The Seventh Star Inn

[*Varda*]

Varda smiled upon hearing that Susan had now become a member of the society of Gondor. She had met Susan before, and felt she was certainly worthy of this.

For the time being however, she sat and sipped at her ale, observing the goings on in the inn. The Inn smelt fruity and spicy, and Varda absorbed these smells with with pleasure, reminding her of her childhood.

Before long, Varda grew weary of sitting still, and felt it was time to become better acquainted with some of the people in the Inn. She stepped over to where Bethberry and Susan were discussing the properties of garlic, as she desired to know more of herbs and plants, as she felt healing would be a useful skill to have on her journeys throughout Middle-Earth. However, none had yet wished to teach her, or found the time, but she hoped that perhaps she could learn a little from Bethberry, if she so wished, while they remained in the Inn, passing the time.

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Buoyed by the gift-giving and good fellowship around him of people like Karigan, Mithadan, Gamba, Susan, and others he considered as friends, Gandalf finally strode forward to Bethberry. *

Here is my gift to you, Bethberry, which we shall share together with all here present at The Seventh Star. I've invited the Glasshammer minstrels here for the evening's entertainment.

(OOC to Bethberry: I also hope you like the two Glasshammer CDs that I sent to you for your Christmas present, from whence come these songs.)

Dwarf and Orc Song

Dwarf and Orc Lyrics

The Last Ship

The Last Ship Lyrics

The above songs come from the following website:
http://www.glasshammer.com/livefrom.html

* bows *

Gandalf the Grey

[ December 15, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[Bêthberry]

What a contrast of inner and outer walls there was this night at The Seventh Star.

* * * * *

If any of those celebrating the feast of fellowship inside the Inn had looked up--and only one did--they would have seen under the dark umber of the Inn's eaves, hovering near the window, a shadowy presence. It hung over the strange bird that had set upon the window sill and seemed to pick up the rhythm of the bird's nodding head. Suddenly, the bird took wing and the presence furtively glanced left, right, even into the White presence of the Seventh Star itself, before disappearing into the folds of night. After a moment or two a second bird swooped down, landed on a different window and peered anxiously into bright interior.

* * * * *

Everyone was warmed and made hearty by good-natured fellowship celebrating life and light. Gamba handed around to Rianna, Karrigan, Mithadan, Vanima and Varda more of the hot mulled wine. Birdland, piosennial, Gandalf, Child and Susan choose to try the egg nog which Bethberry had insisted she make.

"The Innkeeper would forgive us our intrusion," she had said, striding into the kitchen holding Birdie's exquisite gifts of rare spices. She called for eggs, and cream, good thick, heavy cream that could be whipped into a concoction neither liquid nor solid, sugars, all blended together with some of the precious vanilla of Birdie's gift. Truth be told Bethberry also added a golden-hued beverage, in small quantity, to add a piquant warmth to the egg nog. Grating some of the precious nutmeg and cinnamon, she sprinkled them over the large bowl of egg nog, which she then carried ceremoniously back into the main room of the Inn, where Gandalf's magic had woven music as well into foot, hand and soul. Each who was inclined helped himself or herself to the rich drink.

"Gandalf, many thanks, for your gift of melody and song here at the Seventh Star."

"Susan, your unique gift of garlic is as pungent as those of Birdie's spices and just as precious. It not only flavours stews and casseroles, but is said to ward off colds and catarrhs and the grippe. It soothes body and spirit. For your thoughtfulness, I thank you kindly from my heart and also offer my happiness at the inclusion of your name on the List of Gondor. A distinction well-earned and much deserved."

The River-Daughter's daughter then turned to Birdie.

"Gladly will I help you market these precious spices, Birdie. I have but heard of them and never 'til now was acquainted with their pungent aromas, their intoxicating scents. To the south I have never been, but you, from the strange light in your eyes, I suspect have found a treasure which means more than helpful use. Doubly, even thrice grateful am I for your clever kindness and your thoughtful care."

At that point, the Glasshammer minstrels struck up a new song and all the voices rang in merriment. The fellowship was heard throughout the land, spreading even as far as the Downs and the Old Forest, for it seemed to pick up a theme of music unmarred.

* * * * *

Yet as the music and drink rang out its cheer, Wyrd managed to catch Bethberry's eye. The falcon shook his head once over his shoulder and then nodded three times. When none were looking, she slipped away ....

[ December 16, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Rianna smiled as she was handed a glass of wine. The scents of the wondrous foreign spices filled the air, and the music of the Glasshammer minstrels started a new, fast-paced and merry song. Rianna sang once she learned the chorus, delight and joy filling the air around the Seventh Star as travelers chimed in. Celebrating Yule had always been Rianna’s favorite thing of the year.

Rianna’s eyes lit up suddenly as she remembered something. She rummaged through her pack trying to find something, and when her hand found it she pulled it out with a slight ‘Aha!’ escaping from her lips. Rianna found a wooden stool by the bar and stepped up on it. She cleared her throat, and called out in a loud voice as soon as the Glasshammer musicians were done with the song:

“A gift from the northlands, up ways from Erebor and Dale, I bring with me,” Rianna called, holding up a small green plant with tiny pale-yellow flowers and wax-white berries; “ a plant that we called Mistletoe! ‘Twas said in times of old that it was the plant of Peace and Friendship. If foes met under a tree with Mistletoe, they would lower their weapons and call a truce for the day. If friends alike met under this plant, they considered their friendship blessed with luck. Yes, it’s small, but it is my gift to you fine folk at the Seventh Star!”

Rianna reached up to the ceiling and positioned the plant under a slightly loose nail. She smiled and jumped down from the stool and looked at the plant hanging slightly lopsided.

“Happy and Merry Yule.” Rianna called to the people at the Seventh Star.

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel and Estelarion smiled at Rianna.

"Ar le aníram Ar Rhiw meren, gwend bain (And we wish you a merry Yule, fair maiden)!" Estelarion called back.

"Is now a good time for a song?" Menelduliniel asked.

