Post by Morreion on Dec 6, 2008 0:37:00 GMT -5
A tale inspired by Lord of the Rings Online.
Rory huddled deeper into his cloak.
Through the flames of the campfire, he watched the scary old Dwarf speak.
"You may think you're far from the Shire," the squat, bristle-bearded figure said, "but you don't have much farther to go before you..."
He turned his gaze towards Rory, sending a shiver down the Hobbit's back. The old Dwarf wore an eye-patch.
"...see amazing, unearthly...things."
The full moon rose over Adso's camp along the road to Bree. An owl called from the nearby woods. The group of travelers- mostly Hobbits- were sharing the warmth of the fire with the disturbing Dwarf, who was far, far from his home in the mountains.
The stout one-eyed storyteller went on.
Roric Heathertoes, called by everyone in Stock Rory, son of a local baker, had decided to go on an adventure. His knapsack and cloak, old family hunting bow and dagger were all he had besides the clothes on his back. He'd show those stodgy Hobbits that he could do more than deliver loaves of bread! Old Rory had some vinegar in him!
He wasn't far from the Shire, but he was starting to think that he might be taking this too far. Sleeping on the ground, snagging your clothes on bushes, poorly-prepared meals...
"You there!" The Dwarf said hoarsely, snapping Rory back to the present. He blinked at the finger pointed directly at him, wavering in the heat of the fire.
"You think you've seen the world, little one? Ready to go home?" The one-eyed speaker snorted. Rory shifted very uncomfortably on the log he was seated on.
"South of Breeland, there be the Lone Lands," he continued. "Many odd things happen there, past the farthest inn. You've heard a wargs, boy?" The Dwarf's eye gleamed in the firelight.
"Or the...gore-crows." The speaker stopped; only the crackling of the fire could be heard. The listeners sat, frozen. The silence went on so long that Rory opened his mouth to ask-
"GORE CROWS, YES!" the Dwarf sputtered wildly, and Rory recoiled, sliding off the log to fall upon his bottom in a patch of weeds. "Foul winged carrion messengers of the Enemy. The Enemy, aye. I won't name 'em. You know who I mean." The Dwarf lit his pipe and blew smoke-rings, his eye crinkling with the small smile on his face.
Rory got up in a huff and marched off a ways to the edge of the firelight to bed down for the night. That dratted Dwarf! Why did they all listen to his ravings! He shook out his wool blanket that his aunt Ida had made for him, and lay down. He took a long time to fall asleep.
~~~
He wandered up the Greenway and explored the ruins of stone walls and towers there; the wolves howling at night were alarming and reminded him of the talk of wargs.
He visited Bree and bought a helmet that seemed to slide around on his head a bit too much. He debated heading back to the Shire, but decided to head south, towards the Lone Lands. He wanted adventure!
~~~
"Rory, just keep on. You need to just keep on, and it will be alright."
Rory walked south along the road, the land rising ahead of him, the large mass of Weathertop upon his left. He straightened his helmet, licked his lips, and he kept on.
The Forsaken Inn was a pleasant memory of 2 wonderful nights sleeping in a bed, and several meals. The cook was very good, almost good enough for Stock! He almost had headed back towards Bree, but had decided that 'this was your moment, and you'll not come this far again, Hobbit!' So Rory was walking down the road, bow in hand, pack on his back, that ill-fitting helmet-
He thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye, and he whirled around, arrow in hand, drawn from his belt quiver.
Nothing. Or something perhaps in the tree line to his right.
He walked on slowly at first, then gaining speed; he sang a drinking-song, and took a draught out of the bottle in his pack as he walked, good ale from the inn. As he sang, he knew that something was watching him. Cold sensations flashed up and down his body, but he kept on as if nothing was out of the ordinary. If everything seemed normal, perhaps it was. No.
He marched along with a swift gait, gaining a rise and cresting the hill-
And he threw himself into a set of bushes to his left, nocking his arrow.
"Steady, Rory, steady..."
A grotesque flapping black thing flew over the rise, Rory's heart leaped-
The bowstring hummed, and the bird was plucked from the sky by the arrow in a puff of ink-black feathers.
