The Splintered ChamberPot - A Return Home

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The Splintered ChamberPot - A Return Home

Postby BardsCouncil » Tue Aug 02, 2005 3:00 pm

In the dog days of summer near the very start of August a hazy cloudy morning was suddenly pierced by a single golden shaft of light. Set on its course by force of fate, the light streamed through an upper window in the main taproom of the Splintered Chamberpot, its tubular shaft falling upon the velvet lined niche behind and above the mahogany bar.

The spot of light fell upon Agarak, illuminating the tiny alcove and warming the dragonharp’s green-gold scales. For the first time in many months, the tinkle of harpstrings was set floating out upon the wind.
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Postby Aerin » Tue Aug 02, 2005 6:56 pm

A lone figure wanders through the woods, her horse walking steadily but the head drooping slightly. It has been a long and contemplative journey for the elf and she comes back to her old home only to say goodbye. She is tired and sad but content with her decision; her horse is just tired and ready for a warm stall and plenty of food.

The elf leads her horse into the stable, rubbing her down and giving her an extra scoop of oats. She then enters the Pot, slipping through the door and looking around curiously. The place looks empty but there is a feel to it, she senses something stirring.

Then Aerin looks up.
"Agarak? Is it really... is he... what's going on here?"
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Postby SilverScribe » Wed Aug 03, 2005 8:00 am

Some distance to the east, next to a small campfire, the Scribe looked up, her eyes raking the early morning dimness. There it was again, her sharp peredhel hearing picked up the very faint but unmistakable tinkle of enchanted harpstrings carried on the night wind coming out of the west.

'Can it be?' she thought to herself with a twinge of longing. As much as she travelled and was away from the Guild, she missed the Master Bard keenly. 'May the Valar guide you home, Master Hue,' she said softly to herself, then with a small, hopeful smile, pulled her cloak more closely around herself and put her head back down on her drawn up knees.

.
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Postby Hobbituk » Wed Aug 03, 2005 8:37 am

Several feet away from the famed and renowned building that was The Splintered Chambepot stood a tree. Beneath the tree was a rock. There was nothing particularly remarkable about either of these things but that upon the rock, beneath the tree, sat Herbert Took.

He had been a long time away from the Guild, from his friends, and it was only the news he had heard the whispers of upon the wind which had drawn him hence.

He was a different Hobbit than the Hobbit that had last looked upon that same building. More wise, more solemn, more brave and more sad. Alone in the world, he had travelled far to see and make amends with his best friend.

It was then, as he sat there watching intently for the sign he knew would come that he heard the distinct and familiar notes of Agarak, the dragon-harp.

"I reckon it's about time." he murmured, before clambering to his feet and making his way to the door of the bar. As the door swung open all the atmosphere of the pub and it's usual fragrance of smoke and beer filled his senses. He knew that smell, it was the smell of home.
Last edited by Hobbituk on Wed Aug 03, 2005 12:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Mellaurelom » Wed Aug 03, 2005 9:06 am

Coasting the wind above Rivendell, Mellaurelom sat astride her great owl, Whisper. This morning's scouting flight was the same as normal, very boring. Which was the way she liked it. Her mind began to wander, tracing the long familiar paths of memory. She thought of the friends she had found in the Bards Guild, the support she had received from them in times of need, and what she gave in return. She wondered where the Scribe was, it had been so long since she had seen her friend. She hoped Parm was finding new and wonderful things in his endless quest for knowledge. She hoped once again the Hue was doing well, wherever his travels were taking him.

As though her thoughts were a sign, she began to hear the music of a harp, drifting to her on the wind. She shook her head, the only harp around was Oceanus, and she was safe in her harpcase, slung across Mell's back. There was no way... The harp played again. Confused, she looked to find where it was coming from, Rivendell? No. Farther than that, but from someplace familiar. She could smell wood polish, and vegatable pies, she could see the swirl of pipesmoke and a deck of cards spread across a table, heard the faint sound of conversation and laughter, with a familiar harpsong rising above the rest.

With sudden insight, she turned the owl from his familiar flight path, heading towards the one place where that combination of smells, sights, and sounds-The Pot! Not quite knowing why she was traveling there, she knew she needed to be there, to meet with old friends, and make new.
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Postby PatriotBlade » Wed Aug 03, 2005 5:54 pm

Something awoke Heather from a deep sleep. She looked to the window-it was dark. Fear seized her heart and she dashed to Beryl's crib. The infant was still asleep, but starting to gently stir. The healer left her in the safety of her room and silently donned a robe and slippers. She crept through the halls and down the staircase to the tap room that was filled with a strange light. Agorak was happily tinkling a song. Heather smiled. Master Hue must be coming. But wether he came or no, the healer knew that the bards were going to have a gathering.
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Postby Tethairwen » Thu Aug 04, 2005 7:20 am

The night was just fading away into the morning light, and the sound of a wooden recorder drifted across the plains. Soft hoofbeats accompanied the music as a horse and rider came into view, silhouetted against the growing light on the eastern horizon.

Teth was heading out from Aldberg on a scouting mission, and had taken out her recorder to play until she was farther out in the field. A lilting folksong kept time with her horse’s hoofbeats, and she was about to start in on a jig when she heard a sound that she had never heard before. A tinkling, musical sound that sent shivers up her spine. Somehow, though, it did sound familiar. Then suddenly, she knew. It was Agarak, the dragonharp that had been sitting in a nook when she had been at the ChamberPot.

"It's a summons, Luran," she whispered to her horse. The big gelding tossed his head and pricked his ears. Teth quickly put the recorder in her pack and pulled out a small cloth, which she left tied to a branch: a message for those who followed that she would be gone for a while. Then they were off, thundering across the plains toward the exultant sound of the harp.
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Postby Angelus_Fontaine » Fri Aug 05, 2005 7:40 am

The path he’d chosen had spilled him recklessly upon a far and distant shore. Through the filtering light of an early dawn he had looked back once more. He should have felt worse but was relieved to find the once sturdy sails were no longer visible, the highest point having long since disappeared beneath the devouring sea. There was nothing left to trace his movements and he was resigned to a fate possibly worse than death. His darker skin would mark him as an outsider, but his eyes were warm and clear as an azure sky. It mattered not, whatever would be, would be, he didn’t care any longer. The soft breeze blew tendrils of long, black hair about his face. His thirst was growing as his legs were giving out. He’d been traveling on foot most of the night hopefully it would be safe to camp in the woods ahead.

