Framsburg - Free RP

[The Good Hunter]

Framsburg and the Surrounding Countryside

Original Artwork by Romain Jouandeau

Framsburg, situated in the Vale of the Anduin with a backdrop of the Ered Wethrin, was the original city of the Éothéod. It thrived for nearly five hundred years, staving off attacks from Angmar in the west and dragons from the north. The Éothéod grew into a hardy people here, intractable and brave as the founder of the city: Fram, the bane of Scatha the Worm. The hillfort was largely abandoned by Eorl the Young when he led his people south and became the Rohirrim, but there were still some that remained, intermingling with several of the other tribes of Northman like the Beornings, refugees from Rhudaur and Cardolan, the Daen, even some Dunlendings. As the people dwindled, the threats increased from the outside. Wights, goblins, Easterling raiders, the problems were myriad and constant, but the people of Framsburg are used to doing things the hard way. There are large portions of the town that have fallen into disrepair simply because there are not enough people living there, but still, they refuse to abandon their homes, entrenching themselves deeper and deeper into the land and the soil. By the time of the War of the Ring, they had not recovered their former glory nor their former strength, but nonetheless sent what aid they could to the Woodland Realm and Erebor.

The city is large but ghostly, owing to a lack of inhabitants over the centuries and the countryside is wild and untamed. There are many patchwork farms, but woodsmanship and mining are considered the more profitable (if not more dangerous) professions. There are hamlets here and there nestled in the sides of hills or on riverbanks, but all of these places owe allegiance to Framsburg and the remnant of the famed horse-riders that still sally forth from time to time.

Artwork by Gianna Michèle Kaye

There is little in the way of governance or centralization. While the hinterland people look to Framsburg for guidance, the city itself does little to maintain order unless the larger peace is threatened. There is a mayor within the walls of Framsburg, but their authority does not extend beyond the walls and has very little to do with the day to day lives of the people. Scattered about are goði, men and women chosen to oversee local trials and pass minor judgements on crimes and disputes, but again their authority has a very limited range. By and large, the people within site of Framsburg are free to do as they please.

A superstitious lot, the people of Framsburg believe the land is home to dozens of kinds of spirts who walk the earth, sky, and riverbeds and thusly pay tribute to these mysterious, enigmatic figures throughout the year in ceremonial blóts. It is believed that seeing one of these many spirits is an omen of good fortune but attempting to capture one is to invite doom upon one’s entire family. Whitethorn bushes are considered especially sacred, and it is taboo to harm the trees, the locals believe that the Silvan elves of Mirkwood also live within the brambles.

Incomplete List of Possible Locations:
Framsburg – Within the town there are several inns and taverns, blacksmiths, silver smiths, coopers, fletchers, merchants, horse-traders, bakers, butchers, brothels, potters, barber-surgeons, artists, carpenters, guildhalls, and warehouses. While much of the town is in a state of perpetual decay, the people are lively and cantankerous.
The Bogs of Aughiska – Before the Anduin becomes the Anduin, most of the small rivers and streams pass through a cold, marshy land with a sinister reputation. Rumors persist of orcs and goblin encampments within the vast marsh, but no adventure has been able to see if this true or not. (Frost Original)
Gladden Fields – An infamous marsh where King Isildur met his end, but also home to a sizeable community of Stoor hobbits
Nôr-Dûm – A dwarven colony town and trading center within the Ered Witherin, the dwarves prove to be fickle allies of the Northman but both Nôr-Dûm and Framsburg require some niceties for trade, which they both depend on. (MERP)

Note: This a far from complete list of cities, regions, and places, please feel free to add or own (and if you like I will add them to OP)


Rules and Guidelines:
1. Read and enjoy other people’s hard work but respect their privacy (go to the RP Request Form if you would like to join an existing story or start a new story)
2. All races are welcome! Timeline is whatever you like, from the beginning of Arda through the fourth age
3. Keep any OOC comments to the The Golden Hall III (Meduseld OOC)
4. Refrain from using overly bright colors or potentially incur the wrath of the TR (Frost)
5. Icons and small images are welcome, but please no moving gifs
6. Anyone can use any canon characters in their stories, there is no ownership in this thread
7. We are all adults here and can decide for ourselves the stories we want to read so rather than dictate what can and cannot be written in this thread, we will ask that any CW (at the discretion of the writer) be placed at the top of the post

[Winddancer]

Framsburg Bathhouse




"JAOOOooOOOooWWW!!" The gruff scream broke the silence of the night, though no one reacted to it. Not when it came from the direction of the city's bathhouse.

"Are you trying to burn my skin off, woman!?" Einar jerked up to standing so fast that water splashed over the edges of the large wooden tub.

"Oi! Don't you woman me, Einar!" She sent the back of the large long handled sudsy brush smacking down on his bare arse with a sharp crack and eliciting yet another howl of pain. "Sit your smelly rump back down right now before I shove you back under myself!" The firm stare she sent his way was enough to wither flowers and reluctantly Einar sat back down, wincing all the way as the hot water bit into parts best not mentioned.

"By the Valar! Are you trying to cook me alive!? This is like taking a bath in Mount Doom!"

"Don't be such a baby, it is not that hot. And you need it at this heat, it's the only way to get that rancid smell off of you! What did you do, roll around in rotting carcasses!?"

Wrinkling her nose Aldith applied more suds to her brush and got to work. Strong as a man, she gave him a scrubbing of his life ignoring all his howls of protestations and at times even pulling him back in to continue. From top to bottom she scrubbed him within an inch of his life, though the biggest fight came when she reached his feet. With one firm hand she held his ankle and ignored his yelps, yells and laughter as she scrubbed his dirty feet clean.

