On Patrol (Continued from Let's Go to the Prancing Pony)

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Gandalf was so busy resisting the frenetic outpouring of fear that he never got off the next intended sword-blow ... rather, Elenna dashed in. With a burst of courage, the young Elf plunged her weapon straight through the wraith's head and down through its neck, cleaving it utterly. *

(OOC: Elenna, hope you don't mind me writing for your character. According to my dice rolls, Gandalf successfully made a saving throw against fear, but badly blundered when it came to wielding his sword this time around. Since your character has also been attacking the wraith, I thought it logical that Elenna would land a successful hit, especially given the wraith's making himself an excellent target in his prone position.)

[The Fifth]

The wraith had not even the time to shriek in pain. Soon, his clothes fell limp, and gathered into a pile, empty. A black, hazy mist hovered for a second, then drifted off into wherever. The horse swung its head towards the heap of clothing, and neighed, then dipped its head down to graze. (OOC: Welp, you've killed me. I guess I will RP as the horse. :P Also, at least one of you should fall victim to the Black Breath, as some people were v. close to me.)

[Gandalf_theGrey]

(OOC: Makes sense for Gandalf to fall victim to the Black Breath, because that sword blunder was pretty bad (only rolled a five on a twenty-sided die, +2 to hit which is still only a seven). Also, am glad you're going to continue RPing for the horse of Mordor, Fifth.)

During the confusion of battle and Gandalf's errant sword stroke gone wild, the wizard stumbled through the black haze. Even as the haze dissipated, Gandalf fell into a faint.

[ June 26, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[The Fifth]

(Thanks. Perhaps you can try to tame me, so I may bear the burden of a person or two. Erm, you seem busy being fainted at this time so I'll wait. [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img] )

[ June 26, 2002: Message edited by: The Fifth ]

[Bêthberry]

Seeing Gandalf fall under the chilling vapours did disturb and worry Bethberry profoundly. She grabbed her leather bag and brought out some vials and tinctures. She gave some feverfew to Birdie to chew on, hoping that would help her headache, and then she ran to Gandalf's side.

He was in a stiff faint and his head and neck were cold, too cold. She held a vial of oils from camphor and bethroot under his nostrils, hoping the pungent aroma and cough remedy would clear his lungs. At first, it was to no effect. She tried a second time, and then a third, holding the vial in place longer and pressing on his chest sharply and rhymically with her free hand, hoping to force him to breathe deeply.

Suddenly, he sputtered and gulped deeply. He came to, his eyes open, but they were clouded and dazed. He appeared dazed, disoriented.

Gandalf, do you know me? demanded Bethberry. You must reply; fight the urge to sleep; come, sit up. There are too many of us here who have been troubled. I will need to prepare some lemon balm tea for us all to calm our nerves. Perhaps more for you. But sit up you must. She held the vial once again under his nose, letting the pungeant aroma do its work.

[ June 26, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Gandalf_theGrey]

Yes Bethberry, * Gandalf's breath came in gasps * ... so grateful you're here my good friend * manages a smile, then his face loses color as he remembers * ... only, it wasn't just ... a nightmare. We're all ... in danger, great danger from the blackness all around. Run for your life, Bethberry! I'd protect you, but my vision is clouded.

* looks around as if searching for an unseen enemy, stands uneasily to his feet, grasps his sword in a defensive stance, looks to the light of the fire, shivering a bit, as if he might bolt if only he could decide which direction promised to be the safest *

[The Fifth]

The horse trots closer to the fire, nosing around and tugging on roots. Lifting its head, it peers at the others, its tail swinging slowly. Its fire-reflected eyes turn towards the pile of black robes, and the horse whinnies softly, then turns.

[Birdland]

Birdie watched as the forest-hued woman worked on the white-haired bearded man, who still seemed to be somewhat disoriented; but recovering.

Birdie herself was starting to feel better, and with her own recovery a sneaking sense of shame was starting to grow in her mind. These people had tried to help her. Even in the midst of their own danger had taken the time to minister to a stranger who had appeared out of nowhere, and could have possibly even injured one of their own.

Birdie looked at the remnants of the feverfew in her hand. It was so hard to trust anyone anymore in this empty, dangerous world! But it was so good to hear the sound of voices again, and to look on faces again that might be friendly.

Sighing, she stuck her skinning knife back into her boot, got up and approached the woman.

"Hullo. Can I help you with anything?"

[The Fifth]

({Poke, poke.))