Angel moved in that direction and with each long stride he took he left his past far behind him. This easterling had taken his last stand and washed his hands of a wasted and pointless life.

Fortunately, he did manage to salvage a few supplies. When he reached the protection of the trees Angel settled his tall frame on the ground and leaned against a solid trunk. He sighed and fumbled through his still damp pack to pull out a comforting bottle. The elixir of life…spirits of salvation. The refreshing liquid eased his parched throat and moistened his dry, cracked lips. He was feeling better by the minute but weariness overcame him.

On the distant notes of harpstrings that rose aloft in the air, Angel smiled softly and drifted off into the peaceful world of slumber.
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Postby Thewhitetree » Fri Aug 05, 2005 8:02 pm

For seized by a pain in his heart Crecentus Felios got up from the place where he had lain sleepless all night. Groping at his chest he realized that the pain had disappeared and been replaced by a sensation of completion. ‘Completion? What was that supposed to mean,’ he wondered to himself. Then as if the wind itself reached out with a voice he could hear the gentle notes of a harp. It sounded more peaceful than a breeze rifling through the flower in the ides of May.

“Agarak.” he said out loud surprised at his own voice. When was it he had last heard the rumors of the ancient dragon-harp that might lead him to the answers he had sought for the last few months? A month, maybe two. He had not journeyed far from the tavern, ‘Splintered Chamberpot’ where he had at last been reveled some truths. ‘Only a 200 miles as the crow travels,’ he thought. ‘I can make it there by noon tomorrow.’

Crecentus rode his new stallion that he had purchased that very week. He did not ride the beast hard, what a poor introduction that would make! Instead he rode him at a decent and respectable pace.

The village loomed ahead under the noon sun. Felios dismounted the horse upon reaching the second row of houses and led the horse to the stables beside the tavern. As he walked up to the door he thought yet again about a suitable horse name, in fact he stood wondering so long and lost track of time so that someone arrived behind him and cast him a strange glare as he entered.

Felios entered the tavern and unknowing barely missed catching his elf-woven green cloak in the door and making a fool of himself. Once inside he looked around at the few people there and made his way to a door where light could be seen from a crack beneath the door. He opened the door almost instinctively and wandered inside. There sitting on an elegant pillar was a beautiful golden harp. Or did it turn green? ‘The light must be making sport of my eyes,’ Felios thought. There were the finest of scales etched into every area of the harp and it sang without being played a tune so wondrous that if he didn’t know better Felios would have thought the harp to be alive! Suddenly the harp stopped, Felios looked at it ever more intently and as he did Agarak sang a new tune.

Felios took a step back in fear. ‘What was that tune?’ He knew it from somewhere but couldn’t make it out. Suddenly his lips moved in rhythm of the music and slowly sang:

“Oh joy! What Joy you bring me now,
When days of darkness clutched me tight.
Oh Joy! My joy has been forged anew,
By my little boy’s loving sight.”

He stopped and remembered years upon years ago standing behind his mother and brushing her flaming red hair. His mother. His mother who died when he was only 10. He remembered now her reading to him the works of the wise and the verse of the minstrels. Then she was taken away by the Orcs of Barik’s Sea. He had spent a lifetime hunting down and destroying those accursed orcs, until they got the better of him.
Felios’ entire memory came crashing down on top of him like a wall of cold water on a freezing day. How can you remember death, yet live? He fought upon the plains, he died upon the plains, and he awoke upon the plains. Still things made no sense! He looked at Agarak and again feeling the stare the dragon-harp played yet another tune and Felios’ lips moved:

“What folly the night,
By rising sun takes flight!
The moon disgraced,
Hides his very face!”

‘That was written by the poet Halita Moltorius,’ thought Crecentus and he remembered his mother reading the words to him one night.

Felios stood up and looked at Agarak. Felios smiled and for a fleeting instant he could have sworn that the harp smiled back at him. Remembering not to touch the dragon-harp Felios whispered a thank you, waved and left the room. Everything was made clear! Façade was right, Agarak did help him regain his memory. Why had he had awoken and made his way to the bards? His mother. He felt disgraced because his mother did not want revenge for her departed soul, her wish was for him to write what made her the happiest: poetry. Only in this form could he keep her alive.

Crecentus Felios looked up from his deep thought and looked up at the growing number of people in the tavern. He smiled to himself but in return got smiles from some of the bards. Pulling out a piece of paper and a traveling-quill Felios sat down in a corner and began to write…
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Postby Faith_Hawking » Sat Aug 06, 2005 12:04 am

Overhead, songbirds greeted the day and at another time their sweet melody would have brought serenity to the group resting in the clearing below, but this was quickly tainted by a loathsome oath as one man’s fury got the best of him.

“A pox on the head of those nadorhuan!” Leaves rained down as LaCroix’s fist slammed against the tree. “What manner of Captain leaves the sea and steers his vessel inland? A fool I tell you, a fool who was caught by his own trap.”

“The pox would be too good for the Corsairs.” Landatauro scoffed, examining the crude bandages protecting his sister’s wounds. “They reaped justice from the very waters they sought to ensnare us in, and I vow; those that escaped the wrecking storm shall know the taste of my blade for what they did to Faith.” A soft moan drew his attention when Faith stirred in his arms and he smiled to see her lashes flutter against her fevered cheek.

Before Landa could voice his request, one of the men was before him offering a strip of wet cloth.

“How fares m’lady?”

“Coming around, Wolfe, though her skin is still hot to the touch. That hardy stew you put together last eve has given her strength.” Though Landa’s words eased the concerned frown on his companion’s face, he knew they needed to find a safe haven as soon as possible and with luck, a healer. He could only imagine the ordeal Faith endured while in Corsair hands, but she was free now and he had other matters to concentrate on. The late summer heat was oppressive, and the long journey from the river through unknown wood was also taking its toll on his men. Though of the race of Man, his people were shipwrights and men of the sea, not nomadic wanders, forest dwellers or rangers; the wood was his sister’s domain.

He avoided the well trod roads; less chance of discovery by surviving Black Numemorean’s. Instead, he relied on the stars of the Wain, keeping to the wood, traveling long into the night. They were in an unfamiliar land, far from the shores of Mithlond and the Gulf of Lhûn with no kit nor kin, or known contacts. Yet Landa knew the blessing of the Goddess was upon them, for three nights past their elfin scout Trystan had come upon a small camp and heard mention of a comely Inn to the east, within four days journey.

Landatauro tenderly laid the back of his hand upon his sister’s fevered cheek, his voice gently soothing as he spoke.

“Have heart, Vara seler’, the way lays clear and help waits.”