"Nay," Estelarion said, "I believe we take up enough time with our singing as is. If they want it, they will ask."

Menelduliniel shrugged, and smiled, mouthing, "Congratualions!" to Susan across the room. She turned back to her wine.

"Le annon veleth nîn," Menelduliniel began to sing to herself, quietly...

[ December 18, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Bêthberry]

The Saving of the Seventh Star blends back in with this thread here.

* * * * * * * * *

It was midafternoon before Bethberry could make her way downstairs to take lunch. She noticed Ulaf and caught the slight notice from the corner of his eye which signified that she should cease concern about the Innkeeper.

She wished she could think the same of the Princess, who had spent a fitful morning while Bethberry cleansed the wound thoroughly this time, bled it again, dressed it, and then attended to serving Estelyn, in small sips, a herbal broth to counteract the poison. Only when the feverish thrashing had finally stopped and Estelyn had sunk into more restful repose did Bethberry feel safe in leaving her briefly.

She caught up with others at the lunch table, all enjoying a special stew flavoured with Susan's garlic and a cake scented with Birdie's vanilla. Some of the patrons still hummed tunes made memorable the previous night by Gandalf's Glasshammer minstrels. Bethberry did not avoid anyone's eyes, but she could only comment that neither Estelyn nor Rimbaud would explain what had happened.

Lunch and some sociable conversation over, Bethberry returned upstairs to keep watch over Estelyn. A long watch.

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Birdland]

Birdie, not realizing that there was a real life and death battle going on upstairs in the inn, and full egg-noggy Yuletide joy, proposed an outing for all the people at the inn.

"There is a group of mummers who have arrived this day in Gondor, and tonight at midnight they will re-inact one of our most beloved and oft-told tales; that of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom!

At that all in the inn were overjoyed, because all knew this tale and never got enough of hearing it told and re-told. To see it acted out on the stage would surely be a special celebration!

"Yes", said Birdie, "the merry troupe portraying this tale is infinitely talented, and I can vouch for this, having seen them perform in the past. The cast consists of many players - some acting dual roles, of course - and tis said that all aspects of the tale will be enacted, including mighty battles and the most touching love scenes. It's said that one will feel themselves to be swept away to those long-ago times of the Third Age, and think themselves set in the midsts of history in the making!"

"There is one small problem though. The Epic of Frodo and the Ring is so vast and broad, that it most be represented in three parts, and tonight the players will only be presenting the second part. But since all here are so familiar with the tale, none should be left behind to wonder what led to the events being shown".

So it was agreed that all the inhabitants of the inn should retire at midnight to the mighty amphitheater of Minas Tirith, and after the performance return to The Seventh Star to discuss all the details of the play; from the actors performances to how closely the script stuck to the actual facts of history. And of course, to drink some more eggnog while they were at it.

And a splendid time was guaranteed for all...

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Susan Delgado]

Susan cheered along with the rest, then sighed and returned to her meal. She happened to know that the acting troupe Birdie referred to was going to be performing their play every day for several weeks, which was good, because Susan herself would not have a chance to see it for nearly another week. She was a bit disappointed and did not relish seeing everyone else discussing it in the detail she knew they would, but well, there really wasn't much she could do about it and she supposed she could get some pleasure out of seeing the people so happy about it. But she would definitely be avoiding certain rooms until she'd actually seen it.

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[mark12_30]

Gamba looked through the window of the empty Inn, and realised that everybody must have congregated somewhere else to discuss The Second Part of the Tale of Nine-Fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom. He trooped off to look for them all elsewhere, hoping for a glass of eggnogg.

[ December 20, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Errand-Rider Karigan]

Her head spinning with all the cheer and goodwill around her, Karigna realized how content she was. She hadn't been this happy since...

Well, since before the events that lead up to the birth of her son. There had been brief moments, with Adannon, but none that had lasted as long as this. And so, it was with a shockingly full heart that she surveyed the area around her.

There were two faces she would have given her life to see, but she knew that was impossible- both were gone now, gone though she had loved both errand-rider and captain. But what was past was past- and so, with a heart full of joy mingled with melencholy, she made a private toast to her fallen companions, fallen friends, and fallen lovers with the spiced wine she had taken with her to ward off the chill.

[Maikadilwen]

The door to the Inn opened slightly and a figure slowly entered the warmth and light of the common room.
Too short to be a man but nothing else could be told, since the person was almost entirely covered by a large, hooded fur-coat made from grey wolfpelts. It was obvious that this was not the original owner since the coat was much too large for the person now wearing it.

Quickly the figure strode toward a lonely spot in one of the corners and sat down without removing the warm coat, though opening it.
It was a young woman, or so she seemed for much about her was hidden that only her eyes revealed.
Her hair was black as a starless night and her nearly black eyes had a haunted look.
It was difficult to make out the features of her face, since it was stained with dirt and bruises from recent beatings, but one thing was obvious and made her stand out from the rest. Her skin had a darker tan than the people of Gondor were accustomed to and revealed that she was not a native of these lands.

A grey-clad waiter came over to her and she looked at him with a smirk. "Ale! And lots of it!"
The waiter left and she drew a pouch from her coat and looked at it with a smile. Whoever had been the owner of this pouch, received a nice thought for being so careless that he had carried it in a way which made it so easy for her to slip it out of his pocket.

The waiter came back with her ale and quickly she emptied the mug and gave him a wink. "Just keep it coming" she said and leaned back with a sigh.
She wasn't one to speak much but she knew she could talk her way out of almost any situation.

Gazing around she took in all details of the room, noticing the people and their behaviour in order to spot potential enemies. Or a potential victim. If someone was foolish enough to not be careful with his money she would be delighted to relieve him of the task.
Strange people had gathered here and her eyes narrowed as she noticed several Elves. Ever had she disliked that race and throughout her life she had cursed the Elven part of her blood.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a waiter placing another mug of ale in front of her and she sighed.
Better let it go, Rhana! she thought and drank slowly while listening to the people around her.

