Fandom Lord of the Rings: Free Folk of the North

[Vudukudu]

In the year 2941 a number of important events usher Wilderland into a new age: the death of Smaug, the Battle of Five Armies, the restoration of the Kingdom under the Mountain and of Dale, and the discovery of the Ruling Ring by Bilbo Baggins. The decade following these momentous events sees the Free Peoples savour an unexpected respite: men gather under the banners of ambitious kings and chieftains, raising their heads to lookbeyond their old and restrictive borders for the first time in a long while, and adventurers dare once again to follow forgotten roads in search of renown.

Five years after the fabled Battle, the Free Peoples came once more to Dale, for the first festival called the Gathering of Five Armies, to remember and to celebrate the death of Smaug. The wise among them also speak of the defeat of the mysterious Necromancer, who was driven from Mirkwood around the same time by the White Council. In the months before the Gathering, King Bard of Dale sends heralds and messengers out across Wilderland, who proclaim the king’s words:
"And so, Free Peoples of the North, gather up your courage and bring it to me. I have plans for the North such as you will scarce believe, but I need your strength to turn plan to deed. In return for playing your part in our rebirth, I will pay well in gold, land and the satisfaction of knowing you lead your people from the shadows into a brighter future."

This new age of Wilderland is a fragile thing. 2941 was a year of great triumph – the orcs were scattered, the Dragon slain, the Necromancer banished – but the Shadow still lies on Middle-earth. All the good that was done can be undone, all that joy can be turned to sorrow and ash, unless heroes arise to defend the Free Peoples and safeguard this fragile dawn.

 

[Vudukudu]

Our fellowship of would-be heroes meets in Woodsmen Town, a small but thriving settlement under the gloomy eaves of Mirkwood.


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It is spring, and the town is waking from Winter. Men and women drag rugs and blankets outside, and beat the winter’s dust out of them. Knee-deep ashes from fires kept burning all season long are cleared from the hearths, and the collection of firewood for next year begins. The town is a safe refuge in a sea of dark and threatening woods, and the pace of life here is slow. The walls of Woodmen-town are built from a palisade of stout logs, sharpened at the top. Bunches of fragrant herbs can be seen hanging from the walls to ward off evil influences. The palisade has a mixture of very ancient, moss covered sections, and much newer freshly cut and erected logs. The houses in Woodmen-town are all rectangular long houses, with sloping shingled roofs that reach almost to the ground.

The Market Green Sward atop the hill is crested by Woodsmen Town's Great Hall, a finely made and well-decorated structure housing the mythical Lamp of Balthi, the greatest treasure of the Woodsmen. On the Market Green the occasional travelling merchant lays out their goods, pig and sheep-herders drive their animals into pens, tradesmen meet to buy materials and sell their wares, and the local gossips gather to trade tales. The Dusky River that runs to the east of the town is still swollen with melt-water from the Mountains of Mirkwood. On the couple of jetties that poke out into the river, fisher-folk mend their nets, carve out new log boats, and tar their coracles in readiness for the fishing season to begin. Well-trained working dogs can be seen all around Woodsmen town, the Woodmen being masters of hounds that are kennelled at the north of the settlement and watch for any threat from the forest. Occasional excited barks can be heard, but no howls warn of danger. The chopping of wood is a constant refrain,

On this particular day, four particular folk stand out among the hardy Northmen of these woods: a man of Dale garbed in finely made traveling clothes, a burly warrior from the Carrock of the Beornings, a joyous (and curiosity inspiring!) Hobbit lass, and one of the fierce Horse-women of Rohan.

Randur, having restocked his travelling provisions at the Market with an ear to the ground for rumors, is on the lookout for companions to travel north with. It is long since time he reported to the King in Dale, but the reasonable fear of traveling through Mirkwood alone has thus far stalled his journey. Though he does not engage with any one of them yet, he keeps an eye on the other strangers among the Woodsmen, particularly the Hobbit. He had heard tales of a strange children from far to the West and of one named Bilbo in particular, but he had never met the adventurous Hobbit and had somewhat suspected the famous Burglar was simply a Dwarf without a beard. To see another of Bilbo's kind here was especially intriguing, then, and in the meantime she has much of his attention, though from a distance.