Hands more adept at hoisting sail and weaving lines nevertheless took great care as they settle the lady upon the makeshift stretcher: one front, one rear, the remainder marching in guard as their commander took the point.

Dawn had just broken when a sound halted all in their tracks. In total silence they stood as statues, listening, unsure of their own ears. Faith called out, her eyes suddenly opened wide, her voice seeming to answer an unspoken call. “Agarak.”

“M’Lord, what does she mean?”

“It can be none other than the Dragon-harp of Erinhue.” Trystan said, his eyes twinkling with joy. “Our journey is near complete, Landa. Soon we shall be among friends.”
Last edited by Faith_Hawking on Fri Aug 26, 2005 9:48 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby PatriotBlade » Sat Aug 06, 2005 8:57 am

Heather sood still, listening to the dragon harp's happy music for a few more minutes, then hurried back to her room. Beryl had settled back into a peaceful, deep sleep and the healer climbed back in bed also.
"In the morning," she thought. "In the morning it begins. It will go on for days but with the rising sun, they will come."
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Postby Mellaurelom » Mon Aug 08, 2005 4:23 pm

Mellaurelom and Whisper swept over the woodlands in silent flight, occasionally backlit by the full moon. The night air teased wisps of her hair about her face, escaped from her customary braid to tickle her lips and cheeks in long-forgotted joy. Hue is returning! was the thought that kept skipping about her head like a butterfly in a summer meadow. She could smell the scent of the trees, rising out of the darkness below her, still somehow overlaid with a warm smell of mulled wine and vegetable pie. She could hear the soft breeze rustling through the trees, intertwining with faint harpsong. Laughing aloud, she bade Whisper begin the last turn to reach the Splintered Chamberpot, only a few miles distant. The peredhil imagined she could see the golden glow of the firelight, pouring out of the windows like honey, and bursting from the door like the familiar laughter of her fellow bards. She smiled again in anticipation, and leaned over the owl's back, urging him to the familiar Inn.
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Postby Tethairwen » Sun Aug 14, 2005 6:09 am

The night sky was beginning to lighten as Teth rode up to the ‘Pot. Both she and her horse were weary from the night ride, and the sight of their destination was a welcome one. The big gelding went to a stall near the back of the stable, and the elf slid from his back, brushed him down, and finally made her way into the ‘Pot. It was lit by several lanterns, but there were only a couple of people here, which was not surprising considering the hour. Teth found a table in a corner, curled up in the chair, and promptly fell sleep.
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Postby Turelie_Lurea » Mon Aug 15, 2005 8:04 pm

"The 'Pot," the stormy-eyed bard whispered. Too long had she journeyed far from this place of joy and companionship; too many times she longed to see what warmed her heart most--her dear friends, her fellow bards, her... husband.

She shook her long copper hair, now curling to her waist. She was not to think of HIM. The sorceress was allowed to think of her friends and even of 'Hue; though some memories were painful, most were tinged with the happy pinks and oranges of the dawning day.

Her beloved horse no longer trod upon the earth, but she had a new companion, Cala, which means "light" in her native tongue.


"No more darkness," she spoke aloud once more, as though hearing a voice soothed her. There would be no more darkness in her life from this point--she would ensure it.

Tying the grey mare to a nearby tree, the elf felt no desire for her old tricks--no lightning, no thunder, no heavenly show. All she wanted was a kind word and friendly glance from an old friend or even from one who wished to befriend her now.

She walked to the 'Pot and peered in.

First, she caught a glimpse of Aerin bustling around the place. Lurea had been gone for so long that she did not realize that the pace her friend was keeping in the 'Pot was unusual. To her world-weary eyes, all was as it should be, though the place looked a little on the quiet side. Erinhue, the lady's husband, was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he is busy elsewhere, she mused.

Next, she tore her eyes from one of her oldest friends to seek out the warmth of other memories. Her eyes were lit to a mercurial hue as they alighted upon Mellaurelom and Lady Heather.


"An old and new friend," she smiled. It had indeed been a long time since she had seen either one. Her mind was flooded with memories of her days as one of the knights of Minas Tirith, when her brother Nenya helped to command--Lady Heather had been one of her dear friends in those days.

There were several of whom the Weatherspelling Bard knew nothing: a handsome Easterling, a man with the appearance of youth who wrote as though he suffered from a fever (it was difficult to tell the age or race with Lurea's impatient eye), and a sleeping elf.

Finally, her eyes fell upon the hobbit who still held her heart firmly next to his, his hand absentmindedly tracing the path of a drop of condensation on his glass.

Should she enter the pub and risk his unhappiness? There would be no ugliness on her part, for she was the one who had been at fault. Would he forgive her and allow the wounds to mend? Or had he found another?

She didn't care. What would happen would happen, if Eru wished it. She stepped through the door and quietly made her way to a dark corner. Yes, she was now a coward.


EDITED: for dear Scribbler ;) Can't believe I missed that you weren't really there... sorry! I will make sure to double-check next time ;) Great to see you, though :)
Last edited by Turelie_Lurea on Thu Aug 18, 2005 2:46 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Hobbituk » Tue Aug 16, 2005 2:16 pm

He was waiting now. He felt like he had been sat there nursing his drink for hours, he had been meaning to make a bit of an entrance at the opportune moment and now it appeared he had been too early. There was no sign of The Bard. Agarak had given no further sign of his presence and Hobbi was beginning to feel more than a little impatient.

Occasionally he would feel a cool breeze on the back of his neck and out of the corner of his eye he would see the odd bard enter the pot. Some of these people were his old friends and where at one time he would have leapt to his feet and shaken them by the hand, now he simply gazed downwards, frowning into the dreggs of his beer and silently drawing patterns in the condensation. There would be time for merry meetings and joyous reunions soon enough but first he needed to speak to Hue. Or at least see him.

The door opened again and once more he felt the wind touch his neck. Until recently his curly locks had reached past his shoulders, a souvenir from his long travels and perilous journey of two years previous. When he had decided to make his return though, he had cut them back to the length they had once been. To feel the breeze on his neck after all this time was at once a strange and familiar sensation.

He felt eyes on him now from somewhere behind, and a fragrance drifted past his nose. It reminded him of something distant, some memory long pushed down in to the farthest depths of his mind. No, he reminded himself, forcing memories to the surface brought only pain. Now was not the time.

Carefully and deliberately, he lifted his tankard and look a long swig of the ale.

