RPG.avioc.org

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.

Hathcyn looked down the river and then at the elf. "Boats. I hate boats, and borrowing one even more."

The Beorning helped the wood-elf back on to the dock and checked that she was uninjured.

"Luindîs, what new troubles beset us and where is Ætheldreám?"

The Wood-elf, sodden, bedraggled and rubbing her head as if doing so alone would heal the inward pounding, casts a bleary look at Hathcyn.  "I don't know of your troubles this morning, but mine are a most rude awakening.  Of the Ranger I know naught.  Why, I thought she would be with you!" 

Pouring water from her boots, she seems at last to realise where she is.  "In fact, why are we here?  Were we meeting that woman of... some southern folk?  Never mind your dreams, of ethels or otherwise!  Where is she?" 


:ooc: Given the circumstances, Luindîs is less helpful than she might be. 

:ooc: I'll leave this another night (my time) and move things on in the morning if you guys haven't.

 :ooc: are there any other boats here?

Hathcyn looks up and down the pier and sees a number of the wide, shallow-bottomed boats that the Woodmen sail up and down the river, more than can be needed to supply Woodland Hall with fish.  Clearly, some of the southern visitors have taken the trout's road here.  Many of the small craft have paddles tied to their thwarts. 

Nobody is here to stop us taking one, he finds himself thinking, and there is every chance we might actually bring a boat back this time!

Wariness and a need for action engaged in a tug of war within the Longspear. Equally that this was a feint to draw them away from the council and the danger it posed to one of the company. He decided.

Swiftly now Hathcyn sprung into action and lunged towards a boat. He pulled the water logged elf behind him and seemingly in one motion untied the boat and tossed a pole to the Noldo elf.

"We must pursue and hope to over take them quickly. Come Lundis, dip your head in the water if necessary as we go and ask the fishes for news."

Gwaithlim, not one to question nor feeling need to, catches the pole and pushes off.  The might of the Noldo hadn't really been tested in the ways of the water and its craft, but he would give it his best.

 :ooc:
 :00:

 :ooc: indeed. Athletics seems to be in order.

The boat was unsteady and the mud at the wharf deepe than the Longspear anticipated. He attempted to move the boat by force instead of finesse and had mixed results.

Not Man nor either Elf is an experienced boatman, and their paddle and pole make unsteady progress at best into the deeper water and the all-encompassing mist of the morning.  Nor does Luindîs offer her aid, instead dragging herself from the water on to a thwart, there to slump with an expression that says to all this new, watery and mist-bound world 'pity me, who have caroused not wisely but too well'. 

Strength of arm, however, proves useful in the end, and the borrowed boat at last begins to move confidently as the current takes it.  The fog lies upon the river thick as a feather pillow, however, and little can eyes and ears make out further than a pole's reach from the craft.  After perhaps half an hour, with barely any thinning of the mist let alone sign of their quarry, hearts begin to sink until, as if called by the need of the hour, a voice sounds from across the water: "You there, travellers in the boat!  Where do you fare?"

Taken aback by this sudden hail, for truly it is usually the missing Esgalwen who would keep watch for the approach of anything capable of speech, Hathcyn whips his head about to see a shock of auburn hair spreading on the surface of the river.  Below it, a fair face and set of shoulders brings a flush to his cheeks and speeds the beating of his heart, much though he reminds himself of his vow to Aestid.  Luindîs, quickening from her half-sleep, falls toward the gunwale of the small craft, her ears visibly rising as her interest is seized by the new arrival.  Even Gwaithlim finds himself raising an eyebrow, for they are far from any habitation of Men that he has heard of, and the talk of the Woodmen suggests that the Dusky River is no longer the unbreachable moat that once it was. 

The woman in the water laughs at their surprise, the sound clear and strong as the splashing of a waterfall.  "Well then, have you never seen a maiden a-swim before?  Sunshadow, I am called.  Come, tell me your names and perhaps we will find that we have tidings for each other." 

Hathcyn paused in his poling. In fact he almost forgot what he was doing completely. The Longspear began to lean over the boat to look at the auburn haired maiden that floated upon the water, rising from the mists like a dream.

