The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum - View Single Post - The Gathering-In, or The Quest of the 24 Messengers.

Birdland · 08-31-2002, 01:45 AM

Scene: The Broken Dragon, a tavern near the Old Ford, a meeting place of the Men of the Vale of Anduin.

The herdsman entered the welcoming gloom of the Broken Dragon, and made immediately towards the ancient barfront, stained black from decades of spills.

“Eastorhyld! Queen of Alewives! Face that haunts my dreams. How fare you?”

Eastorhyld fetched an earthenware mug of ale and slid it with practiced ease down the bar. “Beda! Face that haunts MY dreams, which may be why I sleep so poor. As to how I fare: not well. A river of petty woes seems to drown us here in these parts.”

Beda took a long pull from the mug, and settled in for an hour or two of gossip. It would be all small tales, but the players in them were known by him for his whole life, and were of great importance to Beda. “Tell me your sorrows, Mistress Eastorhyld, and I will drown them for you.“ He saluted her with the mug, indicating that it was empty.

The Alewife fetched another round for her customer, saying “Enjoy the ale, for may be it will be in short supply. The last batch we brought up from cellar, though brewed with the greatest care, has gone cloudy and sour. And we seemed to have had a rash of petty thievery in these parts. Small items mislaid and never found again. And just this morning my Gammer Æthel’s best milch cow, her pride and joy, has gone dry, who never failed to give good milk before. Ill fortune seems to plague all in these parts...may it not touch you, good Beda“ She gave the sign against evil with an absent-minded hand.

“Hmmmmmm” offered Beda, with feigned interest. Tales of ill fortune were two a penny in these parts, especially since the Darkness had gathered in Mirkwood to the East. Still, for such a plague to touch the Broken Dragon was a bit of news. The tavern was usually a sanctuary from woe.

A small freeholder by the name of Cadda spoke up from his end of the bar. “I can tell you what has brought this plague on these parts. Holbytlan, that’s what. The Little People have been working their mischief in these parts.”

“Hole Builders, Cadda? And where did you find this information. Did you trip on one on your doorstep, as you crawled home the other night?“ Beda laughed at his own wit.

“Nay” grumbled Cadda, “I did not spy the little vermin, but Farmer Inwær did. Gleaning his corn field, they were, by the dark of the moon. But by the time he had loosed his hound, Gyrth, on them, they had disappeared, as they do. And the hound lost the scent in the stream. But Gyrth will know it, when he catches it again, and he will not forgive the slight the next time.”

“Well,” said Beda, “If the Long-Feet have tunneled round these parts, I suppose that would explain much, for it’s said they are a thieving, tricksy mob. ‘Small‘ troubles, indeed, eh, Mistress Eastorhyld?“

“Hmmph. Small creatures, they may be. But big trouble they cause. Remember two years ago, when Nothhelm lost his best horse? He was riding along the banks of the river, and one of those little rat dens collapsed just as the horse strode over it. Broke both his legs, he did, and Nothhelm had to finish the poor beast off. Nothhelm said he could only hope that the Holbytlan were home when his horse dropped in, and were buried in their own, cursed hole.”

Lilla the bar-maid came out from the scullery, drawn by the fascinating conversation. “Are the Hole Builders really such evil, tricksy creatures?” she asked

“Aye, Miss Lilla.” Cadda said with a wise tone, and a leering glance. “Whenever their kind wander into your land, you’ll know it by the ill-fortune they bring with them. It seems that they were created just to plague Men with petty woes. Have your folk never frighted you with goblin-tales of the Long Feet?”

“Well…" breathed Lilla, “my grandmother often would tell of the time, when she was but a girl, when she said she befriended one of the Holbytlan. She spoke often of her ‘little friend‘, whom she would visit in the forest, and while away the long, summer days. She used to cry when she spoke of her. ’Linnet’, she called her, and said she was no bigger than a doll.”

“And what happened?” urged Mistress Eastorhyld. Suddenly, the new bar-maid, whom had seemed too stupid to learn her duties, had become interesting.

“Oh, her mother, my great-grandmother, as it were, she found them playing in the forest, and snatched my grandmother away. She threatened her with dire punishment if she ever went to the forest again, since she said that the Holbytlan would snatch human children, and spirit them away underground. My grandmother was too frightened to ever go back.“

“Aye, it’s true,“ said Cadda, “The Long-Feet will steal babies, and starve them to keep them small. That is how they create more of their kind.”

Beda laughed out loud, and slapped his hand on the bar. “Oh, really, Cadda? And do they hang the babes by their toes, in order to make their feet long?” The folk in the bar had a good laugh at this, and Cadda grumbled and sank back into his ale cup.

But Beda signaled for two more, and wandered over to the freeholder with a peace offering. “So Cadda, do you think it’s true that Farmer Inwær and his good hound Gyrth really spied these Holbytlan in the area?

“of course! Inwær is a true freeholder, careful of his lands, and with sharp eyes. He saw them, alright. And is on watch, in case they come again.”