When would Erinhue arrive?
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A pause to refresh

Postby Faith_Hawking » Tue Aug 16, 2005 4:47 pm

Trystan took the opportunity while reaching for the water-skin to shift his position and avert the direction of his gaze from the Lady Faith to his friend, Landa.

There was a long history between himself and the Hawking Clan, his first bonded association being with the Chieftain, DomeRaama. They’d met in battle, allies against dark forces, fought side by side and shared sustenance when such was scarce. DomeRaama had been a youth then, untried when the battle began, yet by its finish he’d proven himself among the elite and aged in spirit: admirable qualities which endeared the mortal and fused the bond of friendship to the Silvan-elf. He’d watched DomeRaama become a respected leader, proclaimed chieftain and Trystan rejoiced when his friend took a woman to his heart. The birth of the Hawking heir struck pride in Trystan’s own heart, and when the mischievous boy grew to manhood Trystan assisted in his training and stood by his side as he rose through the ranks to command his own ship. When Faith was born the Silvan-elf doted on her as if she were his own kin. Yet of late, her womanly presence had begun to stir feelings unseemly and best suppressed. His heart raged when she’d been abducted, and he’d nearly wept to see evidence of the ill treatment she’d endured.

Even now, with the enemy vanquished, he could still taste the bile of hatred rise at the mere thought of black sails and Mordor. A lot of good men died; many friends, others respected; all due to the viciousness of one man … the Black Numenoreon, Rauldac.

A sharp poke in his ribcage pulled Trystan from the mental replay of previous events, and his head snapped around to lay narrowed eyes upon his assailant.

“Mani naa ta?” Landa questioned with concern. “You were a thousand leagues from here, Mellonamin.”

“It’s nothing; ghosts of battle, memories of the past.” Trystan took a long draw on the water-skin and then passed it across the fire to another, his thoughts raced and measured how to best state what was on his mind.
“We should reach the Inn before night falls, and it would behoove us to stay a couple days, rest and fortify ourselves before heading northwest toward Mithlond and home.”

Landa nodded in agreement, his attention focused on his sister who slapped at a well meant hand that reached out to assist her. Despite the ordeal, once freed, she’d surprised Landa, her skilled hand had taken out a goodly number before she succumbed to a blow to the head, and her recovery was swift, not at all malingering, nor would she tolerate being pampered.

“Hellcat, she be.” Landa chuckled and gave a wink to the chastised sailor. “Best let the Lady fend for herself. We’re too close to the comfort of an Inn to have to carry you should her foot connect with your shins for treating her like an invalid.”

Faith may have stuck her tongue out in defiance, but Landa did not miss the grimace when she stood too quickly. Trystan was half-way to his feet, but Landa stayed his advance. “No, she’ll not let pride cause her injury. Should she need or want help, she’ll ask.”

On one hand, Landa admired his sister’s fortitude and determination, but on the other, he sorely wished she’d put aside her desire for adventure, and let her soft and feminine beauty shine through. A man had to be blind not to see what lay behind that dirty face. It was time she thought of more womanly pursuits and less of remaining, ‘one of the boys’. At times he faulted DomeRaama for not taking a firmer hand with Faith. She’d turned away all suitors, giving few a fair chance, claiming she had no desire for that aspect of a man’s attention and intended to remain at Hawk’s Lair, care for Atar, and devote her energies to nature’s gifts and earth-magique.

“Hawkeye, did you see Rauldac take a blade? Did he drown along with his crew, or will he shadow our steps? This weighs heavy on my mind, for I was not witness to his death.” Trystan for once let his guard and stoic expression slip. “That is one man who will go to unfathomable lengths to obtain what he desires. If he lives … we have not seen the last of him.”

Landa’s eyes narrowed as he absently ran a hand through the length of his thick sandy locks. “Your words are true, Mellonamin. If I believed in the reincarnation of evil and didn’t know better, I’d believe him the spawn of Melkor. Sauron must be proud of that ill-begotten creature, kindred surely.” With a violent shake of his head, as if to toss aside the veil such a topic called forth, Landa stood and announced it time they departed and make their way to the safety of the Inn.

“Aye, the harp of Erinhue calls forth the bards.” Trystan made the comment, casting his gaze toward Faith while he gathered quiver and bow. “As a weaver of tales, the Lady should be right at home.”

A fit of coughing halted Landa’s hands as he attempted to secure the broach of his cloak. “Tall tales she can spin, but pray none ask that she rhyme. Too long spent in the company of stable hands and sailors produces limericks that should never be heard in mixed company.”

The corners of Trystan’s mouth twitched as he recalled one such bit of verse Faith blurted out when barely kissing womanhood. A scarlet hue tinged his ears and he snickered when Landa whispered the exact ditty.

“We could always gag her.” He returned, falling into step. “Though if it comes to that, best be sure she’s bound hand and foot first.”
Last edited by Faith_Hawking on Fri Aug 26, 2005 10:04 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Mellaurelom » Wed Aug 17, 2005 10:08 am

Mellaurelom smiled, happy to be back among friends, here at the Splintered Chamberpot. Whisper was safely asleep in one of the box stalls in the stable, and Mell smiled to think of the new members of the guild that would be surprised to find a six foot tall owl in a stall. Her pack and cloak, as well as her travel clothes and boots were in a room and Oceanus, her harp, was safely on a table near the stairs. She brushed a wrinkle out of her new skirt, glad she had packed a change of clothes in her scouting pack, wiggled her bare feet on the warm wood floor, and looked about the common room of the ‘Pot. She grinned at Aerin as the latter swept but, bringing clean, dry mugs from the back, “Aerin, how about I lend a hand?” she asked. Aerin smiled back at Mell, a bit of the familiar glint returning to her eyes, and nodded, “Some of the bards look as though they could use some breakfast.” she replied.

Heather came down the stairs and laughed to see the peredhil, fine new blouse and skirt now covered by a tavern apron, disappearing into the kitchen to fetch the fresh vegetable pies from the oven and the porridge from the pot. Over her shoulder, Mell stuck out her tongue at the healer in response. She grabbed a tray of pies and bowls, added fresh cream and honey, and stepped back around the bar in her best Tavern-wench style, sweeping her skirts a bit as she sashayed, winking at Heather.

First she served a man, writing on what looked to be a pile of already closely packed papers, she placed a bowl and a pie in front of him, he spared a glance for her thoughtfulness, the bent his head back to his work. Next, an Easterling, strange how every once in a while one of them showed up here. She shook her head, remembering the last time she was around when a new Eastern face appeared, that must have been at Hobbi and Lurea’s wedding! She sighed, remembering what should have been a joyous day, turned grim and dark, when the bride had been kidnapped. She set the pie and bowl in front of the gentleman, who looked quizzically at it, looked up at her, and she winked a him, then he grinned back and began to eat.

