Farmer in the Dale RPG

[piosenniel]

Regin Hardhammer’s post

Eric watched sadly as Eli and his dad walked out into the fields after lunch, leaving him all alone to reflect on the horrible time he’d just had. Eli had kicked him in the shins under the table and left a blue bruise. His parents hadn’t even seen what happened and made him return the shiny rock that he had borrowed from his brother the day before. “It’s not fair,” Eric muttered. “My crybaby brother always gets what he wants.”

Eli was a sickly and frail boy, so his parents naturally felt the need to pay more attention to him. It seemed to Eric that whenever he did anything to his brother, the older boy immediately whined about it to his parents, who always sided with Eli. Nor did he like being called a “younger brother” when he was born only two hours later than his twin. “Life can be so unfair!” he noted with a grimace.

His father always took Eli to help him with the work in the field, but never Eric, even though he was probably tougher and could work harder. A couple of times he had thought about asking his father if he could come too, but stopped himself because he was afraid that his father would say no. Anyways, Eric reflected, he probably wouldn’t want me to come, since he likes to be with Eli.

Determined not to sulk in the house all day, Eric decided to go for a walk in the meadow near the lake. Maybe he could gather frogs there that he would later put in his sister’s bed. She always loved his little surprises, he thought with a grin. Walking through the tall grass, he noticed that a grey shadow had suddenly appeared on the ground and swiftly crept closer until it finally enveloped him. Eric looked up curiously and saw a very strange looking, monstrous bird. I didn’t know birds had scales and I’ve certainly never seen one that large before. Enchanted with this new creature, Eric sprinted gleefully after it, giving no thought to how he would get home. He whispered proudly to himself, “I bet Eli has never seen anything like this!”

[piosenniel]

Araréiel's post

Sunlight streamed through the freshly cleaned windows of the tidy kitchen. Heat emanated from the oven, lunch nearly prepared. Willow Millwind glanced out the window, wondering where her husband and children were. It was uncommon of them to be late. She pulled the buns from the oven and placed them on a plate. Grabbing a bowl of fresh-churned butter, she headed to the table. A noise outside distracted her and she headed instead to the door, setting the butter on a near-by chair. Pushing the door open with her foot, she stepped outside.

"Lunch is ready, my big men!" Willow looked with pride on her handsome husband, still as much in love with him today as they day they married. She gave him a kiss, and laughed as Eli cried out how gross kissing it. She ruffled the already-messy hair of her son, marveling in how much he looked like his father. Eli ran in through the door, and Willow caught a glimpse of her other children settling into their places for lunch, the twins fighting over who sat where, her daughter settling the fight. Hoping to not be heard, Willow leaned close to her husband and whispered, "How was he today? You did not have him sit in the sun too long, did you?"

"No dear. He sat under the dogwood tree most of the time- he came out for naught of five minutes to hand me a stake and hurry home. Do not worry," He kissed her and chuckled as he entered the doorway. His wife always worried about the children in the sun, worried they would burn. For this reason, none of them ever had.

*******************************

Lunch was long-finished. Soon it would be time to start preparing supper. Eli had picked on his brother horribly, this time for being a tad bit shorter. Eric had tried to defend himself, saying he looked more like Papa, that Mama always said so. Eli had thrown his bun at Eric, causing a fight as Willow hadn't seen in her table in years. She had forced her sons to clean up the mess, not caring who started what, only angry that they had participated in such a display of tempers.

She glanced down at the sewing she was doing. Those boys sure were tough on their clothing, and needed lots of repairs. But this was special. She was sewing a delicate white gown. It would have a white sash and lots of embroidery in shades of blue, pink, and the palest of green. Elanor worked so hard to help out, and Willow wasn't sure Elanor fully knew how much she was appreciated. This gown was beautiful, the gown she described for her daughter in stories of princesses as a child, but impractical, and she was glad to be finishing the last of the embroidery. The gown was complete, and she would give it to her daughter as supper that night. She carefully folded the garment and put it in a box, ready to surprise her eldest child, for Elanor knew nothing of the dress. The child sewed so much for others. She deserved a treat, and didn't understand why her mother had asked her to do mending in the afternoon instead of after supper, but she complied anyway. Willow just needed her out of the kitchen.

