The Yule Log RPG

[Arry]

‘What’s that she said?’ whispered Madoc turning round to where the old woman had disappeared into the shadows. ‘Something hungry? And coming this way?’ He frowned and cocked his head toward the nearest shuttered window. ‘Can’t hear a thing, save for the wind and the snow as it mashes against the wooden siding.’

‘Well I heard something moaning when she was talking.’ Willem’s eyes grew wide as he spoke. ‘Reminded me of something.’ He let the images form from the old stories that he’d heard. ‘You know how granda used to tell those tales his granda used to tell him? The one about where he and his brother lost a nanny from their herd, is what I’m thinking of. T’ the west there . . . where the Grey Mountains touch the forest. They hunted high and low among the mountain ash and the firs. There were things in there, granda said, that walked among the trees. Like shepherds to them as we be to our goats.’ He took a sip from his cup and went on. ‘Granda said they were careful to keep out of sight and out of the way of those creatures. Not that they looked fierce or mean or such. But so concerned with their flock were they, that it seemed they would have no regret or the slightest reluctance about trampling right over you if you got in their way. And anyway what I was trying to say was that he said they had a booming kind of voice and a sort of echoing moan when calling to their trees.’

‘It’s just the wind as has you spooked,’ said Andwise. ‘You know we’ve been on those slopes many a time, and seen no such creatures as granda spoke of. The trees were all rooted nicely on the mountainside, ash and fir alike. And not a bit of calling passed among them as I remember.’ He chuckled as he raised his mug to Willem. ‘Now, not saying granda’s tetched or such, but mayhap the cider he’d brought for his lunch had turned hard. And its spirits set him daydreaming.’

Willem eyed Andwise and snorted. ‘If granda said it happened that way, then that’s the way it was!’ Madoc shrugged, not wanting to choose sides and went back to considering his cup of wassail.

‘Granny!’ Willem turned round in his chair and leaned forward to where Old Goody sat. ‘Begging your pardon, Granny . . . but about that Green Man fellow. I know you said he’d given his limb for the Yule fire, but you don’t suppose he’s reconsidered the giving, has he? And come to take it back . . . ?

[littlemanpoet]

The sun was well past setting. Out of the northern woods came a pair of reindeer running side by side, hitched to a sleigh. The sleigh was piled high with skins, tied together with sinew-string, into sacks holding rumpled and unknown contents. A rider sat amongst it all. The runners, of tree rind, shaped under knife, cured and oiled with care, made new tracks in the deepening snow.

The Green Man Free House came within sight. Bright it was against the dark of night, its windows like eyes looking cheerily.

The sleigh slowed before the House. The rider jumped from the sleigh, flinging the reins over the reindeer horns, wrapping them to post, pulling out two feed sacks, tying them to so that the animals could feed or not, and munch snow if they wished for their water. The rider tied down all that was needed to stay on the sleigh, and pulled off one sack from it and slung it to shoulder, trudging to the front door.

Not over tall was the rider, the leather footwear home-made, not very large. The hooded figure's face was hid as opened was the door and light of warming fire shown on the sack bearer. A work roughened hand was revealed as fur lined gloves were removed, and the large hood was pushed back to reveal a face fair and beardless, hair yellow as summer grain and a braided ponytail thick as a dozen year sapling. The jaw was strong, the cheekbones high, the brow broad though fair.

"Where's the welcome for Wenda?" she said with a smile as she stamped the snow from her leathern boots and slung the sack from her back.

[Undómë]

Goody roused herself from her ale-tinged ruminations. There in some less fuddled corner of her mind was a voice, a question. ‘Granny!’ now who would call that out to her, she wondered. The only seeds she’d sown and nurtured had been those herbs she’d grown for simples. No get from her barren belly e’er got babes of their own.

‘Begging your pardon, Granny . . .’

Her eye focused on the halfling’s face as she recalled his question. ‘The Green Man? Take back his gifting?’ she cackled loudly at the thought. ‘Nay, nay, my little friend.’ Her gaze shifted round the room, peering into the shadows. ‘But that’s not to say there’s not others would douse the light and swallow us whole.’

She pushed back some straying strings of hair and tucked them loosely behind her ear. ‘Something’s moving in the darkness. Best poke up the fire, good sir, and drive it back.’

She laughed again a phlegmy undertone rattling against any merriness she’d intended. Goody held out her cup to Willem. ‘Granny’s throat is dry lad. Fill my cup to keep it wet, and I’ll tell you a story ‘bout those creatures your grandfather spoke of . . . the ones as watched over the trees.’

