with the corner of a crate, the clinking of the bottles within sounded eerily like chimes in a cold morning breeze. His fingers at last found what he was looking for, and he quickly opened the lantern’s glass door and lit the wick.

The light revealed a small and tightly packed storage room filled with many barrels and crates, all stacked in dangerously high piles that reached the ceiling. Markings showed that some of the containers came from such far away places as Dol Amroth and Erebor. The White Horse was the best inn in Edoras, and its Innkeeper, Bethberry, made sure her customers had the best possible selection of food and drink. Grumbling at the bruise that was sure to grow on his injured knee, Barrow-wight continued into the kitchen and then out to the main room of the inn.

Shivering, he made his way to the great fireplace and started a few logs burning. Late November in Edoras was already cold, and it would take a while for the fire to heat the large room. He stood and looked around, making sure the tables were clean and the chairs were all in place. The first group of visitors would be coming soon, and he wanted to make sure the place was presentable. Hopefully old Fróma, the cook, would arrive soon and get the ovens lighted. The morning crowd was a hungry lot.

Barrow-wight moved to the front of the room and carefully opened the shutters which swung inwards and were secured to the wall with metal hooks. The windows, newly imported from Minas Anor, were covered in spiderweb patterns of frost. The darkness outside was slowly giving way to the coming sun, and people were already moving along the street beyond the glass. He heard Fróma come in the back door.

“Hurry and light the fires,” he shouted back to the old man who was getting a bit deaf. “I already see people heading our way.”

He opened the door and greeted the first guest with a happy “Good morning!”

I can’t wait until Bethberry returns, he thought. I hate opening up. It’s too cold.

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Rimbaud]

"What, pray, is so good about this morning?" came the impudent reply. The Wight quelled the impulse to strangle the wretched mortal and instead bade him enter.

Rimbaud strolled in, examining every aspect of Bethberry's cosy tavern. He was dressed in his usual dark grey tunic, blue sash now jauntily slashing across his chest from his left shoulder to his right hip. After his initial perusal, he went straight to the table in the corner, where lay the Great Book of Rohan, and the tale of Thenamir's Journey and Guthrin's Lament. He sat, slowly, and immersed himself in the great legend.

He heard others enter and the Wight greet them cordially. What an odd replacement Innkeeper, he thought to himself. He found himself rather troubled by the dark and menacing presence of the fell creature but he pretended, studiously, not to mind.

"I hope we see some fine story tellers in The White Horse," he murmured to himself. The fire crackled warmly and the kitchens were abustle behind him.

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[*Varda*]

Shivering with the cold outside, Varda made her way to the door of the Inn, ‘The White Horse.’ Seeking shelter for a few days, and hearing of the Inn famed for its storytelling, she felt she could not pass through Rohan without paying a visit.

Pushing open the door, she noticed the Inn was quiet, for it was still early. Looking around, she observed that the Innkeeper was a Wight. ‘Strange…’ she mused. ‘Should make for an interesting visit.’ She moved over to the fire, where the red glow was emitting a little warmth, and heated her after her long journey from the woods of Fangorn, and the other mysterious places of Middle-Earth.

She eagerly anticipated the arrival of other travellers, to share the stories of long ago, tell the tales of the other regions in the world, learn the lore of the distant parts, where few people had been.

She noticed another traveller in the corner of the Inn, deeply absorbed in browsing the book, some of the old tales. In the meantime, she remained in the corner, taking in her surroundings, until some fellow travellers arrived, and the storytelling could truly begin.

[Rimbaud]

Rimbaud glanced up from his book.

"Hello, Varda," he said, his voice somehow carrying across the room. He knew the Elf quite well, from his travelling days. "There's a good story here, but we need more in this fine establishment, don't you think?"

[Thenamir]

Calenheled Redspear drew his cloak tighter around him, as much from cold as from nervousness, as he proceeded past house, barn, and storefront down the cobbled lane toward the White Horse Inn.

The people of Rohan streamed past him on foot and horseback in all manner of garb from beggar to prince. Intent on their own business they took little notice of the walker, short and thin as he was, but his imagination made it seem that they were all stealing furtive glances at him. In his mind they all laughed behind their hands at the poor boy from the backward outlying village who had the audacity to try his stories against the best in Rohan.

Of course, it was that very imagination that got him here to begin with, though it sometimes got the better of him. At home he had been a passable help with the chores and farmwork, but his mind was always elsewhere, daydreaming of the stories he'd heard in the common room of the local inn of winning reknown, glory, and (certainly not least) the hand of a fair maid in battle or quest. Many were the songs and tales he'd sought out and memorized, especially when he'd heard there was someone who knew some or part of the old tales of the elves.

His parents, not rich but certainly as well off as small farmers in that area could be, were kindly and understanding. They knew a skilled bard could make a fair living for himself and so did not discourage him from developing his craft as best he could in their village. But they knew he would find little audience and less experience in the small farming enclave in the Westemnet. And so it was that they granted his request to go to the capital of their land and seek out the true masters of story and song who could teach him with their example and their critiques.

Upon finding the door of the White Horse, he nearly turned away, and was only able to grasp the doorlatch through the anguished determination of knowing that here was the key to that which he loved best -- spinning a tale and holding an audience captive upon his every whisper, turn, and nuance. Plus, he thought, there will be warmth inside, and food. My money will not last long, and I must begin earning my keep as soon as possible. He pushed the door open and walked inside, trying to look confident.

