The Prancing Pony Inn
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Greg
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Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Dwamdil happily swung up onto the small but sure-footed pony he had secured, and left the town behind happily, listening as the bard asked a tale of the large man they brought with them. A tale would be good now...anything to help forget his recent embarrassment. He reached behind him for his axe, grasped the haft and tugged on it, feeling the head's weight on his shoulders securely fastened into its sheath. A sigh of comfort hissed out through his beard, which he re-tucked into his belt in pairs, and with that, they were off.
Now the sword shall come from under the cloak.
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Peter Remling
- Athel Dunedain
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Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Tag Anyone
Mamduka watched, from his vantage point as the partytook to the road. All the members were mounted so the better part of the journey would be on roads or the better used game trails. They couldn't bring the mounts through the lesser trails for long distances, as these were too overgrown.
During his many "hunting" trips, Mamduka had scoured the area, he knew all the trails large and small and had scouted out spots to camp, hideout or ambush some one trailing you. This particular road forked once in the next several miles so he headed toward the fork. There was a point concealed near the fork were he could watch unseen and observe which fork the party would take.
As he rode he reached over and wrapped leather lacing around the bright studs on his tack and bridle. It was the only thing he could think of that had given his position away before.
While there was still a dusting of snow in spots, most of the road was clear and the rest would blow off quickly with the slight breeze. His horse's hooves left no indications on the road as the ground was still frozen hard.
Already the bitter morning chill had warmed up as the sun came up and it looked a perfect day for a pleasent ride in the country.
Mamduka watched, from his vantage point as the partytook to the road. All the members were mounted so the better part of the journey would be on roads or the better used game trails. They couldn't bring the mounts through the lesser trails for long distances, as these were too overgrown.
During his many "hunting" trips, Mamduka had scoured the area, he knew all the trails large and small and had scouted out spots to camp, hideout or ambush some one trailing you. This particular road forked once in the next several miles so he headed toward the fork. There was a point concealed near the fork were he could watch unseen and observe which fork the party would take.
As he rode he reached over and wrapped leather lacing around the bright studs on his tack and bridle. It was the only thing he could think of that had given his position away before.
While there was still a dusting of snow in spots, most of the road was clear and the rest would blow off quickly with the slight breeze. His horse's hooves left no indications on the road as the ground was still frozen hard.
Already the bitter morning chill had warmed up as the sun came up and it looked a perfect day for a pleasent ride in the country.
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
(Tag anyone)
Thorbed quietly mounted his large, stout horse. A story of his land? A story came to mind. He stared off sadly into the distance. No, the bard said he wanted the ride to be pleasant. That story did not need telling anyway. He felt the eyes of the others upon him. He could tell out of the corner of his eye that Daelon was wondering if he had a story to tell. A sudden breath hissed in through Thorbed's teeth. He turned and looked with piercing blue eyes at the bard.
"A story of my homeland? It is a tale of a foul dragon and a young warrior I offer." Looking ahead, Thorbed began his tale:
"My village was up in the far north. Up in Forodwaith. We lived in the shadow of what we called the Black Mountain, for the rock of that mountain had a blackness to it. In the side of that mountain, above a steep cliff was a cave. The story goes that a dragon once resided there. No one knows for sure when the beast first arrived. It was many generations ago and it was probably no bigger than a dog when first it came to our area. Over time, he became known as Scourge, for so he was to our people. For a couple of generations, sheep and goats would go missing from the pens at night. Then farmers started reporting a strange winged creature in the night sky. They all accused them of hittin' the whiskey a little too hard. But something was taking the livestock. Occasionally, something would take a farmer instead. The people started to notice a smoke that went up from the cave mouth.
Then one day it happened. A young shepherd looking for a lost lamb ventured into the cave, or to the mouth of it anyway. There he spied two large golden eyes peering back at him through the darkness. He ran for all he was worth. A jet of flame chased him from the hillside. Many of the villagers saw it. The boy ran for the village to tell of some great beast he had seen. Everyone would have thought him mad except for the flames they had seen themselves. A party of warriors was organized to go and slay the beast, but before they set out to march, the dragon, huge, green and gold, sprang from the cave and took wing. It circled down and landed in the field beside the village. The warriors charged, but the dragon spouted flame before them in a line between itself and the fighters.
