Brethil's Roleplaying Logs

The Old Road at the Western Bank of the River Teiglin
The River Teiglin flows from the mountains in the northwest, and while the road continues northwards, on the opposite shore a great forest of varying shades of green rises in the highlands, all around a green hill in its midst. In all other directions west and south is the 'Guarded Plain' of Talath Dirnen as the road continues in the direction of Nargothrond . Another hill, bare and sheer, stands as the only feature in this place as it rises to the South. The river seems fordable to the north, if care is taken as not all portions are shallow or offer stepping stones. As the river flows further to the southeast, steep ravines prevent any more hospitable crossings than this one, and the road heading north is clearly visible as it shimmies off into the edge of the Forest of Brethil.

A pale dawn spreads across the land, brightened by a heavy blanket of snow that has fallen in recent days. Upon a path unseen, two riders make their way northward to the river ahead, diverging a little to the north where the waters run shallow allowing them to be forded. The rider at the fore is draped in a heavy cloak, bent forward in the saddle as her mount beneath plods through the deep snow.

Elwen rides behind on her golden horse, shivering a little under her deep blue cloak. She rides bareback, though there us a rich thick blanket covering the horse's flanks, and bells upon the stallion's beribboned headstall ring softly in the wind. She nestles her small child under her cloak, and Elen's bright gaze goes down to look at the babe, before rising to anxiously scan the lands around them. "It seems so... empty," she says softly.

A rough wooden bucket seems out of place left unattended here in the snow along the road nearer the river. Odder still, there are gutted fish--no more than five--placed haphazardly in its half-filled depths. In a moment, however, a rumpled-looking Haladin, his hair an unkempt tousel of brown, trudges into view from the direction of the swift-flowing waters. He carries a crude fishing pole; a silvery-scaled victim wriggles still at the end of the loose line, though for a moment the fish is forgotten and flops to the snow as the man eyes the approaching riders, reaches up to scratch at his head, then trudges a few pace more towards them. "'Mornin' ladies," he calls, squinting a bit as he takes a closer look at the rider upon the golden mount.

Swaying with the movement of her mount, Finnabair's eyes stare forward, straightening in the saddle and eyes suddenly alert upon the figure that appears up from the river. Judging him a moment, she turns round in the saddle and pulls down the scarf there, wrapped several times round to bar against the chill. "We will be crossing the river just ahead.", she says in a hoarse voice and turns back to offer the man a simple greeting of "Good morning.", as she nudges her horse forward up toward the river where he stands.

"It will be cold," says Elwen softly, thinking of the crossing. "Is it far from the crossing to your dwellings? For if Elesteliel is splashed, she will need to be warmed by a fure.... as will we all..." Her face is thoughtful, and she only belatedly regards the ragged adan. "Mae govannen!" she calls out, her voice high and clear and unmistakably Elven.

The man gives a curt nod to the first woman who speaks, though still his gaze is held in question to the second who rides slightly behind her. "Not the best weather for travel, aye?" he wonders in a gruff voice. His speech is an odd mix of Halethian and Sindarin, it seems--and whether he seeks to speak one or the other is not clear, though judging by his puzzled gaze upon the Elf, it seems the latter. "Where are ye travelling?" he asks, "And would ye be needin' a guide to get there?" Only then does he reach down to grab up the inert fish from the snow where it lays.

Finnabair comes near to the man and reins in her mount, letting her reins hang loosely between her fingers. Eyeing the man over, she shakes her head, "Nay, we need no guide. We are travelling to Amon Obel,", and she smiles thinly, "For as you say, the weather has not been a friend.", she answers and turns back to Elwen, "The waters are quite shallow, Elwen, you need not worry for her. And the way to the hill will only be another few hours after that."

The golden horse stops at a soft word from Elwen, and she regards the adan curiously. "My thanks for your offer, but indeed we already have a guide, and have need of no other." She smiles warmly, and then looks to Finnabair. "I am glad it is not far... though I will need to stop to feed her..." She sighs, looking down at the baby once again. "Besides," she adds, addressing the man again, "I would not want to keep you fronm your fishing."

In a motion that seems second nature to the man, the Haladin quickly takes a hunting knife from its sheath at the thick belt at his side and slits the fish open at its belly in a quick draw of the blade. Stooping near the bucket, he cleans the fish just as quickly, tossing it with the others in the bucket. After wiping the knife's blade upon the snow, he sheaths the tool, then stands to his feet once again with a broad grin. "Tis good you have a guide then," he says--his gaze still narrowed. "Yet t'would not have been keeping me from anything." He prods the bucket with his booted foot. "I am done for the morn." Looking back over his shoulder he motions to the waters. "I know this river well. Perhaps ye'd let me show you the best shallows to cross by?" Now he looks once more to the Dorthonion woman.

Finnabair sits stooped in her saddle and keeps her gaze even upon the man, answering Elwen with, "We shall stop once we cross, Elwen, and then you might have rest to tend to her." Spending a moment in silent contemplation of the man's offer before nodding to him, "We would be obliged.", she says, picking up her reins and urging her mount slowly forward, asking quietly, "Have you news from Amon Obel of the sickness there?"

"Then my thanks go with you,"adds Elwen, before falling silent. She murmurs a soft thank you to Finnabair when she yells her they shall soon stop, but then says nothing more as the Ranger inquires fot the news. She says something soft, encouraging, to the horse in Quenya, and the stallion steps forwards, following Finnabair and her mount.

Dipping down to lift up the bucket, Harnard sniffs in the chill of the frosty morning, stomping his boots as he heaves a great visible billow of a sigh before turning to face the river. "Sickness?" he echoes. "Aye, there be sickness there," he affirms. He turns to look once again to the ranger, a scowl mars his expression. "We been told to stay from the place, lest we want to stay." With that, the scowl twists into a strange sort of smile, mocking in its smirk as he motions heavily towards the river. "This way to the shallows," he calls over his shoulder, trudging once again forward.

Finnabair frowns a little at the man's expression, guiding her horse as he leads them to the shallower waters of the Teiglin, "The sickness is the reason we come.", she says after, glancing back to see that Elwen follows.

Doubtfulness edges Harnard's expression as he leads the others forward. "Comin' for the sickness?" he says with a jerk of his head backwards to look at the ranger once again. But Elwen's words shed further understanding on the matter, and with a shrug he turns the blue gaze to her. "Ye fear no sickness, aye? So much the better for ye then, I s'pose." Hefting the bucket up a little in his grip, the Haladin seems to eye the fine mount upon which Elwen rides, though soon he is watching his steps as he skirts behind several large boulders down a gentle, snowy slope towards the shallows of the river. Sniffing again, he points to two large trees that stand near another of the boulders. "There. You'll be crossing easy past those trees." Of his own steps the man draws to a halt, however and sets the bucket down. "Fair journey to Amon Obel to ye then," he wishes, though still there is something in the way that it is voiced that gives question as to the man...

Finnabair cants her head and offers a word of thanks to the man as she guides the horse to the spot he shows them, "Our thanks.", she calls back, tugging at her scarf and scratching her neck as she lets the horse find its own way down the sloping bank into the cold waters of the river where it lies shallow. Its steps are cautious over the rocky bed and soon enough it has her across and lurching up the opposite shore. Holding the horse back as she waits for Elwen to cross, she lifts a hand to bid farewell to the stranger and then turns her horse toward the crossings, just as the sun crests the horizon.