"I'll be a Took!" Rory exclaimed, rushing over to where the bird lay. "A gore-crow!" He laughed. "Naught but a creepy bird. Now why did I think they were MUCH bigger!"
Rory affixed some flight feathers to his helmet, beaming all the while. He started scanning the skies eagerly, fingering his bow.
"Wait 'til the Hobbits at the Golden Perch hear about this!"
Gore-crows!
~~~
Travelers along the great road noticed it even if they did not voice it to anyone- the gore-crows were becoming scarce in the Lone-Lands. Good news!
A few even noticed the little Hobbit running about, helmet rattling on his head, bow in hand. And smiled.
~~~
Forli the Dwarf trudged along the road, east through the Lone-Lands. He looked forward to seeing Gloin and his kin once more, and he was in dire need of a new sturdy set of Dwarf-boots, his feet were aching after a long day upon the road-
Forli heard a swish and then a wild yipping sound. He threw himself flat in the dust of the road.
A squawk to his right, and a Hobbit breaking into a run from the brush to his left, clutching a bow, an oversized helm rattling around upon his head with a fringe of black feathers.
"Well met, storyteller!" the Hobbit cried as he ran by Forli in the dust. As the Dwarf rose to his feet, resettling the pack upon his back and grumbling while beating the dust off of his clothing, the Hobbit re-appeared, clutching a gore-crow by it's feet, holding it upon high, grinning.
"I see you've been at work, young master," the Dwarf said somewhat crossly.
"Wait until Stock gets an eye-full of the gore-crow cloak I'm making!" said Rory excitedly. "Adventures are wonderful things!"
Suddenly, a wave of cold passed over the two figures; the sun darkened, and all of the sounds around them of the natural world ceased. As if in a trance, the two figures turned.
Behind them rose a large and foul reptilian beast, bat-like wings beating silently in the air, with a sinister tall figure perched upon its back in flowing robes, dark as the blackest night.
"Where are my scouts?" said the figure in a low, hissing voice.
"Now that," said Forli in a subdued voice, speaking to the gape-mouthed Hobbit next to him (who's helmet had blessedly slipped down over his eyes) because he was never one to miss the moment, "is NOT a gore-crow."
Rory huddled deeper into his cloak.
Through the flames of the campfire, he watched the scary old Dwarf speak.
"You may think you're far from the Shire," the squat, bristle-bearded figure said, "but you don't have much farther to go before you..."
He turned his gaze towards Rory, sending a shiver down the Hobbit's back. The old Dwarf wore an eye-patch.
"...see amazing, unearthly...things."
The full moon rose over Adso's camp along the road to Bree. An owl called from the nearby woods. The group of travelers- mostly Hobbits- were sharing the warmth of the fire with the disturbing Dwarf, who was far, far from his home in the mountains.
The stout one-eyed storyteller went on.
Roric Heathertoes, called by everyone in Stock Rory, son of a local baker, had decided to go on an adventure. His knapsack and cloak, old family hunting bow and dagger were all he had besides the clothes on his back. He'd show those stodgy Hobbits that he could do more than deliver loaves of bread! Old Rory had some vinegar in him!
He wasn't far from the Shire, but he was starting to think that he might be taking this too far. Sleeping on the ground, snagging your clothes on bushes, poorly-prepared meals...
"You there!" The Dwarf said hoarsely, snapping Rory back to the present. He blinked at the finger pointed directly at him, wavering in the heat of the fire.
"You think you've seen the world, little one? Ready to go home?" The one-eyed speaker snorted. Rory shifted very uncomfortably on the log he was seated on.
"South of Breeland, there be the Lone Lands," he continued. "Many odd things happen there, past the farthest inn. You've heard a wargs, boy?" The Dwarf's eye gleamed in the firelight.
"Or the...gore-crows." The speaker stopped; only the crackling of the fire could be heard. The listeners sat, frozen. The silence went on so long that Rory opened his mouth to ask-
"GORE CROWS, YES!" the Dwarf sputtered wildly, and Rory recoiled, sliding off the log to fall upon his bottom in a patch of weeds. "Foul winged carrion messengers of the Enemy. The Enemy, aye. I won't name 'em. You know who I mean." The Dwarf lit his pipe and blew smoke-rings, his eye crinkling with the small smile on his face.
