The Seventh Star Inn - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Estelyn Telcontar · 09-15-2005, 01:26 PM

The Loremistress of Minas Tirith had her sources, and as always Estelyn's connections with the host of the "Seventh Star" made her privy to the news sooner than most others knew of it. Pausing only to gather a stack of blank parchments, her favourite pen, and a goodly supply of ink, she hurried over to the Inn. Impetuously, she pushed open the door to the common room, which had begun to fill satisfactorily.

She waved to the keeper of the drinks, who looked over and called out, "The usual, Princess?"

"No", she smiled, "this is a special occasion and calls for something special! Do you have a good bottle of that wonderfully bubbly wine in your cellar?"

He nodded and disappeared, only to reappear a few moments later with a dusty, promising-looking bottle in his hand. He wiped it clean, then carefully and steadily pulled out the cork with an attention-getting "plop!" Fordim was not the only one who turned around to investigate the source of the sound, but he was the first to whom she waved.

"Come on over and have a glass!" she said invitingly. "This is your party!" And the bottle must have had some Faery quality to it, for it did not become empty, no matter how many glasses were filled.

Yet, ever mindful of her responsibility to the White City's Library, she kept her writing materials in readiness and listened for new stories by the newcomer. Rumour had it that he often asked for people's opinions, keeping tally of the results, but she was sure that there were many good tales to be had if she listened for awhile.

Amanaduial the archer · 09-17-2005, 04:28 AM

Looking down out of the dust-covered window of the room which she had rented, but whose rent the disused Inn had long since failed to collect, Aman watched the gates of Minas Tirith almost disinterestedly, her head leaning against the window frame as if she was dozing off, motionless as she was: why, she could have been there forever, a forgotten rag doll in the attic. But as the sounds of laughter, then of cheers, began to waft up from the streets, the woman's green eyes brightened somewhat and, as the cheers grew in volume and confidence, the young woman slowly raised her head from where it had rested. Finally, in the streets below, she saw the procession draw up and, as the first of two men drew into sight behind a dwarf she did not recognise, Aman's face cracked slowly into a wide smile. Like that rag-doll puppet now come alive, she leapt from the window seat, running out of the door and pounding down the corridor to the stairs, dust flying up in her wake.

"Cheers!"

As Fordim took a pull of his drink and uttered that single word, Aman gave a delighted laugh from the balcony above, and swept an overdone, elegant bow down at him. "Long have we waited for you to enter these doors, Fordim! Welcome Snaveling, Hearpwine, Haerin, Grash, Ambarturion and..." she trailed off slightly, eyeing the shadow-cloaked witch-king suspiciously, a figure whom she had come into conflict with more than once. Then she shrugged. "Welcome all, to the Seventh Star, and to Gondor!"

Fordim Hedgethistle · 09-19-2005, 10:20 AM

Fordim blushed from the unexpected attentions of such luminaries. Returning Aman's bow with his own clumsy attempt (he saw her politely hide her snicker) he thanked her for the welcome. "It is I who owe you a debt of gratitude for my admission to this realm, my lady. Were it not for you and the wondrous climes of the Green Dragon Inn I would not have stayed at the Downs for very long. But I must not forget Pio the Inestimable either, nor Child, who also made gaming there so wondrous and rewarding. And lest I be admonished by the Lady Bethberry (whose eye I can see glittering already) and Mistress Aylwen I hasten to add that my time in Rohan was as rewarding as it was challenging. But on to new matters!

"I have, for a time, been wondering about the possibility of bringing a new type of game to the RPG forums of this place. Over in the Mirth Thread there has been an ongoing series of adventures in which vailiant villagers conted with werewolves -- I have thought that such a story might make for an interesting RPG...

"It may be immodest of me to propose something of that nature when I have not been in Gondor for more than a week, but I merely mention it to give Esty something to jot down in her tablets. For it seems to me that a full Werewolf RPG in which the Game Initiator were to assume the duties of a game moderator might be quite entertaining. It would, of course, be an actual RPG and adhere to RPG rules and standards; it would be an RPG modelled on the game of werewolf and not a game of werewolf that attempts to be an RPG. It would also, ideally, be an RPG in which rather, shall we say, experienced gamers would play so that we could keep the game on track and involved with the intrigue of it all...