"I have not come to harm you." The dragon spoke with the voice of a man. "But to tell you that your suspicions are true. There is a dragon here on the Black Mountain. Scourge you call me and so I shall be known to you. Here is the new order for you little village. I am your new leader. You will pay homage to me. You will bring me your silver, gold and jewels. Once a year, you will offer me sacrifice up there," his chin shot to the side of the Black Mountain, "Before my cave. It can be a sacrifice of your enemies or of the fairest of your damsels. I care not. If I am not pleased with the sacrifice, I will sacrifice those who make the offering. In return, I give you my protection." The dragon was about to take wing and return to his cave when a warrior spoke up, "But we have no enemies, from whom will you protect us?"
Scourge turned his eyes upon the warrior and said, "From me." With that, he belched forth his flame and killed the warrior that had thus spoken. Scourge returned to his cave and for generations our people sacrificed to the great dragon.
Then one day, the dragon having grown great in size and confidence, Scourge made the journey to the hall of our kings. There he demanded ransom and sacrifice. When the king refused, Scourge took from him the young woman whom the prince was to marry. He told the king he would have her at the Black Mountain. The woman would entertain him through the winter while the king reconsidered his decision. After that, he would eat the woman while the prince watched.
The king sent messengers to our village telling of the things said and done at his hall by the great dragon. He requested that our people raise a troupe of warriors and go to free the woman and kill the dragon. Dred fell upon the village. None wanted to go. Finally they cast lots to see how many warriors would go. The lucky number was twelve. Then they cast lots to see who those twelve would be. Among them was a young warrior, not even old enough to properly shave. His father, who wished to go in his stead, gave him his armour and shield and a broad sword of intricate design. The steel and iron were twisted into a beautiful pattern in the core of the blade and steel was wrapped around the core to form the edge of the weapon.
The warriors set off and arrived at Scourge's home around midday. They decided to send in the young warrior to see what the dragon was doing. Terror threatened to freeze him in his tracks. The dragon lay seeming asleep on the floor of the cave. Smoke drifted from his nostrils with every breath. The Young woman in white dress was tucked away on a ledge above the ground. The warriors came in behind the youngest of their brothers and spread out to encircle the dragon. Without opening his eyes, Scourge spoke. "You've brought my sacrifice early this year. And so many of you to deliver it." Suddenly the dragon raised his head and spouted fire at the warriors. Many dove clear, including the youngest. But two, Uthar and Calboroth were burned alive. Elkor and Eikor, brothers, charged in, screaming their battle cry. But the dragon opened his mouth and devoured them without a second thought. The warriors lost heart. They all ran for the mouth of the cave, crying for their lives. Flames devoured most of them. Thorodor, Therin and Lief made it out alive and cowered in the path beside the cave.
The youngest of the warriors tried to flee as well, but a whip of Scourge's powerful tail swept his feet from under him. Scourge bit at the young man but missed. With a swipe of his claws, Scourge crushed the boy's shield and sent him flying into the stone wall of the cavern. He crumpled to the floor.
Scourge lightly grabbed him by the legs and flipped him into the air to devour him in a single gulp. A bit over zealous in the gesture, Scourge threw the boy onto the ledge where the young maiden screamed when he landed. Breathless, the boy scrambled to his feet.
"Oh, bother." Scourge grumbled. "I hate chasing down one morsel while others are fleeing like frightened sheep just outside. No worries though, I'll deal with the whole village when I'm through with you." The boy drew a throwing axe from his belt and waited gasping for air.
Scourge's eyes popped over the top of the ledge. It was enough. The boy let fly with the axe. It burried deep in the dragon's right eye. The beast let out a deafening roar of rage and anguish that echoed for miles. It thrashed about trying to escape the pain. The boy dashed for the ledge and hurled himself onto the neck of the dragon. He drew his father's sword and drove it down to the scales, but they were too hard. He spied the joint between the scales and aimed for that. Success. The sword sank deep into soft tissue beneath the hard armour. Again the beast roared. He shook his head like a dog shaking off water. The boy was flung to the floor, but managed to hang on to his sword. Scourge searched, but the boy stayed to his blind side. Seeing the place where his sword dug in, there was black blood spilling from a gap in the armour. He charged. Scourge turned on him, but too late. With a mighty swing, the sword sank deep into the neck of the beast. Scourge vomited black blood followed by a huge fireball. The boy struck again. The dragon's body flailed a moment, but the head fell off and rolled through the opening of the cave, enveloped in flame. It fell from the cliff where the skull remained for years after the battle.