 

[Kimiwriter]

Ceolwen

Woodsman's Town strangely reminded Ceolwen of home. The simplicity of it, the sounds of everyday life and daily chores, even the people reminded her of where she grew up. Perhaps she'd been away too long; homesickness was not a common problem for her. Then again, her home had been destroyed. Even Meduseld, with as much time as she spent there, didn't completely feel like home. Shaking her head to dismiss her thoughts, Ceolwen led her horse towards the market. She needed supplies for her journey home and the market was the best place to learn about suspicious characters or dangers of the road. And she had already heard many stories about Mirkwood.

The market sat atop a hill and the stalls and blankets of the merchants were not yet overcrowded. A Rohirrim stood out in such a small crowd. She left her horse at the edge of the market, letting Elfwine graze while she made her way through the market. A few people stared at first. Not many Rohirrim traveled this far north and a horse-woman was even more rare. Ceolwen ignored the stares and whispers as she always did as she moved from one side of the market to the other, stopping to purchase some food from one stall or examining the arrows at another merchant's blanket. As she walked, she watched the people who moved around her. Hunting traitors sparked a little paranoia in even the best warriors and being a stranger automatically raised suspicion.

She brought her purchases back to Elfwine and began situating everything into her saddlebags when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Someone was watching her. Slowly lifting her head, she surveyed the crowd. There were too many people to pinpoint exactly who was watching her but she recognized the feeling. Turning her attention back to her pack, she watched the crowd from the corner of her eye. If someone approached her, she would be ready, but it was more likely an enemy would wait for her to leave town. Fewer witnesses.

 

[Relayer]

ODO

Odo took a deep breath and took a moment to enjoy the signs of Spring all around the Woodsmen's town. The yearly renewal of the world always seemed to shove the Shadow back a bit, and Odo liked the Woodsmen: their pragmatic bustle made him think of his own people. It was tempting to spend a few days here and rest…

But that kind of contented thinking was a weakness for The Enemy to exploit; Odo put on his best discouraging frown and headed to the market to reprovision. He kept his eyes and ears open as he traded some dried herbs he had collected for a length of rawhide to replace a rotting bootlace; murmurs of a shadowy infiltrator had reached his ears, and who knows what its guise might be? But initially, all seemed normal for the town except the woman dressed in a way that reminded Odo of the mighty riders of Rohan but for her dark hair.

Odo found a convenient stump and relaced his boot, one eye on the people around him…

 

[Felis]

Celandine

Celandine Bracegirdle was strolling through Market Green Sward, mainly window shopping (if you can call it that at an open-air market) and making polite small-talk with the merchants, as she was done restocking her travel supplies. She had left her pony farther down the hill - Rugues was a bit prone to trying to snatch sweets or herbs from market stalls.

Celandine was in high spirits - even though the stories behind the Lamp of Balthi that she had got to hear so far were fairly vague and said more about how the lamp had got its name than what it did exactly, she had been allowed to take a look at it in the Main Hall. Simply knowing how special an artefact is made it look even more impressive, but even so, its slightly bluish, almost otherworldly glow bespoke that the Lamp of Balthi was not one purposed for reading a book in the evenings by its light. Though Celandine still only knew the odd tidbit about the lamp itself, she had got to see an item next to which quite a few artifacts in the Mathom House back in Michel Delving would have paled, and that alone had made the detour worth her time, she decided.

Now that she had seen what she came to see, restocked, and grown just a tiny bit weary of the repetitive conversations ("indeed, the weather is finally turning warmer; yes, the roads here were in decent shape, I suppose; yes, a Hobbit, though you admittedly don't see many of us out of the Shire"), Celandine was all but set to travel north again. It would have been fascinating to stay and get to know the flora of Mirkwood in more depth, but she knew that if she gave in and added a week or two to her stay, she'd be heading to Dale with more seedlings and specimens than reasonable for anything but a direct return trip to Hardbottle. Maybe just one more look at the mossy palisade, though, some of the lichen there looked positively unfamiliar...

Well, why not combine the pleasant with the useful? Celandine could just head towards the palisade, get a look at those lichen and see if there was anyone else leaving town for the north while she was at it. It would be nice to travel in a group again, and probably safer, too. There were a few other travelers in Woodsmen Town, she had noticed. For example, that well-dressed gentleman a couple of stands away was certainly one of them... When Celandine turned her head to look at him directly, though, she almost ran into another traveler leading a horse.