"But that is mere wondering on my part, and more than likely it is the result of my having taken too much of the ale and bubbly of this fine establishment!"

Durelin · 09-23-2005, 06:44 PM

Durelin flashed her big beautiful canines at Fordim as she burst into the Seventh Star for the first time. She had gotten over her fear of entering the famed establishment before she even touched the door, but she was still a little daunted upon entering. Those who sat there and took their rest every day were of the finest, and she knew it; writers and adventurers who had weathered such a great multitude of quests and battles and different personalities that she could feel herself getting dizzy simply at the thought of it all. To consider the hopeless dream that she might one day feel more at home in the Seventh Star made her feel giddy enough that she swaggered over the Fordim Hedgethistle to give him a pat on the back.

It was perhaps a little hard pat on the back, but it was certainly a fond one. Her face reddened a bit as she wondered if this was perhaps a breach in protocol, Fordim now being a great Gondorian, and her being only half a Rohirrim. And that bit of wondering brought her to face the truth that she was indeed a slacker for still being barely acquainted with Rohan. She decided to order a round just for herself to drown her sorrows, and then sat down and propped her feet up at a nearby table.

"First of all, my dear Fordim, congratulations. Second, I will say that I've been too insecure to voice the idea of a Werewolf RPG, and have avoided engaging too obsessively in the Werewolf frenzy for fear of being a follower, which is widely against my nature, but it excites me that such a game might occur..." She sighed heavily, but not sadly, feeling annoyingly nostalgic. "O the never-ending allure of RPGs... I would love to take part in a game with you again, Fanatical Fordim, if perhaps it would be allowed that I partake in a Gondorian game (assuming that some kind of game will be born in Gondor in the near future), recalling your first game RPed, and your first game managed, the latter of which I remember with regret... So, I just thought I'd stop by and join in the cheers, even though I am a little behind in the proceedings, as usual."

mark12_30 · 09-24-2005, 11:45 AM

"Werewolves? Hmmm...." muttered Willow, giving Oak and Beech a wary glance. "Interesting. Well, Master Fordim, welcome; we do look forward to your tales. Shall we hear you sing? Or, perhaps, howl--"

Beech cuffed him sharply.

Willow was indignant. "I was being polite. Culturally sensitive. Open minded."

"Save it, sapling," muttered Oak, and then stepped forward. "Welcome, Fordim of the Gauntlet! Be not startled; word travels. We shall gladly hear your tales, be they vengeful or rabid, all in good time, my dear fellow, all in good time. Cheers!"

Child of the 7th Age · 09-24-2005, 04:35 PM

There was a lull in conversation as the Inn door swung open to reveal a small, bedraggled hobbit slumped over on the stoop. Cami Goodchild slowly placed one furry foot ahead of the other and rose unsteadily, hoisting up a claw hammer with one hand and an overflowing bucket with the other. Strapped to her back was a large canvas sling that carried the remains of what looked like someone's garden fence. Water dripped down from Cami's curly hair and round red nose making a considerable accumulation on the spot where she was standing.

"Watch out there!", growled one of the serving lads standing near the door. "Yer makin' a terrible mess on the floor, now. Get down there and clean up that puddle, or there'll be no hot meal and flagon of ale for you.

Cami stuck out her tongue at the good fellow who was nearly twice her size, "Enough! I've had enough headaches the past few days. I just wanted to come down to the Seventh Star and offer my best wishes to the illustrious Master Fordim. Only I've had such a hard time getting here. Our home was hit with a slew of bad weather, fierce stuff that reminded me of the Tale of Beleriand that Master Bilbo used to recite. Great winds and water, such as you wouldn't believe! So I don't see why you are making such a fuss over a bit of water on the floor."

The lad responded in a gentler voice, "Sorry there now. I didn't know you'd run into such a string of bad luck. Are you alright now, Mistress Cami?," he queried. "Not hurt I hope....you or your burrow?"