She observed him and laughed. The sound bombarded him, such a sound he had never heard, and he wished to hear it forever. He wanted to listen to the laughter and the voice forever, wherever it would go.

The Longspear sunk to his knees in the gunwale of the boat the bilge water soaking his knees. He leaned over the edge farther than was wise in order to draw that face closer to his own. Perhaps, perhaps just one kiss of those lips...were they warm, or were they cool and crisp like water on a summer day. Would her arms be the same....

The Longspear was called back from the edge and from wonder by the firm hand of Gwaithlim. The Elf noted that the River Maiden hadn't even tried to ensnare the Beorning, he pondered what she could have done if she had wanted to.

Hathcyn, stopped from slipping or falling into the water found his voice at last.

"I am Hathcyn Foresthelm, I know your sister lady for I am one of the men-folk that aided her. I.... you are the fairest thing I have ever beheld in this wood. I'll not curse boats or this river again, for this water and these soaked timbers carried me to you. Would that you dwelt in the Anduin upon the Carrock and taught the father of waters the meaning of beauty and blessed the heart of the Beornings with your laughter."

"Hathcyn." The elf spoke at his side, but the hand of the Longspear waved him off gesturing that he was busy.

"HATHCYN!" He called sterner and with more authority. This time hearing his name the man seemed to come back more to the present.

"Do you see her Gwaithlim? Have you ever seen such as this...."

"Ulmo, alone of the Vala has no bride, but if he did then this would no doubt be one of his daughters. Not even Tuor would dare strike so high, so dont tip the boat."

The River Maiden smiled, "such kind words spoken to me so early in the day by you both."

Lundis, forgotten in the boat, felt her head clearing rapidly. Perhaps a tinge of jealousy was an unknown remedy for too much celebration the night before.

Fish jumped around the boat as it now floated freely down the Dusky River. Gwathlim watched and for Hathcyn time stood still.

Lundis spoke again, "we were headed down the river in pursuit of another boat. We believe it has a friend of ours who was taken against her will. That is, until we were distracted."

Sunshadow moved closer to the boat. Her face only inches now from Hathcyn and he felt her breath upon him. Her approach was like slipping into the water on a hot summer day.

"Are you distracted?" She whispered. "You are not a Wood-man. I see the playful fox in your eyes."

Lundis cleared her throat.
"Her name is Esgalwen, a Gondorian. Did she come this way?"

She, mere inches now from Hathcyn and he in turn looked into the deep wells of her eyes.

"The fox sees pools, the sound of trickling water in the rocks, and fish at play..." Hathcyn spoke to her like they were the only two present in the boat, on the river, perhaps in all of Middle-earth.

"My sisters thank you for the service you have provided to them. But this is from me."

She rose out of the water a bit more, level with the Beorning, and kissed him.

 :ooc: well i guys I couldnt pass up the opportunity. When I first read Paul's excellent set up I asked myself what would Odysseus do in this moment and it kind of wrote itself.

And if in the future Lundis calls Hathcyn a fish kisser you'll know why!

Though she knows of the task before then, Luindîs cannot, at first, bring herself to break the spell that clearly lies over the enraptured Beorning thegn, and so gleefully watches the passionate kids betwixt Man and river-spirit.  Here is beginning a tale that will live in song for a thousand years!  But will it end in joy and dancing, or in tears?

Gwaithlim, concerned less with the gathering of tales, waits a goodly while before tapping the hand of Sunshadow where it lies upon his companion's shoulder and forcefully clearing his throat.  "If you would, lady, have you any news of our Gondorian friend?"

Breaking her embrace with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, the River-maiden shifts her gaze at last to the lordly Elf.  "Naught do I know of Gondorians, Firstborn, but already this day I have seen another boat abroad on my river.  Heavily laden it was with Men, and ill-mannered ones!" 

Looking once again at Hathcyn, she adds "No favour such as yours did they spare for me!"

