The Yule Log RPG

[littlemanpoet]

Wenda roused herself and struggled out of the straw filled bedding. She threw her furs over her agile girth, her boots on her feet, and went out to her reindeer, making sure of their care before seeing to her own. Then she went inside.

As she came inside, she overheard the old crone whose tale she'd listened to eagerly. "Go on now, lad. Eat your breakfast. And give Old Goody a tale."

She was speaking to one of the three halflings, the first for his first breakfast, seemingly.

"Aye!" said Wenda. "I'd like to hear a good tale from a halfling after the dire whisperings I've heard before I got here. Then if you like I'll give you a taste of what I've heard."

This far to the north, the sun came close to never rising for weeks at a time each year. Those were chilling times to soul as much as bone, and Wenda had heard enough to chill her own soul for three winters running back to back, 'may whatever gods that oversee such things ne'er let such come' she said to herself.

Wenda sat nigh to the pair but at a different table, not wanting to go where she'd not been invited. The yule log's fire was heating her well enough where she sat.

[Arry]

‘Go ahead, m’am,’ Willem said, looking over to where Wenda had sat down. ‘Go ahead and tell us your news.’ He looked at the generous helping of breakfast Goody had given him. ‘I think I’ll be busy with this for a while. And besides, I don’t know too many real tales. A poem or two and some things my granda told me. I can always tell you one later . . . if that’s all right with you Granny.’

He stood up from his chair and pulled one out for Wenda. ‘Would you like to sit with us, m’am?’ he asked. ‘Easier to talk if you’re sitting nearer.’ He looked at Goody, but she had gone back to poking at the fire, her cup of coffee forgotten on the table.

Willem sat back down, figuring Wenda would come to sit if she wished. His eyes took in the feast before him; he hardly knew where to begin. He picked up the spoon Goody had passed over to him, and began shoveling up the eggs. Halfway through he broke one of the buns in two and used it as a scoop so that not a morsel was wasted. The sausages came next, stuffed in a second bun, and after them the savory scoop of gut pudding. Willem took a deep breath once the last bite was swallowed and pushed himself back from the table.

‘Sorry,’ he said, pushing the plate away from him. ‘I just don’t think I can squeeze in even one piece of that cheese.’ He pursed his lips as if reconsidering. ‘Well, not right now, at least,’ he said, pulling the plate back toward him. He picked up the last bun and stuffed it with the cheese. ‘I’ll just save it for later.’

[littlemanpoet]

Wenda thanked Willem for his offer, and joined him and Goody at table. She smiled to herself as Willem battled with himself over the last morsel of cheese.

"You're wanting to hear news?" she asked. Encouraged by her two table mates, Wenda went on. "It's best such tales as I have to tell, be told while the sun's on the snow."

Carr Dagnysson came up and placed a hot mug of mulled cider on the table before Wenda. She thanked him well for it, and asked after some eggs and bread and rashers of hogflesh.

"I've no coin, as you might suspect, but I've furs that might serve in their stead, if you take my meaning, Master Dagnysson." Carr tipped his head, considering, and told her he'd talk business later.

If he'd rather have me earn my keep by scullery or some such, so be it as long as I've a roof over my head and walls to keep the unwights out, she said to herself. The howling wind made the walls moan and crack, and Wenda suppressed a shiver.

"I go far north of here where the sun shines not for days and days uncounted, where I get me the white fur from bears, seals, and hares, or the harsh matting of the big tusker. Nay, I never have brought one down alone. I follow the wolf packs and scare them from their kill long enough to cut away the fur. They like it not and threaten my hide or that of my deers often enough, but they like not the taste of my spear and arrows and keep their distance.

"Anyway, it came on dusk and I was still working the skin off a tusker, when the growling of the wolves changed to whimpers of fear and they slunk away. What, I ask myself, might put fear into the wolves more than me? I looked around thinking I might find a hungry bear or worse."

Wenda stopped to take a sip from her mulled cider.

"Worse it was, and the hairs on my neck hackled. It was there and it wasn't, this shadow, as if it was made of the dusk and the wind. No troll nor warg nor orc was this, and I thought I was dead or soon to be. I ran, leaving the skin uncut, pulling my deers along with me. Once I got me under some firs, I looked back. The shadow had settle itself over the felled beast. And I saw it rise, a fell light in its eyes, its skin hanging off it where I'd cut, and it started walking toward me. I fled."