Thorbed finished his tale and looked at the bard. "Will that do? I've not the talent for storytelling that you do. My skill is on the battlefield. But I hope I have brightened your day a bit."
(This isn't exactly written as Thorbed would have spoken it. Sorry.
)
Thorbed quietly mounted his large, stout horse. A story of his land? A story came to mind. He stared off sadly into the distance. No, the bard said he wanted the ride to be pleasant. That story did not need telling anyway. He felt the eyes of the others upon him. He could tell out of the corner of his eye that Daelon was wondering if he had a story to tell. A sudden breath hissed in through Thorbed's teeth. He turned and looked with piercing blue eyes at the bard.
"A story of my homeland? It is a tale of a foul dragon and a young warrior I offer." Looking ahead, Thorbed began his tale:
"My village was up in the far north. Up in Forodwaith. We lived in the shadow of what we called the Black Mountain, for the rock of that mountain had a blackness to it. In the side of that mountain, above a steep cliff was a cave. The story goes that a dragon once resided there. No one knows for sure when the beast first arrived. It was many generations ago and it was probably no bigger than a dog when first it came to our area. Over time, he became known as Scourge, for so he was to our people. For a couple of generations, sheep and goats would go missing from the pens at night. Then farmers started reporting a strange winged creature in the night sky. They all accused them of hittin' the whiskey a little too hard. But something was taking the livestock. Occasionally, something would take a farmer instead. The people started to notice a smoke that went up from the cave mouth.
Then one day it happened. A young shepherd looking for a lost lamb ventured into the cave, or to the mouth of it anyway. There he spied two large golden eyes peering back at him through the darkness. He ran for all he was worth. A jet of flame chased him from the hillside. Many of the villagers saw it. The boy ran for the village to tell of some great beast he had seen. Everyone would have thought him mad except for the flames they had seen themselves. A party of warriors was organized to go and slay the beast, but before they set out to march, the dragon, huge, green and gold, sprang from the cave and took wing. It circled down and landed in the field beside the village. The warriors charged, but the dragon spouted flame before them in a line between itself and the fighters.
"I have not come to harm you." The dragon spoke with the voice of a man. "But to tell you that your suspicions are true. There is a dragon here on the Black Mountain. Scourge you call me and so I shall be known to you. Here is the new order for you little village. I am your new leader. You will pay homage to me. You will bring me your silver, gold and jewels. Once a year, you will offer me sacrifice up there," his chin shot to the side of the Black Mountain, "Before my cave. It can be a sacrifice of your enemies or of the fairest of your damsels. I care not. If I am not pleased with the sacrifice, I will sacrifice those who make the offering. In return, I give you my protection." The dragon was about to take wing and return to his cave when a warrior spoke up, "But we have no enemies, from whom will you protect us?"
Scourge turned his eyes upon the warrior and said, "From me." With that, he belched forth his flame and killed the warrior that had thus spoken. Scourge returned to his cave and for generations our people sacrificed to the great dragon.
Then one day, the dragon having grown great in size and confidence, Scourge made the journey to the hall of our kings. There he demanded ransom and sacrifice. When the king refused, Scourge took from him the young woman whom the prince was to marry. He told the king he would have her at the Black Mountain. The woman would entertain him through the winter while the king reconsidered his decision. After that, he would eat the woman while the prince watched.
The king sent messengers to our village telling of the things said and done at his hall by the great dragon. He requested that our people raise a troupe of warriors and go to free the woman and kill the dragon. Dred fell upon the village. None wanted to go. Finally they cast lots to see how many warriors would go. The lucky number was twelve. Then they cast lots to see who those twelve would be. Among them was a young warrior, not even old enough to properly shave. His father, who wished to go in his stead, gave him his armour and shield and a broad sword of intricate design. The steel and iron were twisted into a beautiful pattern in the core of the blade and steel was wrapped around the core to form the edge of the weapon.
The warriors set off and arrived at Scourge's home around midday. They decided to send in the young warrior to see what the dragon was doing. Terror threatened to freeze him in his tracks. The dragon lay seeming asleep on the floor of the cave. Smoke drifted from his nostrils with every breath. The Young woman in white dress was tucked away on a ledge above the ground. The warriors came in behind the youngest of their brothers and spread out to encircle the dragon. Without opening his eyes, Scourge spoke. "You've brought my sacrifice early this year. And so many of you to deliver it." Suddenly the dragon raised his head and spouted fire at the warriors. Many dove clear, including the youngest. But two, Uthar and Calboroth were burned alive. Elkor and Eikor, brothers, charged in, screaming their battle cry. But the dragon opened his mouth and devoured them without a second thought. The warriors lost heart. They all ran for the mouth of the cave, crying for their lives. Flames devoured most of them. Thorodor, Therin and Lief made it out alive and cowered in the path beside the cave.