By the end of it she was about as wet as he was, feeling like she had just wrestled one of the mythical watchers of the deep. Wiping away a loose strand from her forehead with the back of her hand she grabbed a large bucket of water and dumped it unceremoniously on his head to get the soap out.

"WWWWHHHHAaahahha! What the everloving damnation, woman! That is freezing cold!!"

Again he was ignored, she had heard it all before. "Get out and let me rinse the rest off and don't be such a babe."

Grumbling Einar reluctantly conceded, mostly because he could not stay in the tub forever and tried to brace himself for the next onslaught. "Ssshhheeeeeesh! you could have heated it just a little!" He squealed as he bounced around while she slowly poured the next bucket over his body and rinsed the suds away.

She made sure the entire bucket was used, her strong forearms not once shaking with the weight of the heavy bucket. Once done, she tossed him a large towel and left him to dry himself off as she moved on to clean the massive mess left behind. At least the floor got a washing too she thought as she set to work emptying the tub of grimey water.

Einar cursed the whole time under his breath as he gently toweled himself dry. At least the towel was soft, his skin still tingling from the 'torture'. He had not paid for the massage she offered as well. He had tried that once before and while his back had never felt as good as it had after, the process itself was nothing less than terrifying. Nor did he have the time, he needed to drop off his latest hoard of skins and meat.

"You look almost half decent now, Einar" Aldith said as she shot him a grin. "Almost shining!" Chuckling to herself as his face grew slightly more flushed than it was before, she knelt down and began scrubbing the floor. "See you a year's time!" Another chuckle followed him as he left muttering about how it had not been a year.

[The Good Hunter]

A Crown of Violets, Roses, and Crocuses
The Framsburg Library
(Private)

Many crowns of violets,
roses and crocuses
…together you set before more
- Sappho

The hour was late, or at least she assumed it was late. There were no windows where she’d sat down to read the scrolls. It was a big room, musty and cavernous, and lit with a single, long candle at the far end of her table. That she’d lost track of time in here was more an inevitability than a surprise. Any library, every library, all over the world and under it, she would get lost in. Dusty shelves and endless rows were more natural to her than sunlight and fields. She’d had adventures, many of them, but they all led her back to one library or another. One could only learn so much on an adventure, they must, must be supplemented by research and study. At the very least, her adventures needed to be catalogued so that she could be a part of the research. That’s what had led her to Framsburg.

It was not a hidden city, but it was a forgotten one. Supposedly its foundations were laid by the Rohirrim before they were the Rohirrim and, judging by the age and decay and general rundownedness of the city, it was at least a thousand years old, older than her by a good three hundred years. Odd that places made by humans could be older than an elf, but they happened. She was young, but not that young. The world was an onion, layers and layers and layers of things to find and explore and discover. Framsburg was forgotten because people mistakenly believed it had little to offer the big, wide world. She knew that wasn’t true. No place in the world had “little to offer”, that sort of phrase was a slur, a curse, an obscenity in anthropological circles. She’d come to the city with little knowledge of its size or it’s make up. She was shocked at both. The city was large, larger than Edoras has been. It was founded on a much more gently slowly sloping hill and was not quite so rugged. Half the city seemed to be ruins though. A half dead, half alive city. That was something she could understand, most of the great elven cities were growing more and more like that, Lothlórien, Mithlond, Imladris.

There was no central authority here either, no mayor or lord or council that she could ask questions of. It was an imposition to be sure. But Patsimiel Yoshiyo was not one to be turned aside so quickly. Her time studying anthropology had given her one thing, and her elven senses had only sharpened and honed it: patience. There was no council she could talk to? She would ask the people on the streets. She’d picked up enough Rohirric lately that communicating was no problem. Well, not too many. She’d talked with a cooper and kept confusing an offer from him to come inside and meet his wife for tea, for an offer that was not about tea. Thank the stars, most of the people spoke a dialect of Westron she could speak and understand. The cooper and his wife pointed the young elleth to the library. It wasn’t much a of a library, the people of Framsburg were an oral people more than a written, but they interacted with enough people, Northmen, Silvan elves, Ered Wethrin dwarves, that a library was more or less expected, even if it wasn’t well maintained or catalogued. There was a librarian, a wizened old man with a very short gait and a very sturdy cane, he was a delightful little man and was so enamored with her that she assumed she was the first elf he’d ever seen. His smile was as bright as the waxing gibbous moon. He led her to a private chamber where she could read and study and write in peace.

She yawned. She wasn’t tired, but she felt like she should be. The yawn was more an attempt to trick her body into telling her its secrets. Her mind had begun to wander. The candlelight was growing fuzzy, and the light was getting dimmer and dimmer. The words on the page drooped and dipped on the page, they played and teased her. She would read a sentence, then read it again and find words that had been coy and hid. Her stomach gurgled. She might not be physically tired, but she was hungry. When was the last time she’d eaten? Had she stopped at an inn before she made a beeline to the library? She couldn’t remember if she’d had the tea with the cooper and his wife. Some tea would be very pleasant right now. Tea was the whetstone on which she sharpened her mind. Ever since she’d learned to brew it herself, Yoshiyo had used it to stay up at all hours. She would hide under blankets with a lantern and read anything and everything she could. Once, she’d nicked a cookbook from her neighbor and read the entire thing in a single night. If only she could use that knowledge to make more than tea. She was certain that a tea and biscuit combo would make her at least a fraction more popular, at the very least not the one mocked and teased endlessly.