Wenda broke off and looked at the door, as if making sure it was closed, as she sipped more of her cider.

"When did this happen?" asked Willem.

"Four nights back," Wenda replied. "To this place I fled, straight. May it keep fell beasts without."

[Koobdooga]

Egil’s ears pricked up as Wenda spoke. The Dwarf’s brow furrowed at her tale of a shadow and fell beasts. ‘Did it follow you, lass?’ he asked, drawing near to the table so as to hear the last of her words. ‘And the shadow you spoke of, could you tell if it followed after? And how far?’

‘Sorry to listen in,’ he said to the three at the table. ‘But I’m traveling further north once the snow lets up a little. There’s a small settlement of men just north of the withered heath I’ve some business with. Were you near there or passed through at all?’

[Nerindel]

Arato and Maranwe now sat at the small table she had first pointed out on their arrival, it was close enough to the fire to share in it’s warmth and glow, but not yet close enough that it’s heat would fuel their weariness and bring them to sleep too soon. While it was true that they had not slept that night, neither looked for rest, both accustomed to rationing sleep as was their need in the paths they each chose to tread. Besides they had only just arrived and it would be rude to not sit awhile, they had both reasoned silently. As luck had had it they had arrived just as breakfast had begun being served. Once introduced to the Innkeeper, Carr Dagnysson and the procurement of bed and board agreed upon and coin exchanged, the innkeeper had seen to it that both the breakfast and mead requested was brought to them.

As he ate Arato listened to Mara, (he oft shortened her name thinking it less elvish than the full name given her) as she describe how dark things had been said to have taken up residence in the woodlands of her adoptive parents homelands, explaining that that was where she had been for the past several months. She off course had no need to explain herself to anyone least of all him, but he let her continue regardless, understanding that she sometimes needed to talk things through to either sort them out in her own head or to get another’s fresh objective.

“And did you find anything interesting?” he asked casually, before removing another mouthful of fluffy, yellow eggs from his fork.

“No, not at first ,” she answered after swallowing a morsel of her own breakfast, “the usual, dangers of the woods off course, Wild bears and other forest dwellers, a bandit or two chancing their luck on the forest road, but nothing to cause any undue alarm. In fact I was all for giving up and turning back when I noticed the branches of the trees above my head shaking,”

“Not Just the wind then?” Ataro asked nonchalantly, waving his fork before him as he spoke.

“No the Autumn winds blew northwards yet the branches above my head pulled south, Strange I thought to myself.”

“Strange, indeed.” Ataro replied, his fork forgotten halfway to his mouth and his left brow raised in contemplation, his interest now truly captured as he waited for Mara to continue.

“So I followed the pull and as I walked I became aware in the fading light that several of the trees where connected by a fine thread of some sort and the further south I went the more of this fine thread was to be found. But not just stretched from tree to tree no it was woven,”

“Like spider webs?” Arato interrupted astounded at what she was implying.

“Yes and that is exactly what they were and as soon as I realised it I was most anxious to get myself and the two elven hunters with me out of there. That’s when we heard it, the clicking a horrible sound never before heard in the greenwood. It sent chills down my very spine and as we executed a hasty retreat I could feel the pull of many hungry eyes watching our every move, it was too much for one of my companions and he ran blindly forwards into one of the webs…” Pausing for a moment to wet her lips and a tightness in her throat with the mead in her tankard, Arato noted a light of sadness in her eyes.

“Did you manage to free him?” he asked quietly as she again set down her Tankard.

“I did,” she nodded. “But not without cost, as I hacked at the sticky threads that held him fast I set my other companion to keep watch for the thing that followed…no hunted us. The clicking sound grew louder and louder as I worked hastily to loosen the hunter from his sticky prison, but as he finally fell free it all went quiet not a natural silence mind you but the deathly sort. ‘Do you think it’s gone’ the freed hunter ask me, but before I could answer a scream from the direction of other hunter who I had sent to watch gave us our answer. We both ran to his aid, but there was no trace of him, he was simply gone. We searched for hours but found nothing but half eaten animal carcasses and bones, some of them not only animals which stole what little hope we had. As the clicking sounds return it became too dangerous to stay so we were forced to leave and report what we had found to the elven king.”