"Apologies, apologies! I'm really very sorry!" Celandine exclaimed as she jumped back to move out of the way and made a small curtsy (which looked a bit odd as she had taken to wearing trousers instead of skirts on the road) before she looked up at the stranger. It was a woman with dark hair, and while Celandine couldn't quite place her style of clothing, she had a hunch the traveler was from the south rather than the north.

Celandine hesitated for a moment. Should she ask whether this traveler was heading north, too? But she hadn't made the best impression right now, so maybe she should wait for a better opportunity...

 

[Kimiwriter]

Ceolwen

Ceolwen's hand felt to the pommel of her sword as she turned towards the person who nearly walked into her and dropped it as soon as she realized they were a child. Not quite a child. A dwarf? The woman didn't look like any dwarf Ceolwen had seen. No beard, first of all, and she didn't dress like a dwarf or carry a weapon. Either way, she wasn't the type of enemy the horse-woman was expecting. Ceolwen allowed herself a smile and a small nod of her head.

"No apologies necessary, my lady. The market isn't the easiest place to navigate." She looked around, half expecting to see a worried parent or a dwarf smith nearby for her to direct the young woman towards. Elfwine's ears pricked forward and he dropped his head to sniff the woman's curly hair. He'd seen children before but this one in particular seemed to catch his interest. Ceolwen patted his neck as he nickered to the young woman. "Elfwine is young and curious but he's mostly harmless. I am Ceolwen of the Rohirrim."

Elfwine lost interest in the woman's hair and turned his attention to her pockets, looking for a treat.

Ceolwen sucked on her teeth and gently touched the reins. The horse instantly stepped back, shaking his head. She patted his neck again. "You seem a bit lost. I haven't been here long myself but perhaps I can help you find the place you are going to?"

Felis

 

[Vudukudu]

Randur was too distant to intervene as the subject of his curiosity was nearly squashed by the large Rohirric steed. Though he'd been told that the Rohirrim weren't usually of such dark hair, he had no doubts about the origin of the animal, and some of the rider's style and decoration on the saddle confirmed his suspicion. There was something about the Southerners and their horses that one just didn't see in Rhovanion, and he felt as if they were lesser because of it.

Fortunately for the Hobbit, she bumped into the rider and not her steed. She had looked at him, which was usually all the invitation he needed, but found his attention directed elsewhere for the moment.

"Pardon me, your lordship, but ye look to be the traveling sort. And if you're to be traveling through Mirkwood, you'll be needing one of these." The voice comes from a somewhat rotund shaggy-haired woodcarver resting on a log. He holds up a small wooden talisman coated in ash and resin and offers it.

Randur eyes him with a curious glint. He didn't consider himself half as superstitious as the Woodsmen, but then again, he was in Mirkwood. These people had survived here beneath the shadow of Dol Guldur for quite some time, and he felt compelled to accept the token if possible. "I've only silver to trade." He remarked, offering a somewhat disappointed look. He was aware of how trade in these parts worked - almost exclusively by barter, given the low value of silver here. If you wanted to trade and had silver, your best bet was buying things off a proper traveling merchant to trade with. He hadn't had any such luck.

"Ah, well. 'Tis but a trinket. Best of fortune, and may your journey be swift and safe all the same." The man replies, shrugging slightly and returning his attention to his carvings.

A short distance away, a mumbling old man, practically bent in half by age, carries a bundle of charcoal about the market. He stops and pauses near to Odo, his lower lip trembling before he speaks. "S-spid-spiders and wicked things about." He says, utter certainty and perhaps a tad bit of insanity in his voice. "Webs and paws and sharp things in the woods. No safety there, not even for the Bear-men like you." He gibbers, pointing a crooked finger at Odo.

 

[Felis]

Celandine

Celandine couldn't help but giggle softly when the horse bent to sniff her hair. Unruly as it sometimes was, it couldn't look that much like hay, right? With all those curls? That behaviour reminded her a bit of Rugues, although in size and appearance the two equines were of course as different as their owners.