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* As Gandalf blinked the last of the greasy black film from his eyes and the world swung into focus, he noticed an unfamiliar woman walk up to Bethberry. The stranger had the surreal perky calm of a washer woman volunteering to scrub all the dust off the road after a sandstorm in the Southern deserts of Harad. Duly impressed, Gandalf bowed. *

Hail and well met, Miss. What aid you are able to lend, will be most welcome.

* Suddenly realizing that he was still clutching the sword with peculiar vigor, Gandalf sheathed the weapon. He took a seat around the campfire where Bethberry indicated as the stranger helped pass cups of steaming lemon balm tea around to all assembled. The horse from Mordor looked on. Gandalf spoke to the animal again. *

You are free now. Go, or stay, as you wish, in peace, and we shall not trouble you.

[The Fifth]

The horse neighed, and trotted nearer to the campfire, flickering in its deep brown eyes. It ears twitched at the words, and it shook its head, making some of the armor fall loose and hang off of its great head.

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Gandalf finished his tea and stood. Still a little dizziness made him lean on his staff for a moment until it passed. He removed the armor from the horse's head, set the armor on the ground, then relieved the horse of the rest of its gear ... saddle, reins, bit, etc. Opening a travel pouch, Gandalf discovered he still had an apple left over from breakfast at the Prancing Pony, and offered this apple to the horse. *

[The Fifth]

The horse looks at the apple, but whinnies as the burdens of the armor is removed.

[Birdland]

"Who are you all?" asked Birdie. She looked doubtfully at the great, black warsteed, munching an apple now like a pony over a fence. And the white-bearded stranger, whom a few minutes ago was battling a terrifying evil, now behaved as a farmer with his favorite cart-horse. "Are you actually going to keep that dangerous beast"

[Naaramare]

Admittedly, Naaramare agreed with the stranger. But although not being particularly useful, that part of her which supplied her memories gave her the vague idea that at one point, she had adored horses of any kind.

"The other option is to set it loose," she said, "and dangerous as it might be, I don't think it would live long." She smiled at the stranger. It was insane; here she was, having just not-really-helped face down a wraith and chattering to someone who'd been injured during it over the top of a possibly dangerous horse, and yet she felt better than she had in . . .well, since she could actually remember.

"I am Naaramare," she said, in greeting. "May we know your name?"

While she asked this, she carefully extended her hand to the horse. Granted, it seemed to be accepting Mithrandir well enough, but . . .she was not Mithrandir, and had no desire to suffer painful bites. So . . .best to take it slow and see how the beast would react.

[The Fifth]

The steed pulls its head away from the approaching hand, and swishes it tail to keep some hovering insects away.

[Elenna]

Elenna cursed as her sword crumbled into dust after striking the Wraith. She stowed the hilt back in her pouch, and went to hug her Oliphaunt. He trembled under her hands, but did not seem to be harmed.

[Birdland]

"I'm call...uh...Birdland", said Birdie. She accepted another cup of herb tea, and cupped it in her hands, waiting for the usual reaction to her name. The looks of blank puzzlement soon appeared on the various faces around the fire. Birdie shrugged, and recited her next "line", which had been offered many times in the past.

I really don't know why I was called that. It was what my folks wanted, I suppose." Sipping her tea, (it was very good,) she finished with, "Most folk just call me Birdie."

Turning towards the next person by the fire, she asked: "What is your name?" She figured that an explanation of the strange beastling that had knocked her out would come eventually. Birdie knew to take it slow around strangers.

[Gandalf_theGrey]

Pleased to meet you, Birdie. * Gandalf lit a convivial bowl of pipeweed after downing a second cup of invigorating lemon balm tea * Some call me Gandalf, others Mithrandir. You must be a traveller of some experience, to wander alone through the night's perils. If our paths lie in the same direction, Birdie, you are welcome to share our road. Would you like anything to eat? There's still some leftover badger stew keeping warm in the kettle over the campfire, I imagine.

As for the war steed, he may also accompany us for a time if he will, at least as far as Tharbad. * Gandalf smiled encouragement watching Naaramare reach out to befriend the horse. *

[Birdland]

Birdie almost dropped the cup she was holding. This was Gandalf the Grey?!

She thought about all the tales she had heard of the mighty wizard. How he had defeated the dragon of the Lonely Mountain single-handedly, commanded armies of Eagles, produced rivers of gold, and lakes of fire. That he sat on the councils of the greatest of the Elven Lords, and advised the Kings of Men.

Everyone had heard of Gandalf the Grey, though few could actually describe him. Certainly they would not describe him as sitting at a campfire, looking weary and dirty, relishing a bowl of badger stew.

