Quest for the Ainereg RPG

[piosenniel]

Manardariel's Post

“Something is different here,” Andunériel thought. She let her horse slow down, as she approached the small village, carefull not to attact to much
attention.
She smelled it first. A piercing disgusting smell hit her nose like a club. She choked. “What in Varda...?” And then she noticed what was different. The village was unusually quiet, miserable. She dismounted and led her horse into the small circle of huts, sorrounded with a fence of wood. A child of maybe three ran towards her, staring. “Elf?” he asked. She nodded, letting her eyes fly over the huts. The smell has gotten worse.

Her ponderings were disturbed by a young woman snatching up the child. “I´m sorry, did he bother you? “, she asked, staring likewise.

“No, no,” the elf replied. “Tell me, good woman, what has been hapening here? The other one shrugged. Andunériel noticed she looked tired, desperate and very hungry
.
“We dunno Miz. That´s the problem, you see? Crops failed, they´re all rotten. Animals dying, got none to eat, and the children are hungy. Must be a plague or something... I´m sorry but I must be off. Good-bye, Miz.”

“Good fortune to you, and to your children,” Andunériel answered. she turned around, mounted her horse and gallopped off. “Elenya," she told her horse, “that is some interesting news, is it not?”

About three hours later she was standing in her room in Rivendell. She quickly pulled of her travelling robes and slipped into a much finer green gown. Leaving the room, she turned the villager´s words around in her mind again and again. Crops failed, all rotten..... must be a plague or something. Andunériel frowned. She had no idea what this plague or whatever it was could be, and that bothered her. And you consider yourself a healer! she thought. Oh, it wouldn´t help to bother herself nuts. She had promised some of the other scouts, to tell them, and a group of Dunédain staying here, what she had seen and heard.

[piosenniel]

Orual's Post

The sun was glowing, there was not a cloud in the sky, and the waves of wheat were blowing gently in the wind. Anson Hornblower was standing just outside of his hole, holding his three-year-old son, Rudigar. It was dawn, and the new day greeted the world by painting the sky with broad strokes of orange, and rose, and purple. "Lovely, isn't it, Rudy?" Anson murmured, his own face glowing with pride as he looked out onto the farm that he had built with his own two hands.

He had barely come of age before he left his parents' house--by thirty-four, he had begun to start his farm. It had been difficult at first, but he had struggled through it and the tears, sweat, and blood had paid off, and his beautiful farm was the proof of it. It was his pride and joy, and his life. He had been blessed enough to marry a wife who was as passionate about life on a farm as he was--his lovely Asphodel, his darling Della. She never complained about how much he had to work, never fretted when times got hard. She was the calm in his life.

"Morning, Dad!" Violet stepped out into the yard, the sunshine dancing on her glossy raven curls. She still had on her night gown, but they were secluded enough that it didn't matter--nobody would see her in it who hadn't seen her in it the night before. "Lovely morning, isn't it? What a wonderful sunrise! I haven't seen one like it in ages."

"You haven't seen one at all in a while, sleepyhead," Anson teased. Violet glared good-naturedly at him and tickled Rudy under the chin. The boy squealed with laughter and grabbed his sister's hand. "Vio, would you like to hold Rudy while I go out to take a look around?"

"Sure, can I come with you?" Violet asked as she took Rudy

"Would you like to slip a day dress on first?" Anson laughed. Violet grinned, handed Rudy back to her father and ran inside, coming out soon after in a white muslin dress, with an overdress of her trademark light purple. Her hair was tied in two long pigtails.

"Ready now, I'll take Rudy back," she said, and held her arms out for her brother. He practically leapt into them, and they started off.

The lovely sunrise was fading as the day wore on, and a strange feeling was disturbing Anson. It began with a He frowned, and quickened his pace slightly.

"Is there a problem, Dad?" Violet asked, jogging to keep up with her father's longer strides. "Is something wrong?"

With an effort, Anson slowed back down. "No, it's nothing, Vio," he assured her, though he was not convinced that he was telling his daughter the truth. They walked past the rows of crops and could see in the distance a pasture of sheep grazing, when suddenly Violet stopped short and pinched her nose.

"Whew, Dad! What an awful smell! What on earth is it?" Violet exclaimed, waving a hand dramatically before her face. Rudy mimicked his sister.

"I don't know," Anson said softly, walking on. His walk turned into a jog, then a run. "Stay here with Rudy!" he called to Violet, who had begun to follow him. She stopped, her lovely face a picture of worry. "I'll be back soon," he added as he turned towards the source of the odor.

"No," he whispered as he saw what it was. Three sheep, dead. Not a sign of an attack, either. The place where they were lying was out of sight, but fairly close to the pastures. They had not been killed by wandering animals, that was for sure, and they had not been old. This was surely some disease, and something bad, to have killed them so suddenly--they had been alive the night before. Had they been sick earlier? Well, he had seen some signs of listlessness, but he had just passed that off on the poor crops that year, everyone was hungry, and that meant the animals too. He inspected the dead animals close up, and saw on their necks what looked like sores. It was a disease. Something quick and deadly. But where was it coming from?

"Daddy, I'm sorry, Rudy got away," Anson heard Violet cry as she came up behind him. Rudy threw himself onto his father's back, but backed up when Anson did not respond. Violet picked him up. "Daddy?"

Anson looked slowly over his shoulder at his daughter. "Get back in the house, Vio. Something's very wrong--something's killed these three sheep, alive just last night at that. Tell your mother. None of you come out here!"

With a frightened look on her face, Violet nodded and went back up to the house.

Anson buried his face in his hands. What a time for this to happen. Already the year had been slim for many of the farmers in the Shire, and he had heard tell that it wasn't going well for the Men who lived in the lands close by, nor even for the Elves in Rivendell. And now to have this strike...well, he didn't know about others, but he didn't know if he could make it through the season with a disease making his crops inedible and killing off his animals. He just didn't know if he could do it.

"Anson, Violet told me what happened." Della's soft voice came from behind Anson, and immediately he relaxed a little. It was irrational, to be sure, but he felt better knowing that Della was there. "Does it look bad?"

Anson nodded and stood, taking Della by the hand. "It looks very bad. These sheep were alive last night, and fairly healthy--listless, but nothing else that I noticed. That was last night, and now they're dead with sores down their throats. This could ruin us, Della."

Della squeezed his hand. "And it might not. We'll work as hard as we can and hope for the best. You ought to talk to some of the other farmers who live around, and see if they've found any dead livestock at their own farms. I'll hold down the fort here--you go off into town. I'm sure that that's where everyone else will go if something's wrong."

"Why do you think that?" Anson asked, frowning.

"Because their wives will tell them to!" Della laughed, and threw her arms around Anson's neck and began to cry softly. "Oh, Anson, things were looking bad already and it's this much worse now, but we'll make it. You go and save the farm, I'll stay here and try to run what's left of it."

That afternoon, Anson went into the market in the center of town. "Your attention!" he cried, and everyone turned. The whole town knew Anson, many of them since he was a small child; and all of them knew him well enough to realize that for him to call for attention was an extraordinarily rare event and was worthy of quiet. Quiet there was.

Anson swallowed, but steeled himself and began to speak loudly enough for the gathered hobbits to hear him. "I have some urgent news that must be discussed. If you would all please drop what you are doing if it is not too important, and meet with me at the town hall, I would appreciate it. This cannot wait."

It had been a slow, warm, cheerful day, and none of the business at the market was terribly vital, so everyone, including the vendors, followed Anson to the town hall. He quickly explained to the official who was in charge of meetings in the hall his purpose, and was granted permission to use the hall--and everyone who had been in the hall on business went into hear Anson Hornblower speak in public.

"My dear friends, neighbours, and family, I ask for your full attention as I speak of a matter that affects us all," Anson said with surprising eloquence. Nobody had expected this, and they all leaned in a little closer. Anson rose grandly to the occasion. "As you are all aware, this year has not been good for the farmers of the Shire. There has been little rain and much sun. As pleasant as it is for our children to be able to play in lovely weather, it would be more pleasant still for them to have fuller bellies than they have been able to have lately." There were many nods from the congregation, and a few murmurs of assent. "This day I found three sheep dead in my fields, from not an attack, nor old age, but from a disease. I don't know how this came about or what it is that is carrying this disease, but I know that this will do nothing but make the season worse."

"It is not only the Shire being affected." All heads turned to the back of the room, where a stranger--a Man--was standing by the wall. A few puzzled expressions and more than a few frowns came upon the faces of the hobbits in the hall when they recognized him to be a Ranger. "Word from Rivendell has it that many of the lands all the way from here to there have been stricken by this disease. It is hosted in the plants, and is most concentrated in the grasses, which is why the livestock are dying. People there are suffering, just as you are. An emergency meeting has been called at the Prancing Pony, and I was sent to alert all of you. Will you come?"

There was a long silence, but Anson was nodding. "Our friend has set before us an option that we need to look into, my friends. Shall we go?" He looked around the room, and waited for an answer.

[ March 18, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[PoWa]

Ferdibrand was riding up on the hill and looked out over The Shire. "My dear Salomo", he said softly to his pony, "Shire is beautiful, isnt it?"
On the way back to his hole in Bywater, he passed a village that was empty. Just a young lass was wandering around and cried.
"What happened here, miss?", Ferri asked. The lass didnt say anything and just looked down. Then she opened her mouth and said; "I-It is terrible! Its a plauge! I-I dont know how! I-Its terrible!".
"But...Where are everybody?", he asked confused.
"They have left.", she said, "The animals are sick and they have nothing to eat. I think they are trying to reach Rivenedell to get help."
"Thank you for the information, miss.", he said gently.
He did ride back to Bywater as fast as the horse could run. He didnt stop until he was outside hes own hole.
He ran inside and hes mother and father was eating.