More importantly, however, it was time that she remembered her manners. "Celandine Bracegirdle, at your service," she introduced herself. "I am a Hobbit of the Shire. Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady. And yours of course too, Elfwine." She reflexively curtsied again. Celandine admittedly didn't know much about Rohan, aside from that the people there were supposedly great warriors and horse breeders - which, as far as Celandine could judge, appeared true enough, looking at Ceolwen and Elfwine.

"Oh, most kind of you, but please don't trouble yourself," Celandine went on to address Ceolwen's offer. "I suppose I am wandering around a bit aimlessly, but I'm not really lost. I was about to head back to the palisade and look at some of the moss and such, actually; I'm a gardener, you know, and dabbling in more theoretical botany a bit, too - oh, I'm rambling, aren't I?"

She broke off, but then decided she might just as well go ahead with the question she had wanted to ask in the first place. Ceolwen hadn't been upset at Celandine almost bumping into her and seemed a helpful enough person, so surely it couldn't hurt, could it? "Um, but speaking of going places - would it be awfully imposing if I asked you whether you are traveling north or south once you leave Woodsmen Town? I'm bound for Dale myself, and I am sort of looking for someone heading in the same direction who doesn't mind me tagging along," she explained.

 

[Relayer]

ODO

Odo stared for a long moment at the old man, trying without much success to determine if the fellow was mad, senile, in his cups, or if he possibly knew something of significance. And "Bear-Men…" Well, that could just be referring to Odo's size, or his evident appearance as a Beorning. Or…

He nodded and held his arms out. "Can I help you with your burden for a while, old father?" he asked. "And maybe while I do, you can tell me of these wicked things."

 

[Vudukudu]

The old man's knees bend and straighten, as if he were trying to fidget without the use of his hands. Hefting his sack of charcoal, he squints suspiciously at Odo. Just as suddenly as his brows had risen, they fall and he offers a toothless smile. "Come, come." He invites, depositing the sack of charcoal into Odo's waiting arms. He begins hobbling along the hill, apparently without any sense of direction until it becomes evident he is trying to stay on even footing as he winds about the hill towards a small, poorly built shed.

"Hmm, hmm. Wicked things, you ask." He murmurs, rubbing his crooked fingers to soothe them. "The woods are brighter than before. Not much, but brighter. The taste of misery is gone and the shadows dance no more. Heehee!" He chatters, punctuating the sentence with a little dance drawn from some deeper reserve of energy. He turns and points an index finger that is missing its tip at Odo, the stub almost touching his chin. "But not for long, this I know. And you will know it too. This is not a happy place, and maybe that is why the Elves hide so."

Turning once more to continue his steady path, he is a bit more hasty across the final brief stretch. "In there, boy. And let me give you something else for the trouble. Something that will not ever leave Mirkwood." He draws in a deep breath, then begins reciting a riddle.

"It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,
Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt.
It lies behind stars and under hills,
And empty holes it fills.
It comes out first and follows after,
Ends life, kills laughter. "

 

[Relayer]

ODO

Odo adjusted the load and peered at the ramshackle cabin. He was developing the impression that the old man was more than he appeared. What was he?

Ignoring for the moment the instinct to drop the sack and put a hand on a blade, Odo glanced around at the surrounding forest. Was he a sentinel of some kind? He wondered. Living alone surrounded by Mirkwood for years could certainly tickle at your sanity…

"How long have you lived here, old sir?" he asked.

As the old man reeled off his riddle, Odo plunked the bag in the shack and pondered. "Behind stars and under hills…" What's behind the stars? Nothing. And empty holes…

Suddenly he felt he had it.

"The answer to your riddle is 'darkness.' Why won't darkness ever leave Mirkwood?"

 

[Kimiwriter]

Ceolwen

A Hobbit. Ceolwen wasn't familiar with the culture, though she recalled hearing stories about a race of child-sized people but she thought they didn't travel much. Of course, it was an old story so there were bound to be mistakes. The emphasis on manners and gardens seemed correct, at least.

"I'm afraid I don't know much about gardening and far less about moss." Ceolwen smiled at her and motioned to the path leading away from the market. "Though my mother had the best pumpkin patch in our village."

Ceolwen scanned the market crowd again. Either the traitor had circled around Woodsmen-town completely or he was further ahead than she had thought. The sooner she returned to the road, the faster she could track him. "I have a bit farther to travel north before returning home. You're welcome to join me, though I should warn you, Elfwine and I ride fast and long and once I find the man I'm looking for, I will need to return to my master." She walked ahead of Elfwine, careful to avoid the growing crowds and groups of children darting across the road. The horse was a gentle giant and would never intentionally harm someone, but he was still a horse, prone to spooking.