The youngest of the warriors tried to flee as well, but a whip of Scourge's powerful tail swept his feet from under him. Scourge bit at the young man but missed. With a swipe of his claws, Scourge crushed the boy's shield and sent him flying into the stone wall of the cavern. He crumpled to the floor.
Scourge lightly grabbed him by the legs and flipped him into the air to devour him in a single gulp. A bit over zealous in the gesture, Scourge threw the boy onto the ledge where the young maiden screamed when he landed. Breathless, the boy scrambled to his feet.
"Oh, bother." Scourge grumbled. "I hate chasing down one morsel while others are fleeing like frightened sheep just outside. No worries though, I'll deal with the whole village when I'm through with you." The boy drew a throwing axe from his belt and waited gasping for air.
Scourge's eyes popped over the top of the ledge. It was enough. The boy let fly with the axe. It burried deep in the dragon's right eye. The beast let out a deafening roar of rage and anguish that echoed for miles. It thrashed about trying to escape the pain. The boy dashed for the ledge and hurled himself onto the neck of the dragon. He drew his father's sword and drove it down to the scales, but they were too hard. He spied the joint between the scales and aimed for that. Success. The sword sank deep into soft tissue beneath the hard armour. Again the beast roared. He shook his head like a dog shaking off water. The boy was flung to the floor, but managed to hang on to his sword. Scourge searched, but the boy stayed to his blind side. Seeing the place where his sword dug in, there was black blood spilling from a gap in the armour. He charged. Scourge turned on him, but too late. With a mighty swing, the sword sank deep into the neck of the beast. Scourge vomited black blood followed by a huge fireball. The boy struck again. The dragon's body flailed a moment, but the head fell off and rolled through the opening of the cave, enveloped in flame. It fell from the cliff where the skull remained for years after the battle.
Thorbed finished his tale and looked at the bard. "Will that do? I've not the talent for storytelling that you do. My skill is on the battlefield. But I hope I have brightened your day a bit."
(This isn't exactly written as Thorbed would have spoken it. Sorry.
)Ichthean Forge (pronounced Ick thee an). Maker of knives, and primitive camping gear.
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
(tag anyone)
Not receiving an answer from Daelon, Thorbed looked around at each of the questers. Everyone was silent. He wondered if his storytelling was just that good - that he struck everyone dumb- or just that bad. He settled for the latter. Turning to stare at the pathway ahead, he grumbled something about saving his skills for any awaiting battles.
Not receiving an answer from Daelon, Thorbed looked around at each of the questers. Everyone was silent. He wondered if his storytelling was just that good - that he struck everyone dumb- or just that bad. He settled for the latter. Turning to stare at the pathway ahead, he grumbled something about saving his skills for any awaiting battles.
Ichthean Forge (pronounced Ick thee an). Maker of knives, and primitive camping gear.
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Greg
- Urush bithî 'nKi ya-nam bawâb
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Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
*cough*
Dwamdil shook his head, and came out of his reverie. He liked nothing more than a story about killing dragons...his kin had, after all, been a part of a great dragon-slaying far to the east in the past. Still, being a warrior himself...
"I'd have done it differently. You see, if you're going to kill a dragon, you've got to think about what you're doing. You don't go marching into his front door! My second cousin thrice removed was involved in a dragon-slaying...they went in a hidden side door. Now, granted, they weren't the ones what ended up killing the beast, but that seems a much better way. You should've gotten some dwarves to dig ye' a side door, to come in through the back, or maybe straight down over his head. Yeah, that's it! The likes o' ye could've dropped earth and big stones on his head!"
Dwamdil shook his head, and came out of his reverie. He liked nothing more than a story about killing dragons...his kin had, after all, been a part of a great dragon-slaying far to the east in the past. Still, being a warrior himself...
"I'd have done it differently. You see, if you're going to kill a dragon, you've got to think about what you're doing. You don't go marching into his front door! My second cousin thrice removed was involved in a dragon-slaying...they went in a hidden side door. Now, granted, they weren't the ones what ended up killing the beast, but that seems a much better way. You should've gotten some dwarves to dig ye' a side door, to come in through the back, or maybe straight down over his head. Yeah, that's it! The likes o' ye could've dropped earth and big stones on his head!"