Birdie decided to play along. At best, this really was Mithandir, the Grey Wanderer. (Perhaps in disquise. Heroes in tales often traveled in disquise.) At worst, he was some ancient warrior of the minor nobility, addled by sorrow and battle, who had assumed a grand delusion. He seemed to be a kindly soul, and the stew did look good.

"Well met, Oh Grey Wanderer. All of Middle Earth know of the mighty Gandalf the Grey. It is an undeserved honor to be invited to share the road with you, for however long you will accept me."

But what of the others? She watched as the young girl, with a look of concentration as if she had forgotten something important, tried to befriend the black war steed. Birdie would as soon jump on the back of a pooka as touch the beast. But at the moment, it seemed to play the role of a normal, if somewhat flighty horse, as weary of the road as its masters.

Next she glanced at the girl standing beside the strange grey beast. Did wizards have familiars? And if so, did familiars have grooms to attend the them? Birdie decided to wait for an explanation of this particular mystery. Whatever the beast was, it seemed to be well-behaved.

Birdie last looked at the woman of no particular age who seemed to have charge of the camp and it's members. Tending to hurts and the fire, dishing up another bowl of stew and refilling the pan for more tea. The puzzled skin-changer was relieved at last to be able to place at least one member of the party in her proper role. She smiled up at the woman as she handed her the bowl, and addressed Gandalf:

"You are fortunate to have such a caring helpmeet on the road, Gandalf. May I ask the name of your leman?"

[The Fifth]

The steed lays down in front of the fire, folding his legs beneath him, with a faint red glint in his eyes as he peers blankly at the others.

[VanimaEdhel]

((OOC: I'm back! ELBERETH GILTHONIEL did I miss a lot! What will I do when I go away for a month? Oh well: I'll cross that bridge when I get to it...))

Ummm...okay: Menelduliniel just basically kept shooting, even though all Hell was breaking loose. Then, it was over...

((OOC: I about caught up?))

Okay: Meneli sees the horse by the fire (my creature ;p ).

She sees it shy away from a hand, but she still slowly approaches it. She shushes the horse, and slowly holds out her hand to gently pat its neck...

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Gandalf winced on being referred to as "mighty" by the mysterious Birdland, but smoked amenably enough until hearing Bethberry referred to as "leman." Then he extinguished his pipe and stood, turning towards the newcomer to their group. *

The one whom you mistakenly call "leman" is a good friend, the best pure light to come from the Old Forest and dispel darkness after the tradition of her parents most worthy. Her honor rivals that of the greatest fair folk ever to walk Middle Earth. * Gandalf nodded to Bethberry, inviting her to introduce herself and her background according to her comfort level. Then he spoke to Birdland again. *

... You've just reminded me of something, though. Keep your eyes and ears peeled for an Entwife. Thought I heard one earlier. If so, I must relay this good news to Treebeard.

* There being only a few short hours left until dawn, Gandalf eyed the half-snoozing horse with a touch of envy. *

They don't call it horse sense for nothing, * he muttered to himself, then spoke at a more normal volume to the group at large * ... A few last things to consider before I catch a short sleep: How many here ride bareback? Shall we be needing the horse's gear? And who among us will discover a name that the horse will answer to?

* Gandalf, unabashedly dead tired, yawned, stretched out on the ground, and dropped off to sleep. *

[The Fifth]

(Welcome back Van! Creature! Creature!) The horse allowed the hand to pat his head, as he was now starting to tire himself from his long journey from Mordor.

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry looked at Birdie with a twinkle in her eye, but there was a solemn frown on her forehead and she sighed slightly, as she stored her vials in her bag again and packed some of the herbs she had found earlier that day.

You are younger than I thought, Birdie, or perhaps that bump to your head is serious, if you give way to such notions. There are more relationships in Aman and Arda than are dreamt of by romantic young girls.

I am Bethberry, a herbalist, taught the ways of forests by Iarwain, my father, and the lore of the seasons by my mother, Goldberry. I seek her song throughout all of Middle Earth. Gandalf has been a friend of my family since, well, since he came to Middle Earth. Our paths have often crossed.

I'll leave others here to talk around the fire. I am weary from the battle. Good night.

Bethberry unrolled her blanket and made a bed for herself amidst the ferns and mosses and was soon asleep.

[ June 30, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Naaramare]

Naaramare gaped at the sleeping Bethberry. Well. That explained a lot. From her brief stay healing in Rivendell, she knew who Iarwain Ben-Adar and his spouse Goldberry were . . .