[*Varda*]

Varda smiled at Rimbaud.

“So we meet again. I quite agree, the establishment needs more stories. I trust more weary travellers will come by and share their stories in this merry place.” Varda stepped away from the fire and to the bar to order ale. Her drink now in her hand, she sat back down near Rimbaud, and looked through the Book of Rohan. The stories inside it amazed her, and she wished to remember them, to tell to the Elves at home, or to whoever else she might by chance meet on the road.

She looked up briefly as a stranger came in. He looked nervous, although attempting to cover it up. She smiled at him, before motioning him over to sit with them.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Amanaduial stepped into the inn, lowering the hood on her travelling cloak to let a mane of red hair fall down her back. Her green eyes travelled the room with interest and mild surprise- she had certainly not expected the innkeeper to be a wight. Still, she had seen many strange things...

Said innkeeper now looked at the newcomer, taking in the slim figure and brilliant emerald eyes, along with the pair of black wolves flanking her. She nodded to him, smiling and he returned the gesture before turning and speaking to an old man.

Amanaduial took in the bright , cheerful setting of the room, with the large fireplace and banners on the roof and walls. Her eyes fell on a trio, two standing, one sitting with a book, who had looked up as she came in. An elf a man and a boy. The boy glared suspiciously at her, if rather hesitantly, but she didnt judge him by it- when you travel with a pair of little liked predators, you get used to glares. Still, now was as good a time as any to make new acquaintances...

She walked forward and the elf came forward to meet her, a smile on her friendly, pretty face. "Good day friend. I am Varda, from Imladris. What brings you to share our company?"

Amanaduial smiled, glad of the womans warm greeting and took the offered hand. "Well met friend. I am Amanaduial, from...elsewhere." She didnt want to reveal too much of her strange past at this stage. She had seen the trio glancing at the wolves. "These are my companions, Jet and Obsidian Lunalupus." To her surprise, Varda nodded respectfully to them. Immediately she had Amans trust.

The flame haired elf turned to the other two, the tall, rather handsome man and the nervous, rather paranoid boy. "I have introduced myself; how may I address you?" She smiled at the pair.

[Bêthberry]

Shortly after the Wight opened the shuttered windows, a brown and grey falcon appeared on the window ledge and then promptly flew in. It was Wyrd, Bethberry's messenger falcon and co-conspirator in writing games.

In its beak was a small scroll, which it dropped on the carved and darkened planked table in front of Varda. The mission accomplished, Wyrd then flew to the top of one of the red fir rafters, hoping that one of Bethberry's friends would kindly offer him a tasyt morsel or two. The falcon looked around for likely suspects. Would Rimbaud forgo his own tastes in food to feed the bird or was Thenamir, perhaps even the Wight, a more likely prospect?

Hunger mounting, Wyrd's sharp eyes began to search the dark corners, wondering if the Inn harboured any mice.

Meanwhile, Varda unrolled the message and read it to all,

Friends all,

There is a goodly supply of wood and our cook, although short-tempered at times as is the wont of cooks, is reknown for his stews and roasts, his pastries and delicacies. Mind you, don't give him the keys to the cellar, though, for we want our wine in our cups and not our cook in his cups.

I am called elsewhere, to attend to one who is preparing to sail West. No reading of the Grey Havens has been as sad for me as is this reading I do now. But I look forward to my return.

Fall upon each other's words and not your swords, so that I might find stories abounding to regale me upon my return.

Bethberry

Well, said Varda, to the assembled guests, it is good to know she thinks of us.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Amanaduial listened to the letter with interest but her thoughts and eyes were on the bird on the rafters. Patting her pockets with gloved hands she eventually found a small piece of bread, only from a day ago say and caught the birds eye. Its golden gaze travelled from her eyes to the piece of bread to the wolves and after a moment stomach won over brain. Wyrd flew down, landing on Amanaduials arm gently and gobbling the bread as the elf stroked its head gently, smiling at the touch of its soft feathers.

[Melichus]

Eledrim sidled slowly up to the entryway. Grasping the worn knob, he thrust inward and heaved a long, weary sigh, as if to say at last! The sigh had just escaped his lips when he drew in a sudden, hissing breath, taken aback by the scene that greeted him. What in the name of... In all his years of wandering the lands of Eriador and Rhovanion, rarely had he seen such a company as this: two elves (and one with a falcon perched on her shoulder), two skulking wolves, a sullen-looking boy, something that looked suspiciously like a wight, and--Eledrim nearly stumbled backward into the door at this point--that innkeeper from Gondor.

Striding stiffly toward Rimbaud's table, Eledrim narrowed his eyes, searching the man up and down. He started when the man suddenly glanced up from his book.

"I, heh, erm...you wouldn't happen to be the innkeeper I met in Gondor some weeks ago, would you? Rimbaud, his name was, if memory serves...no, no, it couldn't be. Sorry to have disturbed you." Eledrim had just turned to go when he felt a hand grasping the worn, canvassy cloth of his walking-cloak. "Or could it be him," he muttered to himself, turning around to face the man. Rimbaud was still peering up at him intently, but now a smug smile creased his face. His eyes narrowed craftily. "Perhaps you have been wondering, good sir, how the innkeeper of an inn in Gondor can bid you farewell on your journey as you leave his inn and be sitting at a table in a tavern in the middle of Rohan several weeks later, ready to greet you. Eh?"