"No," added Cami with a shake of her head and a reassuring smile. "We are all doing quite well. We thought of leaving and staying with my cousin Widow Bunche who hails from the westlands. But there were so many carts and horses on the road that it was impossible to make any real progress. After seven hours of going in circles, we came back in and hunkered down in our burrow for the night. We've a mess to clean up, but nothing worse than that. But I am most grateful to see this nasty weather go away. Still, there are folk much worse off than I. Some live further east and their homes were flattened to the ground. Others are older folk living in my neighborhood who have little food stocked away for hard times like these. I need to give my greetings quickly and then return to the Shire to see if I can help."

With that, Mistress Cami ran over towards the place where Fordim was sitting.

Bêthberry · 09-28-2005, 09:30 PM

A pleasant cacaphony of voices, cheers and activity rolled around the Star as the party to celebrate Fordim's arrival in Gondor progressed. Towels and mops had greeted Cami's arrival but then they were put away and the floor was left to a gossipy hum about werewolves and survivors. At first, few noticed the strange little man who entered the front door but as he made his way into the storied inn, voices began to drop and fade away.

He was of stature slight, particularly compared to Gondorians, although taller than either Cami or Fordim. He carried himself proudly, his lithe body speaking of skill and agility rather than mass and torpor. He might be said to favour one leg, yet it could not be said he appeared crippled. A veteran of wars he apparently was, for he also bore a long scar from a thin right eyebrow down across his high cheekbone to his ear, part of which was missing. The eye under the scar was closed, the sunken lid hanging over the socket that now was useless. A perpetual twitch pulled the muscles of his cheekbone, giving his face a strange sensation of rapid motion.

His hair, straight and black and cut evenly, hung down past his ears and was held in place by a red band across his forehead, a style rarely seen in the White City. His nose was broad but long, set on an equally long face with square jaw and small mouth, thin lipped. Yet of all his features it was his sallow, tawny skin which stiffened the attention of the Star's patrons.

The room went silent as he surveyed them first and then sought out the funny hobbit whose face was hidden behind a tankard.

Two, maybe three men from the corner rose towards him. "We don't see your kind much in these parts."

The man ignored them and continued walking towards Fordim. Another man spoke louder.

"He said, Easterling, we don't see your kind here. He meant, we don't want your kind here."

"Halt," spoke a voice with authority. A guard of Gondor, with an empty sleeve tied to his tunic , came forward and took a long look at the man's face. He paled. "Sôông, Sôông the Sullen," he said.

The man looked at him from his one good eye and, awareness flooding into his face, nodded slowly.

"We met on the Pelennor Field."

A tankard crashed in the kitchen, but none were startled by the sound.

They looked over each's wound. "An eye for an arm, Thregor," whispered Sôông.

"You dare to show your face in The White City?''

"I come on errand." A murmur arose.

"And who would bid an enemy enter our walls?"

"One who calls me not enemy." The murmur grew louder.

"Of who among us would you claim that?"

"One not here." Dust hung in the air refusing to twist in the sunlight as Thregor considered his options.

"Name him and state your peace."

Sôông took his time, marking the faces staring at him. His eyes lighted on the person who fit the description he had been given.

"I come on errand from Edoras, from the White Horse. Bethberry is she who will not name me enemy. Bethberry it is who has a message for the hobbit recently come to your city."

Fordim spoke up. "What could Bethberry ask of you concerning me?"

"She bids me say you departed in such haste that you left no instructions for her concerning your banner. She asks what colours you wish and what design for your story of the East."

"Well I'll be," said Fordim, astonished at the Innkeeper's audacity. He had never in his life come face to face with an Easterling and now here she was poking one in his face.