"So what kind of theoretical botany brings you out to the edge of the Mirkwood?" It hardly seemed the place for a gentle-folk to travel to in order to look at plants.

 

[Vudukudu]

The old man takes a shaky hold of a knob of wood jutting out from the shack's wall, using it to steady himself. His limbs, weary and creased, look as if they could have been hewn from the wood of the forest itself. "Sixty and five, by my count." He answers, though his tone suggests the information is something of no interest to him.

Upon Odo's offering of an answer, the elder gives a crooked smile. "Because, friend, there will always be wickedness in the hearts of men." He answers. With a conspiratorial look in his eyes, he shuffles closer to Odo. "A man passed through ten days past, a surly Southerner with black hair. He rides for Dale, and with a vial of poison most foul, gathered from the sap of the Simfyne root. The Enemy is all about, Moon-Seer. Give your friend the Willow-Arm my regards, and tread carefully."

Leaning away just as suddenly as he had approached, he points a finger towards the only man of Dale present, Randur, far across the Hill. "That one, there. They say his name is Randur. He treads as a spider, listening and pulling at threads. He aims for Dale, and you should accompany him. If he is a spy of the Enemy, it is best that he be carefully watched. If not, perhaps he can find the ones you seek."

 

[Felis]

Celandine

Celandine smiled. "Oh, how nice! Pumpkins are lovely vegetables, and so versatile in cooking, too" she complimented Ceolwen - or technically, Ceolwen's mother - before she caught herself just in time to avoid launching into a small speech of the perks of pumpkins and the challenges of growing them.

Ceolwen's answer to Celandine's request was good considering that it was not an outright no, but Celandine didn't get her hopes up too high for being able to keep up. Compared to Elfwine, Rugues was as short as Celandine compared to a grown man, and Celandine had come to know the disadvantage of having the shorter legs. Still, she hoped to keep her options open - if she couldn't find anyone else, even a short time of company was better than none, after all.

"Of course, of course! I would never mean to slow you down or distract you from your business, my lady," she assured Ceolwen. "I'm grateful you're considering it at all, with a stranger asking you out of the blue like this. As for what brings me here, it's actually Woodsmen Town itself, I suppose." Celandine paused for a moment as she thought about how to explain it without telling half her life story, which would take decidedly too long.

"I read about the Lamp of Balthi, but it was only a vague mention that it existed at all, so as I was going to travel anyway, I took a detour here to hear a bit more about it. But I'm glad it gives me a bit of time to look at the plants here, too, even if I can't really take cuttings or anything with me at the moment. I am going to Dale for the theoretical botany bit, though, or theoretical anything, really. I'm hoping to gain access to the libraries there."

 

[Relayer]

ODO

Odo regarded the old man. Although he couldn't be sure, it seemed like the old fellow was an agent, a watcher of some kind set to keeping an eye on the Woodsmen - and on incursions from Mirkwood... Unless all that was fog and fairy lights for a more sinister purpose. Odo tensed at the use of his byname, and even more at the mention of his friend Willow-Arm; whoever this elder was, he knew more about Odo than Odo was comfortable with. The Enemy wore many faces…

But when Odo consulted his guts, he didn't get feel of the Shadow from him. He turned and regarded the distant figure of Randur. "Dale, hm? Well, I've been wandering in that general direction, anyway. It shouldn't be too hard to keep an eye on that fellow."

He turned to go, but looked back to cock half a grin in the old man's direction. And when I next see Willow-Arm, who should I say sent his regards?"

 

[Kimiwriter]

Ceolwen

Smiling to herself, the horse-woman listened to the hobbit's excitement rise with each new conversation subject only to try to reel herself in. She was reminded of some of the young riders from her own village, so much energy and still trying to convince the older riders of their skill and worth without appearing cocky or disrespectful. Ceolwen knew she'd done something similar, though she'd gotten sick of the act after a few weeks.

She navigated the town towards the inns. "I need to gather a few more things before we leave." Ceolwen itched to get back on the road but she also didn't want to rush the hobbit too much. "It'll be several days before we reach Dale, so you will want to be prepared for that." Assuming, of course they didn't run into any trouble; which was almost inevitable considering the stories surrounding Mirkwood.

