On the road

[Leitz]

The old man rested both hands on his cane, and the metal shod tip make a light thunk as he did his best to stand straight.

"Men," he glanced at Lotho and Lofar, "of any stripe or parentage, come and go. Men of Gondor, and I had assumed that was you, answer to a higher calling. We treat the world as a place to cultivate the best in everyone." He shook his head, sighed, and sagged. "I am old. My ways are old, perhaps Gondor too, is old. They say change is coming, perhaps it us upon us. Perhaps all men are now as you. Pity."

"I'll pay for you food and drink. Enjoy your life. Apologies for intruding." The old man's half steps were quiet, he held the cane close as he made his way out. A short pause to chat with the barkeep, a few bright coin, and the cool night air intruded for a moment.

Another man stood, and bid his friends farewell. He nodded at Lotho, and smiled. "Perhaps all places have their Browns, and it is a way of life. Old Missus Brown takes in those no one wants, those others look down upon. The Captain there and her go way back, they say. Certainly he finds work for the Browns he can. It won't last much longer, though, I suppose."

A few more people leave, seemingly those whose early chores are close at hand. Others come in late, and talk resumes.

[Leitz]

"Silvertongue left Gondor, didn't he?" Olomir smiled. He seemed to nod to himself. "Where to? I am on the road more and more these days, perhaps by the time I get there he could be talked into a private lesson or two. There's something my music lacks."

One of the other musicians snorts, and Olomir smiled. "I have gotten various opinions, but would prefer to hear from someone more skilled." He introduced the troupe, one by one. They had heard of Tarabim, and were enthused to meet him in the flesh.

[Rex]

Lotho

Lotho nods as the men exit. Leans back and listens to the conversation as he waits for room to build for his next meal.

[Mr Stereo1]

The old man rested both hands on his cane, and the metal shod tip make a light thunk as he did his best to stand straight.

"Men," he glanced at Lotho and Lofar, "of any stripe or parentage, come and go. Men of Gondor, and I had assumed that was you, answer to a higher calling. We treat the world as a place to cultivate the best in everyone." He shook his head, sighed, and sagged. "I am old. My ways are old, perhaps Gondor too, is old. They say change is coming, perhaps it us upon us. Perhaps all men are now as you. Pity."

"I'll pay for you food and drink. Enjoy your life. Apologies for intruding." The old man's half steps were quiet, he held the cane close as he made his way out. A short pause to chat with the barkeep, a few bright coin, and the cool night air intruded for a moment.

Another man stood, and bid his friends farewell. He nodded at Lotho, and smiled. "Perhaps all places have their Browns, and it is a way of life. Old Missus Brown takes in those no one wants, those others look down upon. The Captain there and her go way back, they say. Certainly he finds work for the Browns he can. It won't last much longer, though, I suppose."

A few more people leave, seemingly those whose early chores are close at hand. Others come in late, and talk resumes.

Lofar tried to make his apologies as the man walked away but thinking him a crank did not follow him as he left. He returns to his seat and give Barwuf a pat on the arm."Come, put him out of mind. Your life is far from here and very different from any a local woman would know. It would be crueler to give them false hope than to dash it rudely."

[OGRE MAGE]

“This is why I usually avoid other folks altogether.” The huge human shakes his head at the complexity of it all.

“All these stations, rules, and manners. Differing from place to place. Not something I’m very knowledgeable of, I’m afraid. I hope I didn’t offend any of you, at least.”

Unable to shake the vision of the rude man’s prized cane for some reason, Barwuf decides not to pay him a late night visit in his altered state.

[tibbius]

Bidding Olomir and the other musicians goodnight with the competence of a professional performer, Tarabim eased over to his traveling companions. "What, Barwuf," he said to the huge man, "I'm in awe of your discretion. If that serving boy were handsy on me like that wench was to you ... well, I'd have your example to follow." He chuckled. "I guess we all have better things to be doing at the moment. And you're certainly right, wouldn't be fair to tumble them and sneak out in the morning."

[Leitz]

Good drink and plenty of hot food eventually drove the group upstairs, into the common room. They are the only guests, and what could be done for Barwuf is a thick stack of blankets covering half the floor. A few of them have a slight musty odor; it's easy to guess that stack has every available bit of blanket in the inn. The weariness from the travels and the comfort of the lodging gave everyone a deep and refreshing sleep. Harmonious hints of sizzling sausage and baking bread heralded the morning, and it was easy to break one's fast nicely. Even a hobbit could be pleased with the amount of food, though the variety and use of herbs was a bit sparse. A few loaves of spiced bread and a quarter block of cheese was had, as well, for the road.