So that's why Bethberry could combat the wraith-thing's fear . . .

Speaking of the wraith-thing . . .

It was so frustrating. At one point, Naaramare was almost certain she had known exactly how to tame a horse, and now . . .she couldn't even get close to one that was already tame.

Well, try again, idiot girl! a sharp mental voice prodded her.

Carefully, Naaramare approached the reclining beast, hoping she wasn't going to get kicked.

(OOC: Fifth, be nice to the poor elf. ^~)

[The Fifth]

The horse snorts, sending a spray of phlegm at the elf. (OOC: How's that for nice?)

[ June 30, 2002: Message edited by: The Fifth ]

[Birdland]

"Well, you certainly put your foot in it" Birdie thought. "How was I to know it was strictly a platonic relationship?"

Birdie signed, thinking that too much time on the road had dulled her ability to "read" people. Such mistakes could get a person killed! Walking to the edge of the camp, she stood, closed her eyes, and started to raise her arms...

Then suddenly remembered that no one here seemed to know that the "Entwife" had been her! In the heat of the battle, her instant transformation from tree to traveler seemed to have been overlooked. Birdie considered waking the sleeping wizard and explaining the situation to him, but rejected it for now. Some people were touchy about Skin-Changers, believing them to be, at best, spies, or at worst in league with Dark Powers. Best to sound out her companions a little more before revealing her one "talent".

"Well, no sleeping standing up for you tonight." she thought ruefully. Birdie fetched her pack, pulled an old woolen cloak out of it, and wrapped it around her shoulders. Finding a spot by the fire, she laid down on the cold ground, groping irritatingly around for a rock between her shoulder blades.

The black war steed lay across from her on the other side of the fire, gazing at the skin-changer like a cat curled up on a hearth. There was the slightest flicker of red deep within its eyes. Birdie shuddered, hoping it was a reflection from the dying flames between them.

"What are you looking at?" she muttered. She rolled over, her back to the horse, and tried to sleep.

[ June 30, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Naaramare]

(OOC: Fifth, that was mean. Funny. But meeean.)

Discouraged, Naaramare gave up on the horse. Whatever talent she might have had with the animals before was obviously gone.

The inner warmth from before was fading, and following Bethberry's lead, she wrapped herself in her cloak and tried to drift off to sleep.

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel continues to pat the creature ((you know I love you, Fifth! )). She holds out an apple for it too.

"'Quel roch (good horse). Mani naa essa en lle, a'maelamin (What is your name, my beloved)?" Meneli asked the horse.

[The Fifth]

The horse does not eat the apple, and turns his head away to look at the nearby scenery. This steed was made foul by the stench of Mordor, but he was not as foul as the rider that he once bore.

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Soft trumpeting from Olorin the oliphaunt woke everyone to a morning of wind and rain. Waiting for Elenna to wake up and provide a morning hug, the oliphaunt shook water from the folds in its ears onto the Elf and anyone who happened to be nearby. *

* After the draining battle against the wraith, the fire had been left untended. No one had kept the night watch, unless you counted those who had done more tossing and turning than sleeping. *

* The campfire had been blown out. The meager remains of badger stew hanging in the iron kettle above the dead embers resembled thin soup with a hint of turnip or leek bobbing into view if you looked close. Olorin wandered over to the stew kettle and drank. *

* Gandalf awoke to find a note tacked to a nearby oak tree. The note had been left behind by the Hedgemaiden Moridel. According to this written message, the Ranger had needed to attend to some business of her own, promised to meet up with the company again if at all possible, and bade the group not to wait for her, but to go on ahead to Sarn Ford. *

* Gandalf rekindled the fire as the rest of the company woke up. *

[Naaramare]

I must have done stupider things than put myself to sleep in a snit without checking to see if there was a night-watch, Naaramare thought, trying to stretch the cricks out of her neck, but I can't remember them.

Then again, she couldn't remember much of anything. And it was getting maddening, particularly with the tantalizing feeling of almost remembering dancing in front of her.

Then again, there was a wizard travelling with them, wasn't there?

Moving over to where Gandalf was, Naaramare cleared her throat self-consciously.

"Mithrandir," she began, "may I ask something of you?"

[Gandalf_theGrey]

Certainly, Naaramare, and I shall answer as best I can. * Gandalf bowed slightly, smiling through the drizzle as misty water droplets accumulated on his hat brim. *

[The Fifth]

As the sun rises, the horse unfolds his legs, drawing himself up to his great height and tossing his head, snorting, and then dipping his neck down to nose around on the ground for grass.

