Wilderness, Weathertop, & Wild Things RPG

[Dragon Elf odin Ragnorock]

Menecar woke up early that morning to go get some supplies. He also took a little walk to think about what they were supposed to do at Whethertop when they got there.

“ I know that we are supposed to get information and see who is leading the Orcs in these organized raids, but what are we supposed to do with them when we see who is the leader?” He said to himself.

After he got some last minute supplies and a sharpening stone for his knives he went back to the inn. On his way back he saw that man that was looking at him and Thoronmir in the inn, so he gave chase. But lost him by the inn. Menecar heard voices inside so he opened the door and there was Veryadan, Thoronmir, and Osric sitting at the table eating.

“Have you been able to do that yet?” said Veryadan

“Able to do what Veryadan,” asked Menecar

“Talk to the inn keeper,” said Thoronmir

“ Oh, about what may I ask?” Asked Menecar with a strange look on his face

[rutslegolas]

Aidwain had almost slept during most of the talk in the room but he was still listening to what the others said.For now they had decided to make a general announcement in the Inn about the attacks and gather information . When he returned to his room he did not feel like sleeping at all .

So instead of going to bed he decided to take a walk near the Inn .After going out he found Osric near the stables but he did not wish to talk to him so went to the other side of the Inn and sat on a nearby tree.Looking on the village he did not find it very impressive ,he wished he was back in Rivendell .

He woke up rather late the next morning ,and when he had washed ,he went down in trhe common room to have some food,there he found that Veryadan ,Osric and Menecar had already finished their breakfast ...

[Saurreg]

The morning sun was already shining down into the alley when Loudewater awoke. He got up, yawned and massaged his neck gingerly; the farmer had fallen asleep in an awkward position and his entire body ached. Stretching and rubbing his eyes as he reentered the main street, Loudewater turned towards the direction that would bring him home, walked a few steps, suddenly stopped and then turned about and headed back for the Prancing Pony.

Andas Loudewater was hungry. He was also quite comfortably calm. He was happy.

The farmer stepped onto the tavern’s porch, pushed open the creaky door and headed straight towards the bar, ignoring anything and anyone in the peripheral. He took a seat on one of the high stools just a few feet away from where he was seated the night before. But Loudewater was non-fazed, he wasn’t contemplating the events of the previous evening. He wasn’t even thinking about Lenny or his best mate Prand. The only thing on his mind was breakfast.

Andas Loudewater was hungry. And he was also happy. And that’s that.

Butterbur Jr. was at the far end of the bar but of the serving girls approached, shrank back alittle when confronted by the horrendous stench and stains on the farmer’s day old clothes but quickly regained her professional composure. The bubbly lass bade Loudewater a good morning (which, our farmer reciprocated courteously) and asked if he would like to break his fast (which again, Loudewater amicably agreed to).

Breakfast was a steaming bowl of congealed porridge served with a half-boiled egg and a steaming mug of tea which Loudewater quickly asked for to be substituted for a tankard of mead. Breaking the shell of the egg, the hungry farmer poured its contents into the bowl, stirred and wolfed down the meal greedily. He scalded his lips and tongue a little and amused the serving girl who tried to suppress her giggles. Loudewater’s senses were highly acute that morning, he heard the serving girl and responded most uncharacteristically – he busted into an infectious fit of hysterical laughter himself.

The high-pitched laughter of a young teenaged woman and the guffaws of a middle-aged men drew heads to the bar. In normal circumstances, the normal Andas Loudewater would have shied away in embarrassment and scrambled for a place to hide. But on this day, Loudewater’s stomach was contented and he was feeling strangely fine. He couldn’t be bothered.

As the last of the laughter died down, the girl returned to her chores behind the bar (she was wiping tumblers) and Loudewater resumed to his meal. He took a long swig of mead and savored the sweet sour taste of fermented honey and distilled well water and signed appreciatively. It wasn’t particularly good mead, but on this particular morning Loudwater was in a mysteriously good mood and the beverage tasted divine.

“Tell me sweet lass,”

“Yes, Mister?”

“Do you think I’m fat?” asked Loudewater as he felt himself about the stomach and waist. His groping hands detected the presence of a slight paunch typical of a middle-aged man of his physique, a bulge that he had noticed and disregarded countless times. But on this day he eyed it evilly with much disgust.

The young girl was too surprised by the nature of the question and did not answer. Instead she continued to busy herself with her chores (still tumblers). But Loudewater did not expect a definitive answer from her anyway.

“It would seem that I should loose some weight. Don’t you think?”

No bite on the bait.

“Partake in those… those exercises that young strapping boys are nowadays so involved in. Get fit huh?”

No knock on the door.

Loudewater shrugged nonchalantly and made a funny face at the serving girl. It was meant to amuse, but it terrified her. Getting up onto the floorboards, the farmer slapped a gold guinea on the counter as tips for the service rendered and sauntered towards the door. Peripherals not important.

“Tell ole’ Butterbur to put it on my tab. Andas Loudewater,” he touted loudly as he reached forward and turned the handle of the door.

As Loudewater took one step out of the Prancing Pony with his left foot, he paused in mid step, turned around and faced the serving girl again,

“You know what? I think I would like some change. Some adventure or something. I think… I think I’ll go camping,”

The farmer stepped outside, closed the door and surveyed the bustling main street that was choked to the sides with traffic. The sun was blazing mightily. He took the cope off, swung it around his back and went off whistling. He did not even notice that Fen Sheperdspurse had passed by him and slithered back into the inn.

Loudewater was happy.

[Primrose Bolger]

Grimm woke to the smell of roasting chicken. Peeling open one thick eyelid, he stared blurrily out from the little cave of skins he’d thrown over himself in the night. His nose poked just beyond their ragged edge, sniffing mightily at the enticing scent.

Broga heard the familiar snuffling noise and turned his head toward his brother. ‘Just about done. All nice and crispy on the outside like we likes ‘em and juicy on the innards!’ He grinned sloppily as Grimm heaved himself up from his pallet and scratched his backside, his familiar morning ritual. ‘Look here! I even got the fire going myself!’ Broga turned back to his cooking and ripped off a leg and thigh, crunching happily through the skin, meat and bones. ‘Come on! They’re done now.’ he said waving the half gnawed hindquarter at his brother, a trail of chicken grease slithering down his chin as he held out a rod of spitted hens to Grimm.

The sleepy-eyed Troll mumbled something as he stumbled toward the brace of hens. Grasping the hot iron rod in his fingers, he danced about a bit, blowing mightily as he slid the hot birds from their skewer and onto a nearby log. Picking one up in his great grip, he tore a sizable chunk from it with his snaggly teeth. He chewed thoughtfully on it, grimacing every once in a while as he rubbed his neck with his free hand.

‘Whatsa matter?’ asked Broga, wiping his hands on his clothes as he reached for a water skin.

‘Them bags a gold,’ mumbled Grimm round a mouthful of chicken. ‘They’re a poor excuse for a pillow, they are. My neck’s all tied in knots.’

Broga ignored his brother’s complaint, knowing that if he commented on it, the particulars of the aches and pains might go on forever. Instead, he picked up a thigh bone and cracked it open, sucking what marrow he could from it. The jagged end of it he used to pluck, ineffectually, scraps of meat from between his teeth. Sitting back, his stomach pleasantly full of good food, he surveyed their little camp. ‘Those Orcs ain’t bad little fellows,’ he offered in a congenial tone. ‘Think up some good fun, they do.’ He looked toward his brother. ‘Think they’ll have something thought up for us tonight?’

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir stood up and walked over to where the innkeeper was. "Mr. Butterbur?" he said.

"Something I can do for you, Thenamir?" Butterbur said.

My name is Thoronmir, as I've already reminded you fifty billion times. Thoronmir thought to himself. He sighed, then spoke, "We're interested in hearing about some of the attacks on the settlements around here. Do you know anything about it?"

"Well, I've heard from a lot of people about bad stuff happening to their farms. Livestock missing and such." Butterbur replied.

"Anybody in particular?" Thoronmir said.

"Bill Swiftstream lost a lot of cattle last week," Butterbur answered. "Tom Longbranch's cornfields were burned at around the same time, and I heard that Andas Loudewater's missing several sheep."

Thoronmir made a mental note of the names and the location of their farms. Then he addressed the people ion the common room.

"Does anybody have any information regarding the attacks in this area?"