09-15-2005, 01:26 PM	#1
Estelyn Telcontar Princess of Skwerlz Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: where the Sea is eastwards (WtR: 6060 miles) Posts: 7,500	The Loremistress of Minas Tirith had her sources, and as always Estelyn's connections with the host of the "Seventh Star" made her privy to the news sooner than most others knew of it. Pausing only to gather a stack of blank parchments, her favourite pen, and a goodly supply of ink, she hurried over to the Inn. Impetuously, she pushed open the door to the common room, which had begun to fill satisfactorily. She waved to the keeper of the drinks, who looked over and called out, "The usual, Princess?" "No", she smiled, "this is a special occasion and calls for something special! Do you have a good bottle of that wonderfully bubbly wine in your cellar?" He nodded and disappeared, only to reappear a few moments later with a dusty, promising-looking bottle in his hand. He wiped it clean, then carefully and steadily pulled out the cork with an attention-getting "plop!" Fordim was not the only one who turned around to investigate the source of the sound, but he was the first to whom she waved. "Come on over and have a glass!" she said invitingly. "This is your party!" And the bottle must have had some Faery quality to it, for it did not become empty, no matter how many glasses were filled. Yet, ever mindful of her responsibility to the White City's Library, she kept her writing materials in readiness and listened for new stories by the newcomer. Rumour had it that he often asked for people's opinions, keeping tally of the results, but she was sure that there were many good tales to be had if she listened for awhile. __________________ 'Mercy!' cried Gandalf. 'If the giving of information is to be the cure of your inquisitiveness, I shall spend all the rest of my days in answering you. What more do you want to know?' 'The whole history of Middle-earth...'

09-17-2005, 04:28 AM	#2
Amanaduial the archer Shadow of Starlight Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: dancing among the ledgerlines... Posts: 2,347	Looking down out of the dust-covered window of the room which she had rented, but whose rent the disused Inn had long since failed to collect, Aman watched the gates of Minas Tirith almost disinterestedly, her head leaning against the window frame as if she was dozing off, motionless as she was: why, she could have been there forever, a forgotten rag doll in the attic. But as the sounds of laughter, then of cheers, began to waft up from the streets, the woman's green eyes brightened somewhat and, as the cheers grew in volume and confidence, the young woman slowly raised her head from where it had rested. Finally, in the streets below, she saw the procession draw up and, as the first of two men drew into sight behind a dwarf she did not recognise, Aman's face cracked slowly into a wide smile. Like that rag-doll puppet now come alive, she leapt from the window seat, running out of the door and pounding down the corridor to the stairs, dust flying up in her wake. "Cheers!" As Fordim took a pull of his drink and uttered that single word, Aman gave a delighted laugh from the balcony above, and swept an overdone, elegant bow down at him. "Long have we waited for you to enter these doors, Fordim! Welcome Snaveling, Hearpwine, Haerin, Grash, Ambarturion and..." she trailed off slightly, eyeing the shadow-cloaked witch-king suspiciously, a figure whom she had come into conflict with more than once. Then she shrugged. "Welcome all, to the Seventh Star, and to Gondor!" __________________ I am what I was, a harmless little devil

09-24-2005, 11:45 AM	#5
mark12_30 Stormdancer of Doom Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Elvish singing is not a thing to miss, in June under the stars Posts: 4,349	"Werewolves? Hmmm...." muttered Willow, giving Oak and Beech a wary glance. "Interesting. Well, Master Fordim, welcome; we do look forward to your tales. Shall we hear you sing? Or, perhaps, howl--" Beech cuffed him sharply. Willow was indignant. "I was being polite. Culturally sensitive. Open minded." "Save it, sapling," muttered Oak, and then stepped forward. "Welcome, Fordim of the Gauntlet! Be not startled; word travels. We shall gladly hear your tales, be they vengeful or rabid, all in good time, my dear fellow, all in good time. Cheers!" __________________ ...down to the water to see the elves dance and sing upon the midsummer's eve.