She yawned again, this time it was genuine. It must be late. She read one more line from the scroll, blinked hard, then read it again. Neither time she read it did it make sense. The words could have scribbles for all she understood them. She squinted and leaned in close to try a third time. Still no luck, the words dripped and slipped out of her line of sight like a waterfall. She sat back and sighed. She was done for the day. She’d learned her lesson. Reflexively, she looked at the candle, making sure it was not too close. She would not forgive herself another library fire. She sighed again, rubbing her face. Comparing languages and tracing certain stories back to their origins was fun work, but it was mind numbing too. She’d read eight different renditions of “How the Fox Stole the Farmer’s Wife”. All of them only slightly different. There was something wrong about the order in which the library said they were written and recorded. But all of that was going to have to wait until tomorrow, or at least until she’d had some tea and a bowl of soup. Her stomach mumbled in agreement. Soup would be very nice.

She packed up her things, scrolls and scrolls and more scrolls with pens and wax tablets and sketch pads. Her pack was an unorganized bramble of chaos. She wouldn’t have in any other way. Her apartments were always orderly and organized, but her pack, like her mind, was wild and carefree.

The sun was still out, but it was dipping behind the mountains, exploding in pink and orange. She inhaled the smell of Framsburg and closed her eyes.

She took a step and felt herself bump into someone rushing by.

She opened her eyes, catching just the barest glimpse.

The woman turned to look back. Her eyes were soft and round with irises of violet so dark they could have been a reflection of the primordial, starless sky. Her skin was silvery porcelain, her feathery, raven tresses was styled in an ancient elven style, one she’d not seen in…

Suddenly she was not in Framsburg anymore. She was in another city, one far older with towers of ivory that stretched up into the sky and disappeared. There were singing voices all around her instead of the murmur of a crowd. There was so much light here: golden and silver. There was music in the very air. She reached out to touch it. Her fingers moved slowly, through honey. She could see the light wisp around her fingers, almost tangible. And she was there. The same woman, raven black hair and violet eyes. She was looking at her again, but on her lips was a gossamer smile, so sweet and silky it made Yoshiyo’s knees weak. The woman, so familiar that her name was on the tip of Yoshiyo’s tongue, said something and touched her cheek. It felt like she’d been kissed by a cloud. It was dizzying. The air smelled of roses. She said something, but her words were wisped away a sweet wind…

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention…” the woman said, her eyes and hair the same as it had in Yoshiyo’s vision. She smiled. There was a twinkle in her eyes, a reflection of ancient light. Did she know Yoshiyo? Did Yoshiyo know her?

Before Yoshiyo had a chance to say anything, the woman rounded the corner and disappeared. She touched her face where she’d been touched in the vision. She felt dizzy again.

Who was she?

[The Good Hunter]

A Crown of Violets, Roses, and Crocuses
Elsewhere in Framsburg
(Private)

Many crowns of violets,
roses and crocuses
…together you set before more
- Sappho

The evening was quiet, the air was cool, the fire was comforting; on any other night, this would have been magical, but tonight everything felt like it was being observed behind glass. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t keep her mind from wandering, couldn’t stop thinking about… Odohe dropped her chopsticks for the third time and gave up trying to eat. She wasn’t hungry but the ritual of cooking and eating was perfunctory, a requirement for her state of mind. She was a creature of routine, an elf of prosaic ceremony. Everything in her small house had its place and every ritual in her life gave had purpose. It was the only way she knew how to live. Odohe had lived on her own for so long now; at the start, the routines and the rituals helped ground her, keep her from focusing on the losses, but as time went on (and went on, and went on was it does for elves) she grew to depend on the rituals until they were structure of the world in which she lived rather than the foundation.

Tonight was the first night in a decade things had gone amiss. She’d spend nigh on two decades in Framsburg now, not quite enough for her to consider it a home, but it was more than a temporary hideaway. She’d come here to escape, to break free, to discover herself. The forests of Lothlórien, after the losses she’d suffered, no longer felt like home. It was an alien world filled with alien people. Or perhaps she was the alien, the child out of the outyards. They all looked at her with pity, she hated the pity in their eyes, it made her feel so weak, so out of control. She came to Framsburg on a whim. Most people south of the city didn’t even know it existed still. It was a shell of itself, the people that lived there said, but the embers of the city still burned hot against the gathering cold. Odohe stayed there. She endured looks of suspicion and distrust, bearing them easier than looks of pity and sorrow. In time, the people of Framsburg wore down and accepted her. She was an outlier, but she was welcomed. “Every city should have an elf,” they said, “a being of living history and countless tales.” She wasn’t really one for storytelling and saga sharing though. While she did her part to participate in annual events, blóts, and ceremonies, her talents were in gardening and cultivation. History was something she’d rather forget than be eternally called upon to recount tales of glory and woe.

She had been doing fine, living a life of quiet fulfillment, disconnected yet connected, boundless but organized. She had found a spot, both consciously and unconsciously, where all her mannerisms and proclivities existed in a state of equilibrium. It was not happiness, per se, but it was something near that, closer to contentment. Then she heard that there was another elf in the city. It was strange, looking back on it now, but initially when she heard the news (and what news it would be that there was not just one elf in Framsburg, but two) she felt jealousy. Framsburg was her home, her sanctuary, her ship on the astral sea. What right did another elf have to come in and take that from her? She was no longer special, no longer a fixture.