[Envinyatar]

Fen Shepherdspurse

Fen leaned on the bar looking much the worse for wear. Most of the night had been spent galloping to and from his meeting with the Orcs, rather Orc, he should say. Búbkûr! Fen’s face screwed into a soured look as he thought of the Orc. That ugly son of a dark night irked him no end. Dumber’n a stump, he’d decided. He had hoped to speak with the other one, Gráthgrob, the one he’d first made contact with. ‘Ah, well,’ he’d shrugged mentally, ‘one Orc’s coins are as good as another’s.’ He’d come away from the meeting with a few extra coins in his pocket and a new task set for him: pump ‘em for information . . . – the tarks, Búbkûr called them, and the Elves.

And now here Fen was at the bar, wondering how he was to go about his assignment when his ears caught part of the conversation by one the Rangers and the Innkeeper . . .

‘We're interested in hearing about some of the attacks on the settlements around here. Do you know anything about it?’ one of the Rangers had asked. Butterbur’s back was to him and Fen could not make out what he said. But then the Ranger had turned and addressed all those in the common room. ‘Does anybody have any information regarding the attacks in this area?’ Fen was quiet, looking slyly about as several farmers spoke up saying, ‘Aye’, they’d heard the news of this or that happening.

Fen smirked to himself at their little stories. They were nothing compared to what he’d heard about last night. He called Butterbur to him, saying he might have something them Rangers might want to hear about . . . something horrible what just happened last night at the Whittleworth farm. Who should he talk to he wondered aloud, looking about the room at the Breelanders who had already engaged the attention of the Rangers there. ‘You wait here,’ said Butterbur, mistaking the man’s tired, grey, drawn face for one who had seen some horror and was distraught at the thought of it. ‘I’ll fetch someone to hear you out. You just set yourself down, and drink your ale. I’ll be back quicker’n you can wink . . .’

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

“Oy! Arrald! Get yerself out ‘ere and help me with these sheep!”

Arrald crept out of the cave that he shared with his brother, still scratching his armpit and yawning mightily. Even from where he stood three long troll strides away the smell was enough to curl the hair in Dim’s nostrils. “Ouch!” he cried. “How much of that farmer’s brew did you quaff last night?”

“As much as yerself!” Arrald shot back grumpily. In fact, he had downed a considerable quantity more than his brother in celebration of their takings from the farm. That and their cunning in withholding some of the gold from the orcs. Arrald chuckled again at the memory, causing him to burp loudly.

Dim squinted his eyes at his brother as he took the skin from another sheep. “What are you laughing at?” He rather suspected that it might be him, for Dim was very sensitive about his brother’s opinion. He had always known that he was the slower of the two and was self-conscious about that.

Arrald gapped and stretched again, then reaching out for one of the cold joints of goat from the night before he explained to his brother. “I’m just remembering on how those orcs were so easily taken in by us. There we were, practically falling over with the weight of the gold we had on us, and we handed over just one pouch to them. Ha!” he burped again as he chortled. “That will teach them stinking orky for calling us stupid.” Arrald and his brother enjoyed a good laugh together and the sound sent wildlife for miles around scuttling for cover. When they had regained their composure Arrald said, “Hand me over that bag of gold, Dim. I wants to count it again.”

Dim looked at him blankly. “I ain’t got it,” he said. “You ‘ave hold of the one we kept.”

“I do not,” Arrald replied angrily. “I gave my pouch on over to that orc chieftan. You know, the swaggering one as thinks he’s so smart and sharp. I handed my pouch over as you kept yours hidden.”

“No no,” Dim said shaking his head. “You’ve got it all misunremembered. I gave my pouch of gold to that second-in-commander orky, while you kept yours as you spoke with the commander.”

“No,” Arrald said, recognition of what had happened beginning to dawn upon him. “That’s backwards. I gave the gold, and you kept it.”

“No,” Dim said, growing angry. “I tells you, it’s the other way round. But why are we arguing about this? You must know what happened as you still have your pouch.”

Arrald fixed his brother with a rocky gaze. “I don’t ‘ave any more gold in me pocket as you have sense in your head you dunderbrained fool! You gave up the gold that you were supposed to keep, while I was distracting them with the gold I was giving up so that you could keep yours.” This took Dim some time to work through, but when it did he denied that this had been their plan, and Arrald insisted that it had been. Either way, it was now painfully clear to them what had happened.

They argued back and forth about it for most of the morning until finally they had a good knocking about over it which settled the matters nicely. Settling back down to their lunch and nursing their bruises they decided that at least they had been smart enough to keep the livestock and the beer for themselves.

[Esgallhugwen]

"That is precisely what we are here to discover. The King ordered us to find out the source of the trouble and take what action we can." The Elf straighted up and smiled at the others. "We can sit up all comparing the intelligence and abilities of Men, Orcs, Trolls, and Elves," he said, "but I am weary, if no one else is. We need to learn exactly what happened during these attacks before there is value in speculation."

"Aye", Silrûth replied with a small grin on her face, "forgive my hastiness, mayhaps I'll go for a short walk before I rest my eyes", she stood as the others began to leave the room, Veryadan rolled up the map and tracing neatly, taking it with him.

The Elf made her way to the front of the Inn, few patrons had stayed behind and the stragglers were too drunk to make it from there tables to the door. The fresh air pushed back the nauseating smell of alcohol and sweat, and already she began to feel her mind clear.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_

A thin ray of sunlight slid through a parting in the drapes casting a warm band across Silrûth's head. The golden circlet disappeared as she sat up and stretched the sleep out of her.

Fully dressed with saddle bags in hand she headed down the stairs, noticing her fellow companions she glided towards them and took a seat across from Menecar. She greeted them jovially and dug into the breakfast that was placed before her.

Thoronmir was off asking about the stories from young Butterbur, and her companion was no where in sight, "I don't suppose you've seen Aidwain this morning?", the three shook there heads and she nodded knowing his love for sleep.

"Well", Silrûth nudged the plate with her thumb, "I will be seeing to my horse, I'm sure he will be down soon", she smiled and excused herself from the table. Her horse nickered in greeting and recieved a few affectionate pats on the forehead. The mare had been well seen to and Silrûth had only to do a light brushing and hoove check before she was back inside.

Her seat had been taken by Aidwain who was lazily eating his breakfast, enjoying every mouthful. "Finally awake I see?" she stood next to him her leather saddle bag hanging from her shoulder.

Butterbur Jr. had rushed over to them, "there's a man just o'er there who 'as some bad news of recent 'appenings at the Whittleworth farm, would any of you be willing to lend an ear?"

[rutslegolas]

Aidwain had come down to breakfast rather late and nearly everybody else had finished their's,he lazily sat down and cursed his habit of geeting up late.He sat down rather out of anguish and started eating . " Have any of you learned anything frm the locals ? ",he asked. " Not until now but we have made an announcement in the Inn as you would know ",replied Menecar " And yes before I forget Silruth was asking for you ,she has gone out to look after her horse".

After a while Silruth herself came inside with her saddlebags," Finally awake I see? " she stood next to him. Nrxt moment, Butterbur Jr. had rushed over to them, "there's a man just o'er there who 'as some bad news of recent 'appenings at the Whittleworth farm, would any of you be willing to lend an ear?"

[Envinyatar]

Fen Shepherdspurse

The door to the Inn swung open for a moment. Fen looked up, he could hear Butterbur’s voice somewhere a short distance before him, but saw only the large dark blur of him against the bright white light of day which framed his ample outline. The common room was still dim, only a few of the shutters had been opened and just a single lamp in the center of the area had been lit. Fen’s eyes narrowed at the bright light that now flooded in. He could hear the Innkeeper speaking to someone and the calm low voice of someone still unseen give answer. It was someone tall who followed closely after Butterbur; someone very tall, in fact. Golden haired. The daylight behind threw a nimbus of radiance about the person’s head causing Fen to squint harder as he tried to pick the features out in the darkened face.

The door to the Inn closed. Fen spluttered in his mug of ale as the features of the woman came into focus. No, not just some woman . . . Blast that brainless barkeep! Butterbur had brought one of the Elves to speak with him! Fen had little liking for the Fair Folk. He’d heard too often they could pry behind your eyes, to see if your mouth was telling lies. He swallowed hard at the short sword she wore so easily against her hip. He could almost feel the keenness of its sharp blade against his neck. His eyes darted about the room looking for an easy escape should this ‘interview’ not go well.

Butterbur was hurrying the Elf along, drawing nearer to where Fen stood. Her fair face looked up often as the Innkeeper nattered on, grey eyes coming round often to rest coolly on Fen. A thin bead of sweat broke out on his upper lip; his face turned a whiter shade of pale at her imminent presence. Fen jammed his hands hard into the pockets of his breeches to keep her from seeing them shake. He pinched his thigh hard through the thin material of one of the pockets, the pain of it driving away his rising fear. Thoughts refocused, he counseled himself with the consideration that perhaps he needn’t tell any lies if he doled out the truth with care.

