(Tag anyone I suppose)
Thorbed remained quiet throughout the time that the party went to retrieve the horses. Now they were riding once more and the destination seemed to be Elven lands. He stared at the ranger for a long moment, retrieving a memory. Finally he broke his silence.
"I new one of your folk once. Well, I made his acquaintence anyway. He and his boys showed me and my boys a real good time with some Orcs." The big man smiled, remembering the instance. "He was a bit older than me so I wonder if he's still alive. I've been trying to remember his name for the longest but finally it's come to me. Angarth. Do you know anything of an Angarth?"
The Prancing Pony Inn
Moderator: Greg
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Ichthean Forge (pronounced Ick thee an). Maker of knives, and primitive camping gear.
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
(from what I can gather the party is a few hours east of Bree when they encounter the orcs. If they are heading east on the Great East Road then they have not quite made it to the Forsaken Inn so I will start there in order to intercept them.)
It was a damn good thing that the huge stone hearth was as big as it was, and that the fire it contained was preportionate.
"It would take dragonfire and half a forest to warm this place with the gaping hole in the ceiling!"
Ringulf had been staring at the bright stars through that hole as he was laid out on his bedroll with his head propped on his pack, feet to the roaring fire, eyes on the door of the common room.
It was always wise to watch the entrance of any inn but even more so in this inn. The Forsaken Inn was not a misnomer and though it offered a modicome of shelter, It was not a civilized place.
Even just a day or so east of the fat little town of Bree, this was the wilderness.
But the most forsaken part of the inn was not it's ramshakle building or it's unsavory clientelle, it was it's sorry excuse for ale. The stuff was a horrid swill that burned as it went down and was almost as foul, pungent and potent as orc draught.
Still...if you could get past the taste, smell and the burn in your throat, it could suffice.
The real trick was to have enough of it to get drunk, get sick and then vomit before it ate the lining out of your stomach.
Most of the customers here prefered that to the food, but it was almost mandatory to practice this mode of inebriation in order not to taste the food anyway.
Ah well, enough of the Inns finer points, the sky was starting to lighten to a yellowish gray and the stars were fading from view.
That would mean that he would have to shake the cobwebbs from his head, gather his things and saddle Beorth.
He needed to get moving early if he wanted to make Bree before sunset. It was always difficult to get a room at the Pony after Dark and even harder to get any dinner.
The last time he was there he was turned away and ended up in the Blue Trout in Combe. A tiny little place in one of the neighboring towns on the breehill, but royal accomodations compared to this stinking hole.
He got up and gathered his kit and his weapons, there were not many of the inn's patrons awake but he did throw a nod at the haggard barmaid who had lifted one exhausted eyelid from her perch, spread over the three legged stool in the corner where she slept, at the sound of his preparations.
He may as well have not wasted the effort as she drifted back into the torturous dreams that one of her situation was rife with.
As he passed out of the stone lintels of the outer doorway and made his way across the road to the open polebarn, stableing his horse, Ringulf noticed that the smell of the fresh air was almost as intoxicating as the "Forsaken Ale".
In fact now without the stench of stale straw, acrid smoke and urine in his nostrils he was starting to feel like a man again.
He checked his water supply as he saddled Beorth. It was possible to find water on the south side of the road as it came out of the hills but most of the water around here and the majority of the way to Bree was part of the Midgewater basin and that stuff was most likey what they distilled to make the swill he was trying to forget.
It was a damn good thing that the huge stone hearth was as big as it was, and that the fire it contained was preportionate.
"It would take dragonfire and half a forest to warm this place with the gaping hole in the ceiling!"
Ringulf had been staring at the bright stars through that hole as he was laid out on his bedroll with his head propped on his pack, feet to the roaring fire, eyes on the door of the common room.
It was always wise to watch the entrance of any inn but even more so in this inn. The Forsaken Inn was not a misnomer and though it offered a modicome of shelter, It was not a civilized place.