Now the sword shall come from under the cloak.
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Mirimaran
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Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
(Sorry! I just got the comp back up this morning! It was a great story, Eric!)
Daelon drifted with the words of the big man until he could see the scene in his mind, feel his nostrils sting as he smelt the filth of the dragon, the chilling grip of the young maiden's fear, and the beating of the young boy's heart in his own chest as he swung the sword...yes, a great tale, and those tales were the best kind, told with earnest and with the simple honesty of those whom still treasured the passing of a people's history around a campfire, and not written in books that slowly died in forgotten libraries...
"A most excellent tale, Master Northman. I shall remember it and I am sure will visit it again soon. Master Dwarf, that tale of which you are so fond is quite the foot-stomper back at the Mountain." He smiled and then said,
"Though, of course, it is nothing without a few Dwarven liberties."
Daelon drifted with the words of the big man until he could see the scene in his mind, feel his nostrils sting as he smelt the filth of the dragon, the chilling grip of the young maiden's fear, and the beating of the young boy's heart in his own chest as he swung the sword...yes, a great tale, and those tales were the best kind, told with earnest and with the simple honesty of those whom still treasured the passing of a people's history around a campfire, and not written in books that slowly died in forgotten libraries...
"A most excellent tale, Master Northman. I shall remember it and I am sure will visit it again soon. Master Dwarf, that tale of which you are so fond is quite the foot-stomper back at the Mountain." He smiled and then said,
"Though, of course, it is nothing without a few Dwarven liberties."
"Well, what are you waiting for? I am an old man, and have no time for your falter! Come at me, if you will, for I do not sing songs of dastards!"
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
(I understand computer problems. I have a love/hate thing going on with mine 
Tag anyone)
Thorbed's spirits lifted a little with the comments. He turned to Dwamdil. "We..." Cutting his eyes to the side, he caught his wording and began again, "They were fresh out of mining Dwarves at the time." A friendly smile stretched across his tired face. "It seems there was little profit in trading with a village ruled by a dragon. None of our people had been on the mountain in generations and no one spoke of it for fear of Scourge. So any other entrances to the cave either didn't exist or were forgotten long ago." He sat quietly for a moment, staring blankly down the path. Shaking his head, he blurted out, "Is there another rousing tale to tell? Or a song that needs singin'? How about our ranger friend? Or you, Master Dwarf? I have been on the trail a week without a good night's sleep. Give me something to keep me awake a while longer! Fallin' out of this saddle doesn't hurt, mind you. Hittin' the ground does!" Thorbed slapped his leg and laughed.
Tag anyone)Thorbed's spirits lifted a little with the comments. He turned to Dwamdil. "We..." Cutting his eyes to the side, he caught his wording and began again, "They were fresh out of mining Dwarves at the time." A friendly smile stretched across his tired face. "It seems there was little profit in trading with a village ruled by a dragon. None of our people had been on the mountain in generations and no one spoke of it for fear of Scourge. So any other entrances to the cave either didn't exist or were forgotten long ago." He sat quietly for a moment, staring blankly down the path. Shaking his head, he blurted out, "Is there another rousing tale to tell? Or a song that needs singin'? How about our ranger friend? Or you, Master Dwarf? I have been on the trail a week without a good night's sleep. Give me something to keep me awake a while longer! Fallin' out of this saddle doesn't hurt, mind you. Hittin' the ground does!" Thorbed slapped his leg and laughed.
Ichthean Forge (pronounced Ick thee an). Maker of knives, and primitive camping gear.
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Peter Remling
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Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Keeping a goodly distance from the road and his horse even farther Mamduka watched the party travel for several miles. Their spirits seemed to lift as they rode on and the dwarf even raised his voice in song until he realizied no one else was joining in.
Mamduka waited till the party was well past as he had all morning, heading to his horse to parallel the party, pass them and find a good vantage point to continue his viewing. When he got 50 yards away from his horse, he heard the snort his horse was trained to give when someone was approaching him. Cautiously he peered around some heavy brush to see a young boy near his horse.
In each of the boy's hand was a dead rabbit. A sling could be seen hanging from the boy's rope belt. "Hijay Mizta," said the lad no more than 8.
"Hi yourself, I see you've been hunting and have gotten lucky today."