However, as the days went, the excitement died down, and with it her jealousy, the elf, whoever they were, cloistered themselves in the remnants of the library, a place Odohe had only passed by. In those following days, she avoided the streets that lead to the library, staying as far from this interloper as she could. Until today.

She’d been so busy, so caught up in her routine that she forgot to take a new route. She’d awakened before the sun, performed a few ashtanga movements to help awaken her mind and body, then began work in her garden. Her house was small, but it was one of the few places in the city with a yard large enough for growing more than a few flowers pots. It had taken years of trust and hard work to make it the way it was now, something Odohe was very proud of. It was time to harvest her leeks, she done so and delivered them to Léofrid, her grocer friend in the marketplace and closest thing she had to a real confidant. Without thinking, Odohe took her old route, the one that took her near the library. She was so distracted that she didn’t even notice until she bumped into her, into the other elf. She’d taken such pains to avoid this person, refusing to see her, refusing to even know her name or gender. But now she knew. They only locked eyes for a brief moment, and in that brief moment, Odohe had learned far more than she’d ever wanted to know about anything.

The look in the elf’s eyes took her back, back further than the sun and the moon, back to a time before she’d been born. Memories of a time she’d never seen, dreams of a place she never imagined. There were so many lights and sounds, they grew to a crescendo and for a moment Odohe thought they’d overwhelm her, but then everything vanished. Everything except a small lawn overlooking a deep verdant forest, the ur-forest that belonged to Oromë and his kin. She was not alone. She could not see her face, but she knew, knew beyond a shadow of doubt. She was weaving flowers into her hair: scabiosa, camellia, and dahlia, pristine white flowers, emmeshed within tresses of scarlet, crimson, and ruby. There was an intimacy here, an intense intimacy Odohe had never felt before. They were so close to one another, clad in naught but their skin and hair. She could feel the warmth of the one she was with, a warmth inviting and alluring. The light was silver, Telperion was casting his dim evening rays across the land. That moment, simple as it was, held more emotion in it than Odohe had felt her entire life. What was this? What was this place? She didn’t want to leave it. She didn’t know this woman she was with, but she didn’t want to leave her. The woman turned, soft brown eyes framed by hair a million shades of red. Their eyes locked and kisses as sweet as cherries followed.

It was only for a moment, a moment shorter than a breath or a heartbeat, but it had so much more weight. She was confused though. Who was she? She’d never seen this elf her entire life. Yet the dream, or memory, or whatever it was, felt so vivid that had to have been real. To her shame, she ran. She heard the woman speak, but the words were lost as she darted back home, scampering like a frightened deer.

Now, she was home. Or was she? Home suddenly didn’t feel like it. This building, this place, it had held her together as much as she’d held it, but now it felt cavernous and empty, and Odohe felt alone, unmoored, and drifting. She felt the overwhelming curiosity to find the elf, to see her again, to confess the vision she’d had when they ran into each other. That slow moment of perfect time when their eyes locked and she saw a vision of something past, unburied by a single soft smile and the scent of cherry blossoms.

She went to her garden. It was dark out and naught but the stars held any light in the city. Still, she saw the flowers as if they glowed with an inner light: scabiosa, camellia, and dahlia. She gathered up enough to make bouquet. Before she knew what she was doing, in the darkness of the coming nights of summer, Odohe began her search.

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Old Framsburg, Mathleisburg and lands of Ronen-in-Anduin.
(New RP with Fenrir)

Utchuk in town (1)

He came from the northern fells long ago. He wore a good mask that made him look human, but he would never be near one. In his time so far he had travelled through most lands, where humans lived and remained this far inconspicuous. He travelled around in selfmade clothing, in what he had developed a good hand and a warm skin from a bear as cloak. His belt supported an once stolen human sword, a Morgul knife and a dagger. He got a pouch with a few important possessions as money and papers. He had a necklace of animal bones to complement the wild men of Palisor. With his six feet he was pretty tall and thus not easy to hide his stature, but the shadows did a lot. In pure daylight he wore a cap over his head, the greyness of his skin was hidden under clothes and in handshoes. He couldn’t deny his real nature, but humans were excellent meat eaters, so he was no exception in an inn. In desolated lands, like old Arthedain, he was a lone traveller nobody really bothered. And if he met people who had questions, he spoke in the common tongue a bit grunting and brusque, but never out of hatred.

The lands across the mountains were barren. Framsburg was an old town sitting like a duck along the river Anthiel, that plunged at the crosspoint from the west into the Anduin coming from the north. There was order within the walls of stone, just like the sistertown Mathleisburg, a stone throw away at the river junction with the Sirros. The lands here were different than the other side of the Hithaeglir. Utchuk was in town. He was at a tavern near the northern exit into town, enjoying a warm beer. He had learned to drink it. It was warm and full of protein. Law and order were loose here, so it was important to keep a dagger loose in the scabbard. The humans were superstitious with reason, there was a great bog to the north, named Aughiska. There was no record where the name came from. The boggy lands were invested by a smaller kind of Orc, limited of intelligence and only roamed when the clouds hung low during daylight. He stayed rather inside these walls than out in the marshes.

He knew of the sulphur ghosts in Mordor. A pulsating mist hung there that hungry surrounded victims, sucking them empty from emotions, exhausting them, a desire came to fall asleep. The surrender was the moment where the victim would become part of the mist. The victim was reborn as pulsating flard of mist. Nobody could escape it. Utchuk wouldn’t try it at night. He was well-versed to travel through the lands, but wouldn’t risk the hide if he could not. His home were the tundra in the northwest of Middle Earth, the Forochel lands. Free Uruk tribes lived side by side with human tribe and almost ate the same kind of food, that mostly came from sea. Mindless battles and skirmishes were not for him. He was a traveller.