Even just a day or so east of the fat little town of Bree, this was the wilderness.
But the most forsaken part of the inn was not it's ramshakle building or it's unsavory clientelle, it was it's sorry excuse for ale. The stuff was a horrid swill that burned as it went down and was almost as foul, pungent and potent as orc draught.
Still...if you could get past the taste, smell and the burn in your throat, it could suffice.
The real trick was to have enough of it to get drunk, get sick and then vomit before it ate the lining out of your stomach.
Most of the customers here prefered that to the food, but it was almost mandatory to practice this mode of inebriation in order not to taste the food anyway.
Ah well, enough of the Inns finer points, the sky was starting to lighten to a yellowish gray and the stars were fading from view.
That would mean that he would have to shake the cobwebbs from his head, gather his things and saddle Beorth.
He needed to get moving early if he wanted to make Bree before sunset. It was always difficult to get a room at the Pony after Dark and even harder to get any dinner.
The last time he was there he was turned away and ended up in the Blue Trout in Combe. A tiny little place in one of the neighboring towns on the breehill, but royal accomodations compared to this stinking hole.
He got up and gathered his kit and his weapons, there were not many of the inn's patrons awake but he did throw a nod at the haggard barmaid who had lifted one exhausted eyelid from her perch, spread over the three legged stool in the corner where she slept, at the sound of his preparations.
He may as well have not wasted the effort as she drifted back into the torturous dreams that one of her situation was rife with.
As he passed out of the stone lintels of the outer doorway and made his way across the road to the open polebarn, stableing his horse, Ringulf noticed that the smell of the fresh air was almost as intoxicating as the "Forsaken Ale".
In fact now without the stench of stale straw, acrid smoke and urine in his nostrils he was starting to feel like a man again.
He checked his water supply as he saddled Beorth. It was possible to find water on the south side of the road as it came out of the hills but most of the water around here and the majority of the way to Bree was part of the Midgewater basin and that stuff was most likey what they distilled to make the swill he was trying to forget.
I am Ringulf the Dwarven Woodsman, I craft leather, wood, metal, and clay,
I throw axes, seaxes, and pointy sticks, And I fire my bow through the day.
Come be my ally, lift up your mead! We'll search out our foes and the Eagles we'll feed!
I throw axes, seaxes, and pointy sticks, And I fire my bow through the day.
Come be my ally, lift up your mead! We'll search out our foes and the Eagles we'll feed!
-
Peter Remling
- Athel Dunedain
- Posts: 3735
- Joined: Sat Feb 16, 2008 4:20 am
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Mamduka wheeled his horse about several times on the game trail, then set off back the trail toward the party. Screaming in orc and common, he made as much noise as possible.
Several orcs were outside the homestead's cabin, their heads jerked up from whatever they were doing and looked in the direction of the yells.
Gathering up arms, a party of 6, ran toward the noise. It took them 2 minutes at a dead run to come across the body of their kinsman. A quick look around was all it took to note the trambled ground and the hoofprints hurrying back down the trail. Two returned to the homestead and gathered up the rest of the orcs.
Within 15 minutes of discovering the body the entire group was headed down the trail in the direction of the ranger and her party.
Several orcs were outside the homestead's cabin, their heads jerked up from whatever they were doing and looked in the direction of the yells.
Gathering up arms, a party of 6, ran toward the noise. It took them 2 minutes at a dead run to come across the body of their kinsman. A quick look around was all it took to note the trambled ground and the hoofprints hurrying back down the trail. Two returned to the homestead and gathered up the rest of the orcs.
Within 15 minutes of discovering the body the entire group was headed down the trail in the direction of the ranger and her party.
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Ringulf sat Beorth unmoving.
He sat him upon a rise overlooking the road as it bent almost double up to his position. He was not covered but he and the big chestnut stallion melded with the outline of rock and underbrush below the horizon line.
