"Where in the woods did Mr. Bungo see them traveling? This might be a good place to start the search up again." Waylon asks.
"Well I'm sure he didn't tell me. I assume he meant the Chetwood, but that's all I know."
After a few more questions you're quite certain you've gotten all you're going to get out of Mister Handovar Tunnelly. Your options seem to be to go poking around the Chetwood, find Deadeye the ranger, return to Deadman's Dike.
Grandma Tunnelly and Belle return bearing trays of tea and cakes as well as small pots of honey and jam. The Tunellys may be feisty but they are still very proper hobbits when it comes to meals and guests. Everyone has their fill, even Belle and Báin.
It is dark outside by the time Handovar says good-bye to each of you at the door of the Smial.
"We should go and get some sleep. And then tomorrow I think we should make some attempt to find this ranger. The Chetwood looks like it will hold answers, but wandering a large woods is not likely to be fruitful. Hopefully, Deadeye might give us a better idea of where to go in the Chetwood." Waylon says with a slight frown.
"I am not opposed to a night of rest, especially after those cakes. I take back what I said about hospitality, you hobbits really do it right Mistress Belle."
Belle laughs. “When we say tea, we mean tea plus lotsa fixings! Don’t underestimate how much a hobbit eats. We’re lightweights ‘cause we burn calories the way dragons burn… stuff.”
It occurs to Belle that Handovar, being an arson survivor, may rather not have his metabolism compared to a burning village. Who would, really?
At Belle's casual mention of dragons burning "stuff," Báin bristles. He doesn't think of the thousands of dwarves burned by Smaug as just "stuff."
He turns away, and starts heading back towards the inn.
Belle sees the jolly dwarf has taken offense. Don’t ask was it something you said. It clearly was. She looks up at Tilly, mortified. Pointing at her smooth bare foot (crumbs dangling from her honey-coated finger), she says, “It’s a good thing I shave my feet, ’cause they end up in my mouth a lot.”
Tilly enjoyed the fragrant tea and a small cake topped with jam. Having missed supper, the fare filled the hungry ache in her stomach.
Having earlier mentioned returning to the inn and setting out in the morning, Tilly bade the matriarch and Robin Tunnely farewell and using a candle near the entrance, Tilly lit her windproof lantern and left the smial. Holding the lantern before her, Tilly set forth for Bree, turning to Belle once the other conversations lulled and added, "Miss Belle, you did a fine job with the Matriarch Tunnely. Thank you. Let us return to our room at the Prancing Pony and we can all meet in the tavern/dining hall in the morning and make our plans." Tilly then turned her gaze toward the narrow lane/s through Staddle; heading back to Bree.
"Agreed. My gruncle was very fond of the adage that 'Most problems look much more manageable when you are well fed and well slept.' Of course, he slept his way through Mirkwood once."
Belle grins. “Matriarchs gotta be tough to keep the young and the men outta trouble. She’s not such a meanie. Meanies are stingy on the fixings when it comes to tea.”
Once at the inn, Belle says, “Just tell me where to crash and I’ll waste no time hitting the pillow. And… thanks for letting me share a room. You don’t know what it’s like for a hobbit to travel all by herself in these big-folk inns. The first night, it’s great! Giant bed all to yourself. But half into a week, it’s awfully tempting to grab a blanket and curl up on a chair.”
She cringed just a little. “I did that once. Turns out a huge bed is much more comfortable.”
Tilly placed her lantern down in the corner of the room, closest to her cot. The candle on her small bedside table spluttered and its light was warm and cast shadows around the small chamber. The fire Nob had tended to earlier was still going, albeit throwing out a gentle heat from the glowing embers.
"I'm happy to share my bed, Miss Belle. Neither of us are large and we can fit cosily and comfortably on the cot. Better to have a good night's rest than toss and turn on the timbers. What say you?"
Waylon nods to the others and says, "This has proven to be a much more productive evening then I had anticipated. I will turn in now and look forward to seeing what good tidings the morning might bring." He then heads up to his room to try and sleep as thoughts of what they learned tumbled through his head.