Eledrim folded his arms, harrumphed several times, and glanced down at the man imperiously, trying to look as cranky as possible. "As a matter of fact, the idea did just happen to cross my mind, young fellow. Now, would you mind telling me what in the name of Eorl is going on before I do something unpleasant to that row of mugs on the counter?"

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Melichus ]

[Rimbaud]

Rimbaud, clearly looking unexpectedly youthful today, smiled pleasantly up at the brash newcomer and bade him sit at the table.

"Good Sir, let me show you something," he said softly.

Lulled by the blue-eyed Poet's low voice, Melichus leaned in closer, studying the Innkeeper's face. There was a faint scar just before Rimbaud's right temple, and a shadow of grey in the hair above, and Melichus revised his estimation of the man's years.

As he sat, he became aware of a slow paralysis creeping over him. Panic gripped him as he found he could not move his arms or legs. He tried to cry out, but the muscles in his face and neck were frozen. Breathing became impossible and the world stood still, except for the eyes. Looming in his vision, they swelled, piercing him, holding him captive, swirling oceans within pools within shadows of incomprehensible darkness.

Confusion and pain raged through his inert body and he felt his life-force ebbing away. All he could see was dazzling blue, blinding him, binding him.

All of a sudden, he was free and released. Rimbaud sat opposite him, sipping rather primly at a large flagon of ale. He seemed nondescript, his brown hair neatly and stylishly cut, his hands oddly well-tended for a barkeep. Melichus realised the croaking sound was his lungs sucking desperately on air. Wordlessly he stumbled from the table and lurched for the bar.

"Any further questions?" murmured Rimbaud, too quietly for any to hear.

[Melichus]

Gasping for breath and shaking slightly, Eledrim came to rest on a bar stool. "Great Heavens, man!" he croaked out between breaths, and, regaining a bit of composure, he shook his head slowly. "Dear, dear, I must curb this temper of mine. Hah, no, I'm not really as brash an old codger as you think I am, my good fellow. I can become unusually cranky when something is irritating me or when nobody will tell me what is going on. Hrumph! And the fact that you, you of all people were sitting there and staring at me, grinning like a fool!... Well, I was just a bit perplexed as to how you managed to show up here, you see! I certainly didn't expect whatever-it-is you just did to me, and I always prefer a friend to an enemy... Ah, me, I'm hardly the belligerent type, you see. Just a bit of a facade, I suppose."

Stretching his stiff arms, he pulled back his heavy hood, revealing a worn face, creased and leathery. A reddish-brown beard enveloped his chin and neck, and it was streaked here and there with strands of white and grey. His hair, the same color as his beard, was balding a bit around the top and might have been mistaken for a badly done tonsure. His eyes, though, were clear and seemed to radiate calmness and quiet wisdom. Managing a hopeful smile, Eledrim held out a hand.

"A truce, perhaps?"

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Melichus ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

The Barrow-Wight watched the crowd grow slowly until many of the tables in the ‘Horse’ were filled with guests, some eating, some drinking, some together, some alone. He was particularly interested in the grey-clad Rimbaud who had gained the immediate interest of the older fellow who had just entered the room. The two had spoken quietly to each other for a minute, and then the older man had appeared to swoon, swaying until he’d nearly toppled over the seated Rimbaud. The Wight decided to intervene.

Crossing the room quickly but so smoothly that he appeared to almost float above the wooden planks of the floor, the Barrow-Wight slid into the corner behind Rimbaud and spoke softly into his ear, startling the scarred man and breaking his concentration in whatever it was that he was doing to the other man.

“Perhaps you should refrain from such activity while in the ‘Horse’,” he whispered, “or would you like to hear one of my own songs of the mind? You’ll not need to look in my eye to heed my tune.”

Slowly, as if someone or something was restricting his movement, Rimbaud turned his head to the Wight and smiled a dangerous but friendly grin. The elderly visitor let out a gasp as if air had been suddenly pushed into his lungs.

The Wight spoke again to Rimbaud. “Are you here scouting for potential Gondor recruits? If so, you are early. As of yet, we haven’t started one new game and are still waiting for the first brave proposals.”

“Let us hope they are good,” answered Rimbaud. “We will someday have need of the best players to fortify the Tower of The Sun.”

[Elenna]

"Gentlemen, let's not argue," a voice called from the bar. The Barrow-wight and Rimbaud looked up, startled. Out from the shadows walked a maiden of the Rohirrim. "I am Elwyn. How about I buy you two a round, and we can talk about this like civilized folk?"

[Rimbaud]

Seated amicably over drinks, it took some time for Rimbaud to ascertain that the Wight had disappeared again, as swiftly and silently as he had arrived. Yet his presence remained, a palpable warning to behave whilst in The White Horse. The Gondorian Innkeeper swallowed his nervousness, and, seemingly unfazed to others watching, returned to conversation with the battle-worn Eledrim, who, the truce now complete, had some very interesting ideas regarding a Story he wished to tell.