Mell walked over to the table where Hobbi was sitting, still despondently drawing his finger through the condensation on the table, and quietly set a pie and a bowl next to him. Quietly she said, “Eat, Hobbi.” She knew he wouldn’t appreciate the sympathy on her face, so she turned quickly away, brushing a tear from her eye. She walked over to another early riser, a figure still wrapped in a cloak, and placed porridge and pie in front of him (her?). Delicate fingers reached for the spoon, but the face remained hidden. Mell nodded, and continued on.

Lastly, she came to Teth, her friend from her in the Bard’s guild, and also a companion from the rings guild. Her right hand twitched, reminding her of the ring which now resided there, opal glittering in the early morning light. Setting the last bowl of porridge on the table, she shook the sleeper awake, “Teth, my friend! Breakfast! You’ll get a cramp sleeping like that.”

<ooc- np Scribe, I was continuing along, but no issure with editing you out :) >
Last edited by Mellaurelom on Thu Aug 18, 2005 12:26 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Postby Turelie_Lurea » Wed Aug 17, 2005 3:11 pm

Kind, dear Mell, Lurea thought as her friend served her the porridge and pie, not asking for her name. When the time was right, she would reveal herself, but not until she found a way to do it as painlessly as possible. The last thing she wanted to do was to hurt her beloved any more.

She allowed the porridge to burn her throat, not waiting until it cooled. Gesturing for a cold beverage--anything would do really, anything to numb her mind--she pulled her cloak even tighter around her face. How would the rest of her friends react once they knew that she had returned? Would they treat her with loathing or with the even more disgusting pity? Or would they pretend that her illegitimate child had never existed, never marred their opinion of the Weatherspeller?

She was ready for happiness once more, to simply enjoy the company of her friends. But she did not dare to come out until Agarak told Erinhue that she was hidden there. They could decide whether or not they wanted to acknowledge her, to throw her out, or to embrace her after the long journey.
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Postby Tethairwen » Wed Aug 17, 2005 8:24 pm

“Teth, my friend! Breakfast! You’ll get a cramp sleeping like that.”

Teth stirred and blinked as she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up she found Mell placing a steaming bowl of porridge on the table in front of her. The morning sun streamed through the windows, filling the room with a golden light. More folk had come into the common room since Teth had arrived, and the day promised to bring more, considering the delicious aroma coming from the kitchen.

“I could use some breakfast”, she commented, looking Mell over from head to foot. Then she added with a smirk, “That has got to be one of the most interesting combinations of clothing I’ve seen in a long time.” Mell put on a mock pout. “Now see here, I’m only helping out, and if you must make derogatory remarks on my attire, I shall simply leave you to starve.” She flounced her skirts in an attempt to display how insulted she was but succeeded only in making both of them laugh out loud.

Teth smiled contentedly. Here at the ‘Pot everything seemed to be right with the world. Master ‘Hue was back, there was good food and drink, and best of all, there was friendship of the like that was hard to find elsewhere.

“Shall we have a drink?” she queried with a grin. “I could go for a nice mug of cider with my porridge. I’ll run and get it, and while I’m up, what can I get for you?”
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lost

Postby Gwenhwyfar » Thu Aug 18, 2005 3:11 am

hello
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Postby Flame-of-Udun » Thu Aug 18, 2005 10:23 am

A sigh of relief escaped the woman's throat when she finally reached a small clearing. It seemed to her that she'd walked for days and the forest had continued before her with no end in sight. Chiara tossed back her flaming red hair and shielded her brown eyes that were flecked with gold and framed with thick lashes against the harsh sunlight. She gave her eyes a few minutes to adjust and a smile curled her lips as she began to whistle a merry tune.

Chiara was restless as always. She´d wandered the lands aimlessly and never settled anywhere longer than a few days. There was no such place she called home. Her place of birth had been forgotten long ago.Travelling from one town to another and earning a few coins by telling her tales in the different taverns along the way was all she knew. She enjoyed amusing the guests with song, sharing a tankard and meeting new people but it was a lonely life at times. Chiara lacked the warmth of real friendship and wished she could belong somewhere...anywhere.

In the early morning the sweet sound of a harp had reached her ear and though far off, it had drawn her attention immediately.The sound was alluring and she needed to find out where it was coming from. It was almost like a distant call to her and without further thought she changed her direction. It didn't matter that she’d not the faintest idea whither it would lead her.

Swiftly Chiara crossed the clearing and entered the woods again. There'd been no signs of any danger yet but she learned caution in all her wanderings. She stopped and listened attentively, yes, there was the sound and it was definitely closer now. Eagerly she went on until the sound of heavy footsteps halted her. It prompted her to leave the path quickly, sent her hiding behind the next tree and none to soon.

A company of men headed along the very path she'd just left. From the distance Chiara couldn´t spot whether those men were friendly or not. Caution caused her to pause and wait until they’d gone further. It sure would be nice to have some company and from what she could see they were headed the same way but she dared not step out of hiding. She’d heard too many rumours of villainous blackguards who´d attacked and raided travellers in the past. The company halted when the sound of the harp could be heard again and Chiara slowly stepped backward. Only as the men set off again did she realize she'd been holding her breath. Chiara waited until they were out of sight before she left the underbrush and followed the company in a safe distance down the well beaten path.
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Postby SilverScribe » Thu Aug 18, 2005 12:18 pm

((OOC: Erm, I hate to be a wet blanket folks, but the Scribe is not here at the Splintered Chamberpot.

If you read my one and only post, it stated that she was at a small campfire to the east, but never mentions her travelling in this direction or returning here.

Sorry, but it would probably be best if y'all edited out any references to her, since she isn't here and won't be responding to any conversations . . . and my deepest apologies for her absence . . .

Of course, if y'all like, you can substitute Cornelius for the Scribe, since he would be more than willing to pinch . . . er, acquaint himself with a few of the ladies . . =:) ))


:D:D:D
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Postby PatriotBlade » Fri Aug 19, 2005 8:00 pm

Heather came down the stairs wearing a plain, light blue dress with a gold and green sash. Beryl was in a simaler dress as her mother, with matching ribbons in her dark curls.
The healer laughed at the young woman flouncing around and sat down with her. Beryl wanted to play under the tables, so Heather let her as she chatted with Mell. Both women looked up when the door opened.
After calling a greeting, Mell dashed off to the kitchen to get the hooded stranger some food as he/she took a back corner seat, while Heather sat in shock.
Though the figure was cloked, there was something famillar about this person that drew the healer. A scent as the figure passed...