Jotun secures a room as well - if there are any to be had - after staying mostly quiet and oddly introspective during the walk back to the inn. But then he grins at Bain. "Care to join me for a drink or three? First round is on me! The tea and biscuits were just fine, but I'm in need of something with a bit more substance after our long day of travel."
Belle doesn’t need her arm twisted at all. “Comfy and cozy is definitely preferable to tossing and turning.”
Once washed up and in her nightgown, Belle is ready to hit the pillow. She’ll gladly chat with Tilly, if Tilly wants… but she won’t keep the woman up if she needs rest.
Báin laughs, "you know Jotun, I won't deny you my company over a nightcap, and a snack, to be sure."
The rest of the night at The Prancing Pony is uneventful. A brief but powerful rainstorm lashes the windows and lulls you to a restful sleep. In the morning, the dawn quickly burns off the dew and promises a hot day. After a breakfast of ham and eggs, you shoulder your packs and saddle your mounts (those of you that have them) and make ready for the journey to the Forsaken Inn.
Some of you are great travelers and have walked or ridden much greater distances. But for Tilly and Belle, this is a true adventure over the Edge of the Wild. The Lone Lands that stand between Bree in the west, the River Hoarwell(Mitheithel, to those who know the old tongue) in the east, the Weather Hills in the north and the South Downs in the south are a dry and forbidding stretch of rocky hills and little valleys that are both uninviting and dreary.
A great road runs through it, built by the Kings of long ago. The road stretches from beyond the Misty Mountains far to the east to the sea somewhere far to the west. It is the same road that runs from Lascegorn's home in the Gray Havens, through the Shire, past Bree, over the Misty Mountains, through Mirkwood and past Dale and Erebor far, far to the east.
The smell of the Midgewater somewhere to the north competes with the dusty scents of dirt and scrubby sage. Far overhead the occasional bird wheels and darts soundlessly in the cloudless sky. The heat bears down on you far below, sweaty, tired and parched with road dust.
vs 16
Waylon was hunting rabbits a quarter mile or so from the line of travel when he surprises a tusked boar!
Waylon, give me a Hunting roll!
Jotun bears up under the oppressive heat with his usual good humor, griping good-naturedly about the sun, the dust, and the foul smell emanating from his sweat-soaked clothes beneath the armor he wears. "Guess I'll be needing a bath at some point, either that or you lot will want to stay about twenty yards upwind of me!" He chuckles. The barding also regales the less-traveled about the wonders of the open road, exploring new lands, and embellished tales about his own exploits - most of them involving Dain as well.
When the dwarf surprises the tusked boar as they hunt rabbits, Jotun draws his own sword...
Waylon tries to bring down the boar.
[dice=Hunting]1d12+2d6
Sweet!!!
Waylon's encounter with the boar is a complete disaster. The creature charges him out of the brush with a furious squeal and tears a gash in his leg. The ranger manages to drive off the boar and hobble back to the camp, but is injured and has no meat to show for his expedition.
At last you arrive at the only habitation in the Lone-Lands - the Forsaken Inn.
Even the rosy last light of a warm summer’s day cannot make the Forsaken Inn look welcoming. The tumbledown building looks like the corpse of an inn, and it’s only the ponies and carts outside that suggest the inn is still in business.
Inside, the small common room is crowded with members of a trading caravan consisting of several Dwarves and a few grim-looking dangerous Men.
A lugubrious-looking man stands behind the bar of the inn, eyeing you suspiciously.
Waylon's encounter with the boar is a complete disaster. The creature charges him out of the brush with a furious squeal and tears a gash in his leg. The ranger manages to drive off the boar and hobble back to the camp, but is injured and has no meat to show for his expedition.
Wound Severity 3
Upon Waylon's return from his hunt and sighting the openly bleeding gash on his leg, Tilly removed the small pot of ointment she carried in her pack - a balm to soothe pain that she used in her healing of wounds and cuts. Asking the Ranger to sit, she pulled away his trouser, first cleaning the open wound with some water. Tilly then gently added just enough of the balm for it to be useful, and, using a clean strip of cloth, covered/bound the wound. Closing the lid, she returned the pot of healing balm to her pack.
A lugubrious-looking man stands behind the bar of the inn, eyeing you suspiciously.
