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Night3 falls
When the second day in the horrible pit came closer to an end, they decided to do away with Pitch, the furrier. Some of the Elves thought he was the one Shastanis had tried to warn them about, some of them said he hadn't exactly said anything like that and other interpretations of his lost message were more likely.
"I have to say I understand if you want to kill me," Pitch said solemnly. "After all, I have all this fur on me." He pointed to his clothes which were mostly made of beautiful furs.
"This is getting furrier and furrier..." Nerwen mused.
"Very funny," Pitch retorted. "I may be a furrier but under all these furs I'm not any furrier than any of you, actually, I am less furry than three of you for sure."
Ozban exchanged glances with Nerwen. "It might not be getting furrier all the time but it's sure getting blurrier all the time, if you get my drift."
"Stop making silly jokes!" Wilwarin said. "It's getting dark. If we want to kill him as long as we can still see something, we're in a hurry."
"In a hurry to find out if he's furry," Inziladun agreed, nodding sagely.
"But let's not let this turn into a flurry," Boromir said, grinning.
"Now that was outrageously bad!" Pitch burst out. "I've had enough! What do you want to see?"
Without waiting for an answer, he took of his cloak. "Let's see... linings of - squirrel fur." No one said anything.
He removed his beautiful white vest. "The best you can get... ermine fur."
Everyone watched him in dull silence. He laughed. "What about my boots then? Fur linings here too. Blue fox fur, rare and silky."
The other Elves exchanged glances. The man must be crazy. Then he took his scarf, a heavy scarf of rough grey fur, not beautiful but warm and definitely something of a status symbol.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked.
"Err... fur?" Loslote suggested.
"Hey that rhymes..." Nerwen whispered, but her voice was topped by Pitch's shrill shout:
"Yes it's fur. It's wolf fur. You got me, didn't you? Now what should I do? Throttle myself with it?" His tone was mocking, but the folly of the proud house of Fëanor burned in his eyes.
"Yes," said Ozban quickly, before anyone else could say anything.
"So be it! Have what you will and you'll see that an Elf can wear a wolf's fur and not be one himself!"
With these words, Pitch wrapped the scarf around his neck and pulled from both ends.
The others watched him in horror, knowing he would not succeed, some of them wanting him dead all the same.
"Let me give you a helping hand," Wilwarin said, almost gently, and grabbed one end of the scarf. Without any words, Inziladun was there with her, pulling the other end. Soon, Pitch collapsed on the stone floor, breathing no more.
In the disappearing light, they looked at his body, wondering if he would transform into a foul beast. But Pitch's body was not any furrier than any of theirs save the wolf skin scarf around his neck.
~*~
The Dead
Thinlómien (mod) - murdered in cold blood on Night1
Shastanis (seer) - cast to the pit in the pit on Day1
Pitch (ordo) - driven crazy and throttled in his fur scarf on Day2
The Living
Green - veteran hunter with a striking resemblance to an opossum
Boromir - incompetent gatewarden
Eönwë - hunter
Glirdan - local batty scholar
Inziladun - weaponsmith
Legate - jeweller with an affinity to the colour white
Loslote - young tag-along girl with frizzy hair
Nerwen - young and impatient hunter who makes animal statues of wood and likes the colour green
Nogrod - narcoleptic master-hunter
Ozban - young and naive hunter and admirer of Finrod Felagund
Skip - an admirer of Finduilas's
Wilwarin - hunter
Night2 has started. Wolves may talk with each other and they, ranger and hunter may send me their picks any time.
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