Rory got up in a huff and marched off a ways to the edge of the firelight to bed down for the night. That dratted Dwarf! Why did they all listen to his ravings! He shook out his wool blanket that his aunt Ida had made for him, and lay down. He took a long time to fall asleep.
~~~
He wandered up the Greenway and explored the ruins of stone walls and towers there; the wolves howling at night were alarming and reminded him of the talk of wargs.
He visited Bree and bought a helmet that seemed to slide around on his head a bit too much. He debated heading back to the Shire, but decided to head south, towards the Lone Lands. He wanted adventure!
~~~
"Rory, just keep on. You need to just keep on, and it will be alright."
Rory walked south along the road, the land rising ahead of him, the large mass of Weathertop upon his left. He straightened his helmet, licked his lips, and he kept on.
The Forsaken Inn was a pleasant memory of 2 wonderful nights sleeping in a bed, and several meals. The cook was very good, almost good enough for Stock! He almost had headed back towards Bree, but had decided that 'this was your moment, and you'll not come this far again, Hobbit!' So Rory was walking down the road, bow in hand, pack on his back, that ill-fitting helmet-
He thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye, and he whirled around, arrow in hand, drawn from his belt quiver.
Nothing. Or something perhaps in the tree line to his right.
He walked on slowly at first, then gaining speed; he sang a drinking-song, and took a draught out of the bottle in his pack as he walked, good ale from the inn. As he sang, he knew that something was watching him. Cold sensations flashed up and down his body, but he kept on as if nothing was out of the ordinary. If everything seemed normal, perhaps it was. No.
He marched along with a swift gait, gaining a rise and cresting the hill-
And he threw himself into a set of bushes to his left, nocking his arrow.
"Steady, Rory, steady..."
A grotesque flapping black thing flew over the rise, Rory's heart leaped-
The bowstring hummed, and the bird was plucked from the sky by the arrow in a puff of ink-black feathers.
"I'll be a Took!" Rory exclaimed, rushing over to where the bird lay. "A gore-crow!" He laughed. "Naught but a creepy bird. Now why did I think they were MUCH bigger!"
Rory affixed some flight feathers to his helmet, beaming all the while. He started scanning the skies eagerly, fingering his bow.
"Wait 'til the Hobbits at the Golden Perch hear about this!"
Gore-crows!
~~~
Travelers along the great road noticed it even if they did not voice it to anyone- the gore-crows were becoming scarce in the Lone-Lands. Good news!
A few even noticed the little Hobbit running about, helmet rattling on his head, bow in hand. And smiled.
~~~
Forli the Dwarf trudged along the road, east through the Lone-Lands. He looked forward to seeing Gloin and his kin once more, and he was in dire need of a new sturdy set of Dwarf-boots, his feet were aching after a long day upon the road-
Forli heard a swish and then a wild yipping sound. He threw himself flat in the dust of the road.
A squawk to his right, and a Hobbit breaking into a run from the brush to his left, clutching a bow, an oversized helm rattling around upon his head with a fringe of black feathers.
"Well met, storyteller!" the Hobbit cried as he ran by Forli in the dust. As the Dwarf rose to his feet, resettling the pack upon his back and grumbling while beating the dust off of his clothing, the Hobbit re-appeared, clutching a gore-crow by it's feet, holding it upon high, grinning.
"I see you've been at work, young master," the Dwarf said somewhat crossly.
"Wait until Stock gets an eye-full of the gore-crow cloak I'm making!" said Rory excitedly. "Adventures are wonderful things!"
Suddenly, a wave of cold passed over the two figures; the sun darkened, and all of the sounds around them of the natural world ceased. As if in a trance, the two figures turned.
Behind them rose a large and foul reptilian beast, bat-like wings beating silently in the air, with a sinister tall figure perched upon its back in flowing robes, dark as the blackest night.
"Where are my scouts?" said the figure in a low, hissing voice.
"Now that," said Forli in a subdued voice, speaking to the gape-mouthed Hobbit next to him (who's helmet had blessedly slipped down over his eyes) because he was never one to miss the moment, "is NOT a gore-crow."