The day was coming to an end and Tilly was grateful they had reached (even with a wounded companion) the Forsaken Inn before nightfall. The small room was filled with patrons, and, as she stood by the bar, her gaze looked about searching for an unoccupied table they could sit down at (a little anxious by the dangerous looking men in the room). I won't immediately ask after Deadeye. Best we sit and then after some time we can ask in a friendly manner, inwardly formulating a plan of action.
Seeing the miserable man behind the bar, Tilly drew herself upright and placing a warm smile on her face, she addressed him in a pleasant, steady manner,
"Good eve, Master Barkeep. I see the inn is lively and busy this evening. My name's Tilly Appledore. Do you have a table for another five patrons? It'd be nice to sit down and have some food and drink, if you'd be so kind."
Jotun gives the Forsaken Inn a long lookover as they arrive, and the barding shakes his head. "Certainly seems to live up to the name, at least from the outside. Hope their food and drink is in better shape than the rest of the place." He comments ruefully. The man had been looking forward to good drink and a hearty meal after their dusty journey, but he was prepared to be disappointed.
He watches Tilly approach the disconsolate looking barkeep and grins at the Breelander's choice of words. He jostles Dain with an elbow and nods his head at the bold girl. "She could charm the ears off an elf, I think. What do you make of this caravan? Anyone you're familiar with?"
Waylon limps slightly from the wound as he makes his way behind the group. "I need an ale." Waylon says as he looks over at the traders and says, "No one that I seem to know. But they look to be just a merchants."
Belle sees that Tilly’s got this, so she remains at her side and keeps quiet. (For now.)
"Well," says the innkeeper, his long face creasing into a rare smile. "Bless me if that ain't the nicest talk I heard for many a day. Remind me of my niece, you do. There ain't much, but you can either squeeze in with those dwarves or find a few benches in the side room back there. S'quieter there, anyway, but the roof leaks. Leastwise, it would if we'd had any rain."[b]
[b]"You find a place in there and I'll bring you some ale and stew. It's rabbit. Not bad."
"Well now, it's an honour being compared to your niece, Master Barkeep. Thank you! I think the side room sounds better for us as we've been travelling and quieter would be a blessing. And, ale and rabbit stew sounds grand!" Tilly inclined her head in due respect, and, winding her arm with Belle's, began making her way to the side room in the back; watching to see if Waylon was able to move around the tables to get there.
Finding a place on the bench, Tilly sat down and promptly looked about the space, to see who else was sitting near them and if they were paying them any particular attention.
Báin gladly takes a seat next to Jotun and begins to scan around the room at the dwarves and other traders. "Recognize any of them old friend?"
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"Name's Jack," says the innkeeper. "And you mind your purse in here. Not all who visit are civilized."
Tilly, you're a curious group. Armed dwarves and a Man aren't too startling, but an armed woman and a hobbit, now that's something that draws the eye. And yes, there are those who eye you with various levels of interest.
The Forsaken Inn is an ill-favored, unfriendly place; most of the customers are hunters and trappers from the surrounding lone-lands who mistrust strangers. The inn is a ramshackle half-ruin in poor repair, the beer is stale and the food is dire, but it is a place to rest on the road if the innkeeper bothers opening up. Travelers on the road are charged extortionate prices for room and board. In Bree, they tell stories about the Innkeeper of the Forsaken Inn, claiming that he keeps wolves that prey on travelers on the road who don’t stay in his inn, or that he practices sorcery and murders guests who do stay in the inn.
As you look about this run-down inn, the Caravan-Master rises from his place and addresses his men and dwarves.
“I want to make Bree-land by tomorrow night. I’ve a crick in my neck from sleeping rough, and I ain’t going to get much rest in this festering pit. To bed, sluggards! We march before the break of dawn.”
Grumbling, the Men of the caravan finish their drinks and head to the communal sleeping-room at the back of the inn. The Dwarves ignore the Caravan-Master and continue drinking and talking amongst themselves in low whispers. It doesn’t take great insight to see that the traders don’t care much for one another.
As Báin drops his pack and goes to sit, he makes sure that everyone in the room is able to see his well weathered axe, and his careful ease with it. He wanted there to be no misunderstandings about the consequences of interfering with himself, or his traveling companions.