09-24-2005, 04:35 PM	#6
Child of the 7th Age Spirit of the Lonely Star Join Date: Mar 2002 Posts: 5,133	There was a lull in conversation as the Inn door swung open to reveal a small, bedraggled hobbit slumped over on the stoop. Cami Goodchild slowly placed one furry foot ahead of the other and rose unsteadily, hoisting up a claw hammer with one hand and an overflowing bucket with the other. Strapped to her back was a large canvas sling that carried the remains of what looked like someone's garden fence. Water dripped down from Cami's curly hair and round red nose making a considerable accumulation on the spot where she was standing. "Watch out there!", growled one of the serving lads standing near the door. "Yer makin' a terrible mess on the floor, now. Get down there and clean up that puddle, or there'll be no hot meal and flagon of ale for you. Cami stuck out her tongue at the good fellow who was nearly twice her size, "Enough! I've had enough headaches the past few days. I just wanted to come down to the Seventh Star and offer my best wishes to the illustrious Master Fordim. Only I've had such a hard time getting here. Our home was hit with a slew of bad weather, fierce stuff that reminded me of the Tale of Beleriand that Master Bilbo used to recite. Great winds and water, such as you wouldn't believe! So I don't see why you are making such a fuss over a bit of water on the floor." The lad responded in a gentler voice, "Sorry there now. I didn't know you'd run into such a string of bad luck. Are you alright now, Mistress Cami?," he queried. "Not hurt I hope....you or your burrow?" "No," added Cami with a shake of her head and a reassuring smile. "We are all doing quite well. We thought of leaving and staying with my cousin Widow Bunche who hails from the westlands. But there were so many carts and horses on the road that it was impossible to make any real progress. After seven hours of going in circles, we came back in and hunkered down in our burrow for the night. We've a mess to clean up, but nothing worse than that. But I am most grateful to see this nasty weather go away. Still, there are folk much worse off than I. Some live further east and their homes were flattened to the ground. Others are older folk living in my neighborhood who have little food stocked away for hard times like these. I need to give my greetings quickly and then return to the Shire to see if I can help." With that, Mistress Cami ran over towards the place where Fordim was sitting. __________________ Multitasking women are never too busy to vote. Last edited by Child of the 7th Age; 09-24-2005 at 04:51 PM.

09-19-2005, 10:20 AM	#3
Fordim Hedgethistle Gibbering Gibbet Join Date: Feb 2004 Location: Beyond cloud nine Posts: 1,844	Fordim blushed from the unexpected attentions of such luminaries. Returning Aman's bow with his own clumsy attempt (he saw her politely hide her snicker) he thanked her for the welcome. "It is I who owe you a debt of gratitude for my admission to this realm, my lady. Were it not for you and the wondrous climes of the Green Dragon Inn I would not have stayed at the Downs for very long. But I must not forget Pio the Inestimable either, nor Child, who also made gaming there so wondrous and rewarding. And lest I be admonished by the Lady Bethberry (whose eye I can see glittering already) and Mistress Aylwen I hasten to add that my time in Rohan was as rewarding as it was challenging. But on to new matters! "I have, for a time, been wondering about the possibility of bringing a new type of game to the RPG forums of this place. Over in the Mirth Thread there has been an ongoing series of adventures in which vailiant villagers conted with werewolves -- I have thought that such a story might make for an interesting RPG... "It may be immodest of me to propose something of that nature when I have not been in Gondor for more than a week, but I merely mention it to give Esty something to jot down in her tablets. For it seems to me that a full Werewolf RPG in which the Game Initiator were to assume the duties of a game moderator might be quite entertaining. It would, of course, be an actual RPG and adhere to RPG rules and standards; it would be an RPG modelled on the game of werewolf and not a game of werewolf that attempts to be an RPG. It would also, ideally, be an RPG in which rather, shall we say, experienced gamers would play so that we could keep the game on track and involved with the intrigue of it all... "But that is mere wondering on my part, and more than likely it is the result of my having taken too much of the ale and bubbly of this fine establishment!"