Stories were being told and some people were planning future adventures. She recognized many of the places she heard mentioned for she had already lived a long life and had seen many places on her travels. She had been far to the North and to the South. On the western shores.... and in the East. A hint of a smile appeared on her face by the thought of her homeland.
Ah yes, the stories she could tell from there.

[ December 26, 2002: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Errand-Rider Karigan]

Karigan cast her eyes about and saw a strange figure- a newcomer, she thought. With a little start, she realized she had seen the likes of that woman before... but never in the service of Gondor.

Be not hasty to judge a soul simply on their appearance. Nothing marks you for as you are, and many things mark you as you are not. Karigan warned herself as she watched the other woman out of the corner of her eye.

After a long moment of internal debate, she casually got up from her seat near the fire and took one closer to the woman- in speaking distance. "You have traveled far." Karigan said by way of conversation starter. "Whence have you traveled from?"

[Maikadilwen]

Rhana looked at the woman in disbelief. Some nerve! she thought as she looked her over, trying to determine her purpose, then shrugged.
"Such interest in my business and even without telling me your name."
Her eyes were hard and her tone was harsh but quickly she continued. "But you're right! I have travelled far through many years and I've seen more than most. Name a place and chances are that I've been there."
She emptied her mug and immediately a waiter exchanged it with a full.

"I have been in the service of many over the years. I've even sailed the great sea though that ended when the captain refused to give me my payment."
A faint smile crept over her face at the memory of the unlucky captain who now sailed his ship on the bottom of the ocean after she had changed the course of the vessel and had fled in a skiff.

She leaned back in her seat and sighed. "Now I get by from day to day with what money I can s.... find. But I am for hire for any job there may be, IF the price is right, of course. And now I believe you've heard more than enough since you still haven't told me who you are. I can tell from the sorrow in your eyes that you know more about the dark side of life than most, yet it has given you great strength."

She did not take her gaze away from the other woman's face, but flashed her a smile, the first real smile she had given anyone in a very long time.
"I'm Rhana and you...?"

[ December 28, 2002: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Rimbaud]

New Light through Old Windows

Morning wandered in through the windows of the white-washed Inn of Gondor. With the curtains undrawn all night and the fire now ebbing away, the air was chill inside. Some patrons had not yet repaired to their rooms and woke slowly and with sore heads as the soft light stroked its way across the high-arched wooden beams of the ceiling, and danced among the table-tops.

The small door to the left of the fireplace opened to allow a figure to enter, slightly hunched. The familiar smart grey tunic was gone, replaced with a long woollen tunic, of a light blue. Those that observed the Innkeeper's low-key return would also have noted, perhaps with some wry amusement, that his tunic was fastened with an ash-grey sash around the waist.

He carefully closed the door behind him. He looked around the room. Most of the patrons still there from the previous day's feastings were well-known to him. There was no sign of the newcomers he had been told about; they had retired to bed, he supposed.

He sighed at seeing the state of the fire and the mess in the great Common Room. He clapped his hands twice, abruptly and straightened to his full height. There was no response for a long moment and then...all of a sudden the kitchen double-doors sprang open and a stream of grey clad staff streamed out, bearing mops and pails, wood and tongs for the fire. The room was a bustle of activity within minutes.

Rimbaud nodded with satisfaction. He would sweep his house into good working order!

"Cook!" he barked. "Breakfast will be in half an hour, sound the bell and start preparing!"

He smiled, a trifle ruthlessly. He bowed his head and stood, still and collected, in the centre of the cleaning whirlwind. He hoped his companions would accompany him at breakfast. He had much to consider and great need of stout hearts and quick minds.

[ January 02, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Errand-Rider Karigan]

"A freelancer." Karigan felt odd kinship for the other woman... she had been having thoughts like those herself. "You are the first I've met." She paused. "I'm Karigan." She returned the other woman's smile slightly. "I am an errand-rider in the service of- well, I was. After the birth of my son, I let that go."

The birth of your fatherless son... idiot. The thought was almost subconscious it was put to mind so often, and Karigan was not aware she grimaced slightly.

"What brings you to the Seventh Star? People, I have found, do not come here unless they are looking for something." Or hiding from someone. Like her. She'd always been riding away from life. Away from, or to? More rhetorics. More questions. Why didn't life have any answers for her?

[Bêthberry]

Long night vigils wear down those who keep watch. Bethberry was very tired, more from worry than from lack of sleep. Yet there was some relief in sight as the Princess slowly sank into a calmer sleep.

Hearing the breakfast bell and the commotion downstairs, Bethberry finally rose, covered her shoulders with a worn plaid shawl of soft wool, and sought the main room, where the Inn's staff was quickly laying a large table of comestibles and potables. She helped herself to a tray of two plates, filled with fruits and breads, mugs of hot beverages, and a bowl of thin gruel, to take upstairs to the invalided Estelyn.

The Innkeeper refused her questioning look of concern for his health, which made her all the more certain that he was hiding something about his condition from her, so she determined simply to watch him from time to time, from a distance. Her immediate responsibility was Estelyn.

Returning upstairs, she found the Princess awake, sitting up even, but wan in face. More worrisome was the apathy in the Princess's manner. She had no inclination to eat or even to talk, although her eyes acknowledged the presence and the concern of the woman who had saved her life.

Bethberry left the tray at the bedside, picked up a steaming mug of warm drink for herself, and walked over to the window, where the day's new light gave no hint of the night's terrifying activities.

[ January 06, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Estelyn Telcontar]

A ray of pale winter sun shone through the windowpane onto the coverlet of the bed where Estelyn lay. Slowly it wandered upwards until it reached her face. The light and warmth on her eyelids awakened her from troubled dreams, yet she was strangely reluctant to open her eyes. She felt as if she were floating on a dark sea, with nothing to grasp that could pull her back into life.

When her eyelids finally fluttered open, she saw nothing that she recognized. This was not her room – where was she? Why was she here? She struggled against the weakness that lamed her limbs, trying to sit up, attempting to take stock of her surroundings.