"Mum! Dad!", he screamed, "Its a plauge that threats the whole Shire! In a village not far from here everyone were going to Rivendell to seek help by the elves."
"Oh my!", hes father screamed.
"Im going after them and help them!", Ferri said excited.
"No you are not!", hes mother said.
"Oh, please, Patty, let him go! He can take care of himself", hes father said.
"Hm, yes, but be VERY careful, my son! Promise me that!", she said.
"I promise mum!", Ferri said.

He ran outside again, grabbed his sword and walking stick. He took a cape and packed all food and herbals at his pony, Salomo, and walked to the Big Road to follow the helpless hobbits.
He was very concerned about them.

He didnt found them that day, and when he reached Bree he was so tired he had to rest.
He orderd a room at The Prancing Pony and sat down in the bar with a pint before he was going to sleep.

[ April 01, 2003: Message edited by: PoWa ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion moved carefully through the wood, his long legs carried him quickly between the grey trunks of the trees. He lifted his face and smelled. The smell was getting stronger. He knew what it was, he'd been finding the carcasses for three days now. Deer, rabbits, birds... he thought this one must be a larger animal, he'd been following the smell for almost a day. It was midafternoon and the flies were buzzing around the man's head as he walked, but he didn't spare them a thought. He turned his dagger in his hands, eyes searching the ground for signs of the passing of an animal. Bending down he caught tracks of a deer. Quickening his steps he hurried farther into the woods.

The doe was lying on its side in a clearing. Marsilion approached it quietly, the smell hanging in the air like smoke, he could hear breath rattling in and out of its lungs. The ranger knelt beside the animal's head. Her brown eyes were wide with fright, but she could barely move. Marsilion pushed a loose strand of his dark hair back while debating what to do, whether to ease her troubled passing, but as he pondered the deer grew still. The man sighed, placing the blade of his dagger under its throat, looking for the telltale sores. Sure enough the area was covered with the open blisters. Marsilion wiped his dagger on the grass and stood up.

The first time he'd seen this disease was three days ago. A hobbit child from Combe had gone missing and Marsilion was among those who searched. They found the girl, she'd wandered into a neighbor's fields and had been unable to find her way home. Marsilion had been searching alone when the girl was found, he'd found something else. A young rabbit lying facedown in a bed of rotting cabbages. A peculiar smell surrounded the place, a smell that made Marsilion's nose twitch. That had been the first, but he'd found others since then... Many others.

The ranger thought as he walked back toward the village. He hadn't been far from Archet that day, but it was to Bree he was headed now. He'd left his horse in the stables at the Prancing Pony, and he was ready for a bed and a hot meal. A chance to wash the stink of rotten animals, rotten vegetables from his hands would hardly be unwelcome either.

Marsilion reached Bree just as the sun was setting. He was well known to the people of the town, as he passed through once a month or so, and the gatekeeper recognized him on sight and waved him through. "Came through right in time, sir, 'bout to close up for the evening." He called.

Marsilion nodded and called back, "Thank you friend, I'm bound for the Pony tonight!"

[Arien]

Elenlith had been travelling for many days now. She rode upon Nimroch, her horse he was completely white, nimble fast and loyal. As she got closer to Bree she saw that the disease was far worse here than up north where she had been with the Rangers. She first saw the disease when hunting with Caranel, a male Ranger of her age. They had found a family of rotting deer. They reported it and scouts were sent out. They returned with the bad news, it was a disease that was spreading fast. Someone had to go to Bree and attended a meeting. Many volunteered but Elenlith was picked, she was not sure why for there were many that she considered more suited. But she didn’t complain.

The putrid smell hung in the air, no wind blew and it was almost unbearable. The sky was constantly grey, as though the weather mimicked the uneasy feeling around the land. The grass was no longer its pleasant green but a mucky brown, animals lay in the fields dead. Their owners too frightened to go out and bury them. The small amount of animals that were still alive were left to fend for themselves, they were sickly, mangy and thin. She looked at their sorry souls and whished she could help, but she did not know how. Her horse walked slowly past the carcass of a lamb, flies and maggots surrounded it, eating it away. Filth and dirt all around its body, it was truly disgusting.

“How is this so?” she whispered to Nimroch. “It was nigh on a month ago father and I travelled here, how has it got like this so quickly, so fast?”

He gave a soft neigh in reply. She patted his mane, he quickened into a gallop. As they sped up the smell disappeared a little but it was still there. It was all silent apart from the soft air brushing past them. Everyone was inside. As Elen came up a hill the scape of Bree stretched across the horizon, smoke circled out of the many chimneys and lights were dotted around. She wondered if they would have quarantine in place or whether she would be accepted into Bree. She knew very well that the townspeople would be sceptical about anyone knew, maybe they could be bringing a new disease even worse. Elen stopped. She dismounted and took out her canteen, she sipped the cold water inside. It had been a long time since she had eaten, and her stomach hurt. She refused to eat anything from the wild until she reached Bree just to be safe. She savoured the view for a moment than rode Nimroch to Bree.

[maikafanawen]

The sun lifted its face over the rolling land of Green Hill Country, beginning to ascend the sky. A lark woken by its warmth, shook awake her wings and feathers. Hungry, the little brown bird took off from its perch and soared above the gardens in Pincup. The cozy little hobbit town was just rousing as well. The lark spotted an open window in te side of one hobbit hole. Down she flew until her tiny feet rested on the smooth sill. She began to sing her song. Inside, a hobbit lass of only thirty was still sleeping. The sun filtered through her window and rested on her beautiful face. Peony stirred and woke finally, the sweet scent of breakfast compote mingling with the fresh morning air. The hobbit girl stretched and sighed heavily, adjusting her eyes to the morning light. She smiled at the lark upon her window sill.

“How very kind of you to wake me from such pleasant dreams.” The bird, startled from its song, flew off at the sound of her voice. Peony sighed,

“It’s just as well.” She stepped out of bed and rested her feet on the cool wood flooer. Discarding her nightgown, she donned a nice dress of pink and white checkers, and little frills around the collar and sleeves where they ended just below her elbows. No shoes of course, because she was a hobbit. Her curly radiant brownish red hair was frizzy from sleep and she splashed it quickly with water in an attempt to tame it. Peony brushed it out then and braided it elegantly down her back.

The day was hot as it made its way through the Fields’ house. The hobbit girl walked leisurely down the lengthy hall way past her brother’s a sister’s bedrooms to the breakfast eatery. On entering the kitchen, the rich scent of strawberry compote invaded her senses.

“Mmm! Moma! You outdid yourself! What’s the occasion?” She sat down at the table where her mother was busy setting out the rest of the china ware.

“Good morning child. I decided to make Gem’s favorite this morning since she had a poor time yesterday down at the creek.” Peony chuckled faintly, remembering how her youngest sister had fallen in the cool water, soaking her dress completely. She helped herself to a strawberry as her brothers Gundabald and Samwise entered the breakfast room, followed soon by her three sisters, Primrose carrying a sneezing Gem.

“Where’s Papa?” asked Mentha after all the Good mornings had been exchanged and the children were well on their way eating.

“He went to town. A couple farmers came by this morning. Something about their stock dying overnight. More tea Samwise?” Eglantine passed the intricately decorated pot towards the youngest boy.

“Were they the same farmers that have been having trouble with their crops as well?” Eglantine nodded, her mouth full of toast. At that moment, the door to the hobbit hole opened.

“Thank you Mr. Fields for coming with us. We’ll send help right away to Hobbiton.”

“Good idea Dinodas, anytime you need anything, just knock.” The door shut and Gromadoc entered the breakfast room, taking his place at the head of the table.

“Good morning family.” He reached for the toast and compote as they were passed to him.

“How is everything?” Eglantine looked towards her husband. He did not answer.

“Gromadoc?” The hobbit sighed and rested his forearms on the table.

“It’s a bad disease. It’s spread throughout the entire Shire. Stock are dying: cows, and sheep. They have little sores on their necks.” He stopped then and looked at his family. “We’ll go to Tookbank. Stay with your sister until things get cleared up.” The family nodded in agreement and packed that afternoon.

***

They had a wonderful time in Tookbank for the next three years. Peony celebrated her coming of age, and spent time with her best friend and cousin, Balbo. But the disease found them out and settled in Tookbank as well. At dinner one night, Peony decided what she must do.

“Moma, Papa. I’m going to Hobbiton—” Elgantine stood in protest but Gromadoc set a reassuring hand on her arm, “Let her finish dear.”

“I’m going to Hobbiton to get help. It is the only way. There, men and elves will know what to do and be able to help. Perhaps they know of a cure. Something must be done, or the Shire will slowly depopulate.” Her parents looked at her for a while, then Grombadoc stood.

“You’re right Peony, but You stay here. I’ll go.” Stubbornly, Peony counteracted him.

“You will be needed here Papa. Your place is in politics and diplomacy. You and Moma must make sure that the shire-folk do not loose hope. I’m old enough Papa, and should be getting out on my own soon anyways. This will be very good for me.”

“I still don’t like the idea of a little hobbit girl traveling all by herself—” Grombadoc was cut short.

“Papa, you know I’ll be fine.” With that she retired to her room to pack provisions. She discarded the frilly blue one she was wearing, and donned a more maneuverable dress of green and brown, suitable for traveling. In her bag she placed another brown and tan dress, and some breeches of Gundabalds, just in case. Along with that she placed two candles, some flint stones, rope, her dagger, three spice packages, and the necessary apples, bread, and cheese she would need. Clasped to the sides of her satchel were a few pots. Around her right shoulder she would wear a water canteen, and on her left a small sack of stones, and a slingshot. The hobbit carried her belongings into the hall and retrieved her cloak from the rack. It was a dark blue that went well with her eyes. Her mother entered the foyer along with the rest of her family. Eglantine draped the cloak across her daughter’s shoulders and clasped the silver buttons on the left side.