Elanor's favorite meal was turkey. Not chicken, but turkey. So Willow cut up the bird to cook it faster. Time had flown and she was running low on time. If she quartered the bird it would be done in time. She seasoned the bird with some pepper, dried garlic, salt, and some parley, and placed it in the oven, dousing it with a bit of lemon juice before closing the heavy iron door. Humming to herself, she peel the potatoes, toss them into a cast iron pot, fill with water, place on stove. Oh, how she hated peeling potatoes! But it must be done. The cream on the counter, she chopped up more garlic. When the potatoes were done boiling, she'd mash them with the garlic and cream. Elanor's favorite. Thankfully, Elanor's favorite dessert was strawberry shortcake. Shortcake is simple to make, and Willow sliced the strawberries and tossed them with a bit of sugar, singing now as she started whipping a bit of cream with sugar to make it fluffy. Satisfied with the texture, she sat back down to wait for the food to cook.

Smells of seasoning began to fill the room, and the sunlight combined with the smells and heat soon lulled Willow to sleep. A couple horsed reared outside causing quit a commotion, startling her from her sleep. She jumped up and headed to the window, and only saw the horses. What had frightened them? The house was momentarily covered in darkness, as if clouds covered the sun. She glanced up, but saw nothing. The potatoes began to boil over, so she pulled the pot off the stove, cursing as she accidentally burned her finger.

As she sucked on her finger, willing the burning feeling to subside, Willow stepped out the door. "If those boys are scaring the horses again...," she muttered under her breath.

Slight dust kicked up as her skirt swept across the ground to the corral. Nothing. Maybe he hadn't been at the corral after all. The horses reared again as a shadow came over them. Looking up she saw....

Eyes widening, terror overcame Willow and she screamed. The dragon overhead turned back around and looked down at her as she ran back to the house. The winged creature continued to fly, not stopping, until he was far from the house. Willow tore through the door, running to a corner of the room. Where was her family? How could she find them? If she went outside and they came home, how would they find her? Willow cried with fright and confusion, praying in her heart that her family would return home soon, safe and sound.

[piosenniel]

Child of the 7th Age’s post


Elanor got up from the lunch table and began to clear off the dishes, waving goodbye to her father and Eli as they trudged back towards the fields. Her mother was so busy with the farm and household chores that she had asked her to keep an eye on her younger brother. Elanor had gone out to the garden to pick a bucket of beans for dinner. By the time she returned to the house, her brother Eric was nowhere to be seen. She was only mildly concerned that he was missing from the house. He was probably off with mother in the garden or out in the barn playing with the cat who’d just had a litter of kittens.

Elanor sat down to finish hemming the dress, a task that her mother had asked her to start the evening before. She held up the skirt against the sunlight which was streaming in through the window and took a close look at her line of stitches. She still could not match her mother’s skill with the needle. Some of her own stitches were long, others quite short and a little wiggly. She’d need to work on that some other time. For right now, this would have to do.

Elanor was determined to finish her chores so she could meet her cousin Elian Whitfield and perhaps one of his friends as they had agreed the day before. They planned to hike north about a mile or two to see if there was anything new or different to report now that the Dwarves had carts of ore heading to the west. Rumor had it that the Dwarves had again started doing business with the Elves who dwelled deep within Mirkwood. Elanor had no idea if this was true but she wanted to get a good look at those carts and the Dwarves who were driving them. Someday, she promised, she’d take a great trip all the way to the Lonely Mountain where the Dwarf folk were said to live, with all their grand halls and piles of gold and other rare ores. But, for now, a little hike a mile or so north was all that she could manage. Elanor threw the dress down in a crumpled pile on the table and slipped out the front door, running down the pathway in the direction of their agreed upon meeting point.