"Oh no, no more of that!" Luindîs splashes a handful of water on the already-damp Longspear.  "Did they make landfall? Or are we to pursue them to the sea itself?"

Sunshadow, harrumphing almost below hearing, crosses her arms over her bosom.  "Well yes, if you must know, they did.  For a promise to return when you are less... pressed, I shall show you where."

The boat continued to float downriver, but the Beorning did not mark its passage. His hand idly caressed the surface of the water absently in tender touch.

The Longspear drank in her beauty like a traveler long bereft of water finally finding a source to slack their thirst.

"They shall pay due deference to the lady of the water. Who's tresses match the highlights of the coming dawn, who's rippling hair matches the currents of this noble water, who's affections would melt the hardest of hearts, who's eyes match the myriad colors of the moon rising over rippling water, and who's kiss would be held the highest treasure for the most arduous of labors."

"Who has mistreated you lady and where are they? I shall teach them better manners who dare strike the surface of your waters with rude and ill-mannered strokes. They shall find your honor guarded with steel."

With a good rap of the boat's pole atop the Beorning's head, Gwaithlim then turned his attention to steadying the boat.  "Wake up, we haven't time for this.  The moon doth dazzle the eyes while the stark presence of the sun's reality is about us."

At the Beorning's abrupt change of expression, Sunshadow laughs, a sound like the peal of a waterfall.  "Oh, poor man, so busy with your work of war and feud!  I will show you where the rude ones left my river, and perhaps you and I shall find a later time to renew our dalliance."

With that, she vanishes into the dark green water and is gone, but the little boat is at once seized by a strong current that bears it surely and swiftly some miles downstream, to where the flow of the river has carved a hollow in the western bank.  There, another boat sits empty upon the shore, footprints marking the mud about it.


:ooc: We're back!  Sorry as usual for letting the game lag. Doug, my plan to have all this happen while you were away lies in tatters, so please feel free to play Luindîs for the duration.

Let me know what you want to do from here.  The obvious thing is to follow the tracks into the woods (which will need someone to pass A Hunting roll).  But you might also like to look at the prints here (Riddle to learn anything) or something else I haven't thought of. 

 :ooc: sounds like Hathcyn has a faerie date.

I'm rubbish at Riddle, but the Hunting I can swing.

Thoughts from the others?

:ooc: It doesn't look like anyone else is going to weigh in, so let's go with some Hunting rolls:

Gwaithlim
(https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/Themes/default/images/dice_warn.gif) This dice roll has been tampered with!
00 1d12 : 7, total 7
Rolled 2d6 : 4, 3, total 7

Hathcyn
(https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/Themes/default/images/dice_warn.gif) This dice roll has been tampered with!
00 1d12 : 8, total 8
Rolled 3d6 : 2, 5, 5, total 12

Luindîs
(https://rpg.avioc.org/boards/Themes/default/images/dice_warn.gif) This dice roll has been tampered with!
00 1d12 : 7, total 7
Rolled 2d6 : 5, 5, total 10

Though their quarry has taken pains to conceal their passage, the branches and molder of Mirkwood nonetheless have a tale to tell for those with the eyes to read it.  Working together, the three companions follow the trail westward from the river little by little, finding a broken twig here, mud from a footfall on a root there. 

Before they even catch sight of the small woodland steading to which the trail leads, they smell the smoke and the faint scent of bacon.  Then, rounding a rooty ridge, they see it.  Here, the trees are thinner and the sun shines in under the boughs from where trees have been felled to open cropland.  A hut has been built of stones filled in with earth, dug into a small ridge, and smoke rises from a hole in the thatch.  Clearly, someone is at home.

"I'm in more of a rush in and stab everyone mood. Would either of you prefer a less direct approach, or would care to see what may be spied out?"

"Stay here and regain your wits.  The river daughter's hold on you remains.  Luindis, look after him, I will return shortly."  Gwaithlim slips away into the shadows and shades of green of the wood to find out more of this place and its inhabitants.

 :00:

 :ooc: Use Hope if necessary

Ooc: Doug, feel free to jump in as Lundis while we await our esteemed Loremaster.