“Thanks Moma.” She hitched up her pack and equipped herself with her canteen and slingshot pouch. “Goodbye everybody. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t wait up for me.” She winked and left the house before she could change her mind.

[ March 19, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]

[Hathalas Ashen-Shield]

Tinüsel sat, smoking his pipeweed, on his sturdy oaken armchair in his cabin in Bree, pondering the rumours and news that his ears had caught. Apparently, travellers and scouts had reported a strange disease, killing the livestock, setting itself in the plants, destroying crops, rotting the land with its filthy stench and malicious doing, causing a repulsive plague across Eriador.

The signs had appeared as far away as Rivendell, Imladris, the nearly deserted elf city and The Shire, the land of the little folk, full of rolling green hills. It broke Tinüsel's heart to think of those poor halflings, starving to death due to this horrible plague. A burning desire to help these people struck up in his body.

Tinüsel's eyes rolled over outside his window. He peered outside, and saw a notice pinned to a neighbouring cabin. It read:

NOTICE-TO THE VILLAGERS OF BREE

A disease is passing through the city. It will most likely kill all animals and plants growing, so we, the Administrators of the City, advise all villagers to stock up on provisions quickly, the plague is a day or two away from hitting. Also, any interested in aiding the town, there will be a meeting at the Old Hall on the South-Eastern side of the city who will be called up to order to discuss the disease and figure out ways of stopping this plague. It will be held in three days time. Halflings of the shire and elves of Rivendell are called to the meeting as well.

THE CITY OF BREE

Tinüsel thought for a moment, and he thought of the poor shirelings, suffering from this, and decided that he would attend the meeting. Then he went out to his backyard to pile up his vegetables and fruits into baskets to bring them inside.

[ March 19, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[ March 21, 2003: Message edited by: Hathalas Ashen-Shield ]

[Eressië Ailin]

Luin led her horse, Thalion, through the thick forest. 'I know it is far, but this is the only way to get to the grazing-field!' she whispered to her weary horse. Thalion followed her around tree stumps and rocks, until the trees grew thin. 'Just a little further,' she said. Presently, they came to the fields that Luin had been seeking. There was a foul smell that lingered there, from far off. Perhaps only the Elf could sense it. 'Here we are,' she murmered. 'Thalion, I shall be walking amoungst the trees. When I call, I expect you to seek me.' The horse nuzzled Luin's hand affectionately. 'Run, Thalion, run!' She watched her horse gallop away, and laughed when she saw him lay down and roll in the grass. Luin turned away and went back into the forest. She sang to the trees and birds, and to all of the beasts with open ears. When it began to grow dark, Luin called Thalion to her. He came slowly, almost as if he was lame. But it wasn't that. He just seemed to be tired, very tired. Even more weary than he was coming to the fields. Usually, after grazing, he looked somewhat refreshed. But not that day.

Luin and her horse began to make their way to Rivendell. 'I can care for you once we reach Imladris,' she said reassuringly to Thalion. 'But we cannot stay here long. We must back before nightfall.' They continued on to Rivendell, and when they got there, Luin realized that she wasn't the only one who feared for Thalion's health. As she was putting Thalion in his stall, the Elves who spent their time in the stables told Luin to go and rest.

'But I am not weary!' she cried in protest. 'Thalion needs my help. He is ill!'

'We can care for your steed, Luinthindiel. You must trust us to heal Thalion.' The Elf who had spoken led a reluctant Luin to her room. 'You must be exhausted, spending the entire day wandering in the Wild! Have some rest, and your horse will be healed by morning.'

Luin still wasn't convinced, but she agreed to rest. In her sleep, Luin was still uneasy. She heard voices in the night crying, 'What has happened?! O! what has happened?'

'Is that not that Lady Luinthindiel's horse?'

'I fear so. We cared for him, and tried to save him. But, alas! we were too late. This horse seems to have caught a disease worse than any I have ever seen. See these red bumps on his neck? I have heard of a disease in the Shire with the same symptoms.

'What else do you know of this disease?'

'It is a plague. It is causing famine. All of their crops and livestock are dying because of this one disease. I cannot forsee how the Shire will survive if no cure is found. I heard a group is meeting in Bree to find a cure.'

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

When Luin awoke the next morning, she was still haunted by her dream. It had been torture to her. Her horse had died, and she had heard rumour of a disease spreading in the Shire. There was something about a meeting in Bree... Luin's mind stopped wandering when she heard voices outside.

'Who shall tell Luinthindiel?'

'I do not think I have the heart to do it. She will be devastated to learn that Thalion has died!'

Luin had heard enough. 'It wasn't a dream!! How can I live in Imladris without Thalion?' Luin recollected the events of the night before. Hadn't one Elf said something about a meeting in Bree to find the cure? "I heard a group is meeting in Bree to find a cure..." Of course! 'There is nothing left in Imladris worth living for now that Thalion is gone,' thought Luin. 'I just hope there are no others that end up with the same fate as me. I might as well go to Bree to help find a cure.'

Luin left Rivendell in silence; for she had no one to say good-bye to, nor anyone who would care. It would be a long journey since she no longer had a horse, but Luin was now ready for almost anything. 'At last, I can get away from those dreadful relatives of mine,' Luin thought with delight.

[ March 19, 2003: Message edited by: Eressië Ailin ]

[Himaran]

The white horse galloped up the path, its mane flowing in the breeze which its fast pace created. Seated on the horse was an elf, which long blond hair flowing over his strong shoulders.

Speaking softly to his horse, he urged her to halt as the gate of Bree came into his keen vision. As the great beast slowed, the elf leaped off of the saddle and grabbed the rope, leading her through the gate. But then a sign caught his eye, posted on one of the doors:

NOTICE-TO THE VILLAGERS OF BREE

A disease is passing through the city. It will most likely kill all animals and plants growing, so we, the Administrators of the City, advise all villagers to stock up on provisions quickly, the plague is a day or two away from hitting. Also, any interested in aiding the town, there will be a meeting at the Old Hall on the South-Eastern side of the city who will be called up to order to discuss the disease and figure out ways of stopping this plague. The date will be announced shortly, for halflings of the shire and elves of Rivendell are called to the meeting as well.

THE CITY OF BREE

Elves of Rivendell? Perhaps I will go to this meeting. The elf stabled his horse, and walked to the Prancing Pony, where he entered the inn and paid for a room.

[PoWa]

After many ales and telling tales to stangers Ferri walked up to his room to sleep.

The next morning he walked down to the common room and started eating breakfast.
It was early in the morinng so it was almost empty there. He sat down and looked outside the window where he saw a big note.
He started to read it.

NOTICE-TO THE VILLAGERS OF BREE
A disease is passing through the city. It will most likely kill all animals and plants growing, so we, the Administrators of the City, advise all villagers to stock up on provisions quickly, the plague is a day or two away from hitting. Also, any interested in aiding the town, there will be a meeting at the Old Hall on the South-Eastern side of the city who will be called up to order to discuss the disease and figure out ways of stopping this plague. The date will be announced shortly, for halflings of the shire and elves of Rivendell are called to the meeting as well.

Ferri really wanted to go to that meeting. But he also wanted to help the poor hobbits that had fled. He decided to stay in Bree and wait for the meeting. Maybe he could help them better if he stayed and got some information about this plague.
So he sat down again and continued eating.

[ March 27, 2003: Message edited by: PoWa ]

[Lyra Greenleaf]

The inn common room was dark with a low roof, even the very air was muggy with the scent of ale and unwashed bodies. Only the slight woman, little more than a girl, stood out as she walked with her drink through the darkened room. Her figure had grace to it, not the feminine sort of grace usually associated with women but rather the deadly grace of a soldier or an assassin. Mara, for this was her name, looked in disgust at the men she passed, belching and laughing coarsely, many pausing to leer. It was the first time in over a year she had returned to her native village, and apart from her family she realised there was not one who she felt regret for.

“Mara my pretty” a voice interrupted her thoughts. “Are ye not yet married? You could have two or three children by now, had you played your cards right. I’d have you, ye know, for my wife died nigh on three years ago now.”
Mara shuddered and went to continue on her way.
“What say you, Mara?” the man continued.
She paused, to remind herself to be civil.
“I thank you for your offer, Master Miller, if such it was,” she said, with a sugary smile that did not reach her eyes, “but I believe you are a little…” Her eyes ranged over him. Fat? Stupid? What would offend him the least? she wondered, for her family depended on him to mill their corn into bread for a low price. “A little old for me” Mara turned firmly on her way.
“What of my son?” he called again, standing up. “My oldest, Ben. He’s a good lad.”
“Weak” she countered without bothering to turn. “Tied to his Mama’s side until she died. He would last not a week with me”
“You have no leave to be so fussy, Mistress Mara” the man answered angrily. “May yet be you won’t receive a better offer than this one. You come from a poor family and many’s the father who wouldn’t accept a girl who’d been off learning to fight instead of cook and clean.”
”That is a risk I will take” she told the man, still with studied politeness. However one of her brothers or sisters could have told him that her face was showing the signs it normally had shortly before they found themselves flat on their backs with fresh new bruises. “I must warn you” she added in the same tone “should you speak again, I will not be responsible for what I may do”
“There’s my younger boy” the man said, unheeding of the threat. “Ugly as sin, but all you can- Oooof!”
He was cut off by a kick to the area Mara knew would do the most damage. As he doubled over she grabbed his hair and pulled him upright. A knife in her hand was perilously close to his neck.