By the time the two reached him, Fen was looking quite distraught . . . with a pale grey skin, ragged demeanor, of one who has seen something quite horrible.

‘Here he is, m’Lady,’ said Butterbur. ‘The poor blighter what saw such grisly sights as I was telling you.’

Grisly sights?! frowned Fen. What’s he been telling her?

Silrûth appraised him silently as the Innkeeper spoke. Fen, a moment of inspiration coming upon him, began blubbering; his breath coming in sobbing gasps. His shaking hands flew up to knuckle the tears from his eyes as he let out a desperate wail. ‘Oh, Lady! I’m so glad the King has sent you to give us poor folk some help. There’s wild nasty beasties of some sort as has come to bedevil us. Last night . . .’ And here he seemed overcome with genuine grief . . . ‘last night the Whittleworth’s ‘n their hands was cut down . . . murdered most foul by a ravening band of evil fiends. Killed ever one of ‘em. Children, too, so I heard.’ He shook his head at the thought of it, wiping his now dripping nose on a begrimed rag he’d fetched out of his pocket. He looked up at her with his red rimmed eyes. ‘You and your friends have come to pertect us, right?’ he asked in a fawning manner. ‘Afore they get to us, right here in Bree and kill us all as we sleep in our beds . . .’

[Nuranar]

When Luinien opened her eyes, she saw her baggage piled neatly against the door. Strangely enough, that innocuous sight sent her leaping out of bed and into her clothes. As she paced across the floor, grappling with the buttons that closed up her gown, she muttered disgustedly. Usually her inner clock was most reliable, waking her up on the dot just before dawn. Every so often, though, it chose to malfunction. And it would be the morning of their first day in Bree.

“What ho, sleepyhead!” Tarondo’s voice, muffled but still clear, came through the door.

“Come in!” she called to him, securing the last stubborn button with a quick twist of her fingers.

“I was beginning to wonder,” began her brother, but Luinien interrupted him.

“Never mind that. I’m up now. Is everyone else downstairs?”

“Veryadan, Osric, and the Rangers have already eaten, and I think Silrûth is nearly finished. Aidwain just came down. I think he may rival you in terms of sleeping late.”

Luinien gave a refined snigger. “I am not the one who slept through the meeting last night.”

“True, I had forgotten that.” Tarondo grinned, then sobered. “Thoronmir has been speaking to our landlord. Butterbur talked about some stolen livestock and a burned cornfield, and several others volunteered similar information.”

“That sounds like thieves. At least, the missing stock does.” Luinien stood before the small mirror, braiding her hair. She frowned at her reflection and at Tarondo, sitting on the bed behind her. “But burning crops? That’s simply destructive.”

“Maybe it was an accident.” Tarondo toyed absently with his bootlaces, then looked up. “Luinien, that man was in the common room again.”

“The one who tried to hide when we came in yesterday?” The Elf paused to consider. “I don’t see that it matters. Why shouldn’t he eat here?”

Tarondo sighed. “There is no reason. But he appeared both very tired and very wrought up in some way. There is probably no reason for concern, but I would like to keep it in mind. And do not forget that Menecar thought someone was outside the door last night.”

“I will remember it, and be careful,” Luinien assured him. “Are you hungry?”

“Famished, as usual,” he said, jumping up.

A thought struck her. “Wait a moment. If you have not eaten, what were you doing? Don’t tell me you were sleeping, too!”

“No, thank you, I was studying Veryadan’s maps. It has been some time since I have traveled in this area, and I wanted to get the lay of the land back into my mind.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

In the common room, Veryadan was reclining negligently at a somewhat bare table across from Aidwain, who was eating. When Tarondo and Luinien joined them, the serving girl remedied the table’s nakedness with plates of eggs and ham still hissing.

“Where are the others?” Tarondo inquired, between bites.

Veryadan gestured with his head. “Thoronmir got an earful from Butterbur, and then he announced to everyone in here. He and Menecar are over in the far corner right now, asking for details. Osric’s somewhere about. Oh, Butterbur came up and said he had someone else with news; Silrûth went over there with him.”

Luinien followed his pointing finger, and her eyes widened in surprise. “Tarondo, look!” said, in a hushed voice.

Her picked up his mug and drank, letting his eyes slide quickly to the far end of the bar. “Ah, the man in the shadows again. Very interesting.”

“Are you going to warn her?”

Tarondo was surprised. “If you mean, Shall I interrupt their conversation, of course not. But when she reports what he has to say, I shall simply keep in mind that he did not appear, shall we say, sympathetic to Elves and Rangers when we first saw him.”

Luinien nodded and quickly finished her meal. “I am going out to find some shops. I will probably find something I need, but I think that would be another good place to hear the news.”

“Very true. You may see me about later.”

Luinien nodded and left the Inn with her swift, silent stride. As she passed the pair at the bar, she caught Silrûth’s eye with a lightning admonition to be heedful.

[Envinyatar]

Veryadan

Once Veryadan had finished with his meal, he’d gone upstairs to get his map of Breeland and the surrounds. There were a number of patrons of the Pony already standing about in little groups talking over the dark rumours they’d heard of merchants waylaid on the byways off the main road, the livestock gone missing. Gruesome stories of the farm dogs found dead, their skulls crushed, rumpled bodies heaved to the sides of the grassy fields where their now missing charges were pastured.

‘We thought they was done in by them wolves from up north. Happened a long time ago, as my own grand-da used to tell in his old stories about the time before the King,’ one grey pated sheepman said, shaking his head at the thought. ‘But,’ his brother went on, ‘in the old man’s stories, the wolves kilt a few sheep, ripped their throats out like. Ate what they could and dragged off a few of the lambs. This is sumfin bigger. Sometimes whole flocks is driven off over the rocky ground.’

‘And most times now, you hear the farmer’s house is hit, too. People been kilt. What savings they had and any fancy things - taken.’

The Ranger cleared a space on one of the tables and spread out the map he and the others had marked last night. He motioned those telling their stories to gather round and tell them one more time. ‘One at a time, if you please. And come stand near me here.’ The older man who’d spoken of wolves and his grand-da’s stories came up slowly, a rather sheepish grin on his face as the gazes of the others fell on him. He’d taken off his battered leather hat and stood twisting it in his hands, unsure of what the Ranger was wanting. He looked at the map perplexed; it was not something he’d seen before.

Veryadan drew his attention with a pointed finger at the little outline of Bree he’d drawn on the thick vellum. ‘Here’s Bree,’ he said, and the little dot here, The Pony. Just imagine you’re some sort of bird flying over and peeking down at the land below. This here’s your hedge and dike . . .’

‘Oh, aye!’ said the man, the light of understanding come into his face. ‘And this little line’s the Great Road what runs past us, isn’t it?’ Veryadan nodded. The man’s brother hovered near and pointed out the little patch of crudely drawn trees to the east of Bree. ‘Why there’s the woods and the little towns are marked with them circles.’ Murmurs from the others who had crowded in about the table brought recognition of other places on the map. ‘Well, I’ll be,’ said one fellow. ‘If that don’t beat all! There’s that old road up to Deadman’s Dike.’ ‘And old Weathertop’s marked here,’ cried another, quite pleased with his find.

Now that the group had gained some understanding of the map, they spoke with confidence about the incidents they’d heard discussed. Once again, Veryadan placed the thin parchment over the original map, pointing out to them where the other Rangers had placed their tales of the marauders. The men looked shrewdly at the map, saying the stories they knew of were happening closer now to Breeland. ‘Here’s the one old Tom told me,’ said one of the farmers in from Archet. He put his grubby finger down on a place just north of Weathertop, leaving a dirty smudge in which Veryadan marked an ‘X’ and asked about when did the incident happen. Others crowded in then, eager to have their stories heard, their marks put on the Ranger’s map.

When they were all heard, Veryadan called for a round of ale for the group and thanked them. They hung about the table, looking at the patterns of ‘X’s he’d put there. One of them shook his head, voicing the unspoken concern that was beginning to dawn on the group. ‘This don’t look good for Bree, Master Veryadan,’ said one of the younger fellows. He took a gulp of his beer, then shook his head at the map. ‘Whatever it is what’s been attacking the outlying places is moving closer to Chetwood. Don’t it look so to you fellows?’ Others nodded their assent.’

‘Well, if that’s so,’ said one grizzled old pig farmer from out Archet way, ‘then you’ve got to think whoever it is moving their camp in closer, don’t you think?’ Veryadan clapped the man on the shoulder, saying that’s one of the reasons he’d wanted to use the map. ‘I haven’t been in this area in a very long time. Since before the War, really.’ He turned the map round so that the bulk of the men could see it. ‘If you were going to look for the source of the trouble, where do you think a good place to start looking might be? And we’ll need a place to all meet back and share what we’ve learned. What’s the easiest place to get to if we go out to see about some of the places I’ve marked from your stories?’