The door opened and a woman entered the room. The face seemed familiar; she gazed at her with knitted brows, puzzled. The woman approached her with a bowl, but the smell of food and drink repulsed her. Her eyes dropped shut again and she fell into restless sleep.

When she awoke later, the sunlight had wandered to the far corner of the room. She felt refreshed and stronger, grasping eagerly the cup of water that stood on the low table at her bedside. Bethberry, who had been dozing in the armchair, was awake instantly and came to feel her brow and pulse.

“Bethberry!” Estelyn smiled. “Why are you here? Where are we?”

“Shhhh,” Bethberry admonished. “Slowly now, one question at a time is enough!”

Estelyn’s eyes widened as she listened to the brief account of the last days. Memories of dark tunnels came back to her mind, and she became aware of the pain in her wounded side.

“’Twas the poison, not the wound, that caused your illness,” Bethberry informed her. “Praised be Yavanna for healing herbs that have helped you! But now you must regain your strength.”

After a few spoonfuls of gruel, Estelyn was again exhausted and fell asleep. It was night when she awoke; a shaded lamp gave a flicker of light in the darkness. She remembered where she was, but why was she here? There was something she had wanted to do, somewhere she had wanted to go, some task she had wanted to fulfill.

A story! She sat bolt upright in bed as she remembered. It was a manuscript of which she had been informed! She was to take a long journey to receive the rare document for the library of Minas Anor. Excitement flooded her heart and mind as the royal family’s chief loremistress pondered the significance of the adventure that awaited her. A translation from Entish – what a find! She could hardly wait for morning to come.

* * * * * * * * *

The story emanating from the manuscript is Revenge of the Entish Bow.

[ January 08, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Rimbaud]

The tale went on, and the crowd gathered around the story-tellers. An air of warmth and happiness suffused the common room. The laughter, the mirthful tears and the general sense of glee with the story swam around them. Eyes sparkled and wits blinded, as the story held them entranced, men, women, children and other monsters.

Estelyn, pale, thin and covered in a thick blanket sat at the centre, smiling as she wove the stories from the apointed tellers. Rimbaud lounged most unprofessionally upon his desk, gently ading and abutting the story; he did receive one or two exasperated looks, which he replied with a most forthright eye.

Smoke from the fire wreathed up among the beams, curling, twisting. The Inn was indeed a jolly and comfortable place to be this eve. What fine tales were being told!

Unseen, or unnoticed, the staff at the Inn bought food and refilled cups, cleared messes and guided guests. Those with sharper eyes, whose wits were less addled by the smoke, ale and merriment, may have noticed that each of the servers now bore a thick, short knife at the belt, in a plain sheath. The Innkeeper's own scabbarded blade leant against the great black desk, an unheard of event. The scabbard appeared freshly polished and the hilt rebound.

Those with the sharpest eyes of all would notice that Rimbaud's apparent relaxation and enjoyment masked a fierce tension. To those closest to him, he seemed a tightly coiled spring.

Yet the evening went on, and the story drew more and more laughs and the atmosphere of well-being was hard to dispel...

[Bêthberry]

Not even the iron-cold blast of gale-like winds as the doors creaked opened was enough to disturb the raucous laughter in the Seventh Star.

It seemed as if everyone was mesmerised by the tale Estelyn was weaving, something to do with a plucky bow and much stringing. Her hands told the story as much as her voice, as they seemed to measure, in their rapid extensions and contractions, some sort of rising and falling action. Whatever the true nature of the story, giddy titters and snickers and hearty chortles rose to echo in the ceiling's rafters.

Bethberry was able to pass into the room unnoticed, hang her cloak on the wall hooks near the Innkeeper's desk, and stand before the hearth, seemingly to warm her chilled bones and blanched flesh while she waited to converse unobtrusively with the Innkeeper. She observed Rimbaud, who to all and sundry appeared the very model of proper Innkeeper deportment. He looked towards her once, and her trenchant gaze saw through his pose, but he would give nothing away--and yet, gave all, with that one glance.

From somewhere outside the Inn, her ears picked up the wavering howl of a stray wolf, a strange sound for the White City, and she knew that matters remained unresolved. She watched Rimbaud until he could feel her eyes upon his secret and then she quietly apprised him of her news; he barely acknowledged her whispered confidence and then she passed on towards the large group of patrons laughing around the storytellers.

Warmed now as much by the rousing, spirited comraderie as by the fire, Bethberry sought out those with whom she might share a plan or two. Conversation had moved on towards the other main story currently making the rounds in Gondor, Gandalf's story of castle curses and lost treasures, of dangerous travel and daring odds. Bethberry looked around for Gamba, but couldn't see the hobbit for all the patrons there that night. Nor could she see Pio, who she knew was hard pressed by the long night watches she had been keeping at the House of Healing. Bethberry sighed as she remembered that Birdie was called away by other demands; she missed the woman's ready humour. Bethberry decided to listen to the discussion of how to approach the castle...

* * * * * *

OOC: In honour of our storytelling, I make here my 1001st post.

* * * * * *

[ January 19, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Rimbaud]

Rimbaud absorbed the information quietly. There were plans within machinations here. He would need to collect the trusted to him. He mused.

* * * * * * * * * *

Concentrating hard on the stories, the crowd let the evening draw on. The fire started to fade and the night drew in around the white Inn. With a start, Rimbaud broke from reverie.

"This is no good!" he cried. Clapping his hands in the familiar way, he rose and strode for the kitchens, thoroughly disturbing the tellers of the story.

"Pray, what ails thee, Grey Rimbaud?" questioned Estelyn.

He turned at the kitchen door, one hand resting on the frame.

"Only this, your Highness," he proclaimed. "It is much past dinner, and I have been neglectful! Musicians!" He barked at the drowsing lute-players, who were shocked into wakefulness.

Rimbaud pushed hurriedly through into the kitchens. Behind him, music started up again, and the other patrons, freed briefly from the enchanting spells of the Tales, grinned sheepishly at each other. There was a small stampede for the bar and the waiting staff were hurried off their feet as the crowd realised the dryness of their palates...