The inn had gone silent, enjoying the entertainment. Even the barkeep stopped polishing the old broadsword kept behind the bar.
“I warned you, you fat old fool” said Mara quietly. She stood silent for a while, listening to the sound of the man's panicked breathing filling the room. Then with a sigh of disgust she let go, pushing him down onto the floor. She turned to leave.
“Mayhap you’re the fool!” he called, rubbing his neck. “I do not think that I shall be able to mill your father’s corn this year. He’ll have to take it elsewhere.” With a cruel smile he added “Such a pity it would be were they and the brats to starve to death”
Mara ran with the sound of laughter in her ears. She had contemplated slitting his throat, but it would not have helped. All she could hope was that he would forget what she had done.

*********************
Fighting was all Mara had ever wanted to do, but every step of that way she had had to convince someone that she was good enough, simply because she was female. Though she could fight with a knife from the age of seven and a sword from ten her parents would not let her join the parties that frequently raided Rohirrim lands, just a few miles from her home. So at the age of fifteen she ran away. The raiders she met later let her fight, but only after she had killed two of the men who stood against her. Since then she was tolerated rather than accepted, partly through fear of her vicious temper. She had earned a good reputation for her hatred of the Horsemen of Rohan, who she believed had stolen the lands of the Dunlendings. The rewards were shares of the loot from burnt farms and villages, which she sent home. Now, with the bread for the next year looking in jeopardy, she realised that she had to get some more money. And fast.

[ March 20, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[Arien]

Elen tied up Nimroch out in the stables. “I will return soon, do not drink the water or eat any thing given to you!” She smiled at him and took a large flask from her side, opened it and tipped it into his mouth. She put the top back on delicately, and revealed an apple from underneath her cloak. She held it up to the moon. “Do you want it?” He neighed softly and threw his head back playfully. “Here.” And she fed it to him. “Remember what I said.” She kissed his head softly and left. She hurried up the path to the Inn, the streets were silent, but the Inn seemed full. She pushed the door open, the smell of ale and pipe weed filled her lungs and smoke consumed her slender figure. She walked in and lowered the hood of her green cloak. Her hair fell to her shoulders, a few men stared at her, smiling, but she just ignored them. She was here to do a job and not to make friends.

She looked around the Inn and saw a notice on the wall, she pushed past a few drunk men so she could see it clearer. It read


NOTICE-TO THE VILLAGERS OF BREE


A disease is passing through the city. It will most likely kill all animals and plants growing, so we, the Administrators of the City, advise all villagers to stock up on provisions quickly, the plague is a day or two away from hitting. Also, any interested in aiding the town, there will be a meeting at the Old Hall on the South-Eastern side of the city who will be called up to order to discuss the disease and figure out ways of stopping this plague. The date will be announced shortly, for halflings of the shire and elves of Rivendell are called to the meeting as well.


THE CITY OF BREE


So this was the meeting that she had been sent to, it looked as though hobbits and elves would be joining them to. Elen stood for a while wondering what to do. She then decided that she might as well get clean and be well rested for the next day so she paid for a room.
The room was warm as it had a fire already blazing, she placed her bow and quiver on the bed and then placed her two knives next to the bow. She got undressed and washed. She then put on her dress, she rarely wore it but it would be good enough to sleep in. She pulled the white sheets back and collapsed onto the bed. She was very tired so tired in fact that she forgot her hunger instead she closed her eyes and feel asleep.

[ March 20, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Rested and clean, Marsilion made his way down to the common room at the Prancing Pony. He looked around at the others in the room, men and hobbits, in one corner an elf, all with faces lined with worry. As he made his way over to the bar he passed a large notice on the wall. His blue eyes slipped over it rapidly.

So,the man thought, it is in the crops... as I'd guessed. He pressed his lips together, then grinned, thinking I'd better get a good breakfast today, who knows when I'll get another. But then a serious thought struck him: his horse, stabled at the inn.

Marsilion quickly made his way to the stables. The curly headed hobbit stableboy looked nervous as the purposeful Ranger came toward him in long strides.

The boy gulped and opened wide brown eyes at Marsilion's question, "Yes, sir, your horse is fine, sir."

The ranger breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Firien was a horse of Rohan, a superb (and valuable) mare. He went into her stall and ran his hand over her chestnut coat, bright as copper. The horse had been a gift, from a Rider he loved as a brother, and he loved her too, she was swift and fearless and trained to respond to his every command.

He touched her under the chin with his long fingers, feeling for the telltale blisters that signalled the plague, then ran his hands down the length of her throat. She moved nervously as she felt his worry, but Marsilion found no signs of sickness. He smiled at the horse, and spoke softly "Firien, my love, we will ride together soon." the horse flicked an ear impatiently, "but now you must remain inside. Drink deep, my love, for hungry days are coming." She lowered her head, rubbed against his chest.

Leaving the stall, Marsilion motioned to the hobbit boy. "My horse is to remain inside." He commanded. "Feed her nothing but last year's hay, do you understand me?"

The stableboy nodded his head vigorously, "Yes sir! I understand, she's to be kept inside, and have nothing but hay, sir"

The hobbit stableboy was truly frightened now, he was unaccustomed to orders from angry men with swords. Marsilion took some silver pennies from his pocket and pressed them into the boy's hand, he realized he'd scared the kid, and smiled. The boy smiled back. "Thank you, sir!"

As the man re-entered the inn, he moved quickly to the bar, noting the presence of a young woman he recognized. He sat at the bar, ordering a substantial breakfast and ate, pondering both the identity of the woman, and the upcoming meeting. The girl, he thought, was the daughter of a Ranger he knew, Ellith? Elenna? he couldn't remember her name. He nodded at her, and she nodded back across the smoke filled room. The meeting, though, the meeting was a real possibility. He thought about it as he chewed. He'd have to attend this meeting.

[Durelin]

His eyes searching the tavern room from over his tankard, Raken watched as Miller crumpled to the ground. You should know you're hunting too big of game for you, little man, he thought, shaking his head. They never learn Pretty Mara. "Huh," he grunted, turning to the group of swarthy men he was sitting with, "I don't see why so many want 'er, she's got too much pride. Bad thing in a woman. And why' s she doin' man's work? Fightin'…Someone oughta put her in her rightful place." Raken growled and clenched his fists, looking around at the men. They all nodded, but no one said a word. Not a very smart lot, he thought, sighing. But he straightened up as he saw a tall cloaked man come stumbling with fatigue into the tavern room. "Oi!" Raken called to the man. "Over here!" Then he yelled to the innkeep, a portly man with greasy gray hair and large watery black eyes, to bring another ale. As the cloaked man strode, almost gliding, over to the table Raken was at, he hissed at the men sitting with Raken, and they jumped up from their seats and ran like startled deer when the stranger hissed at them. The rest of the tavern sat frozen in their seats, staring at Raken and the man. But as Raken glared around the room, everyone went back to their drinks, shaking a little. Not worth wondering. Not worth your life. "Menglin, Menglin!" Raken whispered to the cloaked man now sitting across from him. "You've come a long ways." Menglin merely growled. Obviously too long, Raken thought.

The innkeep, covered in cold sweat from fear, came over and set the ale on the edge of the table, then jumped back and ran back to his place behind the bar. Menglin laughed. "Outside Raken," he spoke with a small hiss. Menglin finished his ale and the two rose and walked out into the muddy streets -- if they were worthy of being called streets -- leaving money on the table. They found a shadowy spot behind a building, and Menglin removed his hood, chuckling. He had wild red hair and small squinting gray eyes. "It is quite amazing how easily your people scare."
"They just know that shadowy folk can mean men of the Eye," Raken snapped, "And ya are, ain't ya?"
"Well," Menglin began, "You have always been a loyal servant, you are much like us 'shadowy folk', as you call us, I did not expect for you to care about them."
Raken sneered at him. "I was born here, live here," he whispered, plunging deep in thought. Finally he looked back at Menglin. "What've you got?" Menglin simply held out his hand. Reluctantly, Raken pulled a copper out of his bag. "Now."
"Well, I went into Rohan --"
"Ro--," Raken almost yelled, then caught himself and spoke in a whisper. "Rohan? How the…?"
Menglin grinned, "Yes, I was disguised as a poor, lowly beggar. Got a lot of good information. Disease in the crops is all over, just one disease, up north a ways. They're starving." He stopped to smile a small twitch of his lips. "But they know how to stop it." He paused again, holding out his hand again. Raken sighed and pulled out another copper. But the hand did not go away. Menglin looked at the copper, frowned, then stared at Raken with a foolish grin. Raken sneered and gave yet another copper to get the information out of him.

"Ainereg, Raken, Ainereg," Menglin whispered, "And in Fangorn." He was smiling again, and so was Raken. "Fangorn. So the legends are true!" Menglin nodded, chuckling under his breath. "You know they'll send a group made up of all sorts, they aren't going to a bunch of elven warriors. And, of course, they'll have women with them."
Raken snorted, "Of course they will." Suddenly he laughed, "Well, the weak fall, the strong rise."
Menglin laughed with him, "We'll finally get as we deserve, to be rich as lords!"
"But, we can’t do this alone, we'll need my men. How will there be enough?" Raken wasn't smiling anymore. But Menglin was, "Raken, Raken," Menglin began exasperatedly, "there is plenty, believe me." He paused, stroking his chin, "Or, this could be your people's time. Time the Rohirrim paid. Revenge. It would be more than enough to pay for your revenge. I know some who could supply, if you have the right amount of money."
"And we will," Raken said, laughing again, "with the flower."
"We should start planning immediately."
"Right, Menglin, I know, it won't be that easy." Raken grinned broadly, "Funny, a stinkin' flower's gonna pay for our war."
"Yes," whispered Menglin, "A flower of healing will be the death warrant of the Rohirrim."

