Seekers of Truth RPG

[piosenniel]

Arien's post

“Thank you,” and with that he dropped three coins on the table. The bar keeper scooped them up and turned to the next customer. He lifted the mug and made his way to the table nearest the wall, it was empty; he couldn’t take talking to someone. He needed to collect his thoughts and see where he was in all this.

“Right,” Braedon muttered to himself, setting down his drink and sitting. He leant back for a minute, nursing his hand. He traced a finger over the bandage; he could see blood trying to seep through from the fresh cut. He would have to change the bandage soon. After this he would return to his room, and then set out to see his father.

He was not in Rohan for long this time, only a couple of day and he wanted to see how his father was coping. He knew he had gotten stubborn in his old age, and kept telling Braedon that there were better things to be done with a Rangers time, but Braedon knew he appreciated it. He also needed to visit a friend, rare he knew, but he hadn’t seen her for over 8 months.

Last time they were both here was when he was investigating the disappearance of a landowner’s daughter. It was said that she had been killed, but no trace of her was found. The search had been abandoned 5 months ago when her parents too disappeared, leaving their land and heading deeper into Rohan.

He drew his attention away from his and fumbled with his necklace, vaguely remembering his mother for a second. He shook his head, and reached out for the mug. A soft breeze dance over him as the door to the inn opened, he sipped from his mug and set it down once again. He looked up to the new entrant, but they were cloaked and he could not see their face.

He continued to watch as he saw that the new arrival was a woman, or was she a girl? He could not tell from here, her back was facing towards him. But she did have auburn hair, curly. A distinct memory sparked in his mind. But Braedon did not pick up on it.

"Excuse me, but what is a good drink to have around here?" she asked. Her soft voice was kind, the bar keeper answered and handed her a drink.

Braedon returned to his drink. When he had finished he headed back to his room. Gingerly he peeled the bandage away from his cut. Stupidity was the cause of his injury, he had gambled with a cheat and in a fight he was left with the wound, but his money too. This just proved why he was such a loner; most weren’t to be trusted. He bathed the cut in a basin filled with a mixture he had put together the previous day. It stung, but not too much.

He bandaged it quickly and headed back to the main bar and took his seat. He looked round for the girl, she had something about her... there she was! She was sitting at the same stool. But she seemed confused; she turned her head towards him. That girl. She looked remarkably like the one who had gone missing. Braedon sat up straight. But it couldn’t be could it? Surely not after this long! Braedon walked for the exit. He was probably mistaken, but he couldn’t help it, as much as he disliked talking to stranger, he was curious.

“Excuse me...” the girl turned startled. “May I ask your name, forgive me but you look like a girl I was searching for a time ago. I would dismiss it, but the resemblance in the description and your self is uncanny.”

The girl paused for a moment, still startled. "Crystal."

Braedon dissmissed it, and nodded to the girl. He walked to the exit and took another look at her. He stood for a moment and shook his head, a mistake it couldn't be her, she was dead was she not?

[piosenniel]

starkat’s post

Anora had been in Rohan visiting clients for her family’s trading business. She was due to begin her return journey home tomorrow. Deciding to make a stop overnight to rest her horse was an easy decision to make. She had just come downstairs and had taken a seat when a cloaked figure entered the inn.

Anora watched as the cloaked figure took a seat on a stool and pulled back her hood. The sight of the young woman’s auburn hair brought back some of Anora’s childhood memories. Anora could remember playing with a young girl with similar colour hair. I wonder what happened to Sandrina. Her body was never found.

Shaking off her reverie, Anora ordered food and took a seat. The young woman thought about her trip to Rohan. After taking care of business, she had spent time visiting family friends. She had sent word to her father that she was preparing to return home, when her horse had become lame. Worried that it might get worse if she continued, Anora had made the decision to stop.

She had been relieved to learn that her horse just needed rest. Anora’s attention was brought back to the present as she watched the auburn-haired woman at the counter. She saw a frown cross the young woman’s face. I hope she is alright. I cannot help shake the feeling that I have seen her before.

When Anora saw the young woman put her head on her hand and then sit upright, it struck a cord in her memory. That’s it! She looks like an older version of Sandrina! I wonder who she is. Anora watched as the young woman turned to look around the room.