"Turelie?" If the cloaked figure heard, she couldn't tell, but when a healer cares for someone, they never forget them. When the stranger had eaten about half of their meal, Heather glanced at her adopted daughter, then went to greet her old friend.
The hood moved slightly as the healer sat down across from him/her.

"Turelie?" Heather whispered.
Her old friend reacted with a quick silencing motion.
Confused, but concerned, she grabed a nearby quill and paper, which were in ample supply and scattered about; free for the use of the bards. The healer quickly scribbled a note, folded it over and slid it across the table, leaving it beside a delicate hand. She rose gracefully, pcked up Beryl and promised Mell to be back shortly before mounting the stairs.
When she was sure no one was lookin the cloaked woman opened the note.
"Turlie,
My dear friend, you should know by now that you can't fool a healer. If for some reason you must remain shrouded while in the tap room, at least come to my rooms to catch up and rest. If you have need of anything, do let me know.
Top of the stairs. Left. Fourth door on right.
Heather Of The Wilds,
Friend To The Elves,
Guardian Of The White City."
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Postby Turelie_Lurea » Fri Aug 19, 2005 9:39 pm

This was it...surely someone had heard Lady Heather's pronounciation of her name. The walls had ears in this mystical place and too soon would Hobbi know of her presence.

When her old friend slid the note in her direction, the WeatherSpeller pulled her cloak in more tightly and, peering through the slits that remained in the covering, watched the others in the Chamberpot. Curious, she reached for the note, but only when she was certain that no one's attention was drawn her way.

She read the note and quickly shoved it into a pocket. It would not do to leave such evidence lying around.

Lurea was torn. Should she take up the kind offer or not? By accepting, she would have to pass by the hobbit. Could she be in such close proximity and not give herself away? She longed to hold him, to let him know that she loved only him, that Culanir was gone from her heart. Oh, to touch his curly locks, to feel the sunshine of his smile, to kiss him as they should have done as newlyweds. Their honeymoon, their joy, their hope for the future had been stolen so unfairly.

Fighting back a sob, she suddenly understood the parallels between her two great loves: she had tortured them both to the point of losing their chance of happiness together. Culanir's life was destroyed after her influence upon him whilst under Mouth of Sauron's debilitating spell and soon after her wedding, those fruits had sullied her bond with the hobbit. However, the hobbit still lived and he was not a hermit in some lonely country, so there was yet hope. Perhaps he had answered the summons so that they might end the distance that had sundered them for two years. Then again, perhaps he was waiting for some lovely hobbit lass to join him and she was running late.

The expression of hope morphed into one of quiet pain as the last thought stabbed her heart.

But Lurea was not one to wallow long in pain without some sort of action--she was not Tinu, the ever-suffering elf. For a moment, Lurea allowed her thoughts to wander to her far-off adopted sister. They had had no contact since Lurea was released and it seemed to her that that was exactly as Tinu wished.

Before she allowed herself to think any more about Tinu, she had to respond to Lady Heather's note. Tearing off part of the note (with nothing resembling her name on it), she pulled her writing utensil from her cloak and quickly scratched out:


Lady Heather,

Thank you for your kind offer, but I am afraid I must decline it for the moment. Secrecy is important right now and by coming to you, I may give myself away. Thank you for your kindness and your warm regard. If need be, I shall certainly call upon you, faithful friend.

Signed, T

Lurea then folded it and wrote "Lady Heather" on the outside. She waved down Mell, handed her the note, and hoped that her secret would remain just that.
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Postby Angelus_Fontaine » Sat Aug 20, 2005 7:00 am

Angel was hallucinating, he looked suspiciously at the green-eyed paradhel that had just served him and decided she was trying to poison him. She had even winked at him before sealing his fate. He was used to dealing with hostility but this bold move was nothing like anything he’d ever encountered before. He shook his head trying to rid himself of the most unsettling scene he’d just witnessed. He could have sworn he’d just seen another female peredhel in warrior garb disintegrate before his eyes only to be replaced by a short, fat monk with bug eyes in tattered robes. That initial transformation had been strange enough but it was being complicated further as the monk nibbled greedily on a banana while eyeing the many feminine backsides that floated gracefully throughout the room. Perhaps he was dreaming? No, the sharp pinch to his arm only confirmed the surreal reality of his current situation.

Angel studied the others with avid intent. There was a curly haired halfling lost in thought and drinking heartily. He reminded him of himself and Angel wondered if the little one was pining over a lady. He hoped he was wrong because the fairer sex had a way of making a man lose all of his senses. Oh but the rewards were worth every bit of the upheaval. Sweet sighs, soft yielding curves, eyes that a man could get lost in forever and a day. He shook himself to try and forget.

There was a young man scribbling with a frenzy. So intent was he upon his musings he didn’t even bat an eye when he was served. A cloaked figure had moved to the shadows and from what he could gage it was a she. Something about the graceful but hesitant way she moved told him there was a bittersweet sadness that encompassed her. She seemed almost humble but strong and resigned. Determined to set things right.

He’d always been an observer it had brought him far in life. Sometimes it was best to just sit back and discover the many wonders of these passionate creatures that inhabit the earth.

A lovely lady in blue and a sweet looking child had recently arrived but they came down the stairs, they were obviously residents. He felt better immediately. The child was currently under his table playing with his boot strings.

He was still breathing so perhaps he hadn’t been poisoned after all. He noted a sleeping lass that had been awakened by the tempting scent of food and saw that she was friendly with the lady that had served him. Soon a note was passed by the cloaked figure. As his assassin/server walked by the monk he brazenly grabbed and squeezed at her well rounded bottom. Angel froze. If she was in distress he would act but something about her told him she could take care of herself. He waited…veins pulsing at his brow. The warrior instinct within having kicked in, but he was a stranger in a strange place…
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Postby Mellaurelom » Sat Aug 20, 2005 8:52 am

“Shall we have a drink?” Teth queried with a grin. “I could go for a nice mug of cider with my porridge. I’ll run and get it, and while I’m up, what can I get for you?”

Mell smiled, and brushed a stray black curl that had somehow escaped her braid back behind an ear, “No thanks, my friend. You eat, I’ll have to get the rest of this rabble watered as well!” She smiled warmly at her friend, and turned, almost bumping into Heather. “Where is that young lady of yours?” asked Mell, looking around for Beryl.