"We'll teach these ruffians to ill treat the lady of the river. Their war gear shall be offered to her. Their arms shall sink to the mud of the bottom and there rest as toll to her whom they have insulted."

"Did you see her Lundis? I have never beheld such a beauty in the woods. Ever in the wood have I been assailed. By yrch, by spider, by fell wight, each in their time have tried to slay me. Never though have I beheld such a creature. Her hair like the breaking of the dawn and the setting of the sun, her eyes deeper than any pool of water. Her laugh sounded like the running of water over stones at the birth of Arda. Not even the fathers of the fathers of elves have heard the sound so pure."

The elf looked at the man, clearly still influenced by the encounter.

"Hathcyn Fish-kisser."

He looked at her, "you are an elf, your wisdom and knowledge far surpass my rude understanding. Who is Ulmo? And who would he be that he would have such daughters as Dusk Shadow? There are no tales or songs of men that describe her kiss. If there are I do not know them. Shall we return to the river?  For if it is a dream I would slumber year upon year, though the lives of men are short." 

As Luindîs rolls her eyes (fighting down a grin as she does so) Gwaithilm works his way around the edge of the clearing slipping from cover to cover, now behind the trunk of a great tree, now hidden in the shadow of a stone, now peering through the leaves of a thick bush.  Ever his eyes are on the farmhouse, where two Men, both clearly armed and bearing the red circle of Mogdred's hearth-men, loiter.  In the distance, he spies a sunlit field in which half a dozen men and women pull at weeds, none seeming to bear any arms beyond the knives that, it seems to him, all Men carry with them at all times. 

Perhaps it is this attention to distant things that explains his shock when a misplaced footstep startles a clutch of pheasants from their roosting spot.  The birds burst forth from the underbrush with a great whirring of wings and a chorus of kok-kok-kok! calls, and Gwaithlim's heart leaps into his mouth.  He flattens himself against the forest floor, its loamy scent filling his nostrils as he fights the sudden desire to burrow like a worm into the leaf litter.  The eyes of the guards, however, are drawn to the birds as they find new roosts in the lower boughs, one laughing at some unheard jest of the other and neither one rising from their seat by the farmhouse door.  Long days of boredom, it seems, has made them heedless of the perils that might befall them even in this safer part of Mirkwood. 

After many long seconds, the Elf's heart begins to beat slower and he is able to slowly rise. 


:ooc: So, you have two inattentive threats identified.  Let me know what you want to do next. 

Gwaithlim returns with all haste he can muster while retaining any modicum of stealth.  "There are folk in the distance afield, tending to it, while men of Mogdred secure a home.  Away to the field to protect those folk is my thought.  Quickly we must go.."

"The red moon..."
Hathcyn ponders.

"Men do not guard a farm house, nor would they over watch folk in the field from a door. No, Dusk-shadow has told us Esgalwen was with them. Further more we are outside the bounds of the moot and hospitality nor the rules of an emissary prevail here. They have taken my friend and they have extorted my people and if Mogdred himself has done such a foolish thing and come in person I shall be avenged."

The Beorning was on his feet quickly and had seemingly returned to more of his normal senses at least enough as fey and wroth mood came upon him.

"Bend your bows, each at a target and I shall rush the house. Come let us move quickly."

Luindîs' mouth breaks in to a feral grin and she stalks on feet that tread noiselessly, circling about the clearing to the left, following the path taken earlier by Gwaithlim. 


:ooc: She's going to try to do this Stealthily...

... but her wood-wisdom fails her at a critical moment as a fallen branch snaps beneath her and she lets out a hiss of frustration.  The two guards, now surely alerted to the presence of potential foes, rise to their feet and take hold of spears and shields. 


:ooc: Combat thread to follow!

:ooc: ...but before we get to that, let's do some preparatory Battle rolls:

Gwaithlim


Hathcyn


Luindîs

:ooc: Uninspiring, but perhaps fitting for a fight that's started before you were really ready.

 :ooc: the battle rolls bode ill for our companions. Perhaps the players will have better luck.