*******************


The two teen-agers had trudged along for a half hour or so heading steadily north. Elian told Elanor stories he had heard from his grandfather: how the Dwarves had returned to the mountain some two hundred years before and had dug deep into the tunnels and come up with amazing treasure. Elanor wondered what the treasure would look like. She imagined heaps of gold and mithril sitting in three of four large piles in the middle of the Dwarves’ Great Hall. It might be nice, she reflected, to have a pin or necklace to wear. The two stopped and sat under an overhanging beech tree, drinking from the water bottles they had brought with them. Despite all their hiking, they had not seen a single Dwarf or any carts laden with treasure.

“We’d best get back,” Elanor pressed. “Mother expects me to help with dinner.”

“But we didn’t see any Dwarves!” her cousin objected. “And that’s why we came.”

”Maybe so. But we can always come again any time we want.”

Just as they were about to head south, Elian got up and excitedly pointed towards the hills in front of them. Some distance away and barely visible, there seemed to be a whole herd of Dwarves running to the west as fast as their short legs could take them. Some of them were waving swords, staves, and axes in the air.

“By all Beruthiel’s cats, what’s happening over there?”

Before Elanor could open her mouth to venture an opinion, there was a terrible hissing and whirling noise that came from the air. Instinctively, Elian grabbed for his cousin’s hand and yanked her down into the tall grass and ferns so that they were totally hidden. Coming straight at them, a sinister, twisting figure made its way southward, flying through the air. The creature was gigantic, its color just as golden as all the piles of treasure that Elanor had envisioned in the tales that she'd heard. Elian could glimpse two long fingers of flame that seemed to shoot out from the wyrm’s gaping mouth, leaving trails of ashes and smoke behind. The two children huddled together under the bracken afraid to look up or show their heads above the foliage. When the terrible shadow had finally swept over them, they staggered abruptly to their feet. Elian was shaking and Elanor barely holding back tears. “Our families!” they both cried at once. With that the two friends took off running towards the south.

[piosenniel]

Fallinel's post:

The sun was warm on Rhysdan's shoulders as he clambered among the large rocks, in search of the lost black-and-white ewe and her lamb. He used his staff expertly for balance and leverage, as he leapt from one boulder to the next; he knew from experience that the heavy, clumsy sheep could easily become wedged between rocks, and lacked the sense required to extricate themselves. Rhysdan scanned all the narrow, grassy spaces between the tumbled boulders, yet there was no sign of the ewe and her lamb. It was as if they had disappeared into thin air. He had wanted to bring his son Elian along to help him search for the sheep, but the adventurous boy was off wandering the hills with his cousin. "Probably looking for Dwarves, or treasure, or some such imaginative nonsense, " thought Rhysdan, and smiled.

The ewe and lamb were not the first of Rhysdan's livestock to disappear; no-the old brown ram, and a young cream-colored heifer had also gone missing, without a trace left behind. No tell-tale sightings of circling carrion-birds for a sick or injured animal, either. The last time he had traveled into the Dale market, to sell cream, butter, and sheep's milk cheeses, he had heard disturbing tales of losses on other farms and homesteads, livestock spirited away mysteriously.

Rhysdan had hiked close to one of the towering southern arms of the Lonely Mountain in his search for the lost ewe and her lamb, enjoying the exertion as he moved steadily uphill, in spite of the nagging worries over his livestock. His red-speckled, blue-eyed sheepdog, Hawkweed, accompanied him, trotting to and fro amongst the boulders and patches of high grass, sniffing incessantly for the elusive sheep-scent. Something passed between the sun and the stone-littered field where Rhysdan stood, casting a long dark shadow on the grass, and Hawkweed immediately began barking frantically. That was so unlike the dog, who was usually devoted to his tasks; Rhysdan looked up, and in the bright sky saw something that left him feeling un-nerved, yet fascinated.