"Yes Sir, Mizta, I hit the first one and da oter un ran out right by the first."
"You live around here boy?" Mamduka inquired
Yes Sir , bout 2 miles thataway." indicating the direction with a nod of his head
"Whatch a doin way out here, Mizta?"
"Same as you, I'm hunting Have you seen any elk or deer in the area ?"
"Right over there by that grove." the lad turned and started to indicate the grouping of trees. Before he could finsih indicating the spot, Mamduka came up behind him and a thin red line appeared under the boys chin. He tried to speak but the keen knife's edge had traversed the vocal cords and the arteries in his neck. The boy dropped the rabbits and clawed at his throat, several seconds passed before he fell to the ground and the snow turned crimson.
Mamduka picked up the two rabbits and mounted his horse to continue his surveillance.
Mamduka waited till the party was well past as he had all morning, heading to his horse to parallel the party, pass them and find a good vantage point to continue his viewing. When he got 50 yards away from his horse, he heard the snort his horse was trained to give when someone was approaching him. Cautiously he peered around some heavy brush to see a young boy near his horse.
In each of the boy's hand was a dead rabbit. A sling could be seen hanging from the boy's rope belt. "Hijay Mizta," said the lad no more than 8.
"Hi yourself, I see you've been hunting and have gotten lucky today."
"Yes Sir, Mizta, I hit the first one and da oter un ran out right by the first."
"You live around here boy?" Mamduka inquired
Yes Sir , bout 2 miles thataway." indicating the direction with a nod of his head
"Whatch a doin way out here, Mizta?"
"Same as you, I'm hunting Have you seen any elk or deer in the area ?"
"Right over there by that grove." the lad turned and started to indicate the grouping of trees. Before he could finsih indicating the spot, Mamduka came up behind him and a thin red line appeared under the boys chin. He tried to speak but the keen knife's edge had traversed the vocal cords and the arteries in his neck. The boy dropped the rabbits and clawed at his throat, several seconds passed before he fell to the ground and the snow turned crimson.
Mamduka picked up the two rabbits and mounted his horse to continue his surveillance.
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Thorbed had been slowly slumping down in his saddle. His large shoulders slouched forward and his head slowly nodded toward his chest. He only half heard many of the tales that were told. Dwamdil's singing had kept him awake a little longer, but the Dwarf fell silent. The steady plodding of horses' hooves on the path lulled him into a shallow sleep.
Suddenly a chill raced up his spine. Instantly he sat up straight in his saddle. His eyes were wide open and scanning the surroundings. He had only felt this sensation in the midst of danger. His right hand dropped to his lap and rested upon the hilt of his sword. He saw nothing, but was certain that death was not far away.
Suddenly a chill raced up his spine. Instantly he sat up straight in his saddle. His eyes were wide open and scanning the surroundings. He had only felt this sensation in the midst of danger. His right hand dropped to his lap and rested upon the hilt of his sword. He saw nothing, but was certain that death was not far away.
Ichthean Forge (pronounced Ick thee an). Maker of knives, and primitive camping gear.
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Ranger of Arthedain
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Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Thorbed's sudden movement did not go unnoticed by the ranger, who was currently doing the same as he. She could feel the slight change in her horse's speed and caught the movement of his ears perking forward in alert. "Be on your guard, gentlemen," she spoke in a hushed voice quiet enough for the company to hear, all though Thorbed's previous attentive movements would have been reminder enough. The cool, gentle breeze that had been blowing when the four set out picked up slightly, carrying the scent of blood on it. Aeron's horse tossed his head, nostrils flared, and began to prance nervously. "Easy," she whispered, pulling back lightly on the reins of his bridle; his uneasiness was causing unrest to settle amongst the other horses in the group. When she placed a hand on his rough neck, she felt a tremble run through him, which could only mean there was danger close at hand.Eric C wrote:Thorbed had been slowly slumping down in his saddle. His large shoulders slouched forward and his head slowly nodded toward his chest. He only half heard many of the tales that were told. Dwamdil's singing had kept him awake a little longer, but the Dwarf fell silent. The steady plodding of horses' hooves on the path lulled him into a shallow sleep.
Suddenly a chill raced up his spine. Instantly he sat up straight in his saddle. His eyes were wide open and scanning the surroundings. He had only felt this sensation in the midst of danger. His right hand dropped to his lap and rested upon the hilt of his sword. He saw nothing, but was certain that death was not far away.