Murmurs of Weathertop followed from some with grunts of affirmation from the others. ‘Easy place to get to,’ a few said. Tracing some tracks on the parchment that were not yet drawn in. ‘Good place for a look-see, too,’ the lot of them agreed.

Veryadan looked over the throng, toward the bar where Silrûth stood talking to a familiar looking figure. He hoped to catch the Elf’s eye. Perhaps the man could place another ‘X’ on the map for the searchers to take a look at . . .

[Esgallhugwen]

Silrûth silently stood before the haggard man as his story unfolded in wailing gasps. She noticed before he spoke his display of nervous behaviour, though he tried to cover it.

His eyes watered up perveying emotion, but the Elf kept her gaurd up, noticing the familiarity of this man's eyes to the same beady ones that had watched them so closely the night before. She showed no trace of emotion not even sympathy as she listened intently to every word that spilled from his blubbering mouth.

She made sure to neither acknowledge or deny the involvement of the King and nodded at the appropriate times during his story telling. Butterbur Jr. had bounced off to serve his other patrons breakfast, as they had begun to shout for it, accusing him of ignoring the other regulars in favour of the Elves and Rangers.

Sighing as he begged for their protection she answered, "we will do what we can to see that these attacks stop and to see those accused have a swift end".

Luinien passed by, giving Silrûth a warning with her eyes, the blonde Elf nodded slightly, knowing what the warning was about, Luinien had recognised this man as well, and no doubt her suspicions were of like mind.

"Tell me good sir, what is your name? So that I may tell my companions from whom this tale comes so that I may spare you further grief. Such troubling news is not easy on the heart, and you seem to be shaken quite badly" she looked quietly on the man, but his gaze strayed away from hers as if her grey eyes stung his own.

"I...I..ma....my nam" he stuttered fumbling with his hands in his pockets, his eyes shifted from side to side then finally back up at her. "My name is Fen, Fen Shepherdspurse" he blurted out at last looking anxiously around the dusty room, after a moment he managed to regain his composure.

She nodded cooly, turning on her heel, she stopped smoothly catching the intent gaze of the Ranger, Veryadan, as he looked across the gathering of people, looking directly at her she quickly turned again to face Fen. The man seemed distraught again, now that she had turned back facing him.

"Mr. Shepherdspurse would you kindly assist us in locating this Whittleworth Farm? It would greatly improve our chances of finding the assailants and ending this horror", She questioned him politely with her smooth lyrical voice.

[rutslegolas]

Aidwain was still eating when Luinien came down to breakfast.After breakfast the company had decided to talk with all the people in the Inn about the attacks and gather as much information as possible.So after some time Silruth went off to talk to the lean,creepy man who Aidwain thought was spying on them,he wished she would be more careful while talking to a thing he thought as low as orcs.

Veryadan had brought out his old map and was asking the Breelanders to show him where the attacks exactly took place.

Meanwhile Aidwain who was not very keen to strike conversation with any unknown Breelanders,was standing beside Tarondo and Menecar,who were'nt very keen to join the conversation either...

[Meneltarmacil]

Thoronmir sat at a table with Menecar and Veryadan, continuing to put X's on the map as the patrons told their tales.

"This is worse than I thought," he said. "The attacks are happening a lot more frequently and a lot farther away from their source. The later the attack happens, the farther away it becomes. They're definitely getting closer to Bree."

"That's not all," Veryadan said. "They're spreading farther east as well. I figure it won't be long before they reach the Angle. And judging by your encounter in the North Downs, they've expanded farther north as well."

"Thoronmir, look at this." Menecar pointed to a corner of the room. Thoronmir looked and saw Silruth talking to a man who appeared to be crying. He thought it might be one of the farmers who had been attacked, but then he recognized the man. It was Fen Shepherdspurse, the same man who had been watching him and Menecar intently the night before. Shepherdspurse would never act like this unless he was trying to fool somebody.

"I see," Thoronmir said. "Shepherdspurse. And I don't think he's up to any good. I'd better warn Silruth about him when they're done talking."

"Why do you think so?" asked Veryadan.

"Because he's the man that was eyeing us suspiciously last night, and he's the kind of person that would never try to appear weak unless it could profit him somehow," Thoronmir replied.

[Alaksoron]

Osric started. He slowly opened one eye. Taking in his surroundings, he realized he'd fallen asleep on the porch. He also realized the sun was shining, and most people were having breakfast, which told him he'd been unusually tired. It was uncharacteristic for him to sleep so late.

Getting up with some minor dicomfort, he headed inside, making a mental note to himself to never sleep in a chair again. He ordered water to be heated for a bath. He needed to freshen up.

A while later and feeling quite refreshed, he headed to the stables. He greeted his horse with a pair of apples. He decided to ride into the center of town. He saddled Shadow and gave him a pat, mounted and set off at a fast-paced trot.

[Alaksoron]

Guiding his horse carefully through the streets, Osric's keen eyes picked out the marketplace. He guided Shadow closer, then leapt lightly to the ground. He didn't even bother with tying Shadow to any of the unoccupied lead posts. Shadow was a trained warhorse, and most certainly wouldn't run away. Any sneaky horse-thief who might decide to try his hand at Shadow would quickly find himself with a
hoof-split skull.

So it was that Osric was completely unconcerned as he weaved his way through the bustling crowds, past vendors and hawkers calling out their wares. He did not notice, nor would he have cared, that the crowd cleared a path for him as he passed. Perhaps it was because of the sword that was so prominently over his coat. Yet he wore it so easily, like a soldier. The sword looked as if it belonged there.

His mind was clear as he walked along, searching for that one place, searching..... ah, there. There it was. The armourer's shoppe. Abruptly he was aware of a hand reaching into his purse.....

He whirled to face the pickpocket. The culprit was a dark haired man, average height, slight build, with a rather dirty look about him. The man's expression went form concentration to surprise to anger to determination in a matter of seconds. Suddenly there was a knife in the man's hand, driving straight for Osric's ribs.

Falkur's hand shot forward instinctively. He caught the fellow's knife hand at the wrist and twisted - hard. Hard enough to wrench the knife from his hand. Osric's boot was on top the knife as soon as it hit the ground.

Again the man looked surprised. Then angry. He tried to jerk his hand away, but Falkur's grip was iron. Osric's eyes could have frozen fire. The man swung with his free hand, but Osric anticipated. He twisted still harder on his wrist, forcing the man to his knees.

"What is your name?" Osric's voice was as cold as a winter pond. The man grunted and didn't answer. By now a ring of people had formed to watch. Irritated, Osric drew his sword and placed it to the man's throat. "You tried to stab me. I could kill you now, and no law in Rohan would say me wrong. Tell me your name!"

The man groaned as Osric's boot crashed into his rib cage. Still he remained silent. A wave of contempt for the man came over Osric, and, sheathing his sword, he jerked him to his feet. He forced his fist to unclench. The man began to rub his wrist. Osric bent over to pick up the man's knife. Rather than return it, he stuck it in his belt. "When you start to miss it, remember the man you tried to kill. When you've turned your life around, come find me and you can have it back."

Leaving the man there, he strode to the armourer's shoppe. Once there, he pulled a chainmail jacket from his bag. He briskly asked to have it repaired, paid for it, and said he would pick it up that evening. Then he made his way back to the street. The crowd was now granting him an even wider berth. Good. He whistled, and Shadow came cantering up, a clump of grass hanging from his mouth. Placing his hands on Shadow's flank, he vaulted into the saddle and, with a flick of the reins was off. He let Shadow gallop, leading him off the main road. Yes, he wanted to take a ride. The wind blew his hair. And after that........ breakfast!

[rutslegolas]

Aidwain did not wish to stand in the Common room full of people smoking different weeds,his head was spinning with the smoke,he wished for some air.Tarondo and Aidwain went outside and sat on a tree,Aidwain did not wish to speak ,only listen to the singing of the wind,and see the twinkling stars,he thought of his days in Rivendell,he would just spend days listening to the stream and sitting on the trees.

But Tarondo asked,"Who do you think could be behind this attacks?". " Well ,I do not think that these attacks are carried out by single attackers,I think that these farms are looted by organised gangs.",replied Aidwain. " But by whom that we do not know yet ."." That is what we are here to find out ",answered Tarondo.

"Let us go inside ,we cannot afford using such time according to our wishes when our companions strive to solve this puzzle.".
"Indeed ",replied Tarondo.

And they both went into the Inn once again ..