09-23-2005, 06:44 PM	#4
Durelin Estelo dagnir, Melo ring Join Date: Oct 2002 Posts: 3,063	Durelin flashed her big beautiful canines at Fordim as she burst into the Seventh Star for the first time. She had gotten over her fear of entering the famed establishment before she even touched the door, but she was still a little daunted upon entering. Those who sat there and took their rest every day were of the finest, and she knew it; writers and adventurers who had weathered such a great multitude of quests and battles and different personalities that she could feel herself getting dizzy simply at the thought of it all. To consider the hopeless dream that she might one day feel more at home in the Seventh Star made her feel giddy enough that she swaggered over the Fordim Hedgethistle to give him a pat on the back. It was perhaps a little hard pat on the back, but it was certainly a fond one. Her face reddened a bit as she wondered if this was perhaps a breach in protocol, Fordim now being a great Gondorian, and her being only half a Rohirrim. And that bit of wondering brought her to face the truth that she was indeed a slacker for still being barely acquainted with Rohan. She decided to order a round just for herself to drown her sorrows, and then sat down and propped her feet up at a nearby table. "First of all, my dear Fordim, congratulations. Second, I will say that I've been too insecure to voice the idea of a Werewolf RPG, and have avoided engaging too obsessively in the Werewolf frenzy for fear of being a follower, which is widely against my nature, but it excites me that such a game might occur..." She sighed heavily, but not sadly, feeling annoyingly nostalgic. "O the never-ending allure of RPGs... I would love to take part in a game with you again, Fanatical Fordim, if perhaps it would be allowed that I partake in a Gondorian game (assuming that some kind of game will be born in Gondor in the near future), recalling your first game RPed, and your first game managed, the latter of which I remember with regret... So, I just thought I'd stop by and join in the cheers, even though I am a little behind in the proceedings, as usual."

09-28-2005, 09:30 PM	#7
Bêthberry Cryptic Aura Join Date: May 2002 Posts: 6,003	A pleasant cacaphony of voices, cheers and activity rolled around the Star as the party to celebrate Fordim's arrival in Gondor progressed. Towels and mops had greeted Cami's arrival but then they were put away and the floor was left to a gossipy hum about werewolves and survivors. At first, few noticed the strange little man who entered the front door but as he made his way into the storied inn, voices began to drop and fade away. He was of stature slight, particularly compared to Gondorians, although taller than either Cami or Fordim. He carried himself proudly, his lithe body speaking of skill and agility rather than mass and torpor. He might be said to favour one leg, yet it could not be said he appeared crippled. A veteran of wars he apparently was, for he also bore a long scar from a thin right eyebrow down across his high cheekbone to his ear, part of which was missing. The eye under the scar was closed, the sunken lid hanging over the socket that now was useless. A perpetual twitch pulled the muscles of his cheekbone, giving his face a strange sensation of rapid motion. His hair, straight and black and cut evenly, hung down past his ears and was held in place by a red band across his forehead, a style rarely seen in the White City. His nose was broad but long, set on an equally long face with square jaw and small mouth, thin lipped. Yet of all his features it was his sallow, tawny skin which stiffened the attention of the Star's patrons. The room went silent as he surveyed them first and then sought out the funny hobbit whose face was hidden behind a tankard. Two, maybe three men from the corner rose towards him. "We don't see your kind much in these parts." The man ignored them and continued walking towards Fordim. Another man spoke louder. "He said, Easterling, we don't see your kind here. He meant, we don't want your kind here." "Halt," spoke a voice with authority. A guard of Gondor, with an empty sleeve tied to his tunic , came forward and took a long look at the man's face. He paled. "Sôông, Sôông the Sullen," he said. The man looked at him from his one good eye and, awareness flooding into his face, nodded slowly. "We met on the Pelennor Field." A tankard crashed in the kitchen, but none were startled by the sound. They looked over each's wound. "An eye for an arm, Thregor," whispered Sôông. "You dare to show your face in The White City?'' "I come on errand." A murmur arose. "And who would bid an enemy enter our walls?" "One who calls me not enemy." The murmur grew louder. "Of who among us would you claim that?" "One not here." Dust hung in the air refusing to twist in the sunlight as Thregor considered his options. "Name him and state your peace." Sôông took his time, marking the faces staring at him. His eyes lighted on the person who fit the description he had been given. "I come on errand from Edoras, from the White Horse. Bethberry is she who will not name me enemy. Bethberry it is who has a message for the hobbit recently come to your city." Fordim spoke up. "What could Bethberry ask of you concerning me?" "She bids me say you departed in such haste that you left no instructions for her concerning your banner. She asks what colours you wish and what design for your story of the East." "Well I'll be," said Fordim, astonished at the Innkeeper's audacity. He had never in his life come face to face with an Easterling and now here she was poking one in his face.