That's good, since I've got him doing that anyway.

  paul, i'll meet the lady by the river. i was going to send Rorin but seems like a PC thing to do.

Wrapped tight in her cloak, listening to the sounds of the moonlit river, Esgalwen slips between memory and dream as the night-time river blurs into the sunlit waters of Ithilien and back.  In her mind, the high hall of Wuduseld and the white bluff of Minas Tirith become the same place: a single stronghold of Men who dwell at the edge of the Shadow and by doing so, fix it in place and hold fast against it.  She dreams that the High Steward Denethor holds court by the hearth-fires of Woodland Hall, giving his wise rule to this wild place. 

To the Ranger, the dream-Steward extends his hand and she sees that it is mail-clad... no, made of mail, the interlaced rings flowing and flexing as naturally as the skin on any other man.  She hears him speak but cannot understand his words, for his tongue, the speech of Gondor itself, has become foreign to her ears. 

In a sudden fright, she wakes to feel, more than see, the slump of a light and lithe body beside hers at the edge of the pier.  The reek of spilled ale and pig fat is suddenly clear in the cool air and the tones of an Elven voice, its words made muzzy with too much drink, reach her ears as Luindîs (for this is surely not Gwaithlim!) passes from the waking world.  Smiling to herself, Esgalwen shifts her weight, finding this spot, open as it is to the water and sky, as good as any other to pass a late-summer night. 

When next she wakes, it is once again with a start though at first she does not know why.  Then she hears a sound as familiar to her as breathing: that of a weapon hitting flesh, and a muffled cry of pain.  She goes to leap to her feet, hands already drawing Nimronyn, but the long night on the hard pier has left them heavy and sluggish and she can rise barely to her knees before the foe is upon her.  Mightily she struggles, as befits a Ranger of Gondor!  But against as many as now set upon her it is to little avail, and all that her thrashing achieves is to knock the Elf-maid from her pier-end perch into the still-dark water with barely a sodden murmur of protest before the loud splash.  Then dark lights explode in her skull, burying all thought beneath them. 

Hathcyn and Gwaithlim, making their way past the outer wall of the sleeping town in the pre-dawn half-light, hear the sound of a body hitting water and, without either needing to speak his mind, break into a run.  By the time they reach the pier, however, all that is there to meet them is the rhythmic splashing of oars on the river as a boat, unseen in the morning mist, makes its way downstream, and the bump and high-pitched 'ow!' beneath their feet that herald Luindîs' waking under the pier.

She is, and I've been spelling it wrong this whole time!  By the look of her now, she's come up in the world - her clothing not threadbare rags and her face not painted with unidentifiable pigments - or possibly the 'mad wood-witch' persona was an act all along.  Not that Gwaithlim would know any of this, but Esgalwen and Arbogast will certainly have noticed. 

The elf ponders a moment at her words and actions begin to form in his mind.  "I would be remiss to give my leave of you before you were seen to where you sleep, lady.  Please, where might I lead you?"

No reply comes to Mother Leyla from among the shadows under the boughs of Mirkwood but the cry of a far-off owl.  Not long does Gwaithlim have to wait before the woman asks once more, her voice barely above a whisper "Is there no-one?" 

When he strikes up his song, it is equally softly, the Sindarin words blending with the night like cricket-chirps, calming as the flow of a river over stones.  The crone does not start, as he feared that she might, but looks in his direction as he approaches.  In the starlight, he sees her eyes lulled by the song and fixed on matters far away in time and distance from where they now stand. 

"Oh, my lord of Elf-song," Leyla says, remembering perhaps his recounting of the lay of the Noldor's days of greatness, "I think myself perhaps in a dream, for I know not the meaning of your sweet music.  It speaks, I think, of a joy I have felt not in long years.  Sing for me a little longer, if you would." 

Seeing no reason not to, Gwaithlim does as he is asked until the song reaches its end (though not the end of the longer and sadder tale of which it forms but a small part).  Mother Leyla's eyes slowly close and she sways with the tune as much as old bones will allow.  When she speaks again, it is in the tone of one who speaks in their sleep.  "Your song is one of a wonderful meeting, I fancy, for in its hearing I feel as I felt dozens of summers ago when first I met proud and beautiful Beoræd who was my first husband.  For him, I bore Ida my daughter, and she became the mother of Beofuld for whom I now wait in foolish hope that he might yet live, and huddle close to the light of his folk.  For I am told that outlawed men gather together on this side of the forest for to make such lives for themselves as they can." 

Barely seeming to open her eyes, she begins to turn away from the gloom beneath the trees.  "Oh, fortunate are you who have no lords to suffer who are not good and deep-minded!" 

"Do you speak of Caewin, I wonder?" Gwaithlim asks as Leyla, unsteady on old and tired legs, shuffles slowly away.  She stops so suddenly that he fears she might fall and break even upon the forgiving soil close to the river. 

"Not where he might hear me.  But you know, I think, what I speak of.  If you would know the fullness of it, seek those he has banished and who owe him nothing any more.  I've had sorrows enough for one evening." 

Quote from: Eclecticon on May 22, 2024, 02:34 PMThat sounds awesome - I hope it lives up to expectations!

It does every year. 

That sounds awesome - I hope it lives up to expectations! 

It looks like I'll soon be running some 5e games at one of our FLGS-es for a bunch of tweens I don't know.  That could be great fun or a total disaster and there's no way to tell which before we get started.  I'm also putting together an Eclipse Phase one-shot for a convention later in the year, which will be set on a swarm of three large vessels and some shuttles, with up to six players and ([number of players]-2) bodies for them to share. 

AIRY CON 2024!

Hey guys, just to let you all know - I will be away next week for what we call Airy Con. Me and my five buddies (Matt knows a couple, but we all live in different states now), who I used to RPG with back in the 90's, all gather in Mt Airy and spend the week drinking some whiskey, rolling dice, and roleplaying every game we can. No wives. No kids. Just a week of game play and hanging!

This years lineup:

SATURDAY - Star Wars: Clone Wars
SUNDAY - D&D 5e (some campaign... not sure yet what my friend is giving us)
MONDAY - Call of Cthulhu
TUESDAY - The One Ring
WEDNESDAY - ALIEN RPG
THURSDAY - Shadowrun
FRIDAY - Twilight 2000

It's going to be a blast!

Anyway, I might not be able to keep up with story or get a post in, so move the game on if you do not hear from me or get a relatively rapid post reply.