[Envinyatar]

Fen Sherdspurse

‘Well, lady, I might can do that for you.’ Fen wiped his dirty sleeve across his face, smearing away the tears he had managed to work up in the telling of his story. ‘But,’ he went on in a trembling, fearful whimper, ‘and begging your ladyship’s pardon if I offend, but I’ll not be going out that way less I have some good strong men at arms to protect me. There weren’t no sign that any of the attackers had been kilt.’ He reached out hesitantly to pluck at her sleeve, then drew back his grimy hand, thinking better of the act. ‘They could still be around you know. And Elf or no, what with your sword and all, you’re nowt but a lady.’

Fen blanched beneath his layer of dust and smudged tears as the Elf gave him a quick, mirthless smile. She gestured toward where Veryadan and the others of the Breelanders were gathered, discussing other incidents that had occurred. The crowd of farmers and traders parted as he came forward, not so much in deference to one who has witnessed a horrible thing, but more as if they wished to distance themselves from the man; to be clear of his touch even in passing as if it might taint them somehow.

Veryadan watch the crowd’s reaction and the flickers of distaste that played here and there on the others' faces. Fen he noted ignored their glances, coming to stand close to him, nearly touching the Ranger’s arm. Despite his display of fear and horror, there was a certain air of excitement that seemed to radiate from him. He told his story again to the Ranger pointing to the location on the map once Veryadan had explained it to him. As he talked, he glanced often at the Ranger, wanting to make sure he was following the story and more important believing Fen’s truth in the telling of it.

Throughout his narrative, he slipped in many questions. Why had they come, and who had sent them, and what were they intending to do were the repeated themes. None of the companions answered him directly, but others in the crowd began discussing those points. Often the King was referred to, though no one of the Rangers or Elves affirmed the connection.

‘Now, I can’t take you out there today. I’m just too tired and too wrought up to see it again,’ Fen said, as Veryadan finished putting the last of the notes on the map. ‘Tomorrow, I could do it or the next day. Whatever you good folk need.’

He looked round expectantly, awaiting an answer . . .

[Nuranar]

Tarondo

Fen flinched and nearly fled when a cool voice spoke directly behind him. "The day after next will do." The cringing Breelander turned guiltily to face Tarondo. The tall Elf's dark eyes fixed him in their daunting gaze. Fen backed up, his reborn assurance dissolving. Drat those soft-footed Elves! Had he heard him questioning the Rangers?

“Ah – I – ah, that’s good,” he stammered, nonplussed. “Uh, wh-”

“Be here by dawn,” Tarondo said shortly. His eyes swept the circle of his companions, then with an inclination of his head he left the common room. With a word of excuse, Veryadan followed him.

* ~ * ~ *

“I agree, Shepherdspurse has acted suspiciously. Most of the Bree men are nervous around us Rangers – and frankly, especially around you Elves.” Tarondo smiled but did not interrupt Veryadan. “But why were you so curt with him? We’re asking for information; he comes forward with information and is willing to lead us to the site. If he is up to something, all you’ve done is put him on his guard.”

Tarondo shook his head. “My friend, you do not understand. I want to put him on his guard. He may decide against making mischief if we show him we are ready. And if he is not deterred, we are prepared nonetheless.”

Veryadan still appeared doubtful but the entrance of the others prevented him from continuing the subject. He turned to the map. “Here is what we’ve learned today,” he said, indicating the new marks. With the assistance of Thoronmir and Menecar he briefed Tarondo on the latest news.

“That corresponds with what my sister learned. She spent most of the day in the markets, talking to the women.” Tarondo straightened up and gazed thoughtfully into the fire. “Very well, all of you keep your ears open for more, but prepare to leave the day after tomorrow. We may not return to Bree for some time, so give thought to your supplies. And we will probably be traveling separately for a bit.” He grinned suddenly. “I intend to keep a very close, personal eye on Master Shepherdspurse.”

[rutslegolas]

Tarondo straightened up and gazed thoughtfully into the fire. “Very well, all of you keep your ears open for more, but prepare to leave the day after tomorrow. We may not return to Bree for some time, so give thought to your supplies. And we will probably be traveling separately for a bit.” He grinned suddenly. “I intend to keep a very close, personal eye on Master Shepherdspurse.”.

Aidwain grinned at Tarondo,and then the company went to their rooms to have a good night's sleep.

Early next morning Aidwain remembered he had to get some supplies for himself.Once outside he went to the stables and then mounted his horse "Snowmount" and rode through the streets of Bree,he wished he could keep riding and never stop ,but once at the market place he dismounted and tied his horse to a nearby pole.

He strolled around the market place ,though the streets were crowded he was given a wide path by the crowd ,some wispering with each other passed him . At last he found the armourers shop he was looking for,here he bought himself a short sword,he had found in his jouneys that a sword is always handy wherever you go,he was not a very good swordsman but he knew the art's basics.Here he also sharpened his dagger and his knife.

Once outside he roamed the marketplace and got himself some water skins and then returned to his horse and returned to the Inn feeling much the better ....

[Alaksoron]

Osric reined Storm in and leapt lightly to the ground in front of the Prancing Pony. He handed the reins over to a stableboy and tossed him a thick silver coin. Then he walked to the inn, but rather than go inside he sat on the porch. He let his mand wander as he lit his pipe and produced a whetstone, sharpening first his sword and then his best set of knives. The blades of each, like Falkur's martial skills, were already honed to a razor edge, but he was fascinated by the intimidating effect it had on people.

He made the knife he was working on disappear somewhere inside his coat with an elegant flourish as Aidwain appeared before the Inn, also handing over his mount to a stableboy. Once Aidwain was on foot, Osric strode purposefully toward him.

"I went for a ride dis'morning." He called out before he was even within three meters. Still walking, he continued "I saw you at the armourer's shoppe, and I noticed you bought a sword. Are you, then, a swordsman yourself?" He carressed the hilt of his own long sword that was hanging at his hip as he waited for an answer.

[Envinyatar]

Veryadan

A day and a half later and the companions had narrowed the reports down to three they thought would lead them to some definite evidence of those behind the attacks. The group’s suspicions about Fen Shepherdspurse had continued, especially since others of the Breelanders that had come forward had made little remarks which confirmed his shady character. Still, there were also one or two others who had come in from the area near the Whittleworth farm with confirming tales they heard of what had been done.

Two other incidents had also caught the eye of the Elves and Rangers. The first was the attack on a small party of merchants and their wagons on the Great East Road, just east of Weathertop. Two large trees, it seemed, had been blown down across the road. The merchants had tried to take their wagons around the barrier, they’d been told. But night was falling and the unsuspecting travelers had been set upon and killed; the contents of their wagons stolen.

The other incident occurred between the Midgewater Marshes and Weathertop. A sheepherder and his dog had been driving their small flock toward the foot of Weathertop, when they had been overwhelmed. The mangled bodies of the man and dog had been found flung on the rocks; the entire flock of sheep had disappeared.

Veryadan had been up since first light. He’d seen to the provisions he’d gotten the previous day, packing them carefully into his saddlebags. His horse, fed and groomed, had been brought round to the front of the Inn. He had just enough time, he thought, to enjoy a morning smoke of Archet pipeweed. As he smoked, Veryadan leaned against the railing of the Inn’s porch. He drew his cloak about him to keep off the chill of the early morning breeze. Osric and Aidwain had also gathered a ways down from him he noted.

Tarondo would soon be out with the others, he thought. Once the Elf had laid out his plans of who would be in which group, they would be off . . .

[rutslegolas]

Aidwain returned to the Inn , and handed over his horse to be stabled.As he was returning to the Inn ,he saw Osric and immdiately turned towards him ,but even before he could reach him , Osric loudy called out,"I went for a ride dis'morning and saw you at the armourer's shoppe, and I noticed you bought a sword. Are you, then, a swordsman yourself?" He carressed the hilt of his own long sword that was hanging at his hip as he waited for an answer.

Aidwain stunned by the question replied " Ah ! No ,indeed not I know a few basics of this art but I am no master,I just bought the sword so I could have it hand if need there be to fight in close combat ,I prefer my trusty bow and arrows in normal circumstances",he said patting his bow .

To Aidwain it seemed Osric was disappointed by his answer so he further said," I have learned that Tarondo is a sword fighter,and a very good one I can say perhaps you can meet to sharpen your skills before we face the real enemies".

Osric laughed," Indeed I hope to learn a few skills from him,aren't we going to leave tommorow ? ". " Yes ,but I think that we are going to be arranged in seprate groups to scout the different incidents that Veryadan discovered from the locals",replied Aidwain,"Of what breed is your horse ,for I ahve heard that the Rohirrim have the finest horses in West ,is that true ??"...