“Well, Cadda, good fellow, what say you and I get the loan of good Gyrth, and do us a little hunting tonight?“

[ September 01, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

08-31-2002, 01:45 AM	#18
Birdland Ghastly Neekerbreeker Join Date: Dec 2001 Location: the banks of the mighty Scioto Posts: 1,751	Scene: The Broken Dragon, a tavern near the Old Ford, a meeting place of the Men of the Vale of Anduin. The herdsman entered the welcoming gloom of the Broken Dragon, and made immediately towards the ancient barfront, stained black from decades of spills. “Eastorhyld! Queen of Alewives! Face that haunts my dreams. How fare you?” Eastorhyld fetched an earthenware mug of ale and slid it with practiced ease down the bar. “Beda! Face that haunts MY dreams, which may be why I sleep so poor. As to how I fare: not well. A river of petty woes seems to drown us here in these parts.” Beda took a long pull from the mug, and settled in for an hour or two of gossip. It would be all small tales, but the players in them were known by him for his whole life, and were of great importance to Beda. “Tell me your sorrows, Mistress Eastorhyld, and I will drown them for you.“ He saluted her with the mug, indicating that it was empty. The Alewife fetched another round for her customer, saying “Enjoy the ale, for may be it will be in short supply. The last batch we brought up from cellar, though brewed with the greatest care, has gone cloudy and sour. And we seemed to have had a rash of petty thievery in these parts. Small items mislaid and never found again. And just this morning my Gammer Æthel’s best milch cow, her pride and joy, has gone dry, who never failed to give good milk before. Ill fortune seems to plague all in these parts...may it not touch you, good Beda“ She gave the sign against evil with an absent-minded hand. “Hmmmmmm” offered Beda, with feigned interest. Tales of ill fortune were two a penny in these parts, especially since the Darkness had gathered in Mirkwood to the East. Still, for such a plague to touch the Broken Dragon was a bit of news. The tavern was usually a sanctuary from woe. A small freeholder by the name of Cadda spoke up from his end of the bar. “I can tell you what has brought this plague on these parts. Holbytlan, that’s what. The Little People have been working their mischief in these parts.” “Hole Builders, Cadda? And where did you find this information. Did you trip on one on your doorstep, as you crawled home the other night?“ Beda laughed at his own wit. “Nay” grumbled Cadda, “I did not spy the little vermin, but Farmer Inwær did. Gleaning his corn field, they were, by the dark of the moon. But by the time he had loosed his hound, Gyrth, on them, they had disappeared, as they do. And the hound lost the scent in the stream. But Gyrth will know it, when he catches it again, and he will not forgive the slight the next time.” “Well,” said Beda, “If the Long-Feet have tunneled round these parts, I suppose that would explain much, for it’s said they are a thieving, tricksy mob. ‘Small‘ troubles, indeed, eh, Mistress Eastorhyld?“ “Hmmph. Small creatures, they may be. But big trouble they cause. Remember two years ago, when Nothhelm lost his best horse? He was riding along the banks of the river, and one of those little rat dens collapsed just as the horse strode over it. Broke both his legs, he did, and Nothhelm had to finish the poor beast off. Nothhelm said he could only hope that the Holbytlan were home when his horse dropped in, and were buried in their own, cursed hole.” Lilla the bar-maid came out from the scullery, drawn by the fascinating conversation. “Are the Hole Builders really such evil, tricksy creatures?” she asked “Aye, Miss Lilla.” Cadda said with a wise tone, and a leering glance. “Whenever their kind wander into your land, you’ll know it by the ill-fortune they bring with them. It seems that they were created just to plague Men with petty woes. Have your folk never frighted you with goblin-tales of the Long Feet?” “Well…" breathed Lilla, “my grandmother often would tell of the time, when she was but a girl, when she said she befriended one of the Holbytlan. She spoke often of her ‘little friend‘, whom she would visit in the forest, and while away the long, summer days. She used to cry when she spoke of her. ’Linnet’, she called her, and said she was no bigger than a doll.” “And what happened?” urged Mistress Eastorhyld. Suddenly, the new bar-maid, whom had seemed too stupid to learn her duties, had become interesting. “Oh, her mother, my great-grandmother, as it were, she found them playing in the forest, and snatched my grandmother away. She threatened her with dire punishment if she ever went to the forest again, since she said that the Holbytlan would snatch human children, and spirit them away underground. My grandmother was too frightened to ever go back.“ “Aye, it’s true,“ said Cadda, “The Long-Feet will steal babies, and starve them to keep them small. That is how they create more of their kind.” Beda laughed out loud, and slapped his hand on the bar. “Oh, really, Cadda? And do they hang the babes by their toes, in order to make their feet long?” The folk in the bar had a good laugh at this, and Cadda grumbled and sank back into his ale cup. But Beda signaled for two more, and wandered over to the freeholder with a peace offering. “So Cadda, do you think it’s true that Farmer Inwær and his good hound Gyrth really spied these Holbytlan in the area? “of course! Inwær is a true freeholder, careful of his lands, and with sharp eyes. He saw them, alright. And is on watch, in case they come again.” “Well, Cadda, good fellow, what say you and I get the loan of good Gyrth, and do us a little hunting tonight?“ [ September 01, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]