No, it can't be-those are only wild tales, meant to frighten children, thought Rhysdan. But there it was, golden-red scales glistening in the sun, long tail lashing from side to side as a rudder, immense leathery wings beating the air powerfully. Rhysdan could see fibers, or perhaps fur and skin trailing from one of the dragon's huge front claws. Hawkweed continued to bark madly, racing around the stones, and jumping on and off the tops of the smaller ones nervously. Rhysdan thought to silence the dog with a command, but then realized that the dragon was paying them little or no heed. Its attention appeared to be focused on the mountain itself, particularly on the southern side. It is looking for a den, just like a fox or wolf , thought the shepherd, who had little knowledge of dragons, but knew much about the wild animals of the area.

Then Rhysdan remembered that Elian and Elanor had decided to go adventuring near the mountain, and surely that golden monster had the vision of a hawk or eagle. Rhysdan called Hawkweed to his side, and began to run back towards his homestead...

[piosenniel]

Nurumaiel's post

The little brown-haired girl sat under the shade of a tree, finding comfort in the fact that there was at last a shady spot to keep her protected from the sun. After a glance to make sure no one was about, she turned her eyes to the tree and placed a tender kiss on its rough bark, murmuring her thanks to it for its gallantry in defending her from the sun. She smiled regretfully up at the sun, spreading her arms as if she were questioning what else she could do, and then fixed her eyes on some little clouds flitting across the sky and dancing together. A rapturous little sigh burst from her and she clasped her two small hands together, her brown eyes shining. If a passerby had looked into those eyes, he would have seen at once that her heart was not in Dale any longer but flying about to dance with those clouds.

Daisy Whitfield had always been a dreamer, and folk had resigned themselves to the fact that she always would be. They had nothing against dreamers, or so they said, but there was something queer about the way her being fled her body to travel in some other realm, and only a sharp word spoken would bring her back to the solid ground again. She was a sensible child and a great help to her mother about the house, but folk felt that the term 'down-to-earth' would not be appropriate for her.

Daisy Whitfield danced with the clouds before pulling herself away to rise to her feet and climb the tree and perch in reality amid its green branches. There, now she felt closer to the sky and more akin to it. She let her brown head rest against the trunk of the tree and once again set about to dancing with the clouds. A soft wind rustled the leaves of the tree and made her long skirt billow out; so absorbed was she in her dreamings that she did not notice her skirt and been blown above her knees and could not pull it down again with maidenly blushes.

Caught up still in her dreamings, she wondered what it would be like to really dance with the clouds, like that large bird with scales was doing now. It had seemed to come from nowhere, but it made the dancing clouds seem more alluring. It was a beautiful thing, she reflected, and it would be interesting to ride on its back. Perhaps she would imagine she was riding on its back. She had never seen a bird so big... nor had she ever seen a bird with scales.

Her face paled, her lips opened in a soundless scream, and her little heart seemed to stop a moment before it resumed to beat: a loud, pounding beat that made her short of breath. She stared in wordless terror at the scaled bird and then a little scream did burst from her. Closing her eyes tightly, she buried her face against the trunk and tried to imagine the creature away. Opening her eyes again, she saw it was still there, and terror possessed her. But her limbs did not go numb, as they did so often in her nightmares. Instead speed was lent to her, and she slid from the tree with remarkable agility. Her eyes widened as she stared at the creature, and she realized again what it was.

The creature was a distance away, but it was growing steadily closer and Daisy could see the gleam of gold that dazzled from its scales when the sun fell upon it. Yet she was not enraptured by this sight. Beautiful, yes, but its beauty was lost to her and she saw it as only terrible. She pulled her skirts up to give her legs more freedom and ran, the tears of terror beginning to flow from her eyes. She had wandered far from home and she was frightened she would not reach the safety of her mother in time. She ran with all her strength, trying to imagine that the creature wasn't winging behind her.

But it was.

Her feet began to drag and her side burned like fire. But she ran still, until she saw her own house up ahead. A painful, breathless sob of relief burst from her and she began to slow a little. And then her feet stopped. She had run nearly a mile without a pause and her trembling little legs collapsed underneath her. Pitifully she crawled to the side of the road and buried herself against the side of the house in the shade of the tree. But it brought her no comfort. A tree could protect her from the sun; it could not protect her against the monster. She buried her face in her little hands and wept in despair.