[Alaksoron]

"The Rohirrim horses are, indeed, the finest horses in the West, and I might say even in the known world." Osric Falkur said with a smile, but then his face grew serious. "Let us return to my question. I know that Tarondo is a swordsman, but I'd sooner think he would learn from me than I him. I am a blademaster, and a blademaster's sword is not something worn lightly." He paused, and drew his sword. "I could teach you to use the sword, if you like."

The blue-silver of the blade flashed in the sudden sunlight, for Osric had polished it only that morning, and it gleamed. It was a magnificent sword, indeed. The pommel was a silver wolfhead, highly detailed, with diamond eyes. The hilt was dark ebony, with a red-enameled serpent entwined over the guard. Taking it by the blade, dull edge on the inside of his palm, he extended it.

As Aidwain reached out to grasp the hilt, Falkur said "That is the proper way to hand a sword. There is your fist lesson for you, just to start." He flashed one of his rare smiles, and Aidwain knew he spoke teasingly.

As Aidwain hefted the sword, he noticed how remarkably light it was, how perfectly balanced. "That's Elven craftmanship," Osric spoke into his thoughts. "I call it Azar. Sindarin for lightning-blade." He said, sounding quite scholarly.

[Nuranar]

Luinien's dark head appeared at the door. "Ah! there you are, Veryadan." The Ranger admitted his presence. "Would you mind joining us in the meeting room? You too," she continued, turning to Aidwain and Osric. "Unless you're too busy, of course," she continued, a dangerous glint in her eye. Aidwain and a silenced Osric followed her and Veryadan into the inn.

Silrûth and the Northern Rangers were already in the room. Tarondo pointed to the map. "The Whittleworth farm is here near Staddle, on the east side of Bree-hill. Fen Shepherdspurse will show Silrûth and I the way there." Silrûth nodded, a small, satisfied smile on her lips. "Veryadan, you and Aidwain and Osric go here" - he pointed to a spot just east of the Midgewater Marshes - "where the shepherd was killed."

"That was a week ago," Osric spoke up. "Will there be anything to see after that long?"

"That's what we are to discover," Veryadan said coolly.

Tarondo continued, "Luinien, Thoronmir, and Menecar, you go on past Amon Sûl - that is Weathertop - to where the merchants were attacked."

"Will we meet up after we finish?" Aidwain asked.

"Yes, at Weathertop. It's three or four days' gourney from here, and we need to allow time for investigation. So we will meet no later than six days from now. If you have not even sent word by then, the rest of us will assume that you have run into trouble." He grinned suddenly. "So please be there if you possibly can. I hope that is clear?"

A few murmurs, then Menecar spoke. "What you have said is very clear. But I want to know for certain exactly what we are to be looking for."

"The King has sent us to find out what is happening," Luinien answered. That means we need to discover who is behind it. And we do that by going to the scene, studying the ground, looking for footprints, and so forth."

"All the while using our heads and thinking and fitting the pieces together," Veryadan said.

"And then we decide what to do about it." Tarondo stood up. "Fen Shepherdspurse is waiting in the common room. I suggest you saddle your horses. We can travel together as far as the road to Staddle."

[rutslegolas]

Aidwain and Osric were chatting about swordsmanship and Luinien's dark head appeared at the door. "Ah! there you are, Veryadan." The Ranger admitted his presence. "Would you mind joining us in the meeting room? You too," she continued, turning to Aidwain and Osric. "Unless you're too busy, of course," she continued, a dangerous glint in her eye. Aidwain and a silenced Osric followed her and Veryadan into the inn.

There Aidwain saw that everybody else were already there ,he went beside Tarondo who was sorting everyone into groups, " Veryadan, you and Aidwain and Osric go here" - he pointed to a spot just east of the Midgewater Marshes -"where the shepherd was killed."

' Ah! Midgewater Marshes of all the places to scout I have to go to the marshes',Aidwain thought. After the discussion they were supposed to meet in the common room. Aidwain went to his room and picked up the water skins he had purchased and some spare clothes threw them into his backpack which also contained some bread.

Picking up his backpack he went down into the common room,here he found Silruth was already ready . "So shall we saddle our horses or are you keeping an eye on him ? ",he asked gesturing towards Fen. "Indeed not ,we should saddle our horses Tarondo will bring him . "

They both went outside and saddled their horses,meanwhile all the company came outside with Fen walking beside Tarondo,they all saddled their own horses,checked their belongings and trotted along the lane . "At least we are off now ",thought Aidwain....

[Esgallhugwen]

Sitting on the window sill as the sky slowly brightened with the coming sun, Silrûth breathed in the fresh cool air before it was warmed by the dawn. She smiled to herself knowing she should savour the moment, chances such as this would come far and few between on the journey they were about to undertake.

Reluctantly snapping out of her reverie, she entered her room through the window and gathered up her belongings. She quickly dressed and headed out the door, down the stairs and out of the Inn.

Her silver white mare, Falma, greeted her warmly, "come, we must fetch some supplies before the day breaks and we are off".

Luckily for the two they weren't too early as the shops were open, even when no one was really about. First to the Smithy to get my sword sharpened, she pulled her sword out examining it with her keen Elvish eyes, yes one side was beginning to wear slightly.

~*~*~*~*~*

After she made her rounds and gathered all the supplies she needed she found herself once more inside the Inn, for her last time. Thoronmir was found walking towards her, "we will be having one last meeting before we depart". The walked side by side then single file as they entered the meeting room.

They seated themselves similarly to last night, around the small oak table. Murmurings began before everyone arrived but it did not take long for the others to be in attendance.

"The Whittleworth farm is here near Staddle, on the east side of Bree-hill. Fen Shepherdspurse will show Silrûth and I the way there." A small smile played on Silrûth's lips satisfied she would help to keep an eye on the shady Fen Sheperdspurse.

Each group had been organized, and each knew their purpose. Silrûth was waiting by the door for her compatriot Aidwain, "So shall we saddle our horses or are you keeping an eye on him ? ",he asked gesturing towards Fen.

She shook her head "Indeed not ,we should saddle our horses, Tarondo will bring him. "

With their saddle bags laiden with supplies they harnessed and saddled their horses along with the others. Fen was brought out by Tarondo a most displeased look was on the old man's face.

Silrûth reigned in her horse next to Aidwain's as the company rode off, Tarondo was in front of them with Fen on a dusty grey pony. The company trotted down the lane and soon left Bree all together.

[Meneltarmacil]

A mumak trampled over Valamir. Targon's head was chopped off by an Easterling chieftan's axe. A troll's war club knocked Halbarad to the ground.

Thoronmir woke from his nightmare of the Pelennor Fields and the deaths of his friends. He got himself together and went downstairs, where some of the others had gathered.

"Good morning," Menecar said. "Sleep okay?"

"Um, yes," Thoronmir made no mention of his dream.

"We'll be having a meeting here in about half an hour," Tarondo said. "Make sure you're here by then."

"I'll be here," the ranger said. He walked up to the bar. "How about some coffee?"

"Sure thing, Thorondor," Butterbur said.

"Ummm..." Thoronmir started to say.

"What?" Butterbur asked, clueless as usual.

"Never mind." Thoronmir got his coffee and didn't say any more. He went outside. The day was quite sunny with only a few small clouds. He walked out to the stable to feed his horse, Awyrgan, who was happy to see him, then bought supplies for the long journey ahead of them. On the way back to the Inn, he ran into Silrûth, who was also on her way to the Inn.

"We will be having one last meeting before we depart," he reminded her. They entered the Inn together.

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

"So, we're going to check out where this shepherd was killed?" Menecar asked his old friend.

"Yes," Thoronmir said. "Right near Weathertop, and a very ugly sight if travelers' tales are accurate. That's right about where my scouting party disappeared when I sent them to investigate."

"Do you think some of your scouts might still be alive?" asked Luinen.

"I highly doubt it," Thoronmir replied, knowing the ugly truth. "These guys don't seem to like taking prisoners. Anyway, we must be cautious while searching for clues. On the journey, it would be best if we keep up a watch at night. Nobody should ever go off alone. If someone disappears, don't run off after them or you'll likely get killed. Do we have enough supplies for the road?"

[Envinyatar]

Fen Sheperdspurse

Fen had had plenty of time to slip away from the Inn and speak with the Orc chieftain after he’d given his information. The companions had taken a couple of days to make their decisions on the other two places of attack to be investigated. Once done with that, they needed to replenish their provisions. Fen had hung about long enough to confirm they would meet at Weathertop. Late at night, then, he had stolen away, saying he was going to fetch his own horse so as not to slow down the search party.