[Naaramare]

Taking a deep breath, Naaramare summoned her resolve.

"Grey Wanderer . . .do you know any way of returning memories? I ask because . . .well, I lost mine.

"I don't know how. I don't remember anything before reawakening in Imladris; I was found wandering the passes of the mountains. I don't remember my real name: I chose Naaramare because . . . " She blushed. "When I was found, my clothes were burnt, and my sense of humour tends towards the ironic. It was thought likely that whatever fire had done that had been part of what deprived me of my memories.

"I keep getting hints and flashes, as when the wraith . . .as when I said what I to the wraith. Or when I tried to befriend it's horse. But nothing concrete.

"And I wondered . . .even Lord Elrond could tell me nothing about how to regain what I'd lost, and . . . " She took another deep breath. "And if you tell me there is no hope, I shall give up trying and simply continue on as Naaramare. But . . ." She let it trail off.

I shouldn't have asked . . . .

[Gandalf_theGrey]

My dear Elf, there is hope indeed. First, look to yourself by looking away. The past has been taken from you ... do not give away the present as easily, but live, fully, now. The same fire that destroys a forest makes its soil rich and fertile, so that the land may be greener than before. Do not give up, but let go. Continue on as Naaramare.

The sort of help which I can offer you ... which Elrond can offer ... and Bethberry ... is indirect. You seek your place in the Music, have lost your place in the theme. Carry on, pick up the song from where you are now. Then perhaps one day you will be able to fill in the unfamiliar notes, from the familiar tones with which you surround yourself.

* Not voicing all his thoughts, Gandalf gave a nod of encouragement, as when Naaramare had attempted to approach the black steed. He had foreseen that this conversation would take place. Yes, there was hope, though the end was far from clear ... Suddenly, images seemed to form in the wizard's mind. Gandalf looked up with a start. *

In which mountain pass were you discovered wandering, Naaramare? I think I see something ...

[ July 01, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[Naaramare]

The question startled Naaramare out of the disappointment that had clung to her when Gandalf began. Not that what he said wasn't true, but . . .

. . .I still feel helpless, and I know that I never, EVER liked feeling helpless . . .

"The . . pass?" she repeated, blinking. "It was . . ." She paused, frowning, trying to recall out of the murk that was simply normal, confused memory of a murky, confused time in her life. "It was . . .oh, this is ridiculous, because I remember this!" Trying to focus on one single voice in the myriad of memories that leapt to her mind when thinking of that time, she finally heard someone--Lord Glorfindel?--say . . .

"Caradhras," she said aloud. "It was the Imladris side of Caradhras where they found me."

[piosenniel]

It had been a pleasant journey from Pincup, in the Green Hill Country, south to Longbottom. The weather was mild, the days sunny, affording ample opportunity for a wandering hobbit to capture the countryside in word and sketch.

Holly Stoor had walked the road out of Longbottom early yesterday morning at a comfortable pace, stopping whenever something caught her eye - dogtooth violets in the shade of a tree, the red chevron against the black wing of a bird, the soft sighing of pines as they bent in a morning breeze. Her worn chapbook would soon find its way, open, into her left hand, shortly followed by the stick of hard charcoal tucked over her right ear into her right hand. Soon a small, detailed sketch would emerge on the vellum. Later, when she paused to eat or make camp, the same sketch would prompt a short line of description or perhaps a poem capturing that moment of the journey.

Having replenished her supply of pipeweed today from a grower near Longbottom, and picked up a few staples from farmers along the way, she hoped to make the Brandywine by mid to late afternoon, and cross it at the Sarn Ford.

She was in sight of the Ford, when her pony, Periwinkle, nickered at her, stopped abruptly, and shook her mane. The small load of equipment she was carrying had gone askew. Holly took a few moments to readjust and secure the load, and then headed down to the water.

She and Peri crossed the river slowly to its east bank, clambered out, and continued on down toward the Greenway.

When she got to the intersection of the road from the Ford and the Greenway, there were a number of big people conversing in the road. So intent were they on their conversation that they did not notice her approach.

Tapping one politely on the back, she asked him, as he turned toward her and looked down, 'Excuse me, sir, might we pass?'

[ July 01, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[The Fifth]

The war steed lifts his head up, chewing on a clump of grass, to look at the hobbit. The armor near him glistens with dew, as does the remains of the wraith's robes scattered a bit farther away. Snorting, he trots over towards a tree, clipping at pieces of grass growing between the bulging roots.