Bogs of Aughiska.

Grasgnur was the kind of mountain orc, small of statue and evil throughout. There was no problem to digest a weaker orc than yourself. In small camps they sat around the fires, as it would keep the roaming ghosts of the bogs away. Battles had been fought long ago, their dead buried beneath their feet. Little knew these orcs about this and if they knew, they wouldn’t care at all. A word as care was strange vocabulary to them. He was part of the force, but not in command. That was a more ferocious brother with more scars than anyone else. A long travel it was to the south, where the town was, named Framsburg. Reported was that were here the fabled horseriders of old, but none had seen them in years so far north. So the Orcs of the Ered Mithrin were bolder than before. It was a good time for a raid, a pillage and if possible good murder. They would not consider the hidden kingdom in the southeast, where the borders of the forest began.


The woods & the garrison of Mathleisburg

Elven eyes kept an eye on the growing numbers and reported this back to court in Aradhrynd. The fiercest warriors of the north lived there, unconquered, led by the last true elvenking of Middle Earth and his successor. It was seldom that the golden force rode out and waged battles. Unless there was a serious threat from either Gundabad or the Ered Duir. Even the lands around Esgaroth, Erebor and Nan Annen could give problems. There was little love with either the humans or the Dwarves, but they could come to aid, if the orc numbers were too numerous to handle. The forests of the north were greatly feared by the orcs of the Ered Mithrin and the Hithaeglir.

The garrison of the bigger town to the south of Framsburg did have a contingent of the fabled Eotheod, the horse riders of Rohan. King Eomer sat on the throne, and had established a good garrison for the remnants of their people who had remained behind hundreds of years ago. They were about twohundred strong, with equal horse. The Beornings and the woodsmen of Rhovanion were also part of the same people. It was established because the strength of Lothlorien was not what it once was. It was rather silent these days, and nobody really knew if the elves still lived there. Everyone knew of their leaving Middle Earth. The elvenking however had no ears for these messages. The garrison did have an ablebodied commander, who had a good record on his name. He had a several adjudants who commanded different divisions of horse riders. Framsburg fell under their protection. But even within sight, it was still a ride to reach it, if ever came an attack on the small town.

[Maeglin]

Thump.

Thump.

It was the dull sound of axes cutting sharp wedges on tree trunks. This was an area they preferred more. It was near to their outback settlement and supplied them with all the wood they could even need. Besides, there was a nice stream nearby carrying fresh water from the hills yonder, and thus they didn't have to worry about not bringing water from home. Yes, it was a nice place. They rarely came upon any maneaters there, and when they did, their numbers scared the beasts off. Their own settlement was far away from Framburg in the middle of the woods and hills. Sure, they had a few scares now and then, but no one was ever lost to the woods. They weren't the only settlement beyond the town's walls either. There were many backwoods settlements where people loved to live with comparatively more freedom.

There were three woodcutters there that day, including his Adyun, and himself, Elmer.

Wiping the sweat off his brow, he let down the axe slowly and proceeded to rest a while.

"Whassamatter, Elmer? You ill?" sneered Adyun as Elmer sat down.
"Nay!"
"Then put you back into it, lad, or shall we be callin' you lassie now, eh?"
The woods rang with their merry laughter. The sullen Elmer laughed too. "Oh fudge it Adyun. Let a man rest."
"We need to take firewood and logs back before dark, and that isn't far away."
Another man said, "Aye, the sun's settin' already. We best get back. I don't like these woods in the dark."
An old woodcutter, the oldest of the lot said, "None of us do."
"Oh aaaaallll righty!" interjected Elmer. "Let's hurry and go back to the village. Sooner we make it the better."

Indeed, they picked up the pace, cut some more wood, gathered them up, and tied them into bundles. Then came the long trudge back home through the dark woods, where shadows lengthened as the sunlight receded. The trees seemed more menacing, the branches above them seemed like webs of a gigantic spider, and the smallest sound almost made them look back, only to discover it was just the sound of streams, falling twigs, or something else.

But sometimes, the dangers are real.

Crack!

"What the...?"
One of the woodcutters behind Elmer said, "That sounded loud and heavy, and nearby."
"Aye, it was. Sounded like a wolf," quipped Elmer. Unlike the rest, he was quick to drop this bundle of wood and grabbed his axe.

The next few moments were a nightmare. Some wolves fell on them from all sides and tore them to shreds. The largest of them was big enough to rival a boulder. And yet, there was something different about this one. Not only was he larger than the other wolves, he could speak in in the Common Tongue as well.

"Your axes won't help you, not your swords, nor bucklers nor homes of wood. I, Fenrir, leader of the wolf pack have spoken. And we are coming for Framburg."

With that, the werewolf fell on Elmer and tore him into shreds.

@Aikári Salmarinian
OOC: Hey Aiks! Let's have Fenrir and your orcs meet in the next post where we can plan on the attack on Framburg. Alternately, we can attack more villages near the forests and draw out the town's cavalry. What do you think?

[Aikári Salmarinian]

OOC: Hi Fenrir, both plans sound good to me. We work it out along the route of writing.

______________________________
Old Framsburg, Mathleisburg and lands of Ronen-in-Anduin.
(RP with Fenrir)

Bogs of Aughiska.