"Dear Sir, do go on," said Rimbaud, in the same, purposeful voice he had used before, although now no-one heard the delicate threat that had been there before, in the rich timbres of the well-enounciated words. "Your ideas for a Tale in Rohan interest me greatly. I trust that the information I have imparted is sufficient?"

[ November 21, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Amanaduials hand froze as she heard the voice speak from the shadows, the voice of an elven maiden. She didnt look up at first but a small smile spread over her face. As the falcom fluttered away back to the rafters as it realised no more food was on its way, the elf looked up slowly.

"Well met, Elwyn, well met." She said softly but so her voice carried. The other spun around surprised until her eyes alighted on Amanaduial and her wolves. Her face broke into a delighted smile. "Amanaduial!"

Aman kept a straight face, putting her hands on her hips. "Well well. And what have you been doing with the ages since you left to go on some quest or another, not sending a word to your friend of the ages for, well, ages?"

Elwyn rolled her eyes and half ran across to Amanaduial, embracing her as Obsidian and Jet rubbed themselves against her legs and waist. As each released the other smiling, Elwyn gestured to the bar and they started walking across.

"Seriously, friend. What have you been doing all these years?" Amanaduial enquired.

[Susan Delgado]

She stared up at the imposing front of the White Horse inn. She'd been travelling for weeks just to arrive here, to see if the tales she'd heard of it in the Shire were really true. With a sigh of preparedness, she opened the door and walked in.

A dozen pairs of eyes greeted her when she entered. She recognised none from her stay in the Green Dragon, but she'd met a few of those on the road and knew they'd be here soon. SHe wandered up to the bar to order an ale, but her nose twitched at the scent of coffee in somebody's mug. How long had it been since she'd had coffee? She didn't know. When she asked about it, however, the barkeep looked blank and merely shrugged. She wrinkled her nose in irritation and ordered an ale, then turned around to observe the other patrons.

[ November 21, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Estelarion and Menelduliniel quietly entered The White Horse. Their silence was an unusual action for them, for they were usually flamboyant and merry in their entrances, usually uniting in joyful songs. They shivered a little and quickly made their way over to the fires to warm up. They nodded to all of the people they had previously met. They urgently whispered to each other in front of the fire. Menelduliniel looked very alarmed and Estelarion looked a bit shook-up as well.

Estelarion comfortingly put his hand on Menelduliniel's shoulder, then he rose. He fetched the two of them some mead and brought it back over to her. They sat in front of the fire and drank the mead and continued to talk quietly.

Soon, Menelduliniel seemed to calm down and Estelarion settled into the cozy Inn. They moved from in front of the fire, heaving their heavy packs, and deposited the packs by two large, comfortable-looking chairs in a quiet corner. They sat in the chairs and looked around the room.

"I wonder what new adventures will be brought here," someone heard Menelduliniel say.

The two looked around the room, as if hoping that someone would come over and engage in conversation with them...

[ November 21, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galadel looked up and down the busy street of the capital of Rohan. Her hood was pulled far over her face, concealing it in dark shadow, just as the rest of her was concealed in the darkness of one of the alleys. Hesitantly, the elf looked over at the old wooden door of the White Horse. Quietly she held a debate in her mind over whether she should enter that cozy inn or brave the harsh climate and continue on without provisions to the Golden Hall, where King Eomer dwelt with his family.

Thinking about the cheerful King of Rohan, Galadel's thoughts flickered back to the message that she had received from him only a month ago inviting her to come and visit him and his growing family. Only a month ago! And, in that short amount of time, so many things had happened to Galadel. Wincing from the old pain that sprung up from remembering her journey, Galadel thought about the past few weeks; how she had been traveling to Rohan, when she had been attacked by wolves, and her horse had been killed. She had then been stranded, with an aching wound that she had gotten from the wolves' attack. The elf had very little provisions, which ran out later on only after a week. Galadel had continued on then, traveling on foot, her stomach grumbling from hunger and her sidewound throbbing. The elf had finally come to Rohan, and though she had little money, she was extremely hungry, and so, making her decision, Galadel walked forward from the shadows towards the old wooden door. The maiden pulled her hood further over her face, so that no one should discover who she was. It would be very dangerous for the elf, for Galadel was the second oldest daughter of Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien, and now Galadel was the Lady of the Golden Wood, though she did not consider herself to actually be this.

Galadel, as quiet as only an elf can be, opened the door to the White Horse and entered into the warm and cozy room. Looking around, the elf saw many races, even a Wight, all gathered together in the room. Seeing a few familiar faces, Galadel smoothly made her way to the bar. She barely made any noise, and so, only a few people noticed her. Two of these were the wolves sitting patiently at either side of their master. They saw Galadel and quickly shot up and raced over her.

Amanaduail and her companions glanced up quickly as they saw the wolves sped towards the cloaked figure. They watched suspiciously as the traveler raised a smooth hand with a silver ring on it to stop the wolves from running headlong into her.

Galadel smiled as the two animals licked her outstretched hand and rubbed their warm bodies against her. Gracefully, the elf knelt on her knees in front of the wolves, and they happily licked her and rubbed against her. Suddenly, Galadel felt her hood fall down to rest upon her shoulders as one of the wolves accidentally brushed against it. Quickly, she pulled her hood back up, but not before the companions sitting at the bar had seen her fair face with blue eyes shinning and her golden hair falling smoothly on her shoulders. Galadel stood up, hoping that the two elves at hte bar had not realized who she was, but as she looked at Amanaduail, she saw a slight grin forming across the elf’s face, and Galadel realized that she had been discovered.