[piosenniel]

Pippin Pondlily's post

Haven Storms had one foot on the ground and the other perched on the rod connecting the front two legs of the stool. She half sat on the chair and half leaned on the bar counter, tracing the lip of her mug with her index finger. Her grey eyes were fixed sullenly on the shelves of mugs and tumblers behind the counter as she lamented all the minor troubles of her life that were brought into sharp relief and exaggerated by the excessive amounts of alcohol she had consumed.

The inn was an old one inhabited mostly by people who came out of tendency because here had been the eye of revelry in days past. The walls were dark and mildew filled the cracks and seeped through the grain of the rank wood. The ceiling was so full of smoke that Haven, frankly, could not be sure that one was even there. But what put the wry smile on her face and lured her to sit at the bar and buy a drink here was the fact that the people made like this was a modern, lively inn. They sang, laughed and told stories: some true, some ridiculously false. To put a damper on the patrons' happy spirits would be condemnable, which was precisely why she did.

"How long have you been here?" asked a familiarly dramatic voice. Haven cringed and moved so she sat the whole way on the chair. She cupped the mug in her hands.

"Please, leave me alone, Bryian," she said, her voice cold as stone not out of contempt for him but of what he had come to say. He took the empty seat next to her but did not order a drink.

"Why didn't you come back to the stables?" he asked, sounding sincerely anxious.

Haven sighed, began to answer and stopped. She took a drink. She set the mug on the counter and turned to face him, searching for an appropriate answer. "It wasn't my damn fault that horse died," she said bluntly, "the idiot stable boy should have arranged to get his shoe replaced months ago. It just so happened that I was riding it over that ditch when the nail came loose, the shoe came off, the bloody horse tripped and fell into the gully and broke its neck. What was I supposed to have done about it?!" She was shouting but no one seemed to notice it blending in with the songs and talk.

He inhaled deeply. "Haven, you push far too hard and you're merciless." He held up a hand to prevent her intervention. "I understand your ideas, I know your beliefs, the … code," he accentuated the word 'code', "you live by. It follows a steady line of logic and has its advantages but there's a line, Haven, there's a limit to what we as humans and they as horses can do. If you overstep that line, someone is going to get hurt, like today. Is that something you're just willing to risk?"

She didn't answer. Her face was taught and she clenched her teeth, a passion of fury rising up like a wave inside her, threatening to swell and crash, to swarm over him with an anger he shouldn't have to see.

Bryian put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Haven, Rillis Wheed needs you, please, take care of yourself." He paused when she remained silent. "There is only one thing more tragic than the loss of a horse and that is the loss of a man, or, woman, in your case. What would they do without you?"

"To hell with Rillis Wheed and his bloody horses."

"You don't mean that, Haven."

"I do."

"Come on," Bryian said, standing. "I'll take you back to your house." Haven sat rigid.

"No thanks," she said. Her tranquility was noticeably forced. "I'm going to stay here a little longer." He looked at her openly concerned. "I'll be alright," she assured him. He smiled and leant forward, kissing her on the forehead. She stiffened.

After he left, Haven ordered her fifth mug of Dorwinion wine and moved to a table near the fire. She knew it wasn't her fault. She felt no guilt about the horse's death. That belonged entirely to the stable boy in charge of that row of stalls. She had been taking it around the course in sharp turns and sudden jumps forcing the horse to respond to the lightest touch and obey the smallest command. They were jumping the gully when the shoe came off. She was thrown to the side and her body was jolted against the hard dirt and stone. Haven had had just enough time to roll out of the way as the horse kicked its legs frantically, whinnied in excruciating pain and foamed thick at the mouth. She remembered she had come to her knees and watched in horror and disbelief.

Haven hung her head over the mug. She had been so close. That horse was brilliant, born with the gifts of the Mearas though it was not of their blood. He would have made the king proud and Haven was ready to present him in just under two weeks. It would have been the very turning point of her career. She had tasted the glory of having trained one of the king's horses only for it to be snatched away from her in a manner harsher than she thought she deserved. It certainly wasn't what that horse deserved. She didn't want to know what would happen to the stable boy. In her opinion, there was nothing severe enough for him.

Now what was she going to do? How could she continue to train horses and be hopeful when this had happened? It was too much to think about. She wanted to get away from it all if just for a little while…

As she was thinking, Haven hadn't exactly realized what she had been staring at but now she focused and saw that she was studying another patron in the inn. It was a young woman, a rather beautiful woman with thick, curly auburn hair sitting in a green cloak at the bar. Her expression changed as often as a river. First she was comfortable, secure and in control. Then she began to look confused and her expression grew distant, as though she was lost. Out of nowhere she'd smile or frown. Then suddenly she jolted as if hit by a sudden wind or a shudder of the earth. Her face began to shuffle emotions until suddenly they stopped and her eyes were wide and alert and her whole body was tense and aware. She began to look around the inn, apparently searching for someone.