He listened to the faint nioses and more importantly, sampled the prevailing westerly breeze that brought to his sensitive Beijabar nose the mixed scent of Horse, blood and orc! The latter of the three peaked his interest greatly.
He pulled his emense long bow from it's sheath, stuck the lower end in the cupped sturrup and slid the top loop of the string into place in one smooth almost effortless manuever. One he had practiced many times.
Ringulf opened the canvas bag within his leather quiver to free the two dozen arrows hanging from the right side of his saddlehorn drawing a single shaft along his bow, knocking it and returning the rig to it's relaxed but ready position across the pomel.
He loosed the retaining straps of his great axe so it could be drawn from the holster Beorth was good enough to carry for him on his right side.
Readjusting the round shield on his back and reaching around to the right saddlebag, he pulled from it a very solid but worn, brown leather helmet.
Fixing it upon his head so that it was snug and the ocular plate rimmed his eyes and cheekbones, he eased his mount forward so as to detach himself from the natural backdrop while watching the string of horses and their riders come into view.
He stopped in the middle of the road at the apex of the hill and Beorth nickered sensing blood and battle in the air, anxious to partake.
When they were in site of him, the large, partially masked, figure, raised his right arm, hand pointed up, palm open, in a universally recognised salute.
He sat him upon a rise overlooking the road as it bent almost double up to his position. He was not covered but he and the big chestnut stallion melded with the outline of rock and underbrush below the horizon line.
He listened to the faint nioses and more importantly, sampled the prevailing westerly breeze that brought to his sensitive Beijabar nose the mixed scent of Horse, blood and orc! The latter of the three peaked his interest greatly.
He pulled his emense long bow from it's sheath, stuck the lower end in the cupped sturrup and slid the top loop of the string into place in one smooth almost effortless manuever. One he had practiced many times.
Ringulf opened the canvas bag within his leather quiver to free the two dozen arrows hanging from the right side of his saddlehorn drawing a single shaft along his bow, knocking it and returning the rig to it's relaxed but ready position across the pomel.
He loosed the retaining straps of his great axe so it could be drawn from the holster Beorth was good enough to carry for him on his right side.
Readjusting the round shield on his back and reaching around to the right saddlebag, he pulled from it a very solid but worn, brown leather helmet.
Fixing it upon his head so that it was snug and the ocular plate rimmed his eyes and cheekbones, he eased his mount forward so as to detach himself from the natural backdrop while watching the string of horses and their riders come into view.
He stopped in the middle of the road at the apex of the hill and Beorth nickered sensing blood and battle in the air, anxious to partake.
When they were in site of him, the large, partially masked, figure, raised his right arm, hand pointed up, palm open, in a universally recognised salute.
I am Ringulf the Dwarven Woodsman, I craft leather, wood, metal, and clay,
I throw axes, seaxes, and pointy sticks, And I fire my bow through the day.
Come be my ally, lift up your mead! We'll search out our foes and the Eagles we'll feed!
I throw axes, seaxes, and pointy sticks, And I fire my bow through the day.
Come be my ally, lift up your mead! We'll search out our foes and the Eagles we'll feed!
-
Ranger of Arthedain
- Silent Watcher over the Peaceful Lands
- Posts: 180
- Joined: Wed Dec 29, 2010 8:37 am
- Location: Numenor
- Contact:
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
(Tag Ringulf)
Aeron's eyes shifted in the direction of the northerner for a moment, before returning back to the dirt trail that lay ahead of them. "Angarth..." The name evoked a sense of familiarity with the young ranger. "As luck would have it, our pathes crossed in Bree not too long ago. We exchanged only a few words, not having the pleasure of getting to know one another properly due to other circumstances." Even growing up in the Angle, where the last few remnants of the Dunedain settled, there were few around her; their houses scattered and spread apart, all along the banks of the rivers Hoarwell and Bruinen. The other remaining being scattered throughout the wilderness of Eriador and other lands that lay beyond.