When the small company made it to the brush pile that Mamduka had been previously, Aeron pulled up on the reins of her horse, bringing him to an abrupt halt. Aergolas' ears were still perked forward, his eyes fixated on a tree and a small patch of brush, where there was relatively small lump laying next to the trunk. Aeron watched it for a moment, before she began checking the area around them out. Deeming it safe enough to proceed, she climbed out of the saddle and slowly walked towards the small lump beside the tree. Her eyes would look from the ground -checking for any sort of foot print, be they animal or human- to the tree, where the lump remained unmoving.
The first thing Aeron noticed when she drew close to the tree was the small pool of blood. Her grip tightened around the worn leather of her sword's hilt, kneeling when she got to the tree. Her shoulders visibly tensed at the sight of the small child's lifeless body, her eyes landing on the slit at his throat. She remained still in her position, but looked around her cautiously. The boy was not murdered by any wild beast -not even an orc- for the cut was too clean and precise. The sight made her blood run cold, and the hand that gripped her sword's hilt trembled slightly.
When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Winter is almost upon us, it will be long and hard, but the North remembers and the wolves will come again.
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Thorbed dismounted with the ranger. He followed close behind, drawing his sword and taking his shield in hand. His cursed curiosity got the better of him and he peered past Aeron and saw the small lifeless body of the boy, his life's blood spilled carelessly around him. Thorbed felt the heat in his face as the anger turned it red. Low, he whispered to Aeron, "Orc?" He took a deep breath and held it a moment to gain control of his rage. It came through his teeth in a shaking exhale.
Ichthean Forge (pronounced Ick thee an). Maker of knives, and primitive camping gear.
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Peter Remling
- Athel Dunedain
- Posts: 3735
- Joined: Sat Feb 16, 2008 4:20 am
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Mamduka saw the party move off the road. What made them take the direction of his encounter with the farm boy, he didn't know. What he did know was that now he'd have to either abandon his survaillance and all his hard work or kill them and quickly. He mounted and headed in the direction the road was taking.
There were several good points of ambush up ahead.
There were several good points of ambush up ahead.
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Peter Remling
- Athel Dunedain
- Posts: 3735
- Joined: Sat Feb 16, 2008 4:20 am
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Obnosh turned his head to the party of orcs behind him.
"Humans! , small party! We shall take their weapons and eat well tonight!"
The twelve others in the group grinned and grunted their enthusiam.
"Humans! , small party! We shall take their weapons and eat well tonight!"
The twelve others in the group grinned and grunted their enthusiam.
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Thorbed's muscles twitched. His head swivelled from side to side, scanning the road and the brush for aggression. When he had ridden into Bree, he had hoped he was leaving battle behind... forever. He thought it strange that now, only a few hours later, he was itching for a fight. A familiar filthy scent filled his nostrils for just an instant. ORCS!!!
As calmly as he could muster it, he called, "Dwamdil. I was wonderin' if we might have a word. NOW! You too Master Bard."
As calmly as he could muster it, he called, "Dwamdil. I was wonderin' if we might have a word. NOW! You too Master Bard."
Ichthean Forge (pronounced Ick thee an). Maker of knives, and primitive camping gear.
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Greg
- Urush bithî 'nKi ya-nam bawâb
- Posts: 4496
- Joined: Tue Dec 02, 2008 8:50 pm
- Location: Eriador; Central Indiana
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Dwamdil dismounted as the Ranger and the Northman surveyed the bloody scene. He stepped forward, removed a thick leather gauntlet, and touched the boy's neck lightly. He was still warm; the wound was recent. He snapped to, nodding to the Ranger, and swept his gaze 'round them. He licked his fingers and wetted his nostrils to heighten his sense of smell, and locked eyes with Thorbed as they both came to the same conclusion. The wound did not appear to be of orc-make, but the beasts were near nonetheless.
"Speak quickly, for I fear even your words may be cloven in two ere the night falls."
Thorbed's words had only barely left his mouth before Dwamdil's hand had snaked around to his back, gripped the haft on his axe, and loosed it from its carry there. He swung it experimentally for a moment, inspected the edge, and then picked up some dry earth and rubbed it between his hands to absorb any sweat - and blood - that might cause him to lose his grip.Thorbed wrote:"Dwamdil. I was wonderin' if we might have a word. NOW! You too Master Bard."
"Speak quickly, for I fear even your words may be cloven in two ere the night falls."
Now the sword shall come from under the cloak.