[Bêthberry]

Carr Daynysson trundled into the large hall that led out from the kitchen and nearly stumbled into the furry bundle that was Wenda. "Of course, ya wench, there's great welcome. Come and warm yourself with the likes of the folk here who be willing to tell the tales to keep the log burning."

The two marched past the great fireplace where the Yule Log was burning. Wenda betook herself to a chair beside the two tall men while Carr carried a huge, steaming urn which he placed upon the table, while behind him hurried a young lad of maybe ten or twelve year, who balanced a large tray filled with mugs of various shapes and sizes. The boy was small but wiry, large dark eyes wide with excitement at being allowed up this night with the adults. His ears had heard every comment, comments which Carr had not always heard, given his deaf ear, and so the lad had proudly informed the Innkeeper that his attention was wanting.

"Tankee, Birger, you're a handy spare ear or twa," observed Carr as he opened the spiggott of the urn to fill mugs all round. He handed two to the men identified as Mori and Stamo. "Your coin is good for several more," he announced, "and more particularly your apparent curiousity in the Green Man."

Mori raised an eye at the Innkeeper and helped himself to some of the warm brew to chase the cold away from his belly. Carr handed a mug to Wenda, refilled the halflings' mugs, and peered into Goody's mug. He eyed her sombrely and then refilled it.

"There's strange knockin's and noises outside. Best get on wit' your tale, Goody."

And with that he poured the lad a small mug and himself a tall one.

[Koobdooga]

Koobdooga's post -- Egil

Egil raised a hand in welcome when Wenda entered. His deepset eyes glittered in appraisal of the sack she’d slung to the floor. One hand slid down to pat the sack couched beside his chair.

The Glitterfist Hall had been busy these past few months. Beneath the western tip of the Iron Hills their forges had belched out great clouds of smoke and their hammers had rung out against the metals used in the making of fabulous toys. Set with glittering gems in the whorls of enameled color and the cleverest of mechanisms, the bright creations would whirr and twirl and move about at the turn of a key. They were much prized by the men of this northern area. And those who could make the trading price bought them to be handed down to their children and to their children’s children.

Already, Egil had delivered a small creation, egg-shaped and golden, to the mayor of the town. Set with rubies about its middle, it twirled slowly at the key’s turning on its red enameled base, blossoming open like a flower to reveal the tiny figure of a huntsman all in gold as he gave the death blow to a great, tusked boar with his stout stave.

The Dwarf chuckled to himself, recalling how proud the mayor was of the kill last year, and wanted something to recall it to mind for his future generations. His good-wife, on the other hand, was desirous of something pretty. And as their purse would not stretch to cover two toys, a compromise had been struck.

He pulled his chair nearer to the great fireplace as the others gathered about the steaming urn, stowing his sack carefully out of the way beneath it. Taking the offered mug, he raised it to Goody, and gave her an encouraging nod. ‘Go on then, Gran,’ he said. ‘Tell us your story from the days gone by.’

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Undómë’s post -- Old Goody's tale

Well, then, this is how it was told to me by my Gran, and she got it from hers, and hers before her, and back to that first daughter who spoke the tale. And so it must be true . . .

She saw from the corner of her eye how the Halfling who’d spoken of his granda’s story nodded his head, ‘yes’, at her words.

When the world was young, great stands of trees covered much of it. Beeches and poplar, ash and oak, and the evergreen firs and pines that thrive here in this cold land. And many, many more of their cousins, short and tall; fat and thin.

Beneath the trees and in the glades between the stands, the forest floors were covered with a riot of flowers and tangles of bushes bearing berries or flowers themselves. We two-legged creatures had not walked much in the vastness of these forests; it was the birds and beasts who made the trees and underbrush their home.

Now far, far into the west, it was said, there is a great Lady who loves the growing of things. Large and small, they are all her province, it is said. And some say, though Her lips had not the telling of it, that she sent creatures of her own design to care for her forests and her gardens.

Great, tall beings. Brown limbed and lithe; clad in green and grey bark; their chins covered with twiggy, bushy beards. Dark brown eyes they had, deep wells of brown shot with a green light. They keep off strangers and the foolhardy. They train and teach and walk and weed. Herders of the trees; wanderers in the mountains and the valleys and the plains where the trees grow. They keep them safe, as they can. Still do, though it’s said the number of their kind grows less.

She looked at the Dwarf and then round the others in the room.