She fell silent, devoting her attention to their surroundings once more. When the small party neared a slope in the road, her eyes landed on a large figure that sat astride his steed in the center of the road. The ranger led the rag tag party half way before she pulled up on her painted steed's reins, making him come to a stand still. She said nothing, at first, her eyes catching aerial movements from the sky; a flock of birds frantically passing over head, fleeing from the quiet wooded area the party had just left; a strong sense of foreboding passed through her as they flew over head. She now focused on the stranger before them. "Well met, traveller." There was a hint of wariness in her voice when she spoke.
Aeron's eyes shifted in the direction of the northerner for a moment, before returning back to the dirt trail that lay ahead of them. "Angarth..." The name evoked a sense of familiarity with the young ranger. "As luck would have it, our pathes crossed in Bree not too long ago. We exchanged only a few words, not having the pleasure of getting to know one another properly due to other circumstances." Even growing up in the Angle, where the last few remnants of the Dunedain settled, there were few around her; their houses scattered and spread apart, all along the banks of the rivers Hoarwell and Bruinen. The other remaining being scattered throughout the wilderness of Eriador and other lands that lay beyond.
She fell silent, devoting her attention to their surroundings once more. When the small party neared a slope in the road, her eyes landed on a large figure that sat astride his steed in the center of the road. The ranger led the rag tag party half way before she pulled up on her painted steed's reins, making him come to a stand still. She said nothing, at first, her eyes catching aerial movements from the sky; a flock of birds frantically passing over head, fleeing from the quiet wooded area the party had just left; a strong sense of foreboding passed through her as they flew over head. She now focused on the stranger before them. "Well met, traveller." There was a hint of wariness in her voice when she spoke.
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 smiled briefly as Aeron spoke of the ranger he had met long ago. Suddenly the birds overhead caught his attention. Then there was the traveler on the road before him. The big man sighed heavily, expecting the battle to be renewed and desperately wanting sleep.
Ichthean Forge (pronounced Ick thee an). Maker of knives, and primitive camping gear.
-
Peter Remling
- Athel Dunedain
- Posts: 3735
- Joined: Sat Feb 16, 2008 4:20 am
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Mamduka turned his horse from the game trail and on to the road the Bree Party was on. His hoofprints mingled with theirs for a quarter mile or so, before an weather exposed slab of rock offered him the opportunity he sought. Clambering up the hard rock slab, his hoofprints became invisible and the only trail left to the orcs was the fresh prints of the Bree Party.
He headed further into the woods, paralleling the road.
He headed further into the woods, paralleling the road.
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Thorbed's eyes scrutinized the big figure before them. Then he spoke with a nod toward the man , intending for the man to hear, "He's a man o'war, he is. Either he'll be a great ally in the fight that approaches, or he'll wreak havoc among our party." Lifting a chin toward the man, Thorbed's hand went to his sword by his side. "Which is it stranger? Do you fight with us or against us? There is certainly a fight to be had. I am Thorbed of the North. I am weary, but there's still some fight left in me."
Ichthean Forge (pronounced Ick thee an). Maker of knives, and primitive camping gear.
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
"Which is it stranger? Do you fight with us or against us? There is certainly a fight to be had. I am Thorbed of the North. I am weary, but there's still some fight left in me."
"That is well Thorbed of the North, for a fight is almost upon you weather you are hail or not.
I know you not, yet one of you at least I am sworn to assist if possible, in any case, the enemy of my enemy, is my friend."
Ringulf raised his bushy chin and sampled the breeze.
"By the scent of your pursuite, they seem many, close and Uruk, there is no time to fortify your position, however join me on the high ground and we shall make our preparations together, if that suits you my lady." he intimated a slight bow toward the female ranger.
"Fear not your identity is safe with me, but rough clothing will not mask a fair scent."