[tom bombariffic]

Just at that moment, the sound of a galloping horse drafted in through the window. As it came nearer, the folk of the tavern broke off their conversation to listen. Closer and closer they came, but apparently not slowing down. The clickety-clack of the hooves rose to a crescendo, and a grey and brown blur streaked past the window. The eyes of the inhabitants of the tavern turned down - the excitement was over. At that moment, a Thud was heard at the door, after which the horse streaked back past the window in the direction it had come from. As the sound of horseshoes died down, the landlord went to open the door.
There was no-one there. However, as he was about to close it, he noticed a parchment attatched to the door with a gold-hilted dagger. The wight gingerly removed the weapon, and cleared his throat.

"TO THE LANDLORD AND STORYTELLERS OF THE WHITE HORSE: In recognition of your upcoming story-telling contest, the travelling "gwaith-formen" talemasters wish to announce that they will be arriving within within a few hours. Please prepare 3 rooms for our band of fellows. Thank you for your kindness.

Then followed a cacophany of excited screams. The gwaith-formen were the most reknowned storytellers in the land, followed wherever they went by avid story enthusiasts. Not only would the other competitors get to hear the finest tales around, they would have a real audience to impress!

[Amanaduial the archer]

Amanaduial looked up in surprise as Jet and Dia pricked up their ears and trotted across the room. Looking towards the door, she saw a slim figure, graceful even though she was obscured by a full length cloak. The figure raised a hand and the wolves slowed their pace. As she knelt, Amanaduial was astonished at the way fawned around her for all the world like two huge puppies. She raised and eyebrow and caught Jets eye. The wolf seemed to nod slightly, and gently knocked the figures hood, causing it to fall, showing a womans face, beautiful and framed with long spun gold hair.

The woman seemed to panic and with unwarranted haste pulled her hood back up; it was too late though. Amamnaduial had worked out who the other was as soon as she had seen the face. She smiled slightly and walked across to the figure.

"Oh dear me, my wolves seem to have knocked you over!" She said, innocence and mock concern coating her voice. She held out a hand. "Strange isnt it, how they rushed up to you like that? It would have to take a real expert and an old friend to make such creatures react like that, wouldnt it Galadel Vinorel?"

The woman looked up sharply, making her hood fall once again back fromn her face, revealing startled blue eyes. She smiled immediately at Amanaduial, taking her hand and pulling herself up. "Amanaduial! Dear friend, how long it has been since I have seen you and your companions!"

"And you; the walking legend, daughter of Galadriel, it has been long since you graced my prescence!" She gave a mock bow and Galadel hit her arm playfully, laughing. She winced though and clutched her arm. Aman looked up, concerned. "What is it?"

"Oh nothing..." she started, but the other rolled up her sleeve and saw the wolf bite that marked her pale skin. She glanced questioningly at the elf of the Golden Wood and led her to the bar. "Tell me everything."

[Elenna]

Elwyn had seen the bite on Galadel's arm. Although she did not know the maiden well, she immediately picked up her healer's pouch and began to assemble a poultice of bindweed.

"Here, let me see that arm," she said, and Galadel hesitantly complied. Elwyn applied the crushed leaves to the small wound and bound it up with a strip of linen. "There, that should be good as new."

[The Barrow-Wight]

The Barrow-Wight again appeared suddenly behind the unsuspecting Rimbaud.

“What think you of that?” he whispered. “The gwaith-formen are not often seen in Edoras, but they have always been welcome. Let us hope they give us but a taste of their tale, for only if it is truly up to their well-known standards could we construct an actual stage on which they could perform.”

Rimbaud nodded. “Yes, I too am curious to see what story they weave. And, like you, I would like to see it turned into a role-playing proposal (sent to rohanproposals@barrowdowns.com) if it is worthy.

[Susan Delgado]

Susan got up and wandered around the room, watching the other patrons. She was getting restless, tired of sitting here, holding a mug of ale (when she really preferred the sweeter taste of mead) and waiting for someone to start a story. She paused near one of the front windows and pulled out the scroll she'd recieved, which contained a list of possible stories. She held it into the light and peered at its blotchy surface, then put it away with a sigh. Nothing on it was quite what she was looking for.

She returned to the bar and got rid of her vile, bitter ale in favor of the mead the White Horse was famous for. She'd heard they added butter, which was what made it so much richer than the stuff other places had.
She drank and watched the people in the inn, hoping that somewhere among their number was the one to tell her the story she wanted to hear. Perhaps when the gwaith-formen arrived, she would hear something worthy.

[ November 22, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[Galadel Vinorel]

“So, you see,” said Galadel as she finished telling her story to her eager listeners, as Elwyn wrapped her injured arm, “I was stranded, without food, until I finally arrived here today in Rohan.”

“You mean that you haven’t eaten in a week!” cried out Amanaduail as she sat opposite her old friend telling her exciting and terrifying tale of her adventure. When Galadel nodded, Amanaduail immediately called over the cook and asked for a meal for the hungry elf.