Haven was completely mystified. What sort of loony was this?

[piosenniel]

Hama of the Riddermark's post

Hama sat alone at his table sipping his ale. He was in a pensive mood, and sat there almost motionless, sometimes the mug rested at his lips for more then a few minutes before he set it ack down, having only taken the smalled gulp from it. He saw the woman walk in, but she was well past him when she took off her hood. The hair looked familiar to Hama, but he shook his head. Sandrina was dead. And Dorian's daughter had run away. No, just a passing resemblance, and anyway, what was hair to go on? He had waited in Gondor for months, before receiving word that Sandrina had been killed. The blow had struck him deeply, because he was a good friend with all the Lighthearts. he had taken to moping around the taverns in Edoras of late, except when any opportunity to attack Dunlendings arose. He sighed and returned the tankard to his mouth, this time taking a larger gulp, some spilled onto his beard, and as he moved to wipe it off the woman turned around and caught his eyesight for the briefest of seconds before she turned around again. Hama was astounded. If it wasn't Sandrina, then someone had been blessed with a daughter that looked so much like her....

Again, Hama pushed the thoughts from his head. Sandrina was dead, and there was nothing going to change that. He gulped the last of his ale and called for another one. reclining in his chair as the barkeep bustled over to refill his tankard. He didn't let his eyes wander from Sandrina, something told him that she would vanish if he did. His ale came, and this time he drained it in a single movement, letting the amber liquid flow down his throat. He got up and replaced his shield, spear and bow on his back, attaching the quivver to the leather strap on his shield. Slowly he walked over to the woman at the bar and she looked around again. This time Hama caught a good look at her face. She clearly didn't recognise him as he leaned on the bar next to her. He took a good long look at her face, but when she turned around he tried to make it look like he was armiring the pendant around her neck...the pendant! Hama now did focus his attention on the pendant. It was...it was Sandrina's pendant!

Hama's heart skipped a beat quietly as he tried to form the sentence he wanted to say. Words raced through his mind at an amazing pace, and he discared them at an equally speedy rate. Sandrina turned away to look around the room again. Hama chose this moment to lean forward and whisper in her ear, "Nine months is an awfully long time to go missing, Sandrina Lightheart"...

[piosenniel]

Himaran's post



It was dark. Rain poured down around him, water splashed against his chest. He scanned the flooded area once more, looking for a trace, the slightest sign that she had been there. And then he saw her, twenty yards away, struggling against the current. He dove in, trying to reach her... but then the wave came, and the woman was gone.

Raen awoke with a start. He lay still for a moment, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room. There was no flooded forest, no woman, just a comfortable room inside a Rohanian tavern. The recurring nightmare had haunted him for several days, ever since he the stopped searching the wilderness a week before. The general search effort had ended months ago, but the ranger was hardly satisfied by the results. It was as though he was being punished for giving up, and Raen would have speculated further upon that theory; if common sense but had a smaller presence within his mind. Sitting up, he pushed with thick sheets aside and dressed slowly. After sleeping in the forest for so long, even the smallest figment of civilized life was a luxory. The man yawned, trying to feel comfortable; for in truth he was a stranger to these civilized surroundings. Snatching up a long, slender knife from the table (out of pure habit), Raen locked the room and headed downstairs.

Taking a seat at the bar, the ranger ordered a light breakfast and a hot drink. Even after several days at the establishment, it all seemed surreal. Nothing came naturely; Raen stared at the utensils before him for several moments before attacking the sliced ham with a vengence. He felt silly to have forgotten such simple behaviors, but knew it would all come back eventually. After all, it had been a while. The man watched as commoners and soldiers came and went, chatting and dining and arguing. Their lives were so simple; waking, working, and eventually passing from the world. Can I become a part of this calm, routine life? It was a question Raen had been asking himself ever since returning from his unsuccessful hunt.