"There is a large rock behind me here that your wounded might retire to if they can't withstand combat, but we should have a fairly good opportunity to engage them with our bows as they climb around to this position. Those of us with melee weapons can set ourselves at a point down hill on the narrow road and give way slowly till we reach the hight, keeping them in sight of your bows longer."
He looked at the party, seeing still some unsurity in their eyes, He wheeled his horse putting his back to them and walked Beorth back to dismount.
"I am called Ringulf, I don't believe I have any need to "wreak havoc" among you, and afterward we will be to tired to even hurl insults, that is if we still live."
"That is well Thorbed of the North, for a fight is almost upon you weather you are hail or not.
I know you not, yet one of you at least I am sworn to assist if possible, in any case, the enemy of my enemy, is my friend."
Ringulf raised his bushy chin and sampled the breeze.
"By the scent of your pursuite, they seem many, close and Uruk, there is no time to fortify your position, however join me on the high ground and we shall make our preparations together, if that suits you my lady." he intimated a slight bow toward the female ranger.
"Fear not your identity is safe with me, but rough clothing will not mask a fair scent."
"There is a large rock behind me here that your wounded might retire to if they can't withstand combat, but we should have a fairly good opportunity to engage them with our bows as they climb around to this position. Those of us with melee weapons can set ourselves at a point down hill on the narrow road and give way slowly till we reach the hight, keeping them in sight of your bows longer."
He looked at the party, seeing still some unsurity in their eyes, He wheeled his horse putting his back to them and walked Beorth back to dismount.
"I am called Ringulf, I don't believe I have any need to "wreak havoc" among you, and afterward we will be to tired to even hurl insults, that is if we still live."
I am Ringulf the Dwarven Woodsman, I craft leather, wood, metal, and clay,
I throw axes, seaxes, and pointy sticks, And I fire my bow through the day.
Come be my ally, lift up your mead! We'll search out our foes and the Eagles we'll feed!
I throw axes, seaxes, and pointy sticks, And I fire my bow through the day.
Come be my ally, lift up your mead! We'll search out our foes and the Eagles we'll feed!
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Thorbed stared at Ringulf with hard eyes for a moment. Then a laugh broke the bonds of his clamped jaw. He gave a friendly nod toward the newcomer, then dismounted his horse.
Looking up at the ranger, he asked, "Aeron, would you do me the favor of escorting my ride to higher ground?" As the ranger took his reigns, Thorbed loosed his weapons for battle.
"Master Dwamdil, are you up to makin' the score for your wounded head even?" A sly look crossed Thorbed's face as he looked at the dwarf, "Or do you feel the need to rest up yonder on the hill?"
Looking up at the ranger, he asked, "Aeron, would you do me the favor of escorting my ride to higher ground?" As the ranger took his reigns, Thorbed loosed his weapons for battle.
"Master Dwamdil, are you up to makin' the score for your wounded head even?" A sly look crossed Thorbed's face as he looked at the dwarf, "Or do you feel the need to rest up yonder on the hill?"
Ichthean Forge (pronounced Ick thee an). Maker of knives, and primitive camping gear.
-
Peter Remling
- Athel Dunedain
- Posts: 3735
- Joined: Sat Feb 16, 2008 4:20 am
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
(Tag Anyone)
Mamduka saw from a distance the meeting of the party and the newcomer. "What strange happenstance brings another rider to the party in this desolate place ?"
With that thought he pulled out a unusual shaped cylindrical device from his pouch. He uncapped leather covers from either end and raised the device to his eye. Two glass lenses magnified what he saw.
"Of all the misfortunes in life, why would he appear here and now."
Mamduka wheeled his horse closer to the party and reined in over an outcrop that gave him a good view of the party. Dismounting he drew his hunting bow and strung it. Taking a comfortable stance he readied his arrows within easy reach of his right hand and settled down to wait.
Mamduka saw from a distance the meeting of the party and the newcomer. "What strange happenstance brings another rider to the party in this desolate place ?"