"Should I wait for you at the gates or is there a place I can find you? And do you need a horse?"

 

[Felis]

Celandine

For a brief moment, Celandine was left speechless in the way someone coming home to find family and friends gathered for a surprise party. Ceolwen spoke like it was settled that the two (or technically, four. They shouldn't leave out Elfwine and Arugula) of them were traveling together - and as far as the Hobbit was concerned, that meant it was settled. So in the end, she had been worried about nothing; things tended to work out if you let them, after all. A broad smile formed on Celandine's face before she realized she hadn't answered Ceolwen's question.

"Ah, um, I'll have to pick up my things at the inn as well, but then I can leave anytime," she hurried to say. It did sting a little that she wouldn't be able to examine the moss on the palisade and the wild herbs shooting up between the buildings as closely as she would have liked, but Celandine knew she wouldn't have been able to take any offshoots with her at the moment, anyway, so it didn't matter so much in the end.

"My inn is the one with the low mossy roof-" no, that wouldn't help, half the houses here looked like this, "fairly close to the market down that direction and- oh, maybe it's easiest if we meet at the gates, if it's no trouble to you, my lady," Celandine gave up on describing her lodgings. "As for a horse, well, I have a pony - he's waiting back at the inn, too. Rugues may not be quite as fast as a larger steed, but he's untiring and not too easily spooked. And, um," she said with a small laugh, "perhaps most importantly, he's short enough for me to get into the saddle."

Celandine briefly wondered whether there was anything she should be asking in turn, but there wasn't really anything coming to her mind. They were in agreement about the direction they were heading, as they had horses with them, they wouldn't be taking a route through the thickest underbrush, and Ceolwen had already stated that they wouldn't be traveling the whole distance together. Of course, Celandine knew barely anything about Ceolwen, but in her experience, being suspicious of people proved a waste of time for the most part, unless perhaps you were about to move in as their neighbour and they had some irritating habits you didn't know about.

 

[Vudukudu]

The old man arches a brow and then chews his bottom lip, as if seriously considering how to answer that question. After a few moments, he nods. “From Oldan of the Rivercross.” He answers, then retrieves a walking-stick that had been leaning against the side of the hut.

“A kind thanks for your help, friend, but we must both be going on our roads. Ne’er stray too far from the path.” With that said, the elder begins to hobble off toward the Market along his winding path.

Randur, for his part, is carefully tending to his blades and seated upon a log. A small gaggle of children are gathered around him, and he is in the midst of telling them a story. Whenever he can, he stops to challenge them with a riddle, using it to delay the story while he comes up with
what occurs next and incorporating its answer into the tale. Each of those who answers receives a small token from him, whether it be a silver penny or a bit of alleged warg fur or orc teeth. Their fathers will see them for what they are, but that’s hardly his concern. If it inspires them to hear tales of bold heroes and to carry relics of them, then he shall tell tales and dispense bits of tanned leather and cracked teeth from wild dogs.

 

[Relayer]

Odo

The Carrockman watched Oldan hobble along for a while. His suspicious nature tempted him to search through the shack, but his gut still told him that Oldan was - well, if not exactly what he said he was, then at least someone to be trusted. There probably wasn't anything revealing in there anyway.

He moved closer to where Randur was charming the children, stopping at a discrete distance to fiddle with his new boot thong while listening in...

 

[Kimiwriter]

Ceolwen

Allowing herself to grin, Ceolwen nodded. Ponies were good steads for long distances, if a bit temperamental, as long as the riders didn't need great speed. "No trouble at all. I'll wait for you at the gates." Giving a farewell bow, the horsewoman led Elfwine towards her inn.

The Fiddling Cat was a small tavern and inn near the gate. The inside was gloomy since the wall blocked much of the sunlight from reaching the windows, but the food was decent and the drinks good. Leaving Elfwine outside, she stepped inside, pausing a moment to let her eyes adjust to the light. A few locals sat at the tables with a few pints, the inn keeper bustling about, chatting with the men as she poured more drinks and set bowls of stew on the tables. Moving through the main room, Ceolwen went to her room. Small, like the rest of the inn, with barely enough room for the bed and a side table.