Heather laughed, “She’s somewhere around here, she wanted to play ‘adventurer of the tables’ and is most likely bothering someone’s pant legs!” Both Mell and Teth laughed at this, knowing that the child was as safe as she could be here in a room full of Bards.

Mell continued around the room, garnering drink orders, and trying to keep them all straight in her head. How did real serving folk do it? She could barely keep three different ideas in her head, it was a good thing she wasn’t REALLY a server, the place would go broke! After a short while, the hooded figure, was she somehow familiar? The hooded figure waved her over and deposited a note in her hand, ‘Lady Heather’ written on the outside. Mell smiled, and nodded, “I’ll take this to her right away,” She said. She turned, and headed for the kitchen, relieved to be able to get the apron off and back into herself, just a bard. As she passed Cornelius’ table, he reached out, grabbed her posterior, and gave a squeeze.

Mell froze for a moment, not entirely sure how to deal with this. She had never actually had to deal with this sort of thing, and was unsure what to do. Had she been Scribbles, she’d have turned and skewered the man, but she wasn’t, and she didn’t have so much as a boot knife on her person. However, the moment of indecision passed and she turned, anger overcoming her fear. She reached out and slapped the monk across the face. Even though she was not a fighter, her arms were strengthened by years of owl-back riding and she hit him hard enough to leave a red mark. It matched the blush on her face. “Cornelius! If you do that again, I WILL take a page from the Scribe’s book, and I will make sure you will have no interest in doing such to anyone! Ever!” She leaned closer, hoping that the monk would realize the seriousness of her threat, then turned and stormed back into the kitchen.

The nerve of him! She almost tore off the apron, slamming it down on the table in the kitchen. How dare he! She turned quickly, and bolted up the back stairs to the second floor. That pig! Through blurred eyes she found her room, her hand beginning to shake so hard it was difficult to open the door. That self-centered, egotistical…! She sat on her bed, shaking violently now, tears streaming down her face, and couldn’t seem to get her breath. Her thoughts ran around in little circles, from accusations of Cornelius, how could he, to accusations of herself, you know you deserved it, flouncing around like that! She curled into a ball on the coverlet, sobbing helplessly, her thoughts drawn back in time…
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Postby Mellaurelom » Sat Aug 20, 2005 10:59 am

The forest was dark, here under the trees, and quiet. The only noises were the twitter of birds, and the rustle of leaves. Which was as is should be, thought Mell. She was very happy that his, her first patrol alone, was calm. She was proud of the fact that they trusted her to patrol alone so soon after completing her training. She knew she would never be the best scout, but she also knew she was a decent scout, and a decent scout was always needed in these troubled times. However, she was not very far out from Rivendell, and knew that for there to be trouble this close, there were far better scouts that were now beyond help, and the best she could do was get word back. However, she had just heard from one of those primary scouts, and he had said that all was clear. So she resigned herself to a quiet patrol.

The man grabbed her from behind, having made no noise to betray himself. She struggled, but he knew what he was doing, and she was unable to do more than wiggle. She heard his coarse laughter in her ear, “Ah, a lively one, how nice. I likes ‘em lively.” Mell’s breathing quickened, but, unable to move, she was helpless. The man, no longer bothering to conceal his presence, now he had found his prey, moved through the forest to a small cave. There were two more men there, unshaven, but well fed. “Lookie what I caught lads!” called her captor, “A wee elf to keep us warm!” The other men laughed, and one commented, “Ah, never tried on of them. Give me first try!” Mell, realizing what was about to happen, tried, futily, once more to escape.

The first man held while the second reached to clumsily caress her face and body, when all of a sudden, his leer was replaced by a surprised look. He glanced down at the arrow protruding from his chest, then fell slowly over backwards. Her captor was also stunned in surprise, just long enough for the archer to shoot him as well. As the arrow blossomed in the side of his neck, he dropped Mell and collapsed. The third man had enough time to reach for a sword before he was also shot down. Mell also collapsed, shuddering, amazed that she had escaped her fate.

Her rescuer stepped into the cave, an elf, she realized with relief. He dropped the bow, and knelt beside her, "Hush, I'm here, all will be right." He calmed her slowly and quietly, easing her sobs. "There child," he said after a few minutes, "are you better?" She nodded, not willing to speak quite yet. "Good. I am Kellemvor, and you must be Mellaurelom. Please, let me help you." She raised her eyes to him, and saw a very handsome, very honest face, familiar from her time in Imladris, and nodded.

The memory faded into blackness as Mell returned to the present. How dare he, when he knew she had THAT in her past! But wait, he didn't know, did he? She hadn't told anyone here about that. No one in the guild knew of that horrible afternoon. The guilt of earler came back, ten-fold. HOW was she to apologize to her friends in the Guild, when they didn't even know why?

<ooc sorry about the length, but I wanted to get the memory in there :)>
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Along the road....

Postby Faith_Hawking » Sat Aug 20, 2005 3:13 pm

LaCroix, a half-elf of questionable origins, shimmied his way to the top of the tree, for from this vantage point he could survey the area for a goodly distance. Trystan mentioned recollection of a narrow waterway not far from the Inn, though time had left the particulars fuzzy in his mind since he’d not trod these lands in near half a century, and it was with a broad grin that LaCroix spied the ribbon of crystal blue water. The sun was fast approaching zenith and though the company made good time, all were anxious to reach their destination and put cares behind them, but first they wished to cleanse away the layers of dust and salt of their long journey.

Sure of foot, LaCroix skimmed the treetops and swiftly moved forward. He’d spotted a column of smoke too dense to be from a campfire. His inquiry was rewarded, for in the midst of the good sized clearing below stood a large structure with outbuildings placed downwind with a scattering of paddocks and horses visible. LaCroix took measure then began to back track, keeping to the trees until he spotted his party approach along the road below. He was about to call out and drop to the ground, but the cautionary movement of a lone figure not more than twenty minutes behind the group caught his keen attention. Priorities brought him to the ground, his steps hasty to rejoin his company. First order was to report the location of the river’s proximity to the Inn; distance and estimated times twixt points, then he’s inform Landa of what lay behind, his impression and await his commander’s orders.