Then a single man caught his attention. It was a ranger, (Raen was certain of that), but he seemed vaguely familier. There had been several of Raen's bloodline on the hunt for Sandrina; perhaps this was one of them. But that had been over five months back, surely they had not stayed in Rohan. Most went back to Eriador or Gondor, working for King Aragorn. He did look familier, though, and Raen started towards him; determined to find at least one of the answers that constantedly bothered him. The man immediately stopped, however, when the ranger began speaking with young woman who clearly resembled the one he had so desperately sought to find...

[piosenniel]

Firefoot’s post

Harold wandered through one of the two aisles of a small store in the village near his home. Usually he would have sent one of his sons or workers to get supplies, but today he had decided to go himself and get a break from his business. His business. It still gave him pleasure to think how he had finally outsmarted his brother and gotten the Lightheart inheritance.

Other than Harold, there were only two other people in this small building. A man, and the storekeeper who he was talking to. Harold realized that they probably didn’t know he was there when he heard what they were saying.

“Do you remember Sandrina? You know, the daughter of Henry Lightheart?” the one man was saying. Harold stiffened at the names of his dead niece and brother. He wondered what news there could possibly be concerning her. Unless... “I heard she’s alive,” said the man. Harold could feel the rage rising up in him, and he stalked out of the store without buying anything or waiting to hear any more. He mounted his horse and heeled him into a gallop, heedless of anything but his own angry thoughts. Those sons of mine will be hearing it from me. They said she was dead! And now... Harold realized that he had to do something. It wasn’t the girl he was afraid of - far from it - it was her father. Henry would come after him to kill him; Harold had little doubt of that. I would be a fool to stay here. However, his pride warred with the thought of leaving. Only cowards flee, and I am certainly no coward.

Harold’s sense and his pride battled within him the entire way back to his property. The bay horse was lathered with sweat from the long gallop, but Harold had finally decided that, pride or no pride, he would rather be a live coward than a dead fool. Harold handed his horse off to a groom and saw his son Arthur crossing the yard.

“Get Samuel and come to my study,” said Harold thickly, not bothering to hide his anger. “But first spread word to my men that they are to meet and wait for me behind the house as soon as possible.” Harold knew that his son would know which men he meant; they were the select few that he had informed of their plans of Sandrina. He had not told them all at once, for then they might have told Henry. Rather, he had fed them the information bit by bit so that by the time they knew the whole plan, not only was it too late to save Sandrina, but it was also too late for them, because if they had gone to Henry they would have been every bit as guilty as Harold and his sons. Arthur hurried to do as Harold had said, and Harold made his way to the study to wait for them, every minute causing him to be more and more upset.

When his sons finally made their way to his study, Harold exploded. “Sandrina is alive. How hard could it have been to kill a weak, foolish girl? And yet you two seem incapable of even that task! Do you realize what this will cost us? Your error is forcing us to flee the property, because if we stay, Henry will come and kill us. That girl that you could have killed - should have been killed - is alive, and when she makes her way back to Henry he will come after us. No more Lightheart business for us! We won’t even be working here anymore! Instead we are forced to flee like cowards. Now, go and join my men behind the house. If you have something to say to me, you can say it there. I will be there shortly.” Harold was so mad that he was quivering slightly. He sat for a moment to calm down a bit and collect his thoughts. Then he got up and followed his sons outside.

Samuel and Arthur stood a little apart from the rest. Harold ran his cold blue eyes over everyone, silently making sure everyone was there, each one shifting uneasily when his gaze rested on him. When he was satisfied, he began to speak, his voice quieter than it had been for his boys, but holding no less intensity or anger. “In case you have not heard, Sandrina is alive.” This news brought murmurs from the group. “We can no longer stay here, or else Henry will come back, and do not expect him to have any mercy on any of you! We must leave, but before we go we are going to carry off everything that we can possibly take from this estate.” Harold wasn’t sure where that had come from, but he rather liked the idea. “The other thing that needs to happen is someone needs to get rid of Sandrina once and for all. Someone more capable than my sons seemingly are,” said Harold with a pointed glare at Arthur and Samuel. “One or two of you should suffice. Now, does anyone have any ideas, thoughts, or opinions?”

[piosenniel]

The Perky Ent's post

Arthur began the day as he normally did after his father owned the Lightheart Estate. He smoked a pipe on a hillside. With the money his father had given him, plus the extra money Arthur had acquired from selling the crystal from his sword, he was a rich man. Rich enough to get Old Toby shipped in every month. Thanks to King Éomer Éadig’s friendship with hobbits of the Shire, he learned of the many fabulous pipe-weeds and began importing them. Arthur, being a wealthy man, could import it from Edoras to the Lightheart Estate. For this morning, the Toby was particularly good.

