
by
tuile » Wed May 29, 2002 9:45 pm
In a small town outside of Minas Tirith, there was a wandering storyteller, who was unceremoniously dumped on her rear end outside a faceless inn, yet again. This time it was not her fault. Not really anyways. She couldn't help it if she was only a mediocre storyteller. She mournfully mulled over her current state of affairs as she slowly stood up and rubbed her offended behind and wiped tossed lettuce from her cloak. <BR><BR>Her mother, who had been sick for many years, almost for as long as she could remember, died suddenly last fall leaving her alone in the world. Her father and brothers had died, heroically she was told, a few years ago in the wars along the border with Mordor. Cursed place. Any other family that she had was unknown and consequently, unaware. Her sudden freedom from the daily toll of watching her mother painfully drift away in front of her eyes, had led to actions both reckless and foolish. She lost her meager job sewing uniforms for the armies of Gondor, which she carried out rather poorly while listening to the stories her mother told. The job was mourned understandably, only due to the resulting lack of income. She wound up drifting around town, moving from man to man, empty as a drained beer mug, tossed aside in a corner. <BR><BR>The storyteller straightened her back and stretched. Stumbling around in the poorly lit street, she looked for the post where she had left her donkey. When she found it, it did not have a donkey attatched. Just as she thought, he had untied himself and was quietly perusing the rubbish in the alley. Only visible by his broomstick tail contentedly swishing in the lamplight, he was her sole companion on her travels. She pulled him away from his treasure, grimacing in distaste as her cloak dragged upon the slimey alley floor. <BR><BR>Standing under the lamplight in the quiet street, she experienced the same sensation she felt almost four months ago, standing in a grimey room with a man passed out on the bed. A feeling of immense frustration coupled by knowing she was meant for something greater, was tempered with sadness and self-pity. Underneath was an anger at herself and the situation. That anger could be her friend at times. It would enable her to change her seeminly insurmountable situation for the better. Or, like tonight, it could make things worse. <BR><BR>She sucked in a deep breath. Holding it, she went over the night's events in her mind. Her usual plan was to collect payment from the innkeep before her story, and then hope for a kind crowd. This night, she was not so lucky. The innkeep would have none of her reasoning for pre-payment and her delivery of the story not only failed in emotional impact as always, but it took off in a twisted life of its own. <BR><BR>She was merely trying to tell the tale of Beren and Luthien. Not only did she mix up the names (which happened quite often and was easily rectified), she mixed the races. In a moment of strange stubborness, she rambled on as if the story was truly about an elven Beren and a human Luthien. Most of the crowd thought this was truly hilarious and roared with laughter. But a few, and one fellow in particular, took great pains to express his indignation over the whole affair. The ordeal resulted in her yelling in his face a question that still prattled around in the dregs of her mind. Why wouldn't an elven warrior give up his immortality for the love of a human woman? What was so offensive? She had been rather surprised at her own freverent tenacity over an issue she had never thought about, was completely unaware of the ruckus she was causing, and had therefore been a bit taken aback when she wound up tossed out on the street again. <BR><BR>Snorting out loud at her own stupidity, she blew out her breath and look up the street one way and then the other. What should she do next? Looking north, she pondered a life-long fantasy of hers. To take up with a few other people, and strike out for the open road. To Dale or beyond? A strange land called Bree? She had never felt terribly road-wise and had up till now, avoided venturing out of Gondor. But now the north road was calling, and even her donkey seemed interested. <BR><BR><BR><i>OOC-- if anyone actually reads this..this is my first attempt at starting a rp...I've participated in only a few..mostly I'm a spectator to other's art. But I just had this pop into my head, and I have no idea where it will go..so I hope you all don't mind and maybe a few will actually be interested. Who knows??<img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-smile.gif"border=0> Thanks for reading it if you did!!<img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-smile.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-smile.gif"border=0><BR><BR>PS..let me know if I committed a serious RP blunder...thank you!!</i><BR><BR>LINK FOR OOC THREAD!!<img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-smile.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-smile.gif"border=0><BR><a target=new href="http://www.tolkienonline.com/TheWhiteCouncil/messageview.cfm?catid=25&threadid=49217">http://www.tolkienonline.com/TheWhiteCouncil/messageview.cfm?catid=25&threadid=49217</a>