[ January 27, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Envinyatar]

He picked up his lute, the merry ribbons on its neck fluttering as he joined in the airy melody. His fingers pressed the strings and picked the chords in light succession. Head bent over the instrument, as if to watch the notes fly from it, he mouthed the somber words writ for the song -

Wise men patience never want,
Good men pity cannot hide ;
Feeble spirits only want
Of revenge, the poorest pride :
He alone, forgive that can,
Bears the true soul of a man.

Done! The last notes barely fallen away, and now the lute-master calls for another sweet melody, its harmony enlarged by the clink of tankards on the tables and the counterpoint of conversations as they rise and fall.

Derufin, softly singing the lyric, looked out upon the inattentive throng.

Now winter nights enlarge
The number of their hours;
And clouds their storms discharge
Upon the airy towers.
Let now the chimneys blaze
And cups o'erflow with wine,
Let well-tun'd words amaze
With harmony divine.
Now yellow waxen lights
Shall wait on honey’d Love
While youthful Revels, Masks, and Courtly sights,
Sleep’s leaden spells remove.

_________________________________

Verses from Thomas Campion's Firste Booke and Third Booke of Ayres

[Estelyn Telcontar]

As much as she enjoyed the cozy friendliness of the Seventh Star, and as much as she enjoyed the story that she had begun to tell, in which others had now joined, Estelyn longed for her own room. She felt well and strong again, eager to take up her work as Loremistress in the Library of Minas Anor. She took advantage of a pause in the story to consult with Bethberry in whispers, then announced, "Let the story continue; our faithful scribe will record it for all to read. I have recovered enough to be able to go home now, though I promise to visit and tell what I know of the Entish Bow as often as possible." There were some disappointed murmurs and many calls of farewell as she left the common room with the Innkeeper, who helped her to gather her few belongings. They spoke in low tones at the entrance; she laid her hand reassuringly on his arm, then opened the door and was gone.

[Lugbúrz]

He had never understood why he felt misplaced. Did he have a choice? He never stopped to consider that, but he felt misplaced, and thoroughly at that.

Perhaps it was the City. He had considered many a time to venture outside it, but each time the call of duty had pulled him back.

Little did he know that someday, maybe soon, he would travel to the very Edge.

To a place called Home.

[Rimbaud]

The Innkeeper stood and cordially invited the Members of Gondor and any other interested parties to a discussion of the story-telling, in The Shire, Rohan and Gondor. The discussion can be found here.

[Hirilaelin]

Stars sparkled in the cold heavens as a figure made its way to the doors of the inn, seeking refuge from the chilling night air. With a soft creaking, the doors opened, and the person stepped inside shrouded in a heavy woolen cloak. A burst of music, song, and happy voices greeted the woman as she pushed the hood of the cloak from her head. A heavy looking pack was set upon her back, and the wood of a highly polished quarterstaff gleamed in the firelight.

She reveled a moment in the glorious warmth of the inn before walking up to the bar. Many people were crowded there, eating, drinking and talking. Managing to get a place at the counter, she addressed the barkeep in a suprisingly low voice for a woman, asking for a drink. "Warm spiced wine please."

[ February 12, 2003: Message edited by: Hirilaelin ]

[Burzdol]

Gondor, faithful land of awe. I have finally made it to thee. The hooded ranger looked at the cheerie inn and a sliver of a smile came upon his long despairing face. The hood slipped of and lengths of black hair fell near his shoulders. His eyes glint green in the morning sun. He found his legs moving towards this place though his mind was else where, in memories of old. The door was in reach of his hand and thus was slightly opened. He looked in and more things filled his mind. His father's war epicts and mother's stories about wizards, hobbits, and dragons. Stopping at the door lasted only a moment before will let him inside. Entering was like a rush of warm water, soothing his wild soul. His hand slipped of the handle of the sword and it was forgotten.

The will lead him right to a small table at the back of the inn. He remembered what his father's last words, "Ildur, my son. I love you. Share my love and vengence with Middle Earth. Become a ranger." Tears ran slowly down the man's face, but were quickly wiped away by the tip of his cloak. Then he remebered a passage from his mother's favorite novel,
Be who you want,
Do what you want,
Just don't forget who you are,
When you believe life is over,
Remember what you lived for,
So be not who they want,
Do not what they want,
If something happens just remember this,
Life may be tough,
But the greats didn't give up,
And neither should thou.

He hung his head in silence and memory. Ten years ago they were taken, why not me in their place? All I am is a ranger, my father was a warrior. Why did they take him? Wiping more tears from his eyes he looked up. Laughter was about in this place, floating in the air like smoke. Men sat together talking and joking, all happy. It felt as if the world of hate and fighting didn't reach its stone hard grasp on this inn. No bloodshed stained the floors. Men weren't fighting for their lives and barely surviving. His father had been in those situations, fighting for the freedom of Middle Earth.

An old man sat across the table and spoke gently, "You look like you need a drink. What do thou like? Malt beer, ale, whiskey?"

"A malt beer will be fine, here's some money," the ranger held out money to the man.

"No thanks, young 'un. This one's on me," the old man walked away. Moments later a foaming glass of beer came before Ildur.

"Thank you sir," as he looked up the old man was gone. He emtied the glass and lay his head on the table. Slumber overtook his weary eyes. Visions of things he could not name filled his head.

[ February 18, 2003: Message edited by: Burzdol ]

[Burzdol]

Ildur awoke to the same cheerful inn. Hateless it seemed to the eye, yet something clouded his mind. Growing danger, presence of something to happen. Whatever it was, it was coming closer. Closer to him. Ildur had sensed something of this sort while he passed through the Misty Mountains.

The inn door burst open and an obviously rich man walked inn. He was dressed in furs of different sorts and a large broad sword hung at his side. The gold on him confirmed Ildur's suspition, he was most likely a prince. The man walked to Ildur's table and sat down.