With that thought he pulled out a unusual shaped cylindrical device from his pouch. He uncapped leather covers from either end and raised the device to his eye. Two glass lenses magnified what he saw.
"Of all the misfortunes in life, why would he appear here and now."
Mamduka wheeled his horse closer to the party and reined in over an outcrop that gave him a good view of the party. Dismounting he drew his hunting bow and strung it. Taking a comfortable stance he readied his arrows within easy reach of his right hand and settled down to wait.
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
As Ringulf released his great axe from it's sheath on Beorth, The horse gave a loud nicker and stamped the ground with his hoof, snorting loudly.
"Easy Boy, I smell it now too....Freinds," He called out, "...be on your guard, Beorth has allerted me to the fact that there are other horses very close, and to my knowlege, orcs don't ride horses!"
The large man slid the axe into his belt behind his back and slung the quiver around his chest, knocking an arrow in his longbow.
"I will stay at the top of the hill with bow until they are within striking distance then I will join Thorbed and our dwarven companion on the front line, what are each of your plans?" Ringulf said looking about him.
"Easy Boy, I smell it now too....Freinds," He called out, "...be on your guard, Beorth has allerted me to the fact that there are other horses very close, and to my knowlege, orcs don't ride horses!"
The large man slid the axe into his belt behind his back and slung the quiver around his chest, knocking an arrow in his longbow.
"I will stay at the top of the hill with bow until they are within striking distance then I will join Thorbed and our dwarven companion on the front line, what are each of your plans?" Ringulf said looking about him.
I am Ringulf the Dwarven Woodsman, I craft leather, wood, metal, and clay,
I throw axes, seaxes, and pointy sticks, And I fire my bow through the day.
Come be my ally, lift up your mead! We'll search out our foes and the Eagles we'll feed!
I throw axes, seaxes, and pointy sticks, And I fire my bow through the day.
Come be my ally, lift up your mead! We'll search out our foes and the Eagles we'll feed!
-
Peter Remling
- Athel Dunedain
- Posts: 3735
- Joined: Sat Feb 16, 2008 4:20 am
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Mamduka heard the new comers voice as the sound traveled echoing off the stone facings. "Well that's a bit ungracious, " he thought. "Orcs all about the place but he looks for mounted men, perhaps he's not the man I was lead to believe."
Hollers came rolling down the trail. The orcs were getting nearer and the party was not ready to defend itself or flee, apparently.
"Flee or turn the horses loose with a swat to their behinds and let the damn orcs chase after them" Mamduka even then knew the to turn loose the horses would only delay the inevitable.
Hollers came rolling down the trail. The orcs were getting nearer and the party was not ready to defend itself or flee, apparently.
"Flee or turn the horses loose with a swat to their behinds and let the damn orcs chase after them" Mamduka even then knew the to turn loose the horses would only delay the inevitable.
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Mirimaran
- Thangailhir
- Posts: 2110
- Joined: Tue Jul 01, 2008 5:38 pm
- Location: North Carolina
- Contact:
Re: The Prancing Pony Inn
Daelon swore to himself as he swung off his pony and grabbed his shortbow and half-empty quiver.Peter Remling wrote:
"Flee or turn the horses loose with a swat to their behinds and let the damn orcs chase after them" Mamduka even then knew the to turn loose the horses would only delay the inevitable.
"Well met", he said quickly to the big man, leading his pony behind the group. He hummed, trying to steady his nerves as his sharp ears could catch the singing of the Orcs as they closed in on them. Orcs never made that much noise unless they were sure of victory, or wanted revenge. Daelon knew what that meant as their coarse words heralded their hob-nailed steps:
"Crush them! Kill them! Their blood red to drink!
brew them, chew them until Yellow-face sinks!
Man-flesh, dwarf-flesh, the sweeter the meat!
Death to them, death to them! Grash n'ah geat!*
"Terrible song", said the bard....
*trans. from the Orcish, except for the last part. It is a family board, after all.
"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!"