Arato did not miss her sigh at the mention of the elven king, “let me guess !” he sighed shaking his head, “ the danger was too far south to be of concern to the elves and that he would warn his people not wander so far south and he would set patrols to watch the borders!” With an aspirated sigh she nodded that his assumptions were corrected and braced herself for another rebuke from the seasoned warrior about how elves thought of none but themselves, but she knew this was not true, they had their reasons for closing themselves off, just as Arato himself did from time to time. However no rebuke came and they finished off their breakfast in silence, listening only to the crackle of the yule log as it burned and the sound of low voices around them.

His hunger sated and his thirst quenched Arato took out a long wooden pipe and a small leather pouch and proceeded to pack the bowl with a dark brown weed, that smelled particularly earthy as he lit it, he puffed gently and blew out a thin line of white smoke that curled about his head for a moment before floating up towards the rafters. Leaning back in his chair and wondering if anyone would noticed if he closed his eyes for only a moment, he began to hear snippets of the conversation going on at the table next to them.

"Worse it was, and the hairs on my neck hackled. It was there and it wasn't, this shadow, as if it was made of the dusk and the wind. No troll nor warg nor orc was this, and I thought I was dead or soon to be. I ran, leaving the skin uncut, pulling my deers along with me. Once I got me under some firs, I looked back. The shadow had settle itself over the felled beast. And I saw it rise, a fell light in its eyes, its skin hanging off it where I'd cut, and it started walking toward me. I fled."

At this Arato was suddenly aroused from his relaxed stooper and pulling the pipe from between his teeth he quite suddenly reached across the table to pull Maranwe forwards. “ouch!” she gasped as the needle she had taken out to mend a pair of torn breeches pricked her finger.

“Avathar!” he whispered his eyes widening, ignoring her scowl as she put down both the needle and breeches and sucked on her now bleeding thumb.

“Avathar!” she whispered back surprised, taking her thumb from her mouth.

“Yes, Avathar” he repeated looking back at the table behind him.

Maranwe frowned not quite understanding, “There is no Avathar here?” she whispered.

“No ,off course not” Arato replied turning back as he realised that she could not have possibly heard what the young woman had said.

“The young woman at the table behind me, claims to have seen one!” he whispered he eyes narrowing in contemplation of what this could mean, if anything at all.

“Are you sure Arato that is not simply another fireside tale told to make the fire of the yule log seem more inviting and preferable to the cold dark shadows of these long nights?” Maranwe smiled affectionately.

“Perhaps” Arato shrugged, now feeling a little silly for assuming the strangers words to be truth. “But isn’t it true also that many stories are built from truths?” he grinned back unable to entirely admit defeat.

Realising now that Arato would not be satisfied until he learned if there was any truth in this matter, she conceded, packing away her needle and thread into a small leather pouch that hung from her waist and folding the half mended breeches into her pack, she rose.

“Well do you want to learn the truth of this matter or not?” she grinned at the sudden surprised look on her companions face, then grinning back he too rose. But as they turned to ask weather the table would mind if they joined them they where beaten to it by a rather unsettled Dwarf, enquiring as to weather the young woman had been followed by her shadow!

Maranwe almost laughed as the thought of the young woman being chased by her own shadow suddenly popped into her mind, but she bit it back as Arato glared at her smugly, as if to say, see I’m not the only one to hear what I heard said and take it as truth.

“Excuse us we are sorry to interrupt but my friend Arato here was intrigued by your little tale and wondered if we might join you?” Maranwe enquired politely of the small group.

“Intrigued!” the hobbit at the table replied eyeing Arato with astonishment, his gaze lingering briefly on the scared face. But Arato simply smiled giving the hobbit a short courteous nod of his head.

“Off course you are welcome to join us,” the older woman replied to their request, gesturing to Arato that he might wish to pull up the other table to accommodate their increase in numbers. Which he did with little effort or trouble.

Once they were all seated the dwarf again asked the young woman if she had been followed. Maranwe sat back in her chair waiting to hear how this story would unfold, but from the look in the young skinners eyes Arato had already decided that this was no mere tale and he was as interested as the dwarf to learn if it had followed her out of the north, but for entirely different reasons.

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Let go of him, you brute. That's my friend. What have you done? Let go, I say."