"Hi. I'm Prince Celof," he said as if Ildur was at his table. He pulled out of his coat a large champange bottle and started to drink. After a little he had drunk the whole thing. Eltor watched as Celof swaggered to a table that people were playing cards at.

Sometime that night Iltur made his way to the fireplace and fell asleep in a chair. He awoke to find the prince still drunk and rid of all his gold. Iltur laughed out loud at the man. Hah. Just what I need to start my day. This is going to be a good day, wakeing up to this.

[Cuthalion]

The Inn door opened to reveal a rather sinister character one would have taken for an Elf at first glance, yet the ears were a bit too blunt and the face a bit too broad. He walked with swagger, for he was one who was extremely sure of himself, no matter what the occasion, be it wine, women or song...well, maybe not song, but wine and women anyway.

His looks and manners were those of a gentleman, but those that had known him well knew the truth behind his facade. He was a cold-blooded killer, an assassin of great finesse and skill, charming, humorous and deadly. Of course, those that had known him were, alas, quite dead. A testament to his talent, and his loneliness.

He entered slowly, looking the place over, then after nodding to the innkeeper, he selected a place near the fire, but not so near as to let its light shine on his face. A barmaid sidled up to him and he ran the back of his hand up her arm, then he grabbed her hand and kissed it. "An ale and some food, my good woman. Make it fast and this will be yours." He flipped a gold coin onto the table and she eyed it greedily. With a wink, she disappeared and his eyes followed her with appreciation.

[Rimbaud]

Welcome to the Star, Burzdol and Cuthalion. Your characters sound interesting, are these ones you use regularly? Cuthalion, one minor point on your post: the staff in the Inn, if you read back a little, are very unobtrusive and barely noticeable. They are so normal that the eye drifts over them, the faintest hint of sorcery. I like the sense of impending darkness in both of your posts.

No new games in Gondor for a small while yet, I would think, but do not be disheartened. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[Cuthalion]

*Is badly shaken as the aforementioned bar-maid suddenly vanished* The newcomer shook his head and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. A glamour? Too many years in the Wild by himself? "Guess this means I don't get my ale or a hot meal either. Drat the luck! I would walk into an enchanted Inn." he grumbled to himself as he walked over to the innkeeper and placed his order in person.

[Burzdol]

Ildur awoke from an odd slumber. He hadn't remembered where he was or why he was here. Then he remembered once he saw the rich man laying curled up on the floor.

Ildur walked to the bar. "Malt beer please," he said to the friendly bartender. A pint was set in front of the ranger and he paid the man. The drink didn't hold him over, so he ordered a small breakfast. Ildur ate the food and walked outside. The door opened suddenly and the rich man walked was shoved out. He fell over and Ildur took a large sack of money from his belt.

Ildur walked back into the inn and sat back down. He laughed to himself and then sat in silence. Ildur walked to the bar and around the inn.

[Ransom]

The playful winter wind whistled through the skeletal trees, playfully tumbling and dancing down the lane. Most of the population of Gondor were probably working themselves into a frenzy as they hunkered down for what promised to be a long, harsh winter. Only a few travelers wandered the lonely path toward the White Tower this time of year. Here a peddler making a final round before finding a nice village to settle down for the winter. There a team of workman making hasty repairs to the road before the first snows. The sound of horns betrayed the location of a group of young nobles riding out for a day of fox hunting.

Sir Barak Mindalel felt an odd apprehension as he neared his boyhood home. He idly patted his Lochaber axe. It demonstrated his simple views on life and aesthetics. If it works, it’s beautiful. Designed to lop off limbs with a single blow or shell an armored man like an oyster, the two-foot long blade mounted on a four-foot handle lay quietly across the man’s lap. The wariness acquired from years living in the land of Harad did not leave quickly. A soft clinking sound emerged from beneath his simple brown cloak, betraying the suit of partial plate beneath. His face was careworn and scarred. The man’s dark brown eyes roamed across the land, silently studying the terrain. He unconsciously pulled the hood of his cloak over his closely cropped black hair before glancing at his companion.

Barak had endured no small amount of jokes and ridicule over his choice of a traveling companion. While most knights of any position had several pages and a squire or two to attend his every need, Barak’s traveling companion was a female Gondorian named Mara. At five foot three inches, she seemed like a little girl next to the six foot five knight. Her tanned hands, relics of Harad, idly stroked a dark black cat. The knight felt a pang of guilt as he studied her face. Her resemblance to his deceased wife was uncanny. Neither was especially pretty or eye catching, save for their brilliant red hair, piercing green eyes, and their iron will. He’d found her in the slave markets of Umbar, owned by a particularly fat merchant. She was his unwilling playmate and, as the merchant smugly informed the knight, knew several branches of esocentric knowledge. After a lengthy period of interrogation, Barak delivered the merchant’s soul to the Gods with the business end of his Lochaber. While he could admire her spirit, her absolute silence still startled him. As far as he knew, she hadn’t said a sing word since her first birthday.

The sun had scarcely to set as the unusual pair arrived at the Seventh Star. Barak slowly turned a critical eye over the inn. He’d frequented a fair number of inns in most of the cities in the known world, but this was probably one of the best he’d visited. Maybe he’d even get a good night of sleep without being bitten by an errant bedbug. But Mara’s health was fickle at best, and a brief stopover would do her good. The knight’s gaze fell upon a stable boy. “Hail, neighbor. How much is a room with two beds for a night?”

Barak refused to sleep near Mara.

“Three silver coins, sir.”

The knight carefully counted out seven silver coins and handed to the boy. “Six for two nights, one for you and the other boys. Stable our horses and move our gear to the room. They’ll be another one for you later if the horses are well taken care of.”

Barak dismounted and handed the reins to the boy. The unusual feeling of safety and peace were already beginning to grate his nerves. Mara, on the other hand, seemed almost content as she marched toward the door. The cat, on the other hand, yowled its displeasure at having its nap interrupted. The knight paused for a moment to transfer his weapon from his saddle to a sheath hidden under his cloak before hurrying after his friend.