[ March 23, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Orual]

"You'll have to set out immediately, I guess," Della said, following Anson into their room with little Rudy.

Anson nodded regretfully, but when he spoke his voice was calm, conversational. "I would've liked to set my affairs in order before I left, just in case. This isn't just a walking-party, you know, it's a real quest. It could be that some of us won't come home, or that none of us will. But anyway, can you do that for me? Set it all straight, in case I don't return? I want you and the children provided for--"

He startled when a sob came from behind him. He turned around, aghast, at Della's distress. She had set Rudy on the floor and was kneeling, her face in her hands, weeping like her heart would break. "Della," he said softly, kneeling by her to comfort her. He stroked her chestnut curls, and she leaned into his shoulder and let herself fall apart. He had so rarely seen her cry, he didn't know quite what to do. And he'd never seen her cry like this before.

He held her for a little while, until he finally stopped crying. She shuddered and breathed heavily, taking her arms off of his shoulders. Rudy was on the verge of tears himself, knowing that something was wrong, and it didn't really matter what it was. His mommy was crying, so something must be not right. Della scooped the boy up, and murmured some reassuring words to him. "I need to go wash my face," she said in a hoarse whisper, and left the room hurriedly.

Anson sat back on his heels for a moment, composing himself, then went back to his packing.


"Hullo, Anson." " 'Morning, Anson." "Good morning, Mr. Hornblower." Anson nodded to all of his countrymen in turn as he came to the rendez-vous that he had designated at the meeting. He gave a short speech, mainly for morale, and asked them all to check their bags and make sure that they hadn't left anything necessary behind. Depending on the way the meeting at Bree went, some of them might not be back home for a long while.

Anson recognized most of the faces around him, but there was one that was unfamiliar to him. A pale-eyed hobbit lass, not yet come of age, with a long braid down her back and clever, inquisitive eyes. He knew most of the folk in town, but he had never seen her before. He sighed a little, and smiled. Her eyes and her quick movements reminded him of his Violet, who had been heartbroken when her father left. If he was to lead this band of hobbits, he would need to know them, and they would need to trust him.

"Morning, miss," he said jovially as he approached her. She startled a little bit and looked up at him. "I don't believe I know you. I'm Anson Hornblower. It's nice to meet you. What can I call you?" He extended his hand to her, and waited for her answer.

[Carlas]

Everwood stood silently in Fangorn, thinking thoughtfully to himself. The wind swept through the leafs, making them ruffle about on his great branches. The sun had already sunk into the west, but the moon glowed brightly in the evening sky, surrounded by millions of stars.

He opened his eyes, and looked about the quiet forest. It was bathed in moonlight, spreading slight shadows on the ground, giving it a mysterious, yet beautiful look. He sighed deeply and started to walk, hardly bending at all. His footfalls beat on the ground slowly, but it was not long before he made it to a river, that flowed gently through Fangorn.

Though it was not usual for an ent, he was bored. If he had told any other ent, they wood call him hasty, but that was the problem, he never really saw any other ents. Most prefered to walk deep in the forest, and some didn't walk at all. He shook his head slowly, making a low creeking noise and walked off silently towards home.

[maikafanawen]

On arrival in Hobbiton, Peony found most the same situation she had left in Pincup, and had seen along the way. A terrible stench hung in the air like the awful smell in a slaughterhouse. It pinched the nose and made it crinkle in disgust. A meeting had been called together in the Hall due to the famine. She ran quickly as a hobbit farmer began to speak.

"My dear friends, neighbors, and family, I ask for your full attention as I speak of a matter that affects us all," Anson said with surprising eloquence. Nobody had expected this, and they all leaned in a little closer. Anson rose grandly to the occasion. "As you are all aware, this year has not been good for the farmers of the Shire. There has been little rain and much sun. As pleasant as it is for our children to be able to play in lovely weather, it would be more pleasant still for them to have fuller bellies than they have been able to have lately. This day I found three sheep dead in my fields, from not an attack, nor old age, but from a disease. I don't know how this came about or what it is that is carrying this disease, but I know that this will do nothing but make the season worse."

A voice towards the back of the Hall spoke up then. It was a Man.

"It is not only the Shire being affected. Word from Rivendell has it that many of the lands all the way from here to there have been stricken by this disease. It is hosted in the plants, and is most concentrated in the grasses, which is why the livestock are dying. People there are suffering, just as you are. An emergency meeting has been called at the Prancing Pony, and I was sent to alert all of you. Will you come?"

Peony looked back towards the hobbit farmer who nodded and readdressed the congregation.

"Our friend has set before us an option that we need to look into, my friends. Shall we go?"

Hobbits nodded in agreement and some spoke up. After thirty minutes of debate, it was decided that a group of selected hobbits would leave immediately for Bree. As a representative of Tuckborough and the Green Hill Country, Peony was to be among them.

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

Peony smiled cordially and shook hands firmly with the hobbit farmer. Putting forth her best executive attitude, striving to make a good impression and prove to be very brave, she answered Anson definitely.

“Good morning sir. My name is Peony Fields of Pincup, daughter of Grombadoc Fields.” She waited for the name to register before she continued, “The plague has reached the Green Hill Country and Tuckborough as well. I have come for help. I attended your meeting this morning and would like to come with you and the rest to Bree.” The hobbit farmer’s face flashed a little sign doubt, “Oh I understand that it will be a rather dangerous journey and no ‘hobbit walking part’” she giggled, “but I am quick and will cause to delay.” Confident with her response, she stood up strait, resting her hand on the top of her canteen. Anson smiled.

“Very well then, I am thankful for your company.” With that, the hobbits began their trek to Bree. Minding the smell and dreary faces around them, Peony thought the day was rather pleasant. The sun was bright, not too hot though, and an autumn breeze fluttered gaily around them, dimming the stench of the disease. She smiled and quietly hummed a walking song.

“Eh what’s that song your singin’ lass?” queried one of the hobbits beside her. Peony looked at him, a twinkle in her eye and sang the words:

“The Road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the road has gone, and I must follow if I can.” The hobbit nodded and began to sing with her. Soon the entire hobbit party was singing it too, but softly.

They walked long and the day began to wear on their feet. Finally Anson called a halt, and the hobbits made camp for the night. The hobbit to which she was speaking with earlier was named Fredegar. He started the fire while the hobbits gathered around smoking pipes and sharing stories. Someone had caught a few rabbits and they were cooking nicely. Peony went to sit by her friend who had just lighted his pipe.

“Good evening,” she said, taking a seat beside him on the dry ground. Fredegar nodded,

“Good evening lass.” Fredegar was an elderly hobbit, probably no younger than seventy years of age. He had a pleasant look about him, and there were crinkles by his eyes and the corners of his mouth due to smiling so often. Peony liked him, and he reminded her of her grandfather.

“Where do hail from little one?” he asked her.

“Pincup in the Green Hill Country. My father is Grombadoc Fields.” Fredegar nodded,

“That name is familiar.” He took a puff on his pipe as Peony began to talk some more.

“I don’t really care for adventures, but I guess most hobbits don’t either. My father is a very diplomatic sort of person though, and I was most fit to search for help, being the oldest of the family. I just hope it doesn’t take so long.” She sat cross-legged, her dress draped over the front of her knees. She fiddled idly with the tiny wooden buttons. The rabbit was served then in the form of a hearty stew. Peony spared a bit of bread that she had collected in Hobbiton and ate well. Exhausted then from the days walk, she fell asleep, wrapped up in her cloak, while the older hobbits talked a bit more.

[ March 23, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]

[Manardariel]

"Slow down, my girl. Slow down, I say."

Approaching the Prancing Pony Inn, Andunériel pulled her mare´s reighns. There would be a meeting here, summond by the Breelanders in their fear. Two things had made her decide to come and attend this council, or whatever it was. The first was that she was still haunted by the famined children and the disgusting smell she had seen in the Edain village a week ago.

The other was that she was almost sure she knew what could be done. In the old records of herbology, medicine and history stored in Rivendell, she had found an old Numénorian script that spoke of a "deadly famine, killing crops and lifestock".
Andunériel, who had always been interested in herbs and such things, had read it with great intrest, and had of course been reminded of the misterious sickness that was tortureing the village people right now. The old script had further suggested that the only cure was to be found "in Yavanna´s oldest garden, in the lands east of our home." Fangorn Forest! And the plant, Andunériel had figured, had to be Ainereg, an ancient plant, with great healing powers. After these discouveries, events had been rushed. Andunériel had left Rivendell quickly to attend this meeting, more than ready to offer her help and advice.

She reached the Pony. She lead Elenya in the stabels, fed her, and then entered the Inn. She looked around apprehensively.

"Say," she asked the bar-tender, "I heared there would be a meeting about this crop- disease..."

He nodded. "Yes, that will be sometime these days. Would you like a room untill then?"

She nodded, and then sat down in a corner. Sipping some ale, she gathered more news about this disease, about why she was here.

After sometime, she leaned back, From what she had heard, people were suffering.
Maybe she was only a lonely elf, of no great heritage. Maybe she was only a little leaf in the stream of the years,. But if people were suffering, she could help them. She would make a differance. She could, if she wanted. She would show them how much one elf could do, if she tried. She would show them.

[ March 23, 2003: Message edited by: Manardariel ]

[Orual]

"Is everyone ready? Then let's move out," called Anson, shouldering his pack. He watched Peony as she did the same and the group formed. "Let's go," he cried, and a great shout rose from the gathered hobbits.

He led them out to the road, and explained the trip to them. There might be some small dangers on the way to Bree--hungry and wild animals, perhaps bandits--but for the most part it would be safe. Once they left Bree the real danger would begin, and they would need to make some decisions.