[piosenniel]

Pippin Pondlily's post:

Esmerelda stood over a cauldron of hot water and stirred with a thick staff her family’s laundry. Cottons and linens in earthy tones would surface and recede at random as they were soaked through in preparation to be soaped down and cleaned. She stopped for a moment to prod at the coals beneath the large iron pot and waited for signs of an orange glow before she resumed her stirring.

This was a wretched day for doing laundry. The sweltering afternoon heat was relentless as it beat down through the feeble shade of an old hickory and Esmerelda was very uncomfortable in her soft brown overdress and itched incessantly underneath the blue sash coiled about her waist.

Finally satisfied with the hot laundry she picked out one of Rhysdan’s shirts and set it hissing into a wide pan of cool water and draped it over the wash board. Securing the gathered ties of her linen chemise above her elbows she went to work soaping and scrubbing the shirt until the water was murky with dirt and grime. As she moved the fabric up and down over the ridges of the board the wooden disc that hung on a chord around her neck repeatedly knocked against the frame until she finally tucked it behind her into the back of her dress’s neckline, the front neckline she preferred for the hot weather being too low.

After four shirts, two of them Rhysdan’s and two of them Elian’s, Esmerelda sought out the water pump to refresh herself and splashed water onto her face and hands and in her mouth. As she was walking back to the cauldron a hot wind picked up and blew dust about the base of the cauldron and made the clothing hanging on the line snap in a frenzy. The hickory tree groaned and shuddered and the leaves rustled frantically. In the street and up across the hills Esmerelda could hear dogs barking and in the paddock outside the barn the horses reared and whinnied. She looked around for some explanation searching the horizons when an immense shadow passed across the fields before her. The woman shielded her eyes and squinted up into the sky. Her heart beat fast in her chest and her mouth opened in shock as she took in the gigantic, red-gold figure that soared overhead.

Esmerelda watched only for a second before quickly dousing the coals beneath the pot and abandoning the rest of her washing. She yanked open the back door of their home.

“Daisy! Daisy, come down here!” she called up the stairs to the bedrooms. There was no answer. “Daisy?” she walked into the kitchen and dining room area. The wind was ripping through the open window and whistling through the gaps in the boards. It had already blown the flowers from table onto the floor and the hanging herbs and roots were parallel to the ground and spinning, straining against their strings. “Daisy!” Esmerelda shouted again. When it was clear that her daughter was not in the house, the tall woman ran out the front door into the street. She cupped her hands about her mouth and called, “Daisy!” There was still no answer and her voice had to fight the wind to be heard. Her eyes searched about her frantically, up and down the street but there was no sign of her daughter. Then she rounded the house and nearly stumbled upon her.

“Mother!” the little girl cried, leaping up from her huddled position alongside the house. She wrapped her arms tightly around her mother’s neck and buried her face into her shoulder. Esmerelda held her daughter tightly, whispered soothingly into her ear and ran her fingers through her hair. “It’s alright darling, I’m here, shh, it’s alright.” She went around again to the front of the house and stepped up onto the small porch ducking again into the doorway. Holding still to her daughter she crossed the living room into the kitchen and peered out the window. The dragon had flown to the edge of the town and was just out of sight. Then she glanced across the fields to the hills where her husband was tending the sheep. There was no way to reach him, undoubtedly he’d seen the beast. Suddenly she thought of Elian. Out for the day with his cousin, probably a mile north!

“Mummy, I’m scared,” whispered Daisy, her frightened body tense and salty tears hot against her mother’s cheek and neck. Esmerelda patted her back tenderly.

“It’s alright,” she said calmly, “we’re going to wait here for Daddy and Elian for a little while longer and then we’ll go over to see Uncle Arinn and Aunt Willow, alright?” Daisy nodded, her face still muffled in Esmerelda’s shoulder. “You’re a very brave girl,” she whispered, “it will be alright.” If Elian wasn’t back soon, she would take Daisy over to the Millwinds’ and go out to find him. She looked up again into the sky, the dragon was headed back their way…