What small amount of information he had, he passed along to the Orcs. He’d been disappointed, expecting a little reward. But the Orc had leered at him, saying if the information proved true he would be paid well. ‘Just tell me something,’ Fen said, as the Orc turned to go. ‘What do you have planned? Should I be afeard for my own skin?’ ‘Let’s just say this,’ the Orc, said laughing. ‘Once your party gets near the top of Weathertop, I’d say you want to turn tail and run.’

The pony he’d fetched for his purposes came from one of the farmhouses he’d slunk by on his way back to the Inn. A raggedy old grey gelding, but good legs by the feel of them, Fen thought. ‘And we’ll be needing them, my friend,’ he whispered to the pony as he led him away from the ramshackle barn.

-----

The morning of departure had come. Fen walked out of the Inn with Tarondo, a bit disgruntled at having some female Elf to contend with. Elves gave him the shivers anyway, and she, with her cool eyes, unnerved him even more. With little ceremony, the group mounted up. Fen prodded his steed with his bony knees and trailed after Tarondo. He drew back even further as the group left Bree, leaving the others to chatter on. He snorted, looking at them.

Cats with sharp claws and long teeth waiting for you, my little chattery birds! he thought to himself with some satisfaction. His fingers twitched against his reins, already counting his monies . . .

---

Arrival at the Whittleworth Farm . . .

A half day of steady riding brought the companions to the outskirts of Staddle on the southern edge of Chetwood. The three smaller groups then went their separate ways. Fen and his Elven companions would head north just a bit to where the Whittleworth farm was located. The others he recalled were heading further east – one group just beyond the Midgewater Marshes and one the other side of Weathertop. Tarondo reminded the other two groups they would meet at Weathertop in five days time, then each group went their separate way.

‘If we keep riding, we can be at the farm by the middle of the night,’ commented Fen as Tarondo took the lead with Silruth following last. She said she was keeping a lookout for trouble, but Fen had the sneaking suspicion it was him she meant to keep and eye on. ‘Now if I was you,’ Fen went on as he brought his horse alongside Tarondo’s, ‘I wouldn’t want to be riding into the Whittleworth farm in the dark.’ He shook his head and shuddered a little as if he were thinking of the awful events of that previous night. ‘I know a place we can’t shelter for the night, safe like. Then in the bright light of day you can see them grisly things what I was telling you about.’

It was late evening when they cam to the sheltered camp area. Tarondo and Siruth split the watch and the night passed uneventfully. A quick morning meal eaten cold in the saddle the next day and they were off toward the farm. It was well past noon when they cleared the little rise and looked down on the scene of carnage. No one had dared go to the secluded little place since the killings. The bodies lay strewn where they’d fallen. The reek of death washed up the little hill, borne on the afternoon breeze. And here and there, hopping among the fallen were the busy crows and the ravens. They cawed loudly as the three riders approached, declaring their ravenous sovereignty.

[Envinyatar]

Saurreg's post

Andas Loudewater was humming an old melody to himself as he approached the farmstead riding upon his latest acquisition – a brown little pack mule. He had sauntered upon the live animal market at the town square on the way home and suddenly decided to take a look. It wasn’t long till he set his eyes on the said crossbred and fell for it’s dark black liquid eyes that seemed to convey ”Buy me Andas, buy me! I’m worth your entire month’s earning and more!” This was what the farmer did, much to the delighted surprise of the mule owner who knew that the value of the animal was far less than the amount of guineas he was receiving. But Loudewater did not mind, not one bit. He wanted an animal from the market square (which incidentally could have been a pair of sleepy salamanders further down the stalls) that day and he was pretty sure that he would not be leaving town without a buy. Besides what was money to him anyway?

Andas Loudewater was a new man. He was a happy man who wanted to go on a trip. He was also a new man who named his animals.

Meet “Killer”, Loudewater’s steed extraordinaire.

The mid-morning was blazing as the farmer arrived at his destination. He got off the mule, gave it an affectionate pat between the long furry ears before marching briskly into the cottage. He stepped onto the porch, swung the door open with aplomb and promptly hollered,

“HONEY I’M HOME!”

His enthusiastic introduction was greeted initially by the silence of the main room, but the inevitable was ensured. And it came from the solar,

“ANDAS LOUDEWATER! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! WHY WEREN’T YOU HOME LAST NIGHT?!”

The joy. It tickles your heart and keeps your body warm, like the gentle embrace of a loved one. The joy, it is a key that unlocks the door and let the bright rays of the sun in. Nourishing all with indescribable delight and hope.

“I WAS OUT DRINKING! I SLEPT IN TOWN!” Replied the farmer as he headed up the stairs towards the bedroom in brisk light steps.

He entered the bedroom, pulled his muddied boots and stripped off his soiled garments, tossing them carelessly onto the floorboards. He then reached for a large wicker case, flipped open the top and pulled out a white linen shirt, another brown tunic and a pair of trousers and put them on.

The now-familiar disembodied voice boomed,

“AND WHO SAID YOU COULD SPEND THE NIGHT OUTSIDE?! THERE WERE CHORES TO BE DONE THIS MORNING ANDAS! YOU HAVE RESPONSIBILITIES!”

The joy, it was louder than rolling thunder yet softer than a lover’s whisper. It was the uncontrollable laughter of innocent children at play but also the measured tones of a sagely storyteller.

Loudewater ignored the outburst and continued to put on his clothes. He took a sniff at the new tunic and decided that it needed further smoking.

There was the sound of a furry of steps and Helga appeared before the doorway of the bedroom, eyes blazing with unbraided anger. But that soon gave way to shock as she espied the guilty pair of boots and the crumbled heap of clothes.

“My… My floor,” She stammered without taking her beady little eyes off the obnoxious footwear, “Andas, what… what have you done to my nice clean floor?”

“Oh those! I was changing and I had to take them off. You can’t expect me to take off my trousers with those oversized things on could jah?” Loudewater replied nonchalantly as he struggled to buckle his leather belt.

He then picked up the offensive pair of scalawags, put them on again and headed out the door, sidestepping his wife who was still in a mystified state of disbelieving. Heading down the flight of stairs, he entered the kitchen and proceeded to raid the cupboard.

“Andas! How dare you! You… you…”

Helga was threatening her husband as she entered the kitchen but stopped mid sentence when she saw what he was doing. Loudewater was whistling to himself as he wrapped a large piece of dried spiced beef in fine muslin, he had already consigned a loaf of rye bread and generous wedge of aged cheddar to a similar fate. Beside them stood a large wooden flask filled with cheap ale.

“I love the smell of spiced beef in the morning,” he drawled teasingly to his wife, eyes sparkling with mischief, “it smells… it smells like success!”

The deed done, he then reached for a large sheepskin fanny pack and stuffed the mummified foodstuff into it. A couple of wind-dried (but still good) apples plucked from the tree in the backcourt were tossed in for a good measure. Loudewater then buckled the large bulging pouch onto his belt and grabbed the flask by its shoulder strap.

“Well, all packed and done. Time to go!” He proclaimed as he headed back towards the main hall, not even giving Helga the briefest of glances.

“Go? Go where?”

“Why, a trip of course! I’m heading east on the main road.”

“But why Andas? You can’t just go! You’ve got chores. The sheepfold needs fixing and the roof leaked last night, you have to thatch it!”

“That can wait dear. It won’t rain anytime now and you’ll just have to keep an eye out for ‘em sheep from time to time. But for now, TRIP!”

Andas affixed the sheath of his trusty old dagger onto the straining leather belt and grabbed the cope by the hood before opening the front door.

“But what about last month’s earnings from those wool shavings and the cabbages? Are you still holding on to the money purse? And what about me?” Inquired Helga, nonplussed and voice quivering. The fire had died in her eyes and was replaced by the dullness of doubt and fear.

“Not to worry dear,” Replied Loudewater confidently as he beckoned Helga to join him at the door which, she did so hesitantly, “I have invested it in this fine animal that will earn us great dividends in the near future! Helga, meet Killer!”

Loudewater pointed at the little brown mule which had somehow found its way into the garden vegetable garden and was helping himself to young immature greens. Killer took in Mrs. Loudewater with his dark liquid globes and whined appreciatively (at least that was what Loudewater thought). Helga just stood solidified, lower jaw hanging by their hinges.

“Well, gotta to go now, ‘tis a good day for riding.”

Loudewater stepped off the porch, went to Killer and led him out of the patch by the reins. As he led the mule onto the dirt road, the farmer cocked his head and deliberated.

He turned around and gazed at Helga with eyes that momentarily shone with compassion, love and surprise instead of the maniacal glint the dominated the entire morning. His voice wavier wavered and choked with emotion as he said,

“By God woman, you look… beautiful. By God…”

Loudewater stared at Helga for a while before turning towards Killer, mounting him and delivering the twin taps to its sides with the back of his heels that sent the animal trotting down the road, head bobbing up and down.