Not everyone would be needed, Anson explained. Only three representatives of the Halflings would even be required. This was voluntary, he said, and there was no need to feel obligated to go. You took your life into your own hands if you left the Prancing Pony to go eastward.

The trip took several days, but none of the dangers that Anson had feared came to pass. They saw wolves and hunger-wild dogs in the bushes, their yellow and brown eyes glowing menacingly, but then quickly either left or dispatched of them.

So it was that, hungry, wet, and disheveled, but all in one piece, the Hobbiton contingent arrived at Bree, at the Prancing Pony.

[ March 23, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Durelin]

Raken, followed by Menglin, emerged from the shadowy hiding place. He hadn't gone two paces before he ran into something. Someone. A woman. Mara. After staring for a split second in alarm, he grabbed both her wrists and attempted to restrain her, but he received a knee in the nether-regions. Then Menglin had his knife out, but so did Mara. He threw his, and it pierced her shirt - sleeve, only grazing the skin. Mara stopped in surprise just long enough for both Menglin and Raken to move in on her. Raken grabbed her legs while Menglin kept her busy. She cut him across the cheek, making him scream in rage. But he quickl recovered and punched her hard in the stomach. She was flung to the ground, dropping her knife. Menglin retrieved it, putting it between his teeth, then knelt down to grab her arms, lifting them above her head.
"Well little missy," Raken said, chuckling, "You put up a good fight, don't ya?" Mara growled at him as he smiled at her.

Menglin didn't find it amusing, blood trickling down his face in small lines. "What did you hear," he yelled at her, his eyes burning with rage. He shook her, his grip on her arms tightening, his finger - nails biting into her skin. The woman merely growled at him, too, snarling to show her teeth.
"You might as well get it over with little girl," he told her, still grinning. Then, still holding onto her legs, he maneuvered the hand holding the knife upward. He ran the knife across the back of her leg, slitting her skin. She winced in pain, but made no noise except for a small grunt. Raken rubbed his hand over the wound, enjoying the feel of the warm, sticky blood, smearing all over his hand. "Is it really worth my pleasure, little Mara, to not tell us what we already know?" He smirked at her, smiling and sneering at the same time. He loved doing this.

[maikafanawen]

Even though the sun had begun to shine, and the rain stopped, Peony was wet and very hungry when she entered the Prancing Pony, walking in just behind Anson. Her shoulders sagged and her dress was sticking to the back of her legs from being so wet. Her hair however was neat. Tucked up underneath the small cowl, she had kept it pinned in a fashionable bun so it wouldn’t get soaked. There was a fire going in the fireplace across the room and smoke drifted towards them, as it was sucked out the open door. Finally all the hobbits were inside, ringing out their cloaks, and shaking their packs until they were only a bit damp. The other people in the Inn were either men or a few random elves. Every single one of them looked questioningly towards the peculiar group of travelers.

Anson spoke with the Innkeeper about their business and ordered a room for everyone. Most of the hobbits paired off to share quarters, but of course Peony was given her own, single bedroom. She had to be told twice however because she was amazed still at the size of the Inn, let alone the entire town.

“Peony?” Anson waved his hand in front of her face making her blink. “You’ll have your own quarters just down the hall from mine. Okay?” She nodded, still looking around.

“Do you think perhaps I could go for a walk or something?” Peony asked peering around the corner of the main counter into the common room, watching its inhabitants. Anson squinted his eyes in thought.

“It would probably not be such a good idea. Bree isn’t exactly a safe town, and the meeting will be starting shortly.” She didn’t hear his mumbled reply and walked back out of the Inn by herself before he finished. Anson made to go after her but Fredegar stopped him.

“Aw let her be. No one’s gonna harm a little hobbit girl, and she won’t miss anything.” Agreeing, though reluctantly, Anson walked into the common room with Fredegar.

Outside, Peony marveled at the size of the houses and different shops. There were so many. There was a butchery, a bread shop, a seamstress and tailor shop, a print shop, an apothecary, and many more all set up in tight rows along the street. What she marveled at most though was the stable. Inside were stalls and stalls of horses of all different colors: chestnut, snow white, copper, yellow, dark brown, and midnight black. They were twice the size of her father’s ponies at home. She could almost walk right under one without her head touching their stomach.

“Would you like to ride one?” asked a she-elf, who had just had hers untied. Peony stared for a minute then nodded yes ecstatically. “Alright, come on over here.” Ducking under the top part of the stall door to the other side where the elf stood, she turned and let the maiden lift her up onto her horse’s back. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked down from her new perch.

“Wow … this is high!” Peony wove the hair on the horse’s mane between her fingers as the elf led him out of the stall to walk around the back yard ring. Giggling with delight, Peony straitened in her seat while ‘oohing’ and ‘ahing’ as the horse began to trot around the little ring.%

[Orual]

Anson gave a deep sigh when he sat down at a table in the common room, his friends and kinsmen about him. He was a little worried about Peony, but the girl was nearly come of age. She could look after herself. Besides, Fredegar was right, who was going to bother a little hobbit girl from the Shire?

"As soon as Peony comes back I'd like to get organized," he said to the hobbits gathered around him. Then he stood up, and drew a breath, and said in a loud voice:

"My friends, we are the representatives of the hobbits who are here for the meeting concerning the disease that is spreading across the north. I am Anson Hornblower, and I speak for my group when I say that we are ready to begin talks and decide what to do. I see from the nodding heads that many of you are here for our same purpose. We are missing one of our members, but she will hopefully come back soon, and we can start. I look forward to hearing your opinions, your suggestions, and your plans, for I do not doubt that some of you, indeed many of you, and perhaps all of you, are more educated in the study of diseases, and will know how to combat this plague. If we could designate a place in the room for our talks--I would suggest this large table right here, for I do not assume that we would overcrowd it--perhaps we could start."

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion was sitting by himself in a corner of the common room. He was thinking about the ravages of the disease on the land and of his family. His father and elder brother,Argil, were somewhere in Northern Eriador tracking the foul creatures of the enemy, but his brother's wife and two small sons, and Marsilion's mother had been left behind in a small settlement on the Mitheithel. This plague must be affecting the land there. Marsilion bit his lip as he thought of his young nephews going hungry.

The Man raised his head as the halfling, Anson, began to speak. The meeting which the Bree-landers had called was to begin shortly. Marsilion unfolded his long body and stood. Moving quietly over to the table where the halflings sat, he introduced himself to Anson.

"My name is Marsilion, son of Armegil. I am a ranger of the north in the line of Isildur." He spoke softly, and it crossed his mind that the hobbits quite likely had no idea who Isildur was and he internally scolded himself for his rudeness. "I would hear what you have to tell of this disease." he continued, "for I fear it strikes my homeland as well, and I hope to represent my people as we look for an answer." He looked at Anson as he spoke. The hobbit was tanned and weather-roughened. Marsilion guessed he was a farmer. His brown eyes were bright and intelligent. The other hobbits gathered looked worried and tense.

Anson, obviously the leader, greeted Marsilion. "Please sit." he said, motioning to one of the empty seats at the large table. "We're still short a member, but as soon as she returns we can begin. It's good to meet you, Marsilion son of Armegil."

"And you, Anson Hornblower." the ranger returned as he sat down in the seat Anson had indicated. He rubbed the silver ring that had been his grandfathers; he wore the ring always and rubbing it when he was worried was a habit he'd developed years ago. He smiled to himself, as second son he'd inherited the ring, and Argil had inherited their grandfather's sword. Oh the fights it had caused! But now he rubbed the ring, and thought of Argil.

An older hobbit sitting closer to him leaned over and spoke. "I'm called Fredegar of the Shire. May I ask your name?" His musings interrupted, Marsilion looked over at the hobbit, Fredegar.

"My name is Marsilion, and I make my home in the Wild." he answered.

"What have you seen of this plague?" The old hobbit asked. Now other hobbits of the party were leaning closer, interested. Anson seemed distracted though, looking toward the door every few seconds. Marsilion told them of the dead animals he'd found in the Bree-lands and of the rotting vegetables and the pervasive stink of death that was hovering over the land. Head after head nodded as they recognized the illness from his words.

[Lyra Greenleaf]

With an expletive that would have made her father blush Mara realised she had left her cloak at the inn. Turning, she began to walk back towards the inn, preferring not to put off the inevitable.

"Right, Menglin, I know, it won't be that easy. Funny, a stinkin' flower's gonna pay for our war."
"Yes, a flower of healing will be the death warrant of the Rohirrim."

Mara listened to the conversation of the two men with growing interest. She was so busy calculating the possible worth of such a flower to notice that the two men were coming towards her. Until one bumped into her with a thud. In her shock she paused for valuable seconds, her normal reflexes delayed. She cursed herself as he got the upper hand, grabbing her wrists. She dealt with him the way she had the miller, but the other threw a knife at her, nicking the skin. Then she made her second mistake, pausing again. She knifed one of the men, but it was too late. Her knife was knocked out of her hand and one of the men took her hands above her head.

"Well little missy, you put up a good fight, don't ya?"
Mara refused to give a reply, merely growling in her throat as the man chuckled.
"What did you hear?" the other screamed at her, rage in his eyes. Trying desperately to keep a cool head, Mara judged the situation. This man was obviously weaker than his companion, already injured and suffering, it seemed, her own problem with anger. He shook her, then cut her skin with his knife. Wincing Mara tried to block out the pain. She'd felt worse in her time. The other man rubbed the wound until it stang.

"Is it really worth my pleasure, little Mara, to not tell us what we already know?"
With another growl she jerked her hands free of his grip, taking advantage of his gloating. I've made two mistakes, now he's made one. One more and we're equal she thought with a grin, as she kicked his companion with the wild eyes to the floor. Without her knife her eyes raked the floor. She siezed a stone and jumped on the man's back, hearing a satisfying snap. She was gratified to hear his yell, and knew she had contained her pain much better.