Routing was not an easy thing for Grasgnur. Balhur, a fellow orc, was around. The rags on the body had to be clothes, adorned by the skulls from rodents that had been captured and eaten. The spoils were eaten in secret and not shared with others. The witchking was a frightening presence, but luck was on their side, he and the other Nazgul were not in the north. Balhur had a sense of wanting to stay alive. He was further equipped with constant mortal fright, envy, jealousy and malice. Grasgnur knew enough that this orc was a kind that stabbed a knife in the back, when you were not alert. Fear was a good weapon, and out here in these accursed lands, they were not the only thing to fear. The mountains were better and friendlier than these bogs. When the morning came the fog had thickened and dulled all sounds, from animal screams to the dead rustling leaves in half crooked trees. It was mealtime, and these orcs had no idea of it. Grasgnur was intelligent enough not to be in the bogs, but on the border. Most of the orcs jumped up and ran into the fields. But unfortunate Balhur was not that quick. The hungry fog surrounded the orc and began to feed on his lively essence. Balhur had no sense of what was happening that feeling to becoming dull of mind. There was no plan to engage the legs and run to safety. He was frozen in place, dissolving slowly in the mists, where no time existed. Just the eternal hunger. There were many names in this fog, trapped and had become just a bit stronger again.

Grasgnur and his troop of nineteen orcs out of thirty stood on the open plains. To their east lay the town of Framsburg. It was mostly grassland, ideal for horses to gallop across. But also wolves could roam here, and other deer sorts. But the last kind lasted in the woods better. There were a few pockets of forests along the west side of Anduin, where the Anneithel streamed from the Hithaeglir eastbound. The start was the Gundalok plains and other minor tributaries. The Men Rúnen was the road in the northern side of it. From the south came the Men Leimuin, that connected Dungirith nearby Carrock to the small settlements at one of the starting arms of the Anduin. There were barks not that far off, and Grasgnur looked around. They made it to the nearby wood, where they found ripped up corpses from Framsburg probably. Bundles of woods lay everywhere. “Work of wolves,” he concluded. They were around somewhere. “Keep your weapons on sharp,” was the instructions. Wolves could be allies in certain cases. But also an enemy if there was not a mutual ground.


Utchuk in town Framsburg (2)

The joy of a fresh morning was palpable when some rays of sunshine broke through the clouds and chased the rain and fog of earlier away. Utchuk was on the walls of the town, eyeing over the grasslands, the nearby woods and the water of the Anthiel flowing into the Anduin from the north. It was a calm, but still quite swift water, clear to drink straight. He appreciated this wild human society. It was like up in the deep north, where the passage of Den Lóke was a gateway. West lay feared Gundabad. But a quick traveller had no fear of the mountain. The lands of Forovirkain and Gondladwen lay beyond the Ered Mithrin. Rich uncharted and wild free lands, former from the baddest guy in Middle Earth. But after his capture it had been left alone. A world of ice and tundra, of icedragons and trolls, but also deadly whales of the sea. Utchuk was a traveller and adventurer. He was not aware of any plans, but there was something foul in the air he didn’t like. It had the stink of darkness he was not used to. And perhaps it was time to leave? He could travel to Mathleisburg and check out the town there.

[The Good Hunter]

The Forests of Winterfylleth
In the Plague Doctor's Cottage, Northern Quarter
(Open to All)

His favorite time of day was evening, just after the sun had set when there were still streams of gold, purple, and orange in the sky. There was a fire in the hearth, snapping and popping happily. A cat was curled up close to the fire and purred unceasingly. The sounds of late summer filled in the blank spaces of sound, crickets, nightingales, thrushes, and katydids formed a buzzing, ambient chorus, counterpointed against the soft din of lively streets. Suffice to say, it was a cozy evening, especially with the breezes coming down from the mountains bringing with them a fresh promise of a cool autumn. He sat in his favorite chair, the ornately carved one with the overstuffed leather seat. He couldn't remember how long he'd had it, but he would rue the day when it finally gave way. There was a tush imprint that perfectly suited him, he'd been working on it for years, what was he going to do with a new chair? He sipped his tea and let the steam banish the thoughts. This new tea his wife bought at the market was remarkable, it was spicy with citrus and cinnamon notes but a sweet aftertaste. She was an excellent tea selector, his wife. She wasn’t home yet though, and that worried him. No amount of tea was going to banish that thought. The evenings were not complete without her.

Doc had finished his work an hour ago, finishing a grueling day of house calls to friends and neighbors. He treated everything from sprained ankles and dislocated shoulders to flus, sniffles, and upset stomachs. Goody Mathilda’s pregnancy was moving along well, she’d be ready to give birth to twins in just under a month, to his reckoning. Simen’s broken leg was healing well, he’d be able to start walking on it in a week or two; Doc knew; however, he would try to walk much sooner than that. Old Man Leofric’s dyspepsia flared up again, Doc knew the culprit was the peppers he loved eating even if he wouldn’t admit it to Doc. All these and twice a baker’s dozen more, just today. Doc and his wife had been the local doctors for the last fifteen years and, while they both found it infinitely rewarding, they found it equally exhausting. How Framsburg had managed without even so much as a basic healer was beyond either of them. Yet, if one looked at the state of the city, half in ruin or disrepair, perhaps there had been other things on the villagers’ minds. Doc’s feet hurt. How many leagues had he walked today? He wagered his wife that in all the time they’d been there in Framsburg that they cumulatively walked to Minas Tirith and back. His knees were not what they used to be in the days of his youth. They creaked and protested each time be bent over to examine a pustule or bruise. He was not sure how long he or his wife could keep up with the demand.