He turned to Jotun, "some of this bunch takes more notice of the ladies than should be proper. An ounce of bravado now may save a pint of blood to be shed later."
Jotun grins at the dwarf, speaking in a stage whisper. "You looking to start a fight, then? Next one whose eyes linger a bit too long on one of the lasses? I'm up for it!" He calls out for an ale and keeps an eye out for a likely offender.
"I am more wanting to be proactive in avoiding something unpleasant, and failing that to have the unpleasantness be of our choosing."
Waylon shakes his head and says, "We should not go seeking trouble unnecessarily. While we were putting in our order I noticed a ranger's pack behind the bar. We need to keep our eye out and see if they belong to the man we came to meet."
Jotun heaves a sigh and drinks his ale. "I suppose. A good fight would have been nice, though." He grumbles. Hearing Waylon's words, he turns an eye on the man. "I can't recall that I've been told what he looks like. Just a name."
Several of the more unsavory types in the inn eye Jotun after his whispered threat. There is a tension in the air, but no one makes a move yet. Mostly because you are armed with swords and they carry little beyond knives.
Jack comes over. "Not but I've enjoyed a few brawls, but I'd be grateful if you didn't go looking for them inside," he says.
As Báin drops his pack and goes to sit, he makes sure that everyone in the room is able to see his well weathered axe, and his careful ease with it. He wanted there to be no misunderstandings about the consequences of interfering with himself, or his traveling companions.
He turned to Jotun, "some of this bunch takes more notice of the ladies than should be proper. An ounce of bravado now may save a pint of blood to be shed later."
As much as Belle would love to say how she can handle herself… those are a lot of big grumbly guys! She stays close to Tilly and eats quietly.
She won’t just sit there if a brawl breaks out, but she definitely will do her part not to provoke one.
"Good sir, we have come to find a ranger who might be in this area. Would there be any chance that you know of a man who goes by the name Deadeye?" Waylon asks.
Looking at the innkeeper Jack, whom she now recollected terrible stories about, if they were to be believed. I didn't see any wolves and he doesn't look like he practices sorcery. But does he murder the guests staying at his inn? Tilly inwardly gulped and hearing Jack's words to Jotun, she added as pleasantly and calmly as she could, "Mister Jack, we do not seek trouble, please be rest assured," trying to appease the man. We shouldn't get on his bad side.
She felt Belle press closer to her and was bolstered by her nearness. It was then Waylon asked after the mysterious Ranger and friend to Bungo.
She added quickly, "Mister Jack, we do not wish this man harm, I promise you. We just need his help, is all..." Tilly let her voice fall away, but presented the innkeeper with an earnest smile hoping to make him comfortable to believe her rather than distrusting of their intent. He liked me at the start. Hope he'll remember that now.
Realizing that they ARE trying to get on Jack's good side after all, Jotun smiles at the barkeep and nods. "Understood. Well then, how about I buy a round for the house to make up for my big mouth." The barding isn't one to back down from a fight though, and if his peace offering isn't well received by any of the grim-faced patrons of the bar, he'll meet their glare with a hard look of his own.
Báin claps Jotun on the shoulders, "that's one of the things I like about you Jotun. You won't shy from a fight, but you won't shy from a drink either!"
Jack shrugs. "Dead-eye? He was in early, with a face on him that’d sour beer. Relax and order a drink; he’ll be back soon, no doubt.”
The night draws in. Hours pass. The fire in the grate dwindles. The Dwarves rise and retire to bed. Soon, Jack’s snoring by the embers, sleeping with a naked shortsword across his lap in case someone tries to rob him in the night.
Dead-eye has still not show up.
Jotun grins at his friend as he hoists his mug. "If I can't get one, I'll take the other! Ha!"
The barding continues to drink as the night passes, taking food as well - and not enough of either to dull his senses. Or not too much, anyway...
As the hour grows late, Jotun gets restless. "Wonder whey Jack thought he'd be back. Might be something happened to him if he's expected, though. But without knowing where he went, finding him will be impossible." Still, he moves to the door, holding his last mug of drink for the evening, and sips at it as he heads outside to take a listen and watch for the return of the ranger just outside the door of the tavern.
"Even more odd that he left his things behind, right?"