Elwyn then turned to Galadeland said, “You are very lucky to be alive, my lady.”

Galadel quickly jerked upright as Elwyn finished her statement and said quietly, in a strange, raspy voice, “Please, call me Galadel.”

“Very well, Galadel. And my name is Elwyn.” said the surprised elf.

Galadel smiled and stretched out her non-injured arm, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Elwyn, and thank you for bounding my arm. I was not able to do it myself in the wilderness. You are a very skilled healer.”

As Elwyn smiled gratefully from the compliment, Galadel sharp eyes caught a flicker of movement in one of the corners of the room, and turning she saw a man and a woman sitting there looking very lonely and sad. “Who are those two people in the corner, Amanaduail?” asked Galadel as she gazed curiously at the two lonesome travelers.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Amanaduial looked over to the corner, following Galadens gaze, to see the two elves sitting on their own in the corner. The male was rather good looking...

"Come, it cannot hurt to go and see." She started to walk across the room to Estelarion and Menelduliniel.

[Galadel Vinorel]

Playing along, Galadel smiled and walked over with her friend. She kept her injured arm tight against her stomach, trying to shield it from being hit by the crowded people sitting around the tightly spaced tables.

Galadel gazed at the two elves again, wondering who they were and where they were from. The elf had met many people in her travels, and she knew most every elf that had stayed behind in Middle Earth when the others had gone across the Sea to Elvenhome, but she did not recognize these two.

Suddenly, a man next to Galadel stood up, knocking his chair hard against her injured arm. Her breath hissed between clenched teeth as she gasped from the pain shooting up her arm. Amanaduail turned worriedly to her friend as she heard the sound.

[Mithadan]

A tall Elf wandered into the Inn. He was dark-haired and bore a scar on one cheek. His grey cloak was weather-worn and covered a black tunic and matching breeches. He looked about in distaste at the Mannish denizens of the common room before approaching the bar. He ordered a mulled wine then seated himself at a vacant table.

Nearby, an Elf maiden was being tended to by a healer. A wolf bite from the look of it. Such injuries were painful and could fester easily. He nodded to the Elf maiden in sympathy. She looked at him curiously as her arm was wrapped. "Do I know you sir?" she asked.

"I do not think so," he replied. "Then, well met," she continued. "I am Galadel of Lorien." He recognized the name but did not comment. Her mother's dislike of the Fëanoreans was legendary. For his part, he had no quarrel with Galadriel and had known of her while he had dwelt in Eregion. "I am Nardol," he answered simply.

Galadel inclined her head and introduced her companions. One, another maiden named Amanaduial bantered with him a bit, then asked, "Have you a tale to tell us today?" Others sitting nearby chimed in, "Yes! A tale! Do tell please."

Nardol sighed, and was silent for a moment for he was ill at ease among so many Men. But then, he sipped at his wine and began to speak. "An age and more ago, to the west of the Misty Mountains was the kingdom of Eregion. And that country was builded nigh unto that Dwarvish nation which is now called Moria. Much profit did the Elves of Eregion and the Dwarves of Moria have in their dealings with one another. Now the Lord of Eregion was Celebrimbor who was a mighty jewelsmith. And he was great friends with a Dwarvish smith named Narvi.

"Upon a time, Celebrimbor visited Narvi in the halls of Moria and the Dwarf showed him a spool of wire made from the finest mithril. And Celebrimbor, seeing the beautiful silver colour of the mithril conceived of crafting a stone which might shimmer like truesilver. But after many attempts, he could not make such a gem and he called upon Narvi for his assistance.

"So Narvi came to Celebrimbor in Ost-in-Edhil, the chief city of Eregion, and together they laboured. Narvi took the spool of mithril wire and from it he weaved a band which might be fastened and worn about the throat, and that woven band shimmered like the scales of a fish in the noon sun. But Celebrimbor fashioned a gem which appeared to be clear, and when he removed it from the forge he did not let it cool but joined it with Narvi's band so that the mithril entered the jewel.

"Celebrimbor's stone thereafter shone bright silver and the edges of its facets were silver fire. And if placed in the light of the moon the gem glowed like a beacon of silver. The Isilmir it was named and it was the greatest of all the works of Elves and Dwarves together save perhaps the Nauglamir."

Nardol fell silent, but Susan looked at him intently and asked "What became of this mighty work?" Nardol looked up and answered, "None know where it is for sure. But it is said that ere the fall of Eregion, Celebrimbor sent it into Moria where it was locked in the nethermost vault under mighty spells to prevent the chamber's opening. Moreover, it is told that the fate of Moria is locked in the Isilmir and if it can be found Moria will rise and become great again..."

[Rimbaud]

Hiding his fear at the Wight standing so close, Rimbaud steeled himself, and turned to face it.

"Indeed," he went on. "The White Horse will experience many tales and those of such exotic strangers are of no lesser creed. My only hope is that they are told in the correct manner, that you described! For I would dearly love to see new Tales scribed in the Great Book of Rohan." With this last, he gestured to the great black-bound tome. The Wight nodded slowly, then repaired to the bar.

Rimbaud sat down again, adjusting his dark ash-grey tunic, and shaded his eyes from the bright candles around. He peremptorily ordered a local ale, and was surprisd when the serving-man thumped the flagon down on the table, splashing his sleeve. He looked up, as to remonstrate, but the man had already moved on to another customer.