Where was she? He took another sip and looked at the door, hoping to summon her with his thoughts. He felt very incomplete without her here. Tea by oneself was fine and good, but tea with your best friend, partner, and confidante, was even better. She’d only had a few house calls to make today, but they seemed rather complex ones. The Akermanns had requested her take a look at their boy. He’d had a fever for several days now and nothing abated it. Doc had seen them several time, offered poultices and such, but the fever was voracious. Bone broths and cold compresses seemed to barely keep it at bay. Ealdræd’s young daughters, Cynedis and Heruwyn, had a similar fever, but their fevers were accompanied by a pox on their arms and torsos. Three cases were not enough to make an epidemic, but it was enough to cause concern with Doc and his wife.

His thoughts, at least, summoned her. She arrived with barely any fanfare, the cat lifted his orange head, looked from his spot in front of the fire to the door for two heartbeats then turned back to the fire. She was dressed much like him save where his robes were black, hers were white. How she managed to keep them so bright was a secret she was unwilling to share. Though he could not see her face, he could see she was weary. Her demeanor spoke of something deeper that simple exhaustion.

He pushed himself out of the chair and crossed the room to her; the cat, stirred from sloth, followed him step for step.

“What’s wrong, love?”

Nurse took a moment before answering. She didn’t remove her mask. She stared at the fire for a moment then to her husband. “Somerhild has the fever too, not just Eabald, and it’s worse for her, she’s burning up, burning up.”

Doc licked his lips apprehensively. “Do either of them have the pox?” he held his breath, hoping for an answer he knew was not going to come.

Nurse nodded her head somberly. She removed the plague mask and looked deep into her husband’s eyes. “Both of them, and poor Somerhild is so weak she can’t even swallow the broth. Doc… I’m scared…”

Doc was too. He pulled his wife into his arms and held her, the cat rubbed himself between their legs, offering what little comfort a silly tabby can. He meowed softly. Neither of them spoke. Neither could find the words needed to express anything right now. They were scared. Two more cases. Was an epidemic on the way? Was it already here? If there were four today, there could be twice as many tomorrow and they would be unable to keep up with the demands on their service. They had no helpers, no apprentices, or acolytes. In the fifteen years they’d lived here they had never needed them. Two had always been more than enough. What if it wasn’t anymore?

“What are we going to do?” Nurse asked.

“The only thing we can do, my love. I will write to Edoras and Minas Tirith. I pray we are not too late. We will need reinforcements. I should have done this earlier, I should have sent the letters three days ago, I should have—”

“Send the letters tomorrow,” she said, cutting off her husband’s panic, “It’s all we can do right now. I pray that someone will answer. You write the letters, I will see them to the post.” She touched his cheek tenderly but could not work the will to smile, nor could he. Doc cupped her hand in his.

“Very well. You’re right. I made you some tea. Have a seat and I’ll serve you.”

She closed the door to their little cottage, shutting out the noise of the late summer night and sat in her spot by the fire. The tabby meowed and bounced into her lap, demanding pets in exchange for stress relief.

[Rillewen]

@The Good Hunter

Amethyst & Wildfire
Approaching Framsburg

"I know," Amy patted her horse's neck lightly as he softly complained. He had lost a shoe a few hours ago, which left him limping slightly. "We'll be in the town soon though, see?" She pointed ahead. The young woman walked along beside her steed, loosely holding the rope to lead him, although it was unnecessary. He followed along at the leisurely pace she had set for them, content to stay close to her. Amy used a sturdy walking staff in her other hand, not that she really needed it for walking, but it could be useful at times and she'd rather keep it in her hand than tied to the saddle.

She had spotted a village ahead, and was very hopeful that there would be a blacksmith there. She needed to get that horseshoe put back on, and while she wasn't sure if it was still useable, she had recovered it and tucked it into her pack. If nothing else, it might be able to be recycled into something, right?

Unfortunately, due to the slow pace that she had to take with her horse, so not to cause him to go lame, it was after sundown by the time they made it into the village. She did not hear any noises to indicate a blacksmith, but that was probably due to the fact that whatever businesses there were in this place, they had likely closed for the night. She gave a soft sigh as she scratched around the base of Wildfire's mane, and stood looking around the strangely quiet streets. It was late, but not that late. "Where is everyone?" She muttered softly, looking around curiously as a little breeze picked up.

Wildfire snorted suddenly, backing up a few steps as his ears flicked backward. As Amy spun toward him, she recognized the signs of alarm. "Whoa, steady there, what's wrong?" She tightened her grip on the rope, in case he fled. As he snorted again, she tried to calm him with a soft, soothing voice. "Hey, hey, hey.. it's alright, everything's fine, there's nothing to be afraid of. It's just.." she glanced swiftly around, trying to pinpoint the source of his alarm, and could have rolled her eyes when she saw it; a flag of Rohan, fluttering in the breeze. "..just a flag," She assured him, keeping near enough to rub his neck lightly while she spoke. "Shhh, it's alright, it's not going to hurt you, I promise."

Wildfire snorted again, but this time it sounded more 'skeptical' than 'frightened', as if he doubted her, but he stopped pulling and stood there looking nervous while she murmured softly to him. After a moment he seemed to recognize that the flapping thing he'd seen was, in fact, not moving any closer and was, in fact, not a threat. He dropped his head down and made a low blowing noise with his nose.