The group wasted no time after LaCroix announced his findings; they stepped up the pace, and anxiously advanced on the river. Faith took advantage of an outcropping of rock for privacy before she stripped down and slide into the welcoming embrace of the reed bordered riverbank. After weeks within the bowels of a Corsair ship, hours struggling through the salty sea and another four days on the road, the gentle lapping of the river’s caress was as luxurious as her familiar bathing pool. Fully submerged, Faith gingerly cleansed away caked and dried blood from the wound in her scalp and carefully tended the still raw flesh until she could comb fingers through chestnut locks and it flowed freely upon the water’s surface. Her entire body ached, even those parts not covered in bruises. At first, each place she touched screamed in protest, but the combination of warm sun and the massaging effect of the water soon caused her to tilt her body and allow it to float within the embrace of the water-spirits. The jovial laughter and splashing of her companions on the other side of the reed cropping was as music to her ears. Songbirds accentuated the merry atmosphere, and for a time, all was right with the world.

For a time, Landa too put aside troubles, joined in the frivolity and fellowship, a boy once more as they cleansed and communed with the spirits of the water. Neither was this time lost for Trystan, though he kept an eagle’s eye on Faith’s location. LaCroix’s observation of the traveler laid forefront in his mind, and until they knew who and of what threat this person accorded them, he would not let his guard down. The description was decidedly female, but if Elven this could be deceiving and Landa readily agreed, having sent LaCroix back along the trail.

*****

Fleet of foot and stealthy as a bird of prey, LaCroix moved overhead, observed the female from all angles, and read her movements. She appeared more fearful than a threat, yet LaCroix was not foolish with assumptions. He knew well the females of warrior races; elven or of man. Beauty often hid a skilled hand; a soft demeanor frequently camouflaged a fierce combatant. His approach would be cautionary and until at ease with the situation he’d hold control of the moment.

LaCroix waited until she’d come abreast to the aged tree within which he concealed himself and then soundlessly dropped. His aim was true, hands firmly planted upon her shoulders. He pulled her off her feet as he rolled back. In an instant he had one hand clamped over her mouth, the other clasped a hand full of firelite locks and rolled her beneath him to hold the woman captive with the weight of his body.

“Feisty wench you be,” he chuckled, narrowly avoiding her balled fist as she struggled, arms and legs flaying. “Calm yourself my fiery wench and I’ll release my hand so you might speak.”

His declaration was meant with the attempt to place a solid knee in a most injurious location, but this play LaCroix was all too familiar with and countered by wrapping his hard muscled legs around hers, squeezing until she succumb and lay still. Like a frightened child, her deep brown eyes flickered and flamed between fear and anger, rage and beseeching.

Though his hold never lessened, LaCroix eased his weigh from her chest and peered down into her face, actually seeing the woman, not simply the being.

“Why do you follow us so cautiously?” he asked with stern command. “What is your business along this road, a lone woman traveling alone?”
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Postby Tethairwen » Sat Aug 20, 2005 3:33 pm

Teth watched Mell head back through the room towards the kitchen, stopping to address a woman who had entered with a little girl. The elf watched with amusement as the child crawled under a nearby table and began to untie the boots of an Easterling who sat there. The man seemed to be enjoying it, and Teth studied him carefully. She had never met any of his people before, but had seen a few here and there. From his thoughtful gaze, she realized that he was studying everyone in the room, and was in the middle of wondering what he thought, when she heard a loud slap and looked over toward where a fat monk sat staring up at Mell. The peredhil’s eyes were flashing as she gave the monk a short but severe tongue-lashing. Then she fled to the kitchen. Teth heard a clatter from within the room, and then footsteps running up the stairs. The monk still sat dumbfounded, and the Easterling had stiffened and was watching the fat man with narrowed eyes.

Puzzled at her friend’s outburst, Teth absently nibbled at a bite of porridge, but when Mell didn’t return, she left the bowl at the table and made her way to the kitchen. Mell’s apron lay in a heap on the table, and she spotted a staircase near the back of the room. Softly, she climbed the steps, and as she reached the landing, muffled sobs came from a room down the hall.

Hesitating only a moment, the elf followed the sound until she caught sight of a huddled form on the bed just inside one of the rooms. She went in, sat on the bed next to her friend, and said softly, “Mell? What’s the matter? Is there some way I can help?”
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Postby Mellaurelom » Mon Aug 22, 2005 7:09 am

“Mell? What’s the matter? Is there some way I can help?” Teth's soft voice penetrated the black cloud around Mell. She turned to see her friend sitting next to her on the bed. Sitting up was an effort, but it was made easier by the presence of a friend.

"Oh, Teth, I'm sorry." She said as she caught her breath, I shouldn't have..."

"Piffle!" said Teth, dismissing her strained apology, "He shouldn't have grabbed you in the first place!"

Mell smiled, just a bit, "Well, I should have expected it from Cornelius, and besides, I WAS flouncing around!" She sighed as the last of her anger finally calmed. But then, I guess I'm just too used to gentlemanly Bards and Ringbearers!"

Teth smiled as well, "You can't trust all of 'em though!" She replied with a grin, "Even the gentlemen! But dear, that wasn't enough for you to have been quite so overcome. I feel there's something more bothering you?" The elfmaid let her sentence trail off, wondering of Mell felt like talking, or would now retreat into a shell, unwilling to say another word.

Mell sighed one last tiem, the to Teth relief, began to speak. She explained how she felt when Cornelius had grabbed her and why she had come running upstairs. She also told her friend of the cave and the men and the elf who had saved her, "And the thing of it is," she said, having finished the story, "if I had been paying attention that day, Kel may still have been alive!"

Teth looked at Mell in astonishment, "How do you figure that?" she asked.

"Well, we found out later, two years later, that that group was one of several advance scouts that were trying to find a way into Rivendell without alerting the sentries. Had I noticed them, we may have been able to capture one, instead of killing them all. Then we may have gotten SOME idea of what they were up to. But since they all died, we had no idea. And when they came back..." Mell's voice trailed off into silence as she fought back tears yet again. Losing the fight, she continued through the pain, "Kel and I were picnicing, it was a beautiful fall day. He gave me a harp, Oceanus. You've seen her. He also gave me a vow, that he would love me always. It was the happiest day of my life. I know it sounds so cliche, but there it was. I had just put Oceanus back in her case, we were about to start on lunch when they came. Orcs, and humans, too many for us, especially since we though we were safe, so close to the valley. He had a short sword, but I had nothing. He called for me to run, get help, while he held them off. He only had to keep them at bay, no more. Kel was confident he could, while I got help. I ran. By the time I got back with the others, it was too late, Kel was gone. Eladar and Elladan led the counter offense, they managed to win, but there was nothing for me. Kel was dead, and the only elf who had loved me for who I was, was gone."
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Mellaurelom
Ranger of the North

 
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