The Yule Log RPG

[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

[Arry]

Fear overcomes the Hobbit . . .

Madoc and Andwise came scuffing down the stairs to the common room, grumbling to each other all the way. ‘There he is,’ said Andwise, seeing Willem at the table with the Big Folk. ‘And old Mudfoot’s hounds take me if it’s not certain he’s had his breakfast already! And a substantial one by the size of the platter and the empty bread basket.’

Willem was caught up in the dire tales of Wenda and the man in the grey cloak. And spooked a bit by the presence of the man and woman who’d come to sit at his table. They seemed keenly interested in Wenda’s sightings, and he wondered what terrors they’d seen that lay behind their attentiveness. Goosebumps crept along his arms, and he shivered despite the warmth of the fire.

Imagine his shriek of fear and surprise as his two companions slid silently up behind him and poked him hard in the back with their hands, hissing at him as they did so. It echoed shrilly among the rafters as his imagination got the best of him, and he felt the wraith-like fingers of Wenda’s shadow creature pushing against him, reaching into his very being.

There was a loud thump as Willem, white as a ghost himself, slid from his chair in a dead faint . . .

[Tevildo]

The white cat leapt down from the wall and started to sharpen his claws against the stack of logs sitting on the far side of the yard. The cat's tail flicked menacingly from one side to the other, as he watched the four mice who had retreated under the skirts of the two-legged. Dare he bound out and have a bit of fun with those creatures? They looked so small and enticing, nothing like the powerful beast the man had described in his tale. Tevildo was not hungry but he dearly loved a game, especially one he was certain to win.

Jerked out of his reverie by the two-legged's question, the cat sat back and licked his whiskers as he considered his options. He loved both games and stories, but did not entirely trust the man. An odd memory tugged at the back of his mind. Still, that had been at least four lives ago, and he could not recall the details.

Trying not to notice two small mice who peered leerily out from under the man's robe, the white cat responded in a voice that was tinged with velvet, "I am Tevildo. Some have called me Prince of Cats, but you must judge that for yourself. I believe we have met somewhere before, but you must excuse me for I can not recall the circumstances. I was once a member of the entourage of the Black Foe. My duties were to hunt and snare, to keep the household supplied with meat. Perhaps it was there we met.

"As to stories.... all cats have many stories, since they spend most of their day dreaming. I have a number of delightful stories that I will be most happy to share with you and the rest of this gathering. But first, you must humor me for you have me at a disadvantage. I have told you who I am. Now, I should like to know who you are, you and your friend? Tevildo turned and nodded at the other two-legged. "Then I shall be most happy to tell you a tale I know, one that explains why cats are the most powerful creatures in the world, so powerful that they were chosen to teach the two-leggeds a much-needed lesson....."

[Envinyatar]

Stamo stepped forward, the end of his staff thumping on the frozen ground as he did so. His grey eyes narrowed at the cat. ‘Tevildo . . . and are these your faithful henchmen come with you, too?’

‘His color has changed, too. Did you notice, Stamo? Black to white.’ Mori craned his head for a better view of the cat. ‘And lost your gold collar. Or did your Master take it from you when he threw you out?’

Mori had picked up his staff from the ground and stood leaning on it. ‘Well, then, our names. We are travelers from afar, going eastward – Morinehtar, I am called. And my companion, Romestamo.’

‘We are our master’s hounds,’ Stamo murmured. ‘And we are hunting . . .’

‘But come, Master Cat, tell your tale. Your audience is waiting.’ Mori stepped back, leaving a wide space for Tevildo and his ragged companions.

[Huan]

Birger moved about the tables as quiet and quick as a winter hare among frozen clumps of grass. His ears, too, were as keen as a hare’s, picking up bits of stories and gossip and news as he flitted in and then way from the elbows of the guests as they rested on the table tops. He smiled to himself, wriggling in anticipation of telling Carr the snippets he’d gathered along with the dirty dishes and mugs.

He hadn’t quite understood what the man and woman had said about the creature in Wenda’s story. But Carr was a sharp man, despite the fact the years were battering against him. He’d know how to untangle their words and tell it plain to Birger.

His tray was full; the last platter he’d gathered had been the one from the Halfling. Clean as a whistle, it was, and the basket of buns empty, too. Birger was just heading toward the kitchen when the piercing shriek froze him in his tracks. He turned quickly, the tableware and crockery stacked on his tray clinking loudly against each other.

The Halfling was lying on the floor limp as an old rag. Birger had seen things of this sort before. But mostly it was a local man with too much ale under his belt. He put down his tray and ran to the fellow’s side. ‘Someone get cook and her smelling salts,’ he said, kneeling by Willem. Birger grabbed hold of the Halfling’s arm and shook it energetically as he called loudly.

‘Sir! Sir! Wake up!’