The road was there, still. Plenty of mud in places, but the land was flatter and most of the mess was avoidable. River detritus lay at a higher level than the river. A good sign, things were returning to normal. It was two days easy journey upriver, to a good ford. Small villages on both sides had food and inns. The party continued, over the river into Rohan proper, and then north by whatever track seemed best.

Little was seen for a day, or more. Yet one cannot travel across the fields of the horse lords with out actually meeting said lords, on horses.

Half a dozen riders are approaching. The land is flat-ish, so their horses could likely easily outrun you. From all appearances they are Riders of the Mark, and it is likely a normal patrol. Gondor and Rohan are at least allies, but not bosom buddies. How do you prepare, and when approached, what do you do?

[Mr Stereo1]

On reflex Lofar searches for the carts, plotting how to stow away his wares to seem as paltry as he could to pay as little tole as possible. Realizing with a pang of sadness he had not even a cart to call his own he shakes his head and puffs his pipe.

"The Horse Lords are decent sorts, by and large. I say we hail them and ask for news of the Mark." He says to the others, assuming most were familiar with them he meets eyes with Barwuf. The Beorning might never have seen a Rohhirrim before and of their party he was surely the most intimidating the Riders might take offense to. "They're men like those of Gondor, but wilder. Not quite like your kind, friend, at one with nature but rather brash and passionate. Noble in their own way, of course, but if something's got their gander up best not to rise to their attitude."

[Rex]

Lotho

"Not a bad sort really, fair at least. Best to hail them and seem friendly." Lotho stops and waves to the approaching riders.

[tibbius]

"Hail, fair riders!"

[OGRE MAGE]

Barwuf doesnt like the descriptions he is hearing from his friends. He thinks it best to take the submissive approach to their upcoming meeting.

The huge man moves to the wagon and eyes up the wheels as the riders approach. He doesn't address them vocally, instead kneeling by the wheels and pretending to work on them, hoping to help hide his immense size from the prying eyes of the soldiers. He silently wonders if they will find him as strange as some of the last townsfolk did.

[Leitz]

OOC: Since Barwuf mentioned wagons, we'll just roll with it.


The riders approached, but stopped before reaching the small caravan. Their spears were at the ready, and horses stamp hooves in anticipation. Those accustomed to battle saw the position of it, the riders are far enough away to start a charge and have the full impact of their horses.

Yet they halted. One rider moved forward, hand on the pommel of his sword, as the caravan master himself stepped forward.

"Greetings, Riders of the Mark," the caravan master said nervously. He seemed aware of the risks. "I am Agamessas, leader of this small merchant's caravan."

The forward rider looked at each of the dozen (including the group) in the caravan. When he spoke, his voice was young. "Greetings, merchants. The Lady Maih R'Sah has asked that all who come into her lands visit our city and give an account of themselves. It is our duty to escort you."

[Mr Stereo1]

"It'd be our honor then, rider. Though you may have to ride the slower for us small folk." Lofar answers with a slight humor and a gesture to their hobbit companions and to his own shorter legs.. "Have some mercy on our little legs, eh horselord?"

Let me try a roll too.

Carousing Roll to befriend the Riders [1d6] = 5 [1d6] = 6

[OGRE MAGE]

Barwuf stands to his full height and dusts himself off. He smiles politely at the horse riders. Unfamiliar with their customs, he decides to nod his head and keep silent, privately hoping that there are no confused young girls in need of attention under the control of this Lady Maih R'Sah.

[tibbius]

"I would be glad to play a tune and sing a song for your Lady," Tarabim said. But as he said the words he heard his voice fall flat. Something about the situation dismayed him beyond his ability to perform the pleasantries of a traveling minstrel.

Tarabim singing, story-telling, or charming [1d6] = 3[1d6] = 4[1d6] = 4 Should we read this as "no improvement" or as "unfavorable result" in the riders' attitudes toward Tarabim?

[Leitz]

The young rider's helm turned towards Lofar when the dwarf's words made light of himself and Lotho. For a moment the rider's posture relaxed, and he nodded. Yet the moment was broken when Barwuf stood; the rider had to control his mount as the great horse snorted and stamped its hooves. At Tarabim's short speech, the rider shrugged.