Relieved that she had managed to calm him, Amy smiled faintly to herself at the apparent embarrassment he now displayed. "It's alright," She whispered, patting his shoulder lightly. "I won't tell anyone." She smiled slightly and shook her head in amusement as she straightened. Right... finding an inn. "Hello?" She called tentatively into the empty streets, wondering if there would be anyone to hear and answer. "Too bad I can't read Rohirric, huh?" She commented more quietly to Wildfire, sighing softly at the fact she could not read any signs, and therefore did not know where to find an inn.

[The Good Hunter]

The Forests of Winterfylleth
In the Plague Doctor's Cottage, Northern Quarter – Roughly Three Weeks Later
(With Rill, Open to All)

The last three weeks had not been kind. There was a fire in their hearth that evening, but neither had the energy for tea, there was nothing cozy about their worlds right now. The ginger tabby, too, sat lethargic by the fire rather than bounding between his two people.
The sickness spread and kept spreading. Neither of them was able to slow it down. It started with four cases; the number climbed into the double digits quickly. Doc and Lossë had done everything they could, everything they could think of, and yet the number refused to abate. No one had died, praise the stars and the west wind. Neither of them spoke it, but they both knew that sort of fortune could not last, not while they still couldn’t find the source. They were quiet as they watched the fire.

Lossë had removed her mask, there were tear stains and new lines of stress on her face. Doc did not remove his mask, he rarely did nowadays unless he was sleeping. Previously, the mask was a mark of pride, a badge of his office and trustworthiness, now he saw it as a mark of failure, a badge of dishonor. He could not face the world without his mask, lest they all see the shame writ in his sorrowed eyes. His eyes were no less tear stained his beloved partners, there were no fewer lines of stress and worry across his brow. He looked at his wife and thought his heart would shatter. He had no words of comfort, not words that he had not recycled and reused five times already in the last weeks. What good were words right now? Her shoulders were slumped with a weight he had tried and failed to lift, the weight of responsibility was growing heavier and heavier. In the end, he said nothing. He sighed and swallowed a thick lump in his throat.

He’d sent the letters to Edoras and Minas Tirith, and both had gone unanswered. Surely he was being impatient and panicky, the world was large and it took time to cross the wilds. He tried to persuade himself, but each reasoned argument he found came up sound like pathetic excuses, placating words of a charlatan who’d been caught up in a lie.

But he wasn’t a charlatan. He was a doctor. A plague doctor to be sure, barely better than a bog witch or a hedge nurse, but a doctor all the same. He had years of experiences, he knew as much about medicine as those folks down south, he’d just never received formal training. None of that mattered in the face of an oncoming plague.

The people of Framsburg were going restless too. Even in a city half decaying in a woodpile, word travelled quickly, almost as quickly as the sickness itself. Doc and Lossë faced daily questions about what was to be done, what was being done, why it was happening, who was to blame. Doc had no answers to give so, naturally, there was growing discontent with his position, and the position of his wife. It did not matter that he’d delivered half the babies in Framsburg (and his wife the other half) in the last fifteen years. It did not matter the bones he’d set, the aches and pains he’d soothed. All his good will and reputation melted in the face of this sickness. He couldn’t blame them, in a way. This sickness spread through the children, and only the children. What was to be made of that? Children held their parents’ universe and when that was under threat there was no length a parent would not go to. Doc and Lossë had no children of their own, they’d tried and failed in that endeavor, but they understood. That’s why this all hurt so much. It was not simply a sickness they couldn’t find a cure for, it was a future that was slipping through their fingers.

“I think I’m going to go for a walk,” Doc announced. He stood up, his joints crackling and protesting. The tabby looked up at him, tilted his little orange head and looked confused. Lossë didn’t look away from the fire. Her eyelids drooped, she was half asleep.

“Okay,” she mumbled. Doc wasn’t sure she had heard him but did not press it. She needed rest, he was not going to take that from her.

He exited quietly, locking the door behind him, and began to wander.

He had no destination in mind, he simply felt the need to move. His wonderful, cozy cottage felt stifling and claustrophobic. The night air felt, less. He still felt constricted and unable to breath, but at least there was a breeze.

He was not sure how long he walked, or how far from home he’d gone. Though he knew all the streets, alleys, and byways, he paid so little attention to his surroundings that he might as well be walking on the moon. If anyone hailed him, he didn’t acknowledge. He was little more than a living ghost, a physical phantasmagoria.

By the time he came back to himself, delving out of the piteous self-loathing and self-doubt, he realized it was in one of the empty quarters. The buildings loomed hungry and decayed. It was not safe to be here, the buildings were not stable. He felt cold and clammy. He did not feel unsafe here, even in the roughest parts of Framsburg, the Plague Doctor walked freely, but he could not suppress a minor shutter.

Then, he heard something. A voice? He tilted his head, looking for all the world like an inquisitive owl. Surely that wasn’t a voice, not here.

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. Or so the saying went. Doc decided to follow the sound. It came from just a few streets over. They were easy to travel, given that no one was crowding them. Suddenly, the buildings didn’t seem so close together. Perhaps, perhaps there was a little light.

He rounded the corner and saw someone, he was too far from them to make out exactly who or what, but he could tell they were with a horse. The closer he came, the more details he filled in. An outsider, probably, the steps were too tentative and they were in the empty quarter. A woman, no a girl, or a lady? The clothing was hard to make out and it was getting harder to see with less light.

“Hello there? Are you lost?” he called, hoping not to startle either woman or horse.

[Rillewen]

@The Good Hunter

Amethyst & Wildfire
Approaching Framsburg

It wasn't all that