In a single instant, before the owl or any of the more senior creatures could properly respond to the tall figure in the sweeping robes, a sparrow had fluttered into the middle of the circle and landed on Mori's left shoulder. The tiny creature squawked his indignation and began pecking at whatever lay hidden under the folds of the robe. The sparrow seemed singularly intent on rescuing his young friend from what he perceived as certain doom.

"Enough! Enough!" blustered the Owl. "We have distinguished guests, and this is the way you treat them?" He glared over at the sparrow, until the little bird cowered, trembling under the stern gaze. Then the Owl continued in a gentler voice, "Your friend is fine. He will wake soon enough. He has had a drop too much from the cask."

The Owl hooted out an order or two, and four mice scurried over from the edge of the courtyard, carrying soft grass and leaves in their mouths, piling these on top of a rocky crag to make a snug nest for the sleeping wren. "He will be fine there for a moment," the Owl explained, as Mori deposited the bird in the tiny bed. "and you, sparrow, may keep an eye on him."

The Owl waited for the tall figure to rise from the ground, and then turned towards him, nodding his head in a respectful manner. "You speak the old tongue." Owl noted with surprize. "I do not believe we have ever met but I have heard tales of men from ages past who possessed great power and knowledge. Perhaps you and your friends belong to such an order? My cousin Archimedes was privy to one who was clad in brown robes. This two-legged often spoke with the creatures of the woodlands and the plains. He seemed to know all their ways and tongues. It was quite extraordinary. And, oh, the stories he could tell..... 'Twas enough to warm the heart even on the coldest night."

Owl sighed and hung his head. Then he stared over at Mori and mumbled under his breath, speaking as much to himself as the two visitors, "Perhaps you would be willing.... Yes, that is a fine idea, though I shouldn't impose. Still, it seems a pity to pass up such a chance without at least asking....."

Raising his head again, the Owl now addressed Mori directly, "You wouldn't happen to know any stories now? Perhaps a tale or two that would be good for a day such as this when the shadows hang long over the earth?"

There were sounds of approval from every corner of the courtyard as birds and beasts, sometimes at odds with one another, but now nestled close together to share the warmth of their bodies, were hoping to hear a tale.

[Envinyatar]

‘He speaks of the one the Lady sent,’ Stamo whispered to his companion. ‘I wonder if any of the others have been seen by them? It would be good to know how they fare . . .’ He fell quiet as Mori cleared his throat, cutting off that line of thought.

‘Come,’ Mori said, inviting Stamo to sit down beside him. ‘Let’s hunker down closer to the embers with these new friends of ours.’ Two large rounds from the old oak that had been cut for firewood were pushed over by the bear. ‘Your chairs,’ he growled. He gave the two men a toothy smile and sat down quite near them. He loved stories, of any kind, and would often let an unfortunate animal or bird escape his sharp-nailed paws if they offered up a story he hadn’t heard before.

Now Stamo loved to gather stories, too. And Mori, when the animals were sitting quietly, nodded at him to begin.

‘We’ve come from lands far east of here,’ Stamo began. ‘And there the men still tell stories of the animals and their ways. And many of the tales, they assure me, are true ones from the long-ago time . . . when men and animals still spoke freely with each other.’ He settled in comfortably and leaned forward, his gaze sweeping the audience. ‘Now here is one about a foolish hunter and the mouse who undid his foolish deed.’

There were squeaks and chatterings from the four mice who had brought straw for the wren’s little nest. They pushed to the front of the group and sat huddled together; their bright black eyes fixed on the storyteller.

There was once a large village full of very clever people. One day, one of the men, a clever hunter, told his family that he was going out to set some snares. And so he did – working late into the evening to set them all. It was dark, dark night when he returned to his tent. He filled his belly with hot gruel and buttered tea and went off to his bed. Pulling the thick furs over him for warmth he dropped deep into dreaming, smiling in his sleep at all the animals he would find in his traps. ‘Food and furs,’ he could be heard to murmur from his greedy dreams.

The next day, it was time for daylight but no daylight came. The village people knew something was wrong. The sun did not come up. It stayed dark. The clever hunter who had set snares the day before shrugged his shoulders at the dark and said, "I will go and look for my snares anyway. Maybe I got something in my snares." So, he set out in the dark.

When he came to one of his snares, he said to himself, "Yes, I did get something in my snare!" He saw that he had caught the sun in his snare! Now, how could he free the sun? It was too hot to go cut the snare where the sun was caught, so the hunter went back to the village people.