Rimbaud sighed, and set to drying the fabric as best he could. Those at his table felt some disquiet at his temper and remained silent, for a time. Elsewhere in the Inn, one of the Elvish creed was starting up a Tale, his mellifluous tones carrying through the room, as people fell silent to listen.

[ November 22, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[tom bombariffic]

But before he could veen open his mouth, the door burst open, and framed in the doorway were three tall, fair, strongly-built elves. Two were carrying the other, who was pale and groaning, his face white as a sheet. "Quick", shouted one, can anyone help my friend and kinsman?

Elwyn rushed forward and helped the unfortunate elf into a chair. "Whats wrong with him?" she asked.
"He was taken ill some two days ago, in the wild lands south of here. This was our nearest point of help. We know not what the problem is nor how to cure it, and though we have preserved him this long our skills in healing are exhausted.
Elwyn tended to the elf while the other two were adressed by the inhabitants of the inn. "who are you then, that come here in search of help?"
"I am himhith and this is my kinsman lhachlaure. over there is formenel. We wander the lands, finding food and hospitality as it comes."
And so began the introductions. Himhith and lhachlaure were just being served when a gagging sound came from the corner of the pub and formenel, who's eyes har rolled back in his head, collapsed to the floor.
Screams filled the room and various questions were distinguishable, mostly asking what Elwyn had done to him.
"I gave him a simple remedy, it can do no harm..." she began, panicking under the suspition of the audience.
"Fear not good lady, for he is in no danger."
"but he..." began galadel.
but, sure enough, formenel rose, a smile on his face.
"thank you, my friends. We are the gwaith-formen, and though we may have caused grief, forgive us, for we meant no harm."
The room filled with raucus appreciation of the act, although Elwyn felt slightly used, and the crowd begged for a story.
"Forgive us, but we are weary, we slept not the last two nights in a fight to arrive here in time. Let us retire, and there shall be plenty of time for tales come the morning."
The tale-tellers were escorted to their rooms, for the audience, despite being disappointed, understood. The conversation then began again.

[Aranel]

The young woman shivered in the cold air,pulling her cloak close about her.Her dark hair fell about her face.No one noticed her passing in the streets,and was content with this.She wished to go unmarked. Weary she was with travel and grief.She needed food,and thought perhaps some mead would not go amiss either.With a mixture of relief and anxiety she spotted an inn. The White Horse,the sign read.
Inside she could hear many voices,and this pleased her.Perhaps their would be no need to make conversation among so many.Opening the door,she entered.

She looked around quietly and chose a corner to sit in.She had not been prepared for such a sight as this!Elves,here?A Wight? Wolves!She quickly glanced to the door,deciding there must be better places to find a meal.The Elves she did not mind,but a Wight was a bit much for her, not mention the man dressed in grey see had seen.He looked to her to be in a foul temper.One of the Elves was wounded.

She rose to leave,but her way out was blocked by a group of the inn's patrons.Dropping back into her seat,she sat silently and watched.

[Galadel Vinorel]

Galadel watched the young woman come into the inn and she smiled to herself. "This inn is certainly filling up fast with many different sort of people, isn't it, Amaduail?" asked Galadel, turning to her friend.

"Yes it is," said Amanduail, grinning back at the golden haired elf. Amiably, she stretched down her hand and rubbed one of her wolve's ears. He made a sound like a purr and settled comfortably on the old, wooden floor.

"Amanduail," began Galadel, gazing curiously at the woman who had just sat down in a far corner, "don't you think that we should greet this new traveler?"

Amanduail looked over at the person that Galadel was staring at, but all she could she was a young woman with long, dark hair and an old cloak pulled about her to keep her warm from the harsh Rohan climate. Amanduail turned back to the elf next to her and nodded, saying, "Of coure. We should be hospitable."

The two elf maidens stood up, but before they could begin walking, they heard Nardol say, in a low voice, behind them, "May I join you, my ladies?" Galadel and Amanduail quickly turned around to find Nardol gazing at them from the shadow in which he was hidding; they had forgotten that he was there. Galadel smiled and said, "If you wish to."

Hastily, Galadel pulled the blue sleeve of her travel clothes over her wrapped, injured arm. She then took off her cloak, lying it neatly on her chair. The elf began to make her way to the young woman, while making very little noise as she seemingly floated by the tables in her blue dress, with the two elves and the wolves following quietly behind her.

[Susan Delgado]

Susan watched Nardol approach the two Elves and strike up a conversation. He certainly had a gift, and not merely for tale-telling.
She considered the story he'd told so casually...with a little embellishment, it might even make a decent Story for the Book of Tales sitting in the corner of the room and gathering dust. She glanced again at her meager list and shrugged, resigned. Things would come as they came,she supposed.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Amanaduial looked more closely at Nardol as he followed Galadel beside her. His dark hair looked as if the wind had messed it up, but the man kept running his hands through it, as if he was anxious or thinking deeply. And as she looked she realised he was indeed a thinker, a man of considerable intelligence. She wondered about the scar that marked his cheek, tracing his cheekbone.