Loudewater’s thoughts were still on Helga. Mouthing over and over again,

“By God... by God…”

[Envinyatar]

Veryadan

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

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

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

[Saurreg]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then Andas Loudewater saw it…

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

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

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


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

[rutslegolas]

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

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

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

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

[Envinyatar]

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

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

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

[Alaksoron]

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

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

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

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

[Nuranar]

As the nauseous stench surrounded them, Tarondo swallowed hard and set his jaw. He swung down to the ground. "Fen, you stay up here with the horses while Silrûth and I look around. Don't move or you could destroy some signs." The man nodded vigorously, a sickly smile pasted on his greenish face. Tarondo glanced at his companion. Silrûth was pale but collected, and her eyes met his reassuringly.

Tarondo strode swiftly down the wagon road. He looked to make sure, but saw no signs that anyone had passed that way for several days. That was as he had expected; wherever the culprits had come from, the road from Staddle was their least likely route.

The farmyard itself was of hard-packed dirt and showed next to no sign. It was past midsummer, as well, and there had been no rain for a week. Nevertheless Tarondo carefully quartered every inch of the ground, searching for the tiny indications of the unusual. A small divot in the dirt, its edges clean and sharp, showed where something pointed had been driven in. A dark-colored smear stained the ground near one of the bodies.

Silrûth called him over to the house. "Look at how this whole corner is destroyed. It seems as if it was smashed at one blow. And over here," she continued, pointing to a pile of splintered timbers. "There are two men under there. Two men, crushed to death. The house itself has been ransacked but very little taken, from what I can tell. I cannot find any money, although there is a hidden nook in the floor that is empty."

Tarondo gazed unseeingly at the wreckage, thinking. Silrûth nudged him. "Have you found anything?"

"Very little." He turned back to the farmyard. "Come on, we need to finish here." Silrûth followed silently.

Fen was called down the hill and, for a fee, set to work digging the graves in an untrodden corner across from the house. One by one the bodies were recovered and wrapped in their own blankets. Altogether, thirteen men and one woman had died that night. Some were still in their nightshirts, some in trousers, a few more or less fully dressed.

Both Elves had been in many fights and were well acquainted with the many guises of death. But the sheer brutality of these deaths was nightmarish. The bodies were crushed and mangled with inhuman ferocity. A few had split skulls and a few were dismembered, while the rest had been battered and smashed.

Having found another shovel and a pick, both Elves assisted with the gravedigging. Except for the harsh cries of the ravens, disturbed but not dispersed, a heavy stillness lay all that long afternoon. Fen worked in disgruntled sulkiness, muttering words he did not dare voice before Silrûth. The grim-faced Elf worked with relentless energy, as if executing vengeance on those responsible. Tarondo dug steadily, thinking all the while.

The sun was still above the eastern hills when they finished. The farmyard, though strewn with wreckage, no longer resembled a ghastly unroofed charnel house. After a drink from the well, Tarondo set off around the perimeter of the farmyard. Where the ground was softer and vegetation grew, he was certain of finding tracks. He had an inkling of the force behind the devastation, and if he was right, it would certainly have left traces.

[Envinyatar]

Fen Shepherdspurse

The smell of death was unbearable. Fen bent his back to the shovel and buried the dead as he was bidden, grumbling all the while to himself that the coins he’d received could not cover the labor he felt forced to do. Finally finished, he threw the shovel down, wiping the greasy grime from his brow with an already stained shirtsleeve.

Fen left the Elves to their talk of further tasks, saying he would see to the horses. Gathering them from the oak tree where they’d been tethered, he took the horses as far as he could from the grisly scene, as much wanting to be away from it himself as to get them away from the lingering, disquieting stench. The two Elven mounts eyed him with a certain sense of superiority, or so he surmised, as he tied them to another tree’s branch on the far perimeter of the farm. ‘It’s not that I’ve no feelings,’ he rasped at them. ‘And my hand had no doing in the killings.’ One of them snorted at him, shaking his great head as if to disagree. Fen wiped his hands, grimy from grave digging, against his vest and backed away from the beasts. ‘Man’s got to look out for himself,’ he mumbled leading his rag-tag grey away from the tree.

Looking back toward the farm, he noted the two Elves had disappeared from view. ‘Investigating,’ he snorted at his own mount. ‘Fat lot of good that’ll do,’ he laughed quietly, wondering if those Elven ears heard as good as he’d been told. ‘Investigate all they want,’ he wheezed, pulling himself up onto the back of his mount. ‘The Boss and his boys’ll take care of ‘em - same’s they took care of old Whittleworth and his get.’

He kicked his horse lightly in the flanks, heading north east to where the Orcs could be found. He’d stuck around long enough to hear when the parties planned to meet at Weathertop. The Boss would want to know . . .

[Envinyatar]

Veryadan

The scavengers had not left much of note to be seen when the three companions set out to have a look about the scene. Parts of the bodies from the shepherd and his dog were found scattered here and there, bones already cleaned of muscle and sinew by beak and tooth. ‘Interesting, though,’ remarked Veryadan as he held two gnawed pieces of the shepherd’s long thighbone up for inspection to Aidwain who was crouched down near him. ‘I can think of no animal large enough in these parts to have snapped the bone in two like this. Something with tremendous strength did this gruesome work.’

The Ranger frowned as he turned the cleanly fractured bone in his hands. ‘It couldn’t be . . .,’ he began. ‘Aidwain, have you ever been around the Troll lairs in the Angle? Seen the bones of big animals they’ve killed, broken neatly in two, the marrow sucked from them?’ He shook his head. ‘But there are no Trolls here, as I recall.’

‘There are those footprints I first found,’ Aidwain offered.

‘Too big even for a giant of a man,’ Veryadan agreed. He shook his head again. ‘Even if it were Trolls, I’ve never met one bright enough to plan and pull off raids as these seem to be doing.’

Aidwain pointed out that there was the matter of the other, smaller prints – booted and barefooted. ‘I’m certain those would be Orcs – saw enough of their trails in The War,’ the Elf went on.

Veryadan nodded at this. ‘Ugly, misshapen things - filled with shadow. But there were a number of them I had the misfortune to encounter who were as cunning as any man. Knew how to lay a plan and spring it.’

The day was growing toward evening. The two companions walked back toward their meager camp. Osric had gone off on his own; they were curious as to what he had found.

‘What I really would like to know is how big a group we’re dealing with,’ said Veryadan, as they reached the campsite. ‘Did your Elven eyes pick up any hint of this? The prints were too overrun by those of the scavengers for me to make any sense of them.’

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Arrald stood stock-still and raised his head into the air. Taking huge draughts in through his nose he sought to smell further and further afield. He closed his eyes to blot out the annoying lights and concentrated all of his attention on what came to his nose. Dim stood off to one side picking his teeth with a splinter. They had finished the last of the plunder from the farm and were on the hunt for more. Dim got the morsel free from between his teeth and pulled it out to inspect it before swallowing it. He dropped the splinter and scratched his head. “Oy, Arrald,” he called out. “Got wind of anything yet?”

Arrald opened his eyes and looked at his brother, and they were full of a dangerous cunning. Dim chuckled at the sight, for he knew this look of his brother’s and it meant fun of an especial kind. “I’ve smelt something I’ve not in a long time, my brother,” and Arrald’s face split into a hideous grin. “Can you smell it?”

Dim closed his eyes and smelt, but all he could find were wood smells and rock smells and the scent of rodents. His mouth watered at that, but he doubted he was smelling what his brother wanted him to. He opened his eyes and Arrald could tell from his expression that Dim was still clueless.

“It’s an old smell, brother,” Arrald explained. “One as I’ve not smelt in many’s the long year. It’s the smell of music and laughing and ‘orrible lights. The last time we smelt it, there was good sport though…”

The answer clawed its way through Dim’s mind. “Elves!” he chortled.

“Aye, Elves, my brother.”

“But where?” Dim cast about as though to find them in the instant.

“Not too far, but not too near either.” Arrald thought for a time. The night advanced. “I know!” he bellowed, awakening Dim. “We should head for that there great big hill with the view of all abouts. We can see where those Elves are from up there!”

“Oh, that’s a good plan,” said Dim. “But what if we run into the Elves before they run into us?”

That was a poser for Arrald. Tackling Elves who were unprepared for them was one thing, but being tackled unprepared was quite another. Arrald thought some more. The night advanced some more. “I know!” he bellowed, once more awakening Dim. “Let’s get them other two, Grimm and Broga. They’re good in a fight, and can help up with the Elves if we find them before they find us.”

Dim nodded happily at his brother. “Oh, now that’s another good plan!”