"What happened," he said to them," is that I caught the sun in my snare. That is why the sun cannot come up."

The villagers called a meeting, and everyone was asked to come. Even the animals and birds were called to the meeting. Everyone was told that someone had to go and free the sun.

Well, there was one particular mouse who was there. And this mouse was a very big mouse. He was the biggest animal of all those gathered . . .

‘Yes, even bigger than you,’ Mori answered, as the bear looked up with a frown on his face.

. . . And, anyway, this mouse was asked if he was willing to free the sun. He also had very, very sharp teeth, you see, and he would have to chew the snare wire to free the sun.

"Okay," said the big mouse, "I will go and free the sun." So, he went. He came to the snare where the sun was caught. He started to chew the snare wire. Even though he was burning, he did not give up. He just kept on chewing at the tough tether until the sun was free. He worked so hard and so quickly, he was able to cut through the snare wire before he was all burned up.

Finally, the sun was free. It rose up into the sky and it was daylight again.

The tiny mouse we see today . . .

Stamo picked up one of the little creatures and held him up in the palm of his hand.

. . . it is the mouse that freed the sun from the snare. He was a big, big mouse then. That is how much he burned from before he was able to free the sun. Now he is the smallest animal there is. And the rainbow that we see, so they tell me . . . that was the snare that caught the sun.

[littlemanpoet]

‘Did it follow you, lass?’ asked a Dwarf, drawing near to the table so as to hear the last of her words. ‘And the shadow you spoke of, could you tell if it followed after? And how far?’ He harumphed, suddenly aware of his forwardness and said, ‘Sorry to listen in, but I’m traveling further north once the snow lets up a little. There’s a small settlement of men just north of the withered heath I’ve some business with. Were you near there or passed through at all?’

'I was farther north,' Wenda said. 'Rófa and Réda are nimble pulling my sled. But yes, it did follow after. All the night I felt more than heard the unwight behind me. I tarried not but pushed on through dawn and well into day, and only when the sun was high almost to noon did I begin to feel as if I had outrun it. But the next night I could feel it again, though it seemed to be farther away. I felt its following last two nights ago.

'I fear it may have left its tusker corpse behind and chosen a human, for from a settlement I had passed late in the day, came toward dusk shivering screams to wake the --' her voice trailed off, unwilling she was to finish the thought. She looked up at the Dwarf's face. 'I hope that settlement was not the one you seek.'

[Koobdooga]

'Berrick Andrail, at your service.’

The voice was loud to his left, diverting his attention for the moment from his concerns.

Wenda had answered his questions as she could. Thanking her, Egil tucked away what he had gleaned from her news. He would have to think hard on his intention to head north to the village above the withered heath. If her words be true, and he thought they were from the fear he’d read in her eyes, then perhaps the village would no longer be there at all.

He shrugged off his dark thoughts for the moment. He was seeming safe here, in the Green Man, he reasoned. Its strong walls and bright fire would keep back those beasts, that being, he hoped, that Wenda had spoken of. That and the presence of a number of stalwart warriors it seemed were gathered for the while here.

‘Egil Glitterfist,’ he said, nodding to the man who had greeted him. He scooted over on the bench on which he sat. ‘There’s room, here. Come, sit down.’ He was amused that the man had stuck his hand out at him; it was not Dwarven custom to do so. But being a trader among a number of different races, Egil wiped his own hand quickly on the thigh of his breeches and offered it in turn to Berrick.

‘Pleased to meet you, Master Andrail! What business brings you to The Green Man, if you don’t mind my asking?’

[Envinyatar]

The two men stood up at the appearance of the cats. Stamo scooped up the cowering mice and put them in an inner pocket of his cape. The little wren followed soon after, taking his place in yet another compartment. Mori stepped forward as the other birds took flight, seeking perches beyond the reach of the three felines.

‘What brings you to the inn, Master . . . Cat?’ Mori asked, his gaze fixing on the large white feline. The others were tough looking brutes, but this one, he thought to himself was the thinker of the trio; the others his muscle. Though, looking at the size of him, he would hardly need such furred cronies to stand up for him. ‘We’re here enjoying the warmth of these embers and sharing a tale or two to pass the Yule. Did you and your . . . companions come to spin a story for us?’

Behind Mori, and a little to his right, Stamo stood artlessly alert, his staff gripped lightly in his left hand