‘Woe to the one who takes axe or fire to Tree-walkers’ flock. He might find himself snatched up by long brown fingers and the air squeezed out of him, til his eyes pop and heart goes still. Or crushed under a great seven-toed foot, down down into the ground. For the worms and such to feed on.

She cackled at the expressions on her listeners’ faces. ‘We should all be grateful as the Green Man has gifted us this tree,’ she said, throwing another piece of holly into the heart of the blaze.

Her gaze drifted to the glowing embers beneath the flames.

‘I saw’un once,’ she murmured low. ‘Oh, not the great tall walkers. A pretty little thing, she was. Cheeks as red and full as any apple as ever grew. Soft, white flowers in her silky yellow hair. It was early of a morning, at my granny’s hut. Late spring, too. With the dog-tooth violets just coming into bloom beneath the apple tree at the edge of the herb garden. Milking the nanny is what I was about. And I saw her, with my two good eyes back then, as I started for the goat shed. She was humming to herself. And first I thought there was bees about. But it was her. A pleased sort of humming. And she bent right over the edge of my gran’s garden and ran her long, thin fingers through the plants as were just bushing out. She looked up and caught me looking right at her and trying to be still as ever I could. Quick as a wink she took herself off.

‘Well, you can bet I took myself off, too, ran fast as my short legs’d carry me to tell gran what I’d seen. She weren’t surprised in the least. Just said I’d seen her ‘visitor’. Like it was the most everyday thing as could happen. “She likes my garden,” gran told me. “Comes to weed it when she can. And she stirs the plants.”

‘ “Stirs the plants?” I asked.

‘ “Wakes ‘em up a bit. Sorts ‘em out and tell’s ‘em what they need to know to grow to suit her. Has her own ideas about such things. Most particular.”

‘Anyways, at was all she’d say about it. And I never saw the pretty little lady again. Still . . . always tried to keep my herbs all in order and growing good in my own garden. Just in case, you know . . .’

Old Goody’s voice trailed off, and she seemed to fall in on herself once again. The Yule log crackled and popped, an ember flying out onto the hearth. She roused herself enough to shoo it back in where it belonged.

[piosenniel]

The stubby tailed, brown mouse of a bird, a winter’s wren, flitted from branch to gate post to eave of the ramshackle shed, finally coming to rest on the rim of the old oak bucket that sat by the smoldering trash heap. He ruffled his feathers, fluffing out against the cold night and hopped from foot to foot. Across the smoldering heap he could see the other birds and beasts who’d come to claim their place by the small fire’s warmth for the night.

His bright black eyes took in the gathering and a rich, fife-like piping rose from his throat, trilling up with the rising smoke. He was glad to be here, though uncertain what had brought him from his nest in the rotted log near the stream. Something had called him, he was sure of it; lifted him from the dark night’s torpor as he snuggled warmly in his nest of leaves and twigs and bits of fluff got from the summer’s cattails. Something . . .

Flitting the short way to the ground, he ran mouselike toward the edge of the mound where the embers burned the brightest. ‘Look!’ he cried. The sound of his voice caught in a semblance of words surprised him. An otter lifted his sleek-furred head and grinned at him, as if he understood.

‘Look!’ he went on, his left wing pointing to the pulsing heart of the coals. ‘There are pictures moving in the fire.’

[Bêthberry]

The first night passed without incident, all yet merry with the thoughts of the festivities. Most of the guests stayed up to hear Goody's tale and were rewarded with more than a quiver down their spine. Yet, as the night drew on, most slowly wended their way towards their rooms, which the Innkeeper had warmed with hot stones in their beds. Goody and a few others remained to keep the Yule Log burning but Carr had been among those who sought sleep. Time enough later he decided to sit with the tellers.

And so the morn brought work, clearing out the kitchen fires and rekindling them, helping Cook prepare the breads and stews and pies by bringing up supplies from the larder, no easy task given his leg. Each year at this time it ached and he remembered Yules past.

He sprinkled the embers out on the pile where yesterday's rubbage had been burned and noticed the tracks around it, most of which he recognised. Aye! Let all animals take community in these dark nights that welcome a new year. He heard a short, sharp chirp. A wren was it? Carr looked up and saw a snowy owl perched atop the shed. Maybe with these around other creatures more fey would stay away.

With that he returned to the Inn, offerring Goody a heaping plate of breakfast buns and cheeses, some eggs and sausages and gut stuffing, a steaming cup of coffee. A reward of free breakfast for each teller! The first watch had passed and the log burned brightly. Would Good stay to tell more? He couldn't remember how her tale had ended.... sleepy old man that he was.