Poison's grip

[Stefan]

"Excellent, I'll keep you company while you watch friend hobbit.  But surely it's not time to sleep yet.  We have a warm fire and good company, is there not one among us that has a happy tale or a song to share?"

[Bandobras]

Bandy stands and places his hands behinds his back and clears his throat. I know a ditty that is neither great music nor filled with high sentiments but it seems appropriate given our circumstances. I must apologize to my friend elf, as this is a song sung far way in the Shire by ignorant people who know little of the fair folk.


If your skin you'd like to keep
Stay away from Mirkwood deep
Many go in, few return
Except within a funeral urn
Come upon a spider web
It'll become your permanent bed
Elves are fair of voice and face
Men they keep in a dark, dank place
Ask the Dwarves about their stay
They'll say it was drab and gray
Orcs and goblins, ghosts and ghasts
Will be thems who sees you last
Tho' the sorcerer has gone away
He's left his evil spawn to play
If your life you hold dear
Away from Mirkwood you'll stay clear

[Eclecticon]

In the silence that follows, Arbogast clears his throat, nervously.  "A bit unfair to the Elves, perhaps, but otherwise not unlike what we Woodmen tell our young children.  If we are to sing of things mostly unknown to us, perhaps I could follow?  This is a song my father used to sing - our family legend is that it was taught to his grandmother by Radaghast himself, though I have never had an opportunity to ask the wizard about it." 

He lifts his voice.  It is scratchy from disuse, and his time-keeping leaves much to be desired, but the sense comes through strongly. 

"I saw three ships go sailing by,
Over the sea, the lifting sea.
The wind rose in the morning sky,
And one was rigged for a long journey.

The first ship turned toward the south,
Over the sea, the running sea,
The wind blew from great Manwe's mouth,
And carried it to a rich country. 

The second turned towards the north,
Over the sea, the quaking sea,
By and by a wind came forth,
And the decks shone frostily. 

The third ship drove towards the west,
Over the sea, the darkening sea. 
But by the wind was all possessed,
And wandered wild and drunkenly. 

The western sky rose high and black,
Over the proud, unfruitful sea,
North and south the ships came back,
Happily or unhappily. 

But the third went far and wide,
Into an unforgiving sea. 
Under a fire-spilling star,
And it was rigged for a long journey."

[GandalfOfBorg]

  I'm back from HI, all burnt and missing it 

Grimbeorn didn't care for people just popping out of the woods, especially after encountering a fight -- too much of a coincidence.  So he just sat silently and watched the newcomer with an almost uncomfortable glare.

[tomcat]

The companions sat and more songs were sung and tales told of heroes, lost loves, and shadows that creeped out of the night. Some had them enthralled, as the tales were of different lands and deeds great and small, while others had them laughing and slapping knees. The mayor of Bywater being called The Ol' Root, because he was always prying into everyone's business! But eyes grew heavy and tongues tired and so the night passed quietly, the companions trading off the watch until the dark faded and the forest came alive with a new day.

With the sun above making the canopy a bright green, Grimbeorn and Arbogast lowered the deer and rigged a simple litter from two of their spears to carry the animal back to Tent-town. They had a long stretch to walk and none wanted to wait for the sun to get higher, for the forest would begin to swelter in its heat. The humidity from the prior day's rain was already unbearable. With their new companion beside them, they started their march home. Conversation was hushed as they went, but the travel was uneventful.

By the time the sun had passed its mid-day and afternoon shadows began to stretch, the Company walked back into the village of tents. They could see at once that it had grown larger, as to the south a new, large pavilion of many colors and soft, thin fabrics had been raised. Banners of strange sorts fluttered and bronzed-skinned men with dark hair and long moustaches milled about. They carried spears and wore hats and vests of leather.

           

Upon seeing the companions, a great cry of pleasure went out due to their success and many of the men of Woodmen-town and Woodland Hall came to help. Bandobras marveled at so many large people and strange men - some wearing skins and with great beards, while others were dressed in breeches and tunics. There were many claps on his shoulder as the account of the boar was told to the passerbys. Questions were asked if it was the Bloody-muzzle and many thanks were given that the beast was now dead.

The deer was moved to the Tent-town center where two thick, y-shaped limbs of wood were staved into the ground. The animal was set down, cut free, and then hoisted on a rope. From there, men that were well-learned in the cleaning of the animal went to work in stripping and dressing the deer. This pleased the companions, as they were tired from carrying their prize - especially Arbogast and Grimbeorn, though the larger man would never admit it. Instead, the small hunting party were all treated to horns of ale with requests for a repeat of their story.