It didn't take long to pack the rest of her things. Ceolwen imagined her mother scolding her as she rolled up her spare shirts and trousers before tossing them into her pack. Only her mother would be concerned that her Rohirrim daughter didn't properly fold her clothes to prevent wrinkles during the long rides. The horse woman smiled as she surveyed the room for any stray items. How long has it been since we had time to visit? I'm sure she is driving father crazy.

She tucked her pack under her arm and returned to the main room.

"Leaving us already?" the inn keeper called.

Ceolwen took a seat at the bar. "I'll be gone once my traveling companion finishes with her business." She accepted the pint the inn keeper offered her, throwing back her head as she downed half the drink. "Tell me, what do you know about Hobbits?"

 

[Vudukudu]

Relayer

"Attercops, spiders, and worse in the woods, but a few less thanks to Cerelorn's mighty bow. But who am I, a man who lives beyond the trees to tell you bright-eyed sons of the woods about creepers and crawlers?" Randur finishes. He'd noticed the Beorning approach a bit earlier in his story, and when he wraps up he shoos the children away with a hand gesture. They scamper off, comparing the little bits and bobs he'd offered them and giggling among themselves. Surely, the man of Dale was mad - speaking of days when the Mirkwood safe to tread? Unthinkable.

"Are you here for the shade or the stories, friend of Beorn? Because I do fear my stories are a little less suited to warriors, and more for children and lords." Randur inquires, eyeing Odo curiously. He was used to being eavesdropped on, or, at the very least, looking out for eavesdroppers. In Woodsmen Town, Beornings weren't hard to pick out, even if many of his kin couldn't tell the difference at a distance. Seeing either in Dale wasn't terribly common, at least in most districts. "Or, sincerest pardons if you were merely looking for a place to tie one's boots. Suppose I'm always perceptive of a new potential audience."

---------------------------------------------------
Kimiwriter

The innkeeper arches an eyebrow and lays his hands on the bar top. "The Hobbits? Queer fellows, as much myth as meat if you ask me. A man, small as a Dwarf but thin as an Elf with a fat little belly? Able to steal the Arkenstone right out from under the dragon's nose?" He replies, reflecting the general knowledge of Hobbits in the Wilderlands; that is, very little. That said, the legend of Bilbo Baggins the Burglar has reached far and wide, and were most folk in the North to encounter a Hobbit, they'd be just as respectful as they were curious. Around these parts, one must see it to believe it, and few Hobbits have made the perilous trek.

 

[Felis]

Celandine

Celandine returned Ceolwen's bow with one of her curtsies before hurrying towards her own inn. As she had mentioned, it was only a turn or two from the market and even a tad lower than most of the houses in the vicinity, which was probably one of the reasons Celandine had been drawn to it. If she could only have remembered the name earlier...

The inn's name, she was reminded by the sign above door a minute later, was The Green Celery, as charming to a gardener's ears as, admittedly, unmemorable. She rounded the building to check on her pony before doing anything else; with her luck, Rugues had found a way to sneak out of the stables and nibble on somebody's vegetable stock again.

This time, though, Celandine was spared the trouble (and additional expenses) as she found her pony exactly where she had left him. "I'm back, Rugues," she told him with a bright smile as she patted his neck and he began sniffing her pockets for treats, "and we're leaving once I've packed up. I bet you can't wait to get outside, can you? Towns can be a bit boring for ponies, I'll admit." Celandine fished a piece of sugar (one of her last, she'd really need to find someone who sold these eventually) out of her pouch. "Now be a good boy for just a little longer, you hear? I'll be only a minute."

Packing didn't take too long - Celandine hadn't planned for an extended stay, so she hadn't even fully unpacked her belongings when she had arrived. Finding a way to get her writing materials back into one of her bags without crumpling the pages or giving them dog-ears proved a bit of a challenge, but after a few tries she found an angle worked.

After saying her goodbyes to the innkeeper and saddling her pony, Celandine made her way back to the gates, eyeing a patch of weeds with purple flowers growing by the side of the path wistfully as she passed them. Wasn't that a type of deadnettle? The colour was a bit different than she remembered, though. Maybe she should plan another trip to Woodsmen Town next year or the year after that? But she was travelling so much already, it would be difficult to remain on good terms with her family and acquaintances back home...