He felt her eyes and looked around with a bemused smile. The elf smiled back then turned, seeing they had reached the young woman who Galadel had spotted. Not one, it seemed who came in search of conversation... but Galadel pressed on, seating herself at a chair by the table and holding out a hand. "Good day. I am Galadel of Lorien. What brings you here friend?"

The woman looked startled as she looked up, brushing a few strands of long dark hair behind her ear. She took in Galadel who eventually let her hand fall, in front of her and then saw Amanaduial and Nardol, then looked down, wide eyed to see the two wolves at Amans side. The red haired elf realised they had effectively surrounded her, a mistake when trying to make someone feel at home and moved around to stand by Galadel. The womans eyes were still fixed on the wolves however.

"Good evening ma'am." Nardol was now trying again for Galadel. "I am Nardol. This is Amanaduial."

She looked up at him and smiled back nervously. "I am Aranel. May I ask...erm, whose are the wolves?"

"Dont worry they wont hurt you." The womans gaze transferred to Aman. "They travel with me. Jet and Obsidian." She motioned to the wolves.

Awkward pause. "May I get anyone a drink?"

Taking the various orders, Amanaduial walked to the bar, musing on the three people she had met in the last few minutes. And people said this place had only been open a few days...

[dragoneyes]

A tall woman with dark blond hair came striding down the road in a foul mood, she got to the door of the 'White Horse' and flung the door open, a few poeple looked up from their conversations but most didn't notice. Haerin wasn't wearing any cloak and she was freezing but she took no notice, she was in too bad a mood to care. She strove through the crowds towards the bar and sat heavily on a seat.
"An ale please," she said to the bar-man,
"Coming up," replyed the wight, though Haerin didn't notice he was a wight, she was too busy with her own thoughts.
"Why such a bad mood?" asked the wight as he served her drink.
"Nothing important, just my brothers."

[Susan Delgado]

Susan watched the Elf approach the bbar. This one she knew; she'd worked with her before in telling a Story and found her decent to work with. She might even work with her again, who knew?

She smiled at Amanaduial as she approached and ordered her drinks. The Elf nodded a greeting and said, "Hello Susan,"

"Hello Amanaduial. Who's the Elf?"

Aman shrugged. "Don't know. She just showed up. Come and say 'hello', why don't you?"

Susan shrugged, amenable. "All right."

They walked over to the table where the others were sitting and Susan was introduced to Galadel and Aranel. Nardol she'd already met, and she peered out him sideways. Perhaps she could get more of that story out of him. Well, maybe later. Right now she had people to meet.

[Anglachel]

The light of newly risen sun glinted off the golden posts of Meduseld above and beyond the entrance to the White Horse Inn. On this crisp Novemeber late morning, a rather unremarkable looking man wearing travel-stained grey made his way slowly to the well known inn.

Though Anglachel was new to these parts, being originally from the area around Esgaroth, his regular travels as a merchant and goods trader allowed him to be comfortable at any inn.

As he approached the door, Anglachel finished humming his favorite traveling poem:

'Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.'

Finishing this verse, he entered the White Horse and made his way to the bar.

As an experienced journeryman, Anglachel was not too surprised by the amazing diversity of the inn's patrons. Nevertheless, he could not help but make note of the intriguing makeup of the crowd. Still, a traveler who's favorite place in the world is a cosy inn, will find little adjustment time is necessary as soon as one key prequisite is met. This condition he immediately satisfied by ordering an ale from the cadaverous looking barkeep.

Ale in hand, Anglachel could now fully relax and reflect on his purpose for making the journey to this particular tavern. Though everyone around him was a new face, he knew well of the innkeeper, and perhaps more importantly, knew of her reputation for running an establishment of only the hightest quality.

He took a deep swallow of the fine, dark ale and began to wait for whatever may happen next.

[Galadel Vinorel]

"So, Aranel," said Galadel casually, smiling over the nervous woman, "What brings to the the White Horse, one the most renowned inns in Rohan?"

As she was about to continue on, she heard a voice behind her say, in a slight jeering tone, "You mean THE best and most renowned inn in Rohan, do you not, my lady."

Galadel quickly turned around to find a young woman standing there with a slight grin on her face as she looked down at the elf. Galadel heard Amanduail say beside her, "Galadel, Nardol, Aranel, this is my friend, Susan."

Galadel quickly nodded at the tall woman, wondering how Amanduail knew her. Maybe she was a regular at this inn. Galadel nodded once again to Susan, and then turned back to the frightened woman next to her.

Aranel looked suddenly very pale, and Galadel realized that they were hemming her in again. Galadel motioned to Amanduail and Susan to sit next to her, and then she tried to strike up another conversation with her, hardly noticing the new young woman come storming angrily into the inn.

[dragoneyes]

"This is stupid," Haeril thought to herself,
"I could be having a good time in here making new friends but instead I'm sitting here stewing over some stupid remark my brothers said, yet again my brothers spoil the day." She glanced around but saw no one she knew strait off. She did see, though, a group in the corner sitting around a very lost-looking person.
"Perhaps they have just met then, and if they haven't, it still won't matter if I introduce myself." she muttered to herself. Haeril picked up her mug and walked over to the group, she hoped they enjoyed a laugh, she was in no mood to be serious at the moment.
"Hello, I was just watching you and I decided to come over and say hello, I'm Haeril, and I would very much like to make your acquaintance." She said with the cheeriest smile she could manage.