Freda strode into the camp's fire ring and saw the large buck, as the butchers skillfully pulled the skin. She beamed a smile at such a catch and lauded the companions, "What great hunters we have here! Such a fine catch! The camp will eat well for a good week." Around her, a number of HUZZAHS! peeled in the air. "I have told my father of your success, Arbogast, and he is proud of the skills you have shown. It is his wish that you and your friends take on the permanent task by joining the camp hunters and messengers, for surely your feet know well the paths of the wood."

Esgalwen looked from face to face in search of any that might be familiar - a face of a friend that was lost nigh four weeks past. She gave a sigh of concession to the fact that she might be the only survivor of her own company out of Ithilien. Bandy, ever the light-hearted fellow, could see the look on the Gondorian's face and he moved to her side. It was then that the Hobbit noticed a new face of his own - standing on the periphery of the ring of onlookers was a new Dwarf. Bofri, son of Bofur, had come south from Erebor but this new fellow had not been amongst his entourage. The Hobbit's interests were piqued.

Freda continued, "My father Fridwald has announced a feast in all of your honor this night!" She turned to all of those gathered, "THE BLOODY-MUZZLE IS SLAIN!" Again, a chorus of HUZZAHS! Orophin wondered at the comment - was he?

With that, everyone began to break up and separate to their own tasks. Bandobras' shoulder aching once more as those that passed him by clapped him there again.

Stefan, I had sent you a PM a while back answering one of your questions. Not sure if you got it, but you are welcome to interject anything that I gave you into the story as you please.

Go ahead with a bit more RP'ing. It doesn't have to be between each other - you guys are welcome to go and seek audience with any clan leader, or fellow clansman, or the Brown Wizard, or whatever. I will update after I get an idea of your PCs' interests. If you have no particular thing you want to do now, just post an OOC Ready to go, and I will give you guys some more narrative.

GREAT songs/poems by the way! I love when you guys can create on the fly like that.

And disench4nted, that is Rorin.

[Eclecticon]

News of the Bloody-Muzzle's slaying spreads rapidly through Tent Town, but as ever, the details quickly become confused.  Within the hour, Arbogast finds himself trying to play down the premature lionisation of himself and Grimbeorn as the beast's killers. 

"No!  I tell you in truth, we were both ready to fight the boar - the Beorning perhaps more than I - but had we never deigned to lift our weapons the outcome would have been the same.  The Halfling's hands were steady and his aim was true, and within seconds the beast was dead.  I know well that I am a young man, but I fancy I may live the rest of my days without ever seeing another shot like it!" 

Mildly drunk on ale and adulation, he fails to see the effect his words have on his kinfolk.  He has yet to prove himself in any significant way to the Woodmen, and this sudden closeness with foreigners - with an Elf, no less, and with the strange Hobbit from the west - has begun to draw the ire of the more insular and untrusting of his people.  While he enjoys the praise of Freda and the smiles of the other maidens of Tent Town, Arbogast's reputation is crumbling behind his back. 



  And with that, I'm ready to go.  I don't think Arbogast is important enough to have drawn the eye of any of the great and the good of the folk-moot, and this explains why his Standing starts at zero. 

[GandalfOfBorg]

Impressed with the shot made by the Hobbit, Grimbeorn thought it more luck than skill.  The young Beorning sought out the leader of the moot or Radagast or whomever could tell him what they were waiting for to get the moot started.  "My home is my business and I wish to conclude this and return with tidings to my father with due haste.  The shadows at our borders do not rest while I am here."

[Bandobras]

Overwhelmed and intoxicated by the Woodmen's attention, Bandy indulges the crowd and, if truth be told, his own swelling pride by recounting the hunt and the battle with Bloody Muzzle. Although often interrupted by queries for more detail, Bandy tells the story in full, omitting nothing of importance. Indeed, he extolled his friends' skills in tracking and hunting and made self-deprecating jokes about how when the deer came into sight his own arrows flew wide of the mark. Still the Woodmen only wanted to know about the shot that brought down Bloody Muzzle.  A growing sense of unease began to creep over him. Then, looking up to locate the source of some noise beyond the throng, Bandy saw his friends dispersing through the crowd. Grimbeorn wore a disapproving look and Arbogast appeared downcast. He suddenly felt the urge to disappear and get away from the curious onlookers who called on the Halfling to tell the story again. He now found the attention  disagreeable. "Halfling? Halfling! I am a Hobbit, not simply half a man thank you very much," he grumbled to himself. But to his Woodmen he was more polite. "Thank you, thank you for your attention dear hosts, but it has been a long night and I see someone I must speak with." Bandy then wades into the crowd, which given his size nearly swallows him up, and winds his way toward the strange Dwarf.

Approaching the Dwarf, Bandy composes himself and gives a low bow and is the Dwarves' custom says, "Bandobras Bracegirdle at your service. I could not help notice that you are new to camp and I did not se you arrive with Bofri. I wanted to introduce myself as I know what it is like to be a stranger here."