“Ah! I’ve been missing out on the good life all these years! This is truly heaven!” Arthur said, putting the pipe down to watch the view. Under the hill, he saw two young boys fighting. “This should be interesting!” Arthur said, as he laughed down the hill.

Coming down the hill, he saw two boys fighting over a coin. “It’s mine!” one said. “No, it’s mine! I won it!” the other said. Arthur couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s so funny?” the first boy said, who was slightly large than the other. “What’s funny is that your fighting over something you don’t even have!” Arthur said, flexing his muscles. “It’s none of yours! It’s mine!” Arthur said, snatching the coin from the boys.

“Hey! Give that back!” “It’s ours!” the boys said, but Arthur was already halfway up the hill. “Survival of the fittest!’ Arthur shouted down at them, flipping the coin with his thumbs, and putting his pipe away. “Time to put this one with the rest of em!” Arthur said, heading for his house.

On the way, he had to cross his father’s house. He couldn’t really call it a house. It was more of a small mansion. Being the sole owner of the land had been very good to him. While crossing the yard, he saw Harold rush over on his horse, which seems as if it was going to collapse. “Get Samuel and come to my study,” said Harold thickly, not bothering to hide his anger. “But first spread word to my men that they are to meet and wait for me behind the house as soon as possible.” Arthur did not hesitate.

Arthur ran to the stables, which were nearby, and grabbed a horse. Riding down the grass, Arthur rode several miles until he reached a very small tavern run by friends of the Lighthearts. Inside the tavern, Arthur walked past the entrance and the main room, to a small room in the back of the building. In the room, there were twelve men gambling, all shady characters. “My father has requested an early meeting!” Get your horses and meet him behind his house. Something bad has happened.” Instantly, the men gathered their money, their cards, and their loaded dice, and rode out to Harold’s house.

“Now where are you, brother?” Arthur said, riding to Samuel’s house. Avoiding being polite by knocking on the door, Arthur kicked the door open. Inside, he saw Samuel resting. “Get up brother!” Arthur said, hitting Samuel very hard on the shoulder. “Father brings tidings of bad news!” Immediately, they both got their horses and set back for Harold’s house.

When Arthur and Samuel finally made their way to Harold’s study, Harold exploded. “Sandrina is alive. How hard could it have been to kill a weak, foolish girl? And yet you two seem incapable of even that task! Do you realize what this will cost us? Your error is forcing us to flee the property, because if we stay, Henry will come and kill us. That girl that you could have killed - should have been killed - is alive, and when she makes her way back to Henry he will come after us. No more Lightheart business for us! We won’t even be working here anymore! Instead we are forced to flee like cowards. Now, go and join my men behind the house. If you have something to say to me, you can say it there. I will be there shortly.” Harold was so mad that he was quivering slightly. He sat for a moment to calm down a bit and collect his thoughts. Then he got up and followed his sons outside.

Samuel and Arthur stood a little apart from the rest. Harold ran his cold blue eyes over everyone; silently making sure everyone was there, each one shifting uneasily when his gaze rested on him. When he was satisfied, he began to speak, his voice quieter than it had been for his boys, but holding no less intensity or anger. “In case you have not heard, Sandrina is alive.” This news brought murmurs from the group. “We can no longer stay here, or else Henry will come back, and do not expect him to have any mercy on any of you! We must leave, but before we go we are going to carry off everything that we can possibly take from this estate.” “The other thing that needs to happen is someone needs to get rid of Sandrina once and for all. Someone more capable than my sons seemingly are,” said Harold with a pointed glare at Arthur and Samuel. “One or two of you should suffice. Now, does anyone have any ideas, thoughts, or opinions?”

Arthur thought for a moment, and then said, “The girl did slip through our grasps, but it won’t happen again. We know what we need to do. I beat her, instead of stabbing her. I gave her that, as my cousin. A favor, which I will not give again! We’ll ambush her, and stab her. She won’t get away.” Arthur thought very proudly of the statement, until Harold interjected, “You think she’ll just be wandering alone. She’s probably having a guard with her! There’s probably going to be five people with her, helping her get home! Not to mention Henry! Think before you open your mouth!”


Arthur pounded his fist in his hand, and then said, “What about mercenaries? If they do come for us, why not prepare a trap? What if we hire mercenaries to fight them?”