****

Mara glared harshly at her dear friend as he idly picked at his breakfast. He quickly caught the unspoken message and redoubled his efforts to conquer the offending omelet. The knight swallowed another mouthful before attempting what passed as conversation. “We’ll be resting here for some time, Mara. The Gods know you’re more tired than I am, and I won’t have you catching pneumonia again.”

“Besides,” he added with a slightly smug tone, “they say that they’ve got some of the better storytellers here. And I know how much you like stories.”

Mara’s left boot moved with extreme speed, smashing into her friend’s leg greave. It wouldn’t hurt, but it did make a fulfilling banging noise. She smiled back at him before leaning back and scratching behind her cat’s ears. She did love stories.

[ February 21, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[ February 21, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[ February 21, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Burzdol]

Ildur was bored of walking for now. Instead he walked out into the cold again. Even though his eyes were still slumping a little from lack of rest, he stood for awhile. He let the icy mist hit him dead on. When ice had filled his thick, black hair he walked slowly to the stables.

"Here's your horse, sir," a small man said.

"Yes. Thank you very much." He started saddel the all black horse when the man came back up, his hand was held out for payment. "Yes here you go." He continued to finish saddeling the horse and then mounted. Time and time again he rode through these parts. Still this was the first time he was here at this inn. He took one last look at the place and turned and rode into the chilling wind.

[Cuthalion]

Impressed by the rogue's lightness of hand in relieving the gentleman if his riches, Gilbarad was disappointed to see him leave. "Might have been interesting company. Ah well, best go eat this while its still relatively warm." Shrugging his shoulders, he picked up a bowl of stew that had been placed in front of him in which swam several pieces of meat, (he hoped) along with a few carrots. Settling near the fire again, he longed for someone or something to come along to ease his boredom.

[Mithadan]

A soldier of Gondor entered the Seventh Star and proceeded quickly to the end of the bar. He took a scroll, unrolled it and tacked it to the wall in a prominent place.

Then, with an imperious glance at the denizens of the Inn, he proclaimed in a loud voice, "By Order of the King, this scroll is posted here for all to see!"

Even as he retreated to the door, the patrons of the Inn rushed over to read the scroll. It said:

---------------------------

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE BARROW-DOWNS!

On May 1, 2003, the forums at the Barrow-Downs will reach the ripe old age of THREE! While the site itself is a bit older, the third anniversary of the opening of the forums is a cause to CELEBRATE!!!!! Therefore, we will have a PARTY in celebration of the third birthday (uh, death day?) of the Barrow-Downs forums and all members are invited!!!!!

This year’s party will include the presentation of the first Barrow-Downs Awards, known far and wide as the Downies. The celebration will begin with a red carpet entrance before guests enter the Grand Hall where the ceremonies will take place. Come in costume and in character assuming the proper flourishes and airs of the Barrow-Downs elite and don’t forget to strike a pose before the paparazzi; this may be your 15 minutes of fame. But remember, there may never again be so many Administrators, Moderators and Assistants assembled in one place at the same time again, so while the party will be fun and funny, don’t forget to maintain some slight sense of decorum.

PLACE: The Grand Hall of Minas Anor (the Gondor RPG forum in a thread to be opened there).

TIME: Thursday, May 1, 2003 beginning at 9:00am EDT until????

DRESS: Formal Middle Earth Wear.

There will be an open bar, and meals will served by our polite wait staff.

COME CELEBRATE THE ACHIEVEMENTS OF THE BARROW-WIGHT AND THE BARROW-DOWNS!

RSVP

[piosenniel]

The great iron plaque over the fireplace had been taken down for a brief period. Pio sat at a nearby table wondering why the new Innkeeper was fussing over it with a polishing cloth. He kept spitting on the cloth wrapped round his index finger, and seemed to be going over a portion of the inscribed letters on the great oval disc.

‘I hope you are not thinking of spitting on my name, my dear. Very unsanitary habit.’

She rattled the ice cubes in her tumbler, and took a last swig of gin, bending closer to see whose name he was polishing up.

‘Ah! About time that name was graved there!’ she thought to herself.

She stopped a passing server and exchanged the empty for a full. ‘This calls for congaratulations!’ Pio looked about the darkened Inn, peering as best she could into the shadows.

‘Hey! Where are you, sweets! Come up and join me, I’ll buy you a drink and show you round if you’ld like . . .’

[ May 09, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Mithadan]

The Innkeeper glared at Piosenniel as he completed the polishing of The List. Of course, this was the List of adventurers whose skills were recognized as being of the highest calibre and worthy of recognition.
; those approved for the organization and managing of adventures in the realm of Gondor. Even as he finished his work, a similar plaque was being prepared in the Tower of Ecthelion.

He looked meaningfully to the shadows and, without a word, several assistants appeared to assist the Innkeeper in raising the plaque and returning it to its original position. It had been some time since the List had last been revised and, on this occaision, a new name had been added, that of Amanaduial the Archer.

Settling in behind the bar, the Innkeeper waited for the arrival of the newest adventurer to be so honored. For somehow, each such person knew when the time had come to present themselves to the denizens of the Inn for congratulations...

[Amanaduial the archer]

Amanaduial fought her way through the windy night to the Inn door, where she glanced up at the sign. The Seventh Star name and logo swung in the wind, but the brass hinges looked steady enough. Aman took a moment to steady her own slim frame before going in. It hadnt been that long since she had visited the Star, just under six months, but it had been longer than she had intended. Of late though, it had seemed there was a more pressing need to get here...still, she was blowed if she knew what it was. Her wolves still travelled with her, weaving around her legs. They were determined to come in out of the wind, and Aman just hoped the Innkeeper wouldnt mind- word had it that there had been a new Innkeeper here, as well as in its sister inns in Rohan and the Shire, The Green Dragon and The White Horse. Well, he'd better not mind wolves...

Stepping through the door she let in a blast of wind that blew several papers and light objects from their perches. Aman winced. Talk about making an entrance. The wolves slunk in behind her and Aman half expected to be thrown out immediately; a dark-cloaked figure with two rather villainous looking wolves at her heels. Hesitantly, Aman pulled back her hood and looked around the Inn...