She took the rock close to his head, then pulled him upright, taking her knife and his as she spoke. With a smile, for the fight was now on her terms, she faced the other man.

"Well, this little girl is obviously better at fighting than your- friends! She spat the last word. "Give me your knife or he dies" she finished with a calmness she didn't feel.
"No" said the man. "Kill him, if you will"
From the look on his face Mara could see he didn't expect her to. With a smile she slit the mans throat and threw the body to the floor.
"I'll be willing to do the same for you, Mister" she offered, with a laugh.

[ March 28, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[Durelin]

Raken expression didn't change as Mara slit his 'friends' throat. But after her, "Mister", he had to laugh. He howled, long and clear, clenching his stomach as if he were laughing so hard it pained him. But his eyes never left the woman, standing over the corpse, bloody knife poised, ready to kill another. "Ha! Well, you have won nothing, nothing. You truly think I cared about that sniveling bastard? He's from Mordor, shadowy, a spy. I hate spies. Can't do anything in th open or they'd get killed. Have to be sneakin' around. He's one less person for me to deal with. To, supposively, "depend on", as he kept sayin'." One less person who'd take the money and run, he thought. He stared at Mara the whole time, as if he were just looking at someone in curiosity. No emotion would ever touch his eyes. Now he was sneering.

"Now, you just tell me what you heard, and maybe you'll have a part in it," he told her, emphasizing the last word. "But, I did enjoy that little trick with the knife. I like using rusty nails a bit better, but I had what I had." He paused smiling at her for a split second. Then he went back to sneering. "I'll need men, little missy. But remeber- you're a little missy. You'll remain in your place," he said, snarling. Sneering and snarling. No one received any better. Only worse.

[ March 28, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Orual]

"This is the same disease that we have faced in Hobbiton," Anson said after Marsilion finished. "Our people, too, are hungry and disheartened. But I am a farmer, no herb-master or lore-master. I can hardly cure the children of head-colds, much less cure Eriador of this plague ripping across it. We have come to speak to those more learned than we, and hopefully to find a cure with which to save our livelihoods and, most of all, our families. We--"

He stopped as the door opened and Peony stepped in, looking flushed and pleased from whatever she had done in town. Anson gestured for her to come sit with them, and she took a seat next to Fredegar.

"We have our full complement here, now," Anson announced. "We are ready to begin. Is only our friend Marsilion here interested in our discussion? This disease affects all of us. Will no one else come?"

[PoWa]

"I will come with you too, Anson, I am Ferdinand Cotton from Bywater", Ferri said gently. He looked at Anson and said; "In a village near Bywater many hobbits have left to seek help from the elves." Anson looked at him. "Do you got any sword?", Anson asked.

"Oh, of course I do.", Ferri said and showed his shortsword. "I got a pony too", he said to Anson, "Can I come with you?

[Manardariel]

Andunériel, who had watched the group of Shire-folk and a Ranger in a corner, rose. She moved towards the table where they were sitting. Gently, she poked one of the halflings in the back. He turned around and stared at her for a moment. She shot him a steady, testing look, then turned to the table.

"Is this the meeting on behalf of the mysterious disease distroying the crops?" she asked, her voice loud and clear. The hobbit at her side noddded.

"That is well. I hear you want to help, want to save your families and your land. Well there is a hope that you may do so. It lies at the end of a long and perilious journey through Eriador and over the Hithaeglir. Yet if there is a cure, it is this one I speak of, and I highly doubt, that anything else could help. I come from Riovendell, Andunériel is my name. You speak of the lore of herbs, my friend", she smiled at the hobbit, "There could be no better master than one of the Eldar. I will come with you. I will lead you to the cure for this dreadfull disease. Will you follow me?"

"No offence, Lady, but where does this journey go? What is this cure you speak of?" one of the hobbits blurted out.

"I speak of a herb, a plant called the Ainereg, that grows only in one place in Middle- Earth: in Fangorn Forest. You Halflings may have never heard of it, and that is good, because if you had, you would not dare to go there. Yet I tell you, you have naught to fear. Now, I ask again, will you come with me, and seek hope for your families, and your homes. Will you follow me?"

[Himaran]

The door of the meeting room swung inward, and Gondolin strod in. Noticing the elf and ranger in the midst of several hobbits, he knew that he had come to the right room. The others were intent on what the elf was saying, and did not even notice his entrance. He sat and listened to here speech.

"I speak of a herb, a plant called the Ainereg, that grows only in one place in Middle- Earth: in Fangorn Forest. You Halflings may have never heard of it, and that is good, because if you had, you would not dare to go there. Yet I tell you, you have naught to fear. Now, I ask again, will you come with me, and seek hope for your
families, and your homes. Will you follow me?"

The company was silent for a moment. Gondolin was the first to speak. "Good folk of Bree and the Shire, my name is Gondolin. I am an elf from Rivendell. I was scouting along the east road when I came to a horrid stench. Orcs, I thought. After investigating, I found a dead and decaying sheep corpes, lying near the road. obviously, it had drug itself away from the fields and died there. Thus, I came here to find out more about this mysterious illness. As for the Ainereg, if they are the cure, I know little about them. I have travelled to Fangorn many tiimes, but have never seen this strange breed of flower. But, in good concious, I feel that it is my duty to lend my sword, knives and bow in the service of this company, for the good of Eriador."

[ March 29, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Mara stood, knife in hand staring at the man. She had not expected sympathy for a fallen comrade from his type, but still it shocked her as he began to laugh.

"Ha! Well, you have won nothing, nothing. You truly think I cared about that sniveling bastard? He's from Mordor, shadowy, a spy. I hate spies. Can't do anything in th open or they'd get killed. Have to be sneakin' around. He's one less person for me to deal with. To, supposively, "depend on", as he kept sayin'."
Mara stood quietly, there was no need to reply to this. She had no wish to waste words on this man.

"Now, you just tell me what you heard, and maybe you'll have a part in it,"
"I'll need men, little missy. But remember- you're a little missy. You'll remain in your place,"
Suddenly rage white and strong boiled up in Mara again. She spat at his feet with a smile.

"Why would I want anything to do with your business?" she asked, the knife still held clearly in his view.
"For the money" he replied simply, the sneer unchanging on his face. Mara considered. She certainly needed money, but was the need desperate enough to work with this man? Her hand itched for wanting to get the sneer off his face.

Mara paused then smiled again.
"I'll help you get your little flower," she said "for a guaranteed half cut of the profits. So if you want to get more men it'll be at your expense."

She paused, waiting. Despite the look of disdain on his face she was confident he would accept. She knew she was good and he had seen her at her best. And if they spent more time together, an oppurtunity would present itself to get rid of his sneer. All she had to do is wait...

[ March 29, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[ March 29, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Arien]

Elen rose from her seat and walked to the large table across the room. The ranger she had seen earlier was seated at the table, also hobbits, men and an elf. She took her seat next to the hobbit lass who had just walked into the room. A she-elf approached the table claiming to have a cure. Elen listened intently.

"I speak of a herb, a plant called the Ainereg, that grows only in one place in Middle- Earth: in Fangorn Forest. You Halflings may have never heard of it, and that is good, because if you had, you would not dare to go there. Yet I tell you, you have naught to fear. Now, I ask again, will you come with me, and seek hope for your families, and your homes. Will you follow me?"

First another elf spoke, Elen waited patiently. She doubted very much that Ainereg existed. She had heard of it many a time in tales and legend but tales and Legend changed and could not always be true to their words.

“I have heard of that. Ainereg.” Elen said thoughtfully, now speaking up. Many seemed surprised to see her, as they did not even notice her sitting there. They fixed their eyes on her and she continued, “ But it is no more than a legend is it not? This disease spreads fast, as I am sure you all know. Can we trust the safety of our lands on a Legend and this elf? We could go, not find anything and return to nothing!” She leaned back in her chair, she had caused an unrest around the table and many of them looked apprehensive. She had done it again, opened her mouth without thinking. Maybe she should say something. “But I will go, if nothing else can be thought of…”

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion bit his lip as the ranger woman spoke. He remembered her name now, Elenlith. She’d always been a bit of a tomboy, he recalled. But her words were well considered and well spoken. It was a certainly a gamble, this mission to find the Ainereg. But better to remain and watch the crops and animals die, and later, to watch the children suffer and starve?

“This mission would be perilous.” Marsilion spoke again. “I have travelled these lands before, our paths would lead through unfriendly places.” He considered, thinking of the mountains with their orcs, and the savage people living in the lands south of Eregion. He looked around at the hobbits, “We should consider carefully who is sent.” His eyes lingered on Fredegar, the older hobbit, and Peony, the girl. “This journey will be dangerous, and not easy. It is not a task for all.” He looked at Peony, the girl glared at him. “If we go.”

[maikafanawen]

Peony sat in a large wooden chair next to Anson in the meeting room, on a large stack of pillows so that she could see over the table. The elves spoke in slow voices, informing all of the mission’s necessities. Another hobbit, named Ferdinand spoke up, and offered his service. Then, Andunériel told of the plant. The Ainereg. It was the flower they needed for the cure. Peony nodded. Well at least we don’t have to waste time rummaging through books and such, trying to figure out what it is we even need. All we have to do now is go get it! The elves talked back and forth about the plant, and its location in Fangorn Forest.

“The journey,” said the man called Marsilion, “will be perilous, if we go.” He eyed Fredegar and Peony. The older hobbit nodded, but the young girl glared at him. Ha. Perilous. No one would suspect a hobbit girl of any threat. That will be my best weapon! Peony’s gift at sneaking into and around places she shouldn’t be was superior to any of the other hobbits she had ever known. And being half the size of the other elves and men would give her the advantage. The man broke the gaze and more words were exchanged between the rangers, elves, and Anson. While Elenith was speaking, Peony leaned over to Anson.

“That man,” she said, pointing to Marsilion, “gave me a funny look when he was informing us that the journey would be "perilous". So I think I’ll go.” Anson furrowed his brow at her and she made to stand up and announce her decision herself. “Attention please then. Yes—I think I’ll go too.” She took in the mixture of amused glances and said defensively. “Well, I may not be very useful in combat, but we aren’t really dealing with a physical enemy now are we?” She folded her arms coolly. “I won’t get in the way seein’ as how I’m so small and such.” The hobbit lass held her chin high. “Yes, so, when ever we leave, I’ll be with you.” She nodded and sat down again on the pillows and settled back comfortably to watch the others talk. They looked around, as if humored for a moment, then resumed their discussion. No attempt was made to prevent Peony from going. She supposed that they assumed to just leave her behind. Peony looked sideways at Anson who was chuckling quietly. He turned to her and muttered,

“It would appear that you will be going Peony.” The hobbit lass smiled smugly and listened as final plans were discussed.

[ March 31, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]

[Orual]

Anson nodded gravely as he listened to the newcomers, thinking as he did of his wife and children, scraping survival off of the stores that Della had wisely kept. It would last them for a while, but not forever. And many of the other hobbits in the Shire would not have had the foresight that came naturally to Della, and would not have anything reserved to provide for their families as this plague destroyed the livestock. Even the crops were suspect, for who knew which plant hosted the virus? His family, and indeed the whole Shire, needed him to agree to find this cure.

But his family needed him home alive, too, didn't they?

He shook that thought out of his head, and the others turned to him, mistaking his movement for disapproval. "I agree," he said quickly. "What Andunériel proposes seems to be the only option. But Marisilion presents a good point, as well. When we came, I told you that not all of us would be expected to come. In fact, most of us will not be." He looked around at the hobbits, his gaze solemn. "Those of you who chose to come with me are some of the bravest, most steadfast hobbits that the Shire has to offer. We cannot afford for none of us to return to the Shire. And it may well come to that, none of us returning." There was a little murmuring. Some of them had not thought of this possibility. "The world outside is not like our safe Shire. Travelling to Fangorn will not be like our short trip to Bree, my friends! There will be dangers, and I do not expect any of us to come back unharmed. We are at war, my dear hobbits, at war with this disease. And in war there are casualties. I do not want any of you to follow me to Fangorn without knowing that full well."

"Then you are going? For certain?" asked Holly Bolger, her voice wavering a little bit. She was a pretty woman, a mother of two young children, in her forties. She was from Hobbiton, having lived the middle of town all her life. No adventurer was she.

Anson smiled at her, warmly and sadly. "There is no choice, Mrs. Bolger. We are both parents. Some of us must go for the sake of our children." Holly looked uncomfortable, so Anson added, "I am not asking you. Your responsibilities lie with your children. But we will need some of us to go. I propose two, along with myself, from Hobbiton. Everyone else should go back home, and try to keep the Shire afloat until we return with the ainereg." He turned to the others. "We are more grateful than we can ever express for the help you have given us. Now we have direction. Is there anything else that any of you would like to add, or shall we begin the process of selection?"

[Eressië Ailin]

Luin hummed softly as she walked alongside the road. She was careful not to walk on the road, lest some one be following her. She playfully kicked a small stone as she walked to help pass the time. Luin glanced back at the marshes behind her, and the hills behind them. 'I must be nearing Bree,' she thought. Luin looked ahead of her. She could see a small patch of trees, and what she hoped to be Bree. 'I do hope they haven't started the meeting yet.'

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

Less than an hour later, Luin found herself entering the dark city of Bree. The night was growing dark. She could make out a woman in the shadows, holding a dagger over a man. Another man seemed to be watching them, amused. Luin asked the gatekeeper where they were, if they were, having a meeting about a disease of some sort. The man pointed at the inn where Luin had previously spotted the men and woman fighting. She thanked him, and turned towards the inn.

Luin saw a sign near the door reading 'The Prancing Pony'. 'They better be holding the meeting here.' Luin entered the inn. 'If they haven't already left.' She spotted a group of Hobbits and even few Elves sitting at one of the tables. Luin glanced at one of the Elves, as if she had seen her before. 'Wasn't she in Imladris?' Luin asked herself. What was her name again? Adun-- something or other. Oh well.

Luin made her way over to the table. 'Excuse me,' she said after a while. 'But I heard there was going to be a meeting here. About the disease. Am I correct?' She hesitated, wondering whether or not she should tell them that it had reached Rivendell. Luin decided against it, and waited for a response. She wasn't sure she was ready to speak of Thalion's death openly so soon.

[ March 29, 2003: Message edited by: Eressië Ailin ]

[Orual]

Anson was a little concerned about Peony coming along, though he said nothing. The girl was headstrong and stubborn, and he knew that she would not take no for an answer. She had her parents' blessings, and he could not tell her no if her parents had told her yes. Besides, she would be an asset. They could use a young hobbit lass to squeeze and peep where Men and Elves could not fit, and where he and Ferdibrand could probably not fit either. Either way, she was nearly of age, and he would take special care to watch her.

"Excuse me, but I heard there was going to be a meeting here. About the disease. Am I correct?" An Elven woman had come up to them. She seemed to have something more to say, but decided against saying it. Anson did not pry.

"You are," he said. "I am Anson Hornblower." He introduced the rest of the party one by one. "I am pleased that you can join us. Andunériel was just telling us of the cure for this disease, the ainereg plant found in Fangorn Forest. We were about to decide on who would be journeying to Fangorn. Do you have any thoughts to add before we begin?"

[Durelin]

"Well, you're a smart little missy after all. You'll be makin' a fine profit," Raken laughed hysterically, as if he had told a joke. "Half it is." We won't be needing more than half. Besides, there might be a unfortunate, he forced himself not to smile, accident. No one will ever care. No one's ever followed me from a kill. This one's easier than horsedung! It was hard for Raken to stop himself from grinning, he knew his work would be easy. He knew in his mind.

Raken eyed Mara, she was tough, smart, but not smart enough if she would agree with him, even for the large sum of money half the flower would be worth. I'll get what she's worth first. I'll get the fighting out of her. "So, you're coming along for a big price here. The boys'll be a bit unhappy, but once I explain our side of the deal, they'll be fine. So don't worry your little head off, missy, I won't let 'em hurt you." Too much.

His men actually wouldn't care so much about the money, as long as they got revenge. He didn't think that was enough for Mara, she was more into the money. She's pretty, but not my type. I wouldn't take five of those stinking flowers to miss the death of twenty of those Rohan curs. Raken couldn't help himself, he sneered, growling a bit under his breath. He hoped Mara hadn't noticed, it might add complications if he was growling at her. But he had dealt before just fine with complications.

[ April 03, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[Orual]

Anson turned restlessly in his bed, thinking on the meeting. It had gone rather well, he supposed, all things considering. They had gotten a nice company together; nine in all, three representatives from the Hobbits, Men, and Elves. They had a goal now, and he had stayed up for a while, speaking with his companions-to-be about a plan. The next day, at about ten, they would set out for Rivendell. This would mean waking up early for breakfast and packing, which would be a bit of a nasty shock for himself, Peony, and Ferdibrand, but it was unavoidable. They had to reach Rivendell, and soon. It was no short journey: twenty-two days at a brisk pace, by his reckoning. It would not be pleasant, yet they had to stop for supplies. They could not go on with their own travelling stores, or from stores gathered from the Inn. The innkeeper could not afford to spare much, even for those who were trying to save Eriador; he had to keep himself and his family fed, as well as his customers, as long as he could.

Frustrated with his insomnia, he got out of bed and went to look out the window. It looked out to the road, dark and empty, except for a gaunt-looking squirrel and an equally malnourished fox hot in pursuit. That's us, Anson thought miserably. We're that squirrel, fleeing from the fox, only we can't see our fox. It's an invisible predator. Will we outrun it, or will it consume us? He rubbed his eyes tiredly, and before he opened his eyes he had a flash of his precious Violet, lying in bed with Della weeping over her, a rash of blisters running down her throat. Anson cried out, and the other hobbits in his room stirred, but did not wake. He caught his breath and swallowed hard so as not to vomit. They had to leave. He went to plan the trip in greater detail. Come the morning, they would have to leave.

[Himaran]

Gondolin was downstairs early. He could not sleep. He was haunted by the images he had seen on his journey to Bree, and had agreed immediately to join the company in the trip south to find the flowers.

Ainereg. He had never heard of them before, and was intrigued by the possibility of a new breed which he had not yet seen. Ordering a light meal at the bar, he awaited the arrival of his companions.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion was awake early. He'd had a restless night as thoughts of the coming journey filled his head. He counted off lists of supplies, and tried as hard as he could to remember if he'd heard anything about this plant called Ainereg before. He hadn't. Finally, frustrated with the failed attempt to sleep he dressed and made his way back to the common room.

At a table near the bar one of the elves of Rivendell was sitting. Marsilion recognized him as Gondolin, who was to accompany them on the journey. The ranger walked over to the table and sat. "Good morning." he said to the blond elf. "We didn't get to meet last night. I am Marsilion of the Dunedain."

"I am Gondolin, of Rivendell." He answered. Marsilion smiled a thin tight smile at the elf before asking, "What do you know of this flower we seek, this Ainereg?"

Gondolin thought for a moment before answering. "I know little, I have never seen this flower, although like Aduneriel I have heard of it in tales."

Marsilion nodded, "I have travelled in Fangorn before." he stated. "We must find this flower, Gondolin, if we do not..." He raised his eyebrows.