"It is not far," he said. He pulled the reins tight as the horse's nostrils billowed. "Follow me."

The rider led the way, and the other horse lords circled around the small caravan and took up the rear. They stayed out of speaking range for the next two hours, They did not move fast, and those afoot could keep up. Of course, Lotho and Lofar could have climbed aboard a wagon, if it came to that.

Tarabim had cause to wonder, for the young horseman's tongue and dialect were of the Mark, but the name structure of Maih R'Sah was not. As they approached the "city", it was revealed to be little more than a walled fort upon a tell. Below were a dozen small sod huts. The little bit of stone used in construction seemed all that was to be had, and the walls and buildings were no more than one or two human generations old.

Folk gazed at the caravan in mild distrust, yet seeing them escorted seemed to ally any hostility. It was obviously a remote outpost, with poor dirt farmers being the strong majority. It was as if their escort were the only riders in the small domain, and what passed for a stable was empty.

The lead rider told the caravan to halt, and encamp next to the one inn. "Caravan master Agamessass, please follow me to the great hall. You four, also." His look covered the small troupe. "It seems as if you are not of the caravan, and thus must speak for yourselves."

He rode up the small hill, and the other riders peeled off to be elsewhere. An older man opened the heavy wooden gate as the group passed through. Only one other guard stood along the wall. Neither looked strong enough to defend against any real attack.

The great hall was little more than a log building with a firepit in the middle of the room, and no internal walls. A pale young woman sat in a carved wooden through at the far side, and the fire pit was cold. A small bundle of furs was rolled up in one corner. She looked at the group as the young rider removed his helm and announced them.

"Greetings, travellers. I am the Lady Maih R'Sah, welcome to my humble home." The woman stood, and a delicate hand motioned everyone forward. The young rider moved to stand by her side. "Please tell me of yourselves."

Agamessas bowed, and stood slightly apart. "Agamessas, my lady, a simple caravan master who begs leave to trade in your great domain."

The lady turned her gaze to the troupe.

OOC: If you present yourself, please roll.

[tibbius]

Tarabim tried to clear his throat as silently as possible. After the day's walking his mouth was dry and his tongue felt clumsy as he spoke. Yet the words rolled easily as he tried to ingratiate himself to this strange young lady:

"Mistress of this city," he said respectfully, "I have sung and played in Gondor, in Minas Tirith itself, and I am a student of the old bard Silvertongue, who it is said has retired in a little town far northwest from here. I travel to meet with him. Yet for the evening it would be an honor for me to play and sing for you the songs of my far home. May I do so?"

Tarabim singing, story-telling, or charming [1d6] = 4[1d6] = 5[1d6] = 1

[Rex]

Lotho

"Hail my fair lady, I am Lotho Banks of the Gladden Fields. I am traveling with Tarabim here, we met in Minas Tirith and his company is pleasant and I have always enjoyed wandering about and seeing new things."

Charming [1d6] = 6 [1d6] = 1

[OGRE MAGE]

Barwuf keeps his rumbling voice as soft as possible.

"I am called Barwuf. A simple traveler from the Wilderlands. Your hospitality is much appreciated, m'lady."

[Leitz]

The young man beside the throne said nothing. He neither smiled nor glared. But he watched.

The lady listened to each speak in turn. When her eyes rested on Lotho, she smiled, but said naught. Her gaze found Barwuf, and she evidenced neither fear nor wonder. Perhaps a faint smile.

She paused for a moment, and then looked at Tarabim. "Rest yourselves, please. What hospitality we can offer is yours. Minstrel with no name, hold your song for a few hours. Let us gather everyone, so they can hear news of the White City and, perhaps, tales of adventure."

At that the young man scowled, but held his tongue. One of the old guards nodded, and proceeded to bring bread and ale. It was little more than trail fare, and the stew that was served later was watered down and barely flavored. Everyone in the town came to the great hall when the sun set. Everyone, from barn to throne, ate of the same food. Talk was of recent troubles, monsters moving up from the fens, trade dropping off. There was a heavy anticipation for Tarabim's music; a minstrel from Gondor, from Minas Tirith no less!

Lotho, Lofar, and Barwuf were able to engage in conversation as they saw fit. A few folk needed time to get used to the Beorning's size, but soon they did.

The hall doors were wide open, and those who could not fit inside were close by. After a while, a stool was set near the cold firepit, and all eyes turned to Tarabim.