Among the things Aman may have expected to happen were being thrown out, having her wolves thrown out, or being given funny looks all night and being asked whether 'they' were house-trained.

What she certainly wasnt expecting was a cheer.

"Ah, and talk of the devil, here she is!"

Aman froze, her hands still on her cloak as she was about to take it off and hang it on a coatstand at the door. She stood stock still for a moment, then, veeeeery slowly, she turned around. To her surprise, she saw smiling faces, two of them familiar as...

"Pio! Mithadan!" Aman exclaimed, surprised. The latter smiled and nodded appreciatively where he sat behind the bar, and Pio grinned happily at her, walking quickly across the room. Aman met her halfway, hugging her friend. She released her, Pio's infectious grin making her beam as well, but she was still puzzled. "Wait a minute...whats all this about talk of the devil? And cheering? Gracious me Pio, I dont think Ive been cheered in at least five score years!"

Pio covered her mouth for a moment, gasping but still smiling. "You don't know? Oh, how odd that you appeared now!" She turned to the Innkeeper, eyebrows raised. "Wouldnt you say so?"

The Innkeeper simply smiled mysteriously and raised an eyebrow. Pio held his gaze for a moment, before apparently remembering the slightly worried Aman, still hovering uncertainly in front of her. She inclined her head, motioning for the other to follow and she led her to the plaque over the fireplace.

Aman had of course seen the plaque before, the last time she came. It listed all of the noble Lords and Ladies of Gondor; Mithadan, Thenamir, Gilthalion, Bethberry, Gandalph the Grey, Piosenniel, Rimbaud, Mark 12-30, Child of the Seventh Age and Estelyn Telcontar. But there was something different about the plaque now, the way it gleamed in the soft light, the reflection of the flames in the fireplace illuminating the curves and swirls in the letters. But there was a new name there as well beside those of the scribes of Gondor.

"Oh good gods..." Aman murmered, then her voice raised to an exclamation. "Amanaduial the Archer! Here?!"

She traced the letters with her fingers. Turning she looked at the still grinning Innkeeper, and pointed a finger at him as if about to reprimand him. "You knew I would come! But how?"

Once again he only shrugged. Aman smiled, then gave a small, happy laugh, fuelled by her surprise. Her, little Aman, beside the nobles of Gondor. "Well then mystery man, even if you can somehow get me here from the Shire simply by the power of a small, indecipherable letter and maybe even simply the power of your mysterious persona, I thank you for this."

"Tis a pleasure Aman, a pleasure."

Pio smiled now. "See, he can speak! A drink Aman? After all this calls for celebration!"

Aman nodded gratefully. "Please, thankyou Pio. I'll have...do you do mulled wine? I've gotten rather used to the stuff in the Shire."

[piosenniel]

Obsidian and Jet sniffed cautiously at the silent grey clad figure that hovered at Aman’s elbow. Their hackles raised slightly as he came round to face the young woman, their lips drawing back slightly to reveal the glinting tips of sharp teeth. Unphased, the server bowed politely to Aman, offering her the tray with a single goblet of mulled wine.

Pio smiled at the two canines, one of whom, Jet she thought, had stuck his wolvish nose deeply into the grey robes and sneezed upon inhaling deeply.

You’ll not get much but dust from those robes, my furred friends. Startled the wolf looked up at her as her thoughts came to him. They have no scent. And as far as I can tell, there is a real possibility that there is nothing beneath their raiment.

Both wolves chuffed at this remark, and narrowed their eyes at the servant, who was now just as quietly withdrawing. Obsidian nipped at her mate’s ear and both settled down round Aman’s feet, protectively.

Pio, sat down at one of the tables near the fireplace and admired the plaque for a moment. She tipped her chair back and swung her long legs up to the table’s top, much to the consternation of the new Innkeeper.

‘So, Mithadan, now that you’ve got that birthday party just about squared away, how about a small affair here in the Inn for the new denizen?’ She heard him stifle a groan at the mention of the word ‘party’. ‘Something small, but fun. How about it?’ She looked about at the high ceilings and rafters in the Inn, wondering how a little techno music might sound bouncing off them . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami pushed against the heavy wooden door, and poked her head inside to take a good look around. She thought she'd heard a few scratching sounds emenating from the direction of the White Horse Inn, but couldn't be certain. Perhaps it was only one of the small mice scurrying about the Inn looking for a few scraps that could be used to supplement his bedding.

Cami could scarcely remember the last time she'd seen a visitor at the Inn. The traffic had slowed down considerably from what it had been in better days. There was still a drowsy Innkeeper who'd fallen asleep over his brew, raising his head occasionally to nod vacantly in her direction. He looked familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

In any case, the fellow's snores reached up to the rafters like a cacophonous symphony. Speaking of rafters, Cami rapidly scanned the beems to see if Bird was anywhere in sight, but she could not catch even a tiny glimpse of her sparkling black feathers. She reminded herself to ty and drop Bird a note and see if she was available for a little bar hopping.

A quick look about the room revealed a very surprising thing. There were indeed three people in the Inn, all of whom she knew. She ran over first to Aman to congratulate her on the recent news that she'd been added to the list of those able to start a game in Gondor.

After giving Aman a warm hug, Cami added, "Gondor has been too quiet of late. I hope you'll consider stirring things up a bit so we'll have more writing and tales recited, both in the Inn and throughout the land of Gondor."

Over in the corner, Piosenniel and Mithadan seemed to be having a good natured spat as to whether there should be a party to celebrate Aman's arrival. They were squabbling about who should plan it, whether there should be invitations and what foods should be prepared for the festive event.

Laughing at their silliness, Cami took the broom out of the closet and also armed herself with several pails and rags. Then she began vigorously attacking the piles of dust balls and hanging cobwebs which adorned the area of the bar. First things first. Until the Inn was cleaned up and made presentable, it would be senseless to invite guests for a party.