[tomcat]

Grimbeorn moved through the crowd of woodmen, women, and even the small children that had accompanied the trains to Rhosgobel. He made his way to the large central pavilion and pushed his way inside. He was large, like his father and so stood blocking the daylight that came through the tent opening. He was acknowledged by a man in a hat that looked book learned, an untrustworthy trait to the Beorning, and was shown to the Master of the encampment - Ingomer.

Ingomer, too, was tall and of strength. Older than Grimbeorn, he was not a clan leader, as the woodmen of Woodland Hall did not have rulers - instead their voices were heard in council - but many deferred to the large man. Though he lived a simple life, Ingomer was wise in the world that he lived. His eyes were cobalt and his long hair hung in a braid. A scar was visible on his face and his beard did not grow full due to the ruined tissue.

Grimbeorn presented himself and then in a gruff voice his concerns. Ingomer listened quietly and politely acknowledged the Beorning, "T'is true that we are all needed back at our homes, Grimbeorn, but we cannot yet call the moot. Folks are still arriving - just two days past, strange men of Dorwinion came with their colorful silks and strange banners. We expect that the moot will commence with the summer solstice, and so wait we must, so that all may be represented. Beorn is well-known to us all and surely his counsels are welcome here, but patience must be observed. This is the first moot of the Men of Wilderland since before the dragon came to the mountain in the north, and so it will not be rushed. We all would be gracious for your presence, but the road is free and Grimbeorn of the Beornings must do as he must.

"If you stay, then you will be a part of this council and assist with tasks needed by clan leaders, as I understand Fridwald has already assigned, but if your folk need your return, then best be on your way." Ingomer fell silent and waited for a response. He knew of the temperament of the Beornings and hoped there was no offense, but either way, he would not let any representative of any clan make demands on them all.

[disench4nted]

Rorin arrived at Tent Town without incident, but still fatigued from his journey. He begrudgingly handed over his hammer at the entrance and began his search for ale. He was amazed the the variety of folk that had gathered in this so-called town, and noted that he had not seen this diverse a gathering since the Battle of the Five Armies. He hoped that the gathering was not a sign of an approaching darkness, but if the rumors were to be believed...then his hopes may be in vain.

Rorin shook such thoughts from his head as he heard the cheering of a crowd in the distance. By the time he made his way to the commotion the smell of venison was thick in the air and his stomach rumbled in eager protest. Just as he was beginning to conjure a plan to get his hands on some of the meat a tiny hobbit appeared out of nowhere and bowed to him. He was momentarily shocked at this unexpected events but recovered and replied in kind.

"Rorin son of Barin at your's. I thank thee master hobbit, I had not thought to meet one o' you're kind here. I have heard rumors that one such as yourself brought down the great pig, is there any truth to such stories? I know full well of the courage of hobbits and the thought of one of you claiming the kill that the elvenkind could not brings be great joy."

[GandalfOfBorg]

The reason spoken by Ingomer was not lost upon Grimbeorn, but didn't lessen his irritation.  He grudgingly acquiesced to the man's request, "Aye, I recall.  My father wishes for me to remain, yet I feel time is wasting while we dawdle in feast and wine.  I will await your call, Ingomer."  Remembering some semblance of manners, he gave his elder a sign of respect, "Thank you for seeing me."  The Beorning youth returned to sounds and smells of song and fire, grabbing some food, and rested once again at the log and fire that had become his temporary home away from home.  A restlessness grew in the lad once he had his fill so he sought out those hunters and messengers he was so cavalierly assigned for a task to do.

[Bandobras]

"Ah yes, it was me who killed Bloody Muzzle," Bandy admits feeling embarrassed by his earlier bragging. "Although I was motivated more by self-preservation than bravery," he adds quickly. "I crave neither battle nor glory, a good thing given my size," he says laughing."

"I am glad to make your acquaintance and take comfort in your presence here. You see I am a kinsman, a distant relation really, of Mr. Baggins, who speaks often and well of the people under the mountain. So although you are the first Dwarf I have ever met, I feel as though your people are familiar to me. I hope you are not insulted by my saying so. A person in the world alone will seek the familiar where he can. My company includes a Woodman, a Beorning, a mysterious southerner, from Gondor I think, and an elf - a motley band to be sure but good and  doughty people all.

So master Rorin, what brings you so far from your home? If it is a long tale and you have the time, perhaps we can locate some ale and find quiet corner." 

[disench4nted]

"Aye, tis a long tale indeed Bandobras, but any kin of Mr. Bilbo is a friend of mine! Come, let us drink!"

Rorin lead Bandy back to where he had set up camp on the outskirts of the main Dwarven camp. It lacked the finery of the official pavilion but was comfortable enough to call home for some time.

"Because you asked nicely master hobbit, I will give you my own tale first. But I very much wish to know what business Bandobras of the Shire has with this moot.

My own tale begins in the Iron Hills where I grew up. I was apprentice to my father, Barin the Kiln Master, for as long as I can remember. But one day the thrushes brought news that Thorin Oakenshied and a small company had retaken the Lonely Mountain from the Fire Drake and that Dain II was to muster a force to bolster his claim. My father and I had always spoken of some day travelling to see the remains of Erebor, though we never dreamed of being able to set foot within those halls, so when the chance came for our people to reclaim our home, we decided to ride out with the King.

As I'm sure you know, what occurred that day came to be known as the The Battle of the Five Armies...", Rorin paused and drank deeply of his tankard, "...and it was the bloodiest business I've ever witnessed. My father and I fought alongside our kin until he was felled by an orc blade. He died there on the steps of old Erebor and was never able to see his childhood home reclaimed. I stayed at the Mountain for some time rekindling the forge fires and helping rebuild what was lost, but my father's ghost haunts me in those halls and I could not stay.

Word reached my ears of this great moot and I chose to leave Erebor and see what services I could render in a place such as this. In my experience, there is always use for a large hammer and strong arms to wield it!"

Rorin smiled broadly under his beard and poured Bandy and himself another cup of ale.

"Enough of me, what brings the unlikely Mr. Bandobras to this town? And why does a hobbit who craves no battle nor glory travel this far from his hole to slay dark beasts who bring terror to the forest?"

[Stefan]

Orophin made sure that the corpse of the bloody muzzle was put to the torch before he followed the group out of the clearing in which they'd slept.  He watched the fire burn for a short time before leaving it to consume the last of the creature's flesh and bone.  They dampness of the forest would keep the fire from spreading and they beir that they'd built would ensure that the beasts flesh would not be consumed by any wondering scavengers.

It was with a heavy heart, his worst fears confirmed about creatures coming from the southern forest, that he walked back into the camp.  As his companions dispersed throughout the crowd to tell tales of heroism and their great deeds, the elf sought out Radaghast for his council what they'd found.

[Telcontar]

Orophin recognized readily enough the location of the Brown Wizards home. Within the enclosure near the great hall stood a copse of old growth trees, the trees were old to the elf, they were in fact old even for Greenwood the Great.
Making for the great hall the elf spied the white stones that lead away from the door and into the woods. Taking up the path Orophin took the long light strides of his kin and headed into the wood. Observing the trees grow closer he first noticed the long grass that grew up around the white stones, untended and uneaten by the grazing livestock of the encampment.
When the elf looked up again he noticed that he was back where he started and the woods no closer though he had been moving the whole time.
With a frown he stepped forward again, the mannish food must have been upsetting his stomach. However, again the elf found himself no closer when he looked at the wood though he had thought he was walking the whole time. Frowning deeper the elf picked a specific branch and marched straight for it clearing his mind of all thoughts.
When he found himself back on the path the realization struck him that the magus of the wood was much stronger than the elf had given him credit for. The wood elf never would have thought the wizard capable of confusing one of the Eldar, but he had. Orophin was surprised to see and experience something akin to the Girdle of Melian that had once bound Doriath of old. Looking away from the white rocks the elf saw a small field mouse watching him.
Speaking in the clear and ancient tongue of Sindarin he addressed the mouse, "little master, it appears I have been prideful, would you take me to see the master of the wood? I desire to speak with him."
With a twitch of his nose hairs the mouse nodded and with a leap took off down the white stones for the elf to follow. 

On this attempt the elf passed into the ancient trees and while focusing on where the mouse went he was still capable of seeing how old and entwined the trees really were. In a few short minutes the mouse stopped, turned, and ran up and over a great root. Seeing the creature go the elf was instantly aware of the myriad of creatures that crawled, walked, and flew through the trees towards the house before him. The structure was elvish, mannish, and something else entirely all at the same time. Part trash heap, part shelter, but all together fitting and belonging to the wood in which it rested.

Entering in as the animals did the elf saw an old man shrouded apparently by the tree itself, or perhaps his clothing was so soiled and the hat so hid him that he appeared almost as part of the tree. The eyes however were staring straight at him, they appeared shockingly green, or sky blue, perhaps even grey all at the same time. As he concentrated on determining the color the lichen twitched and a mouth moved.
Here was Aiwendil, one of the Ithryn, still at work in the lands of middle-earth, and he was conversing with a salamander. While Orophin was taking the whole sight in the salamander scurried down the wizards hand and up his sleeve. The crystal clear voice was strong and deep, and to the elf sounded like the most ancient Sinadrin, even to one of the Eldar.

"Yes, what is it? I see you there First Born, not all my companions have the allotment of days that you have to stand there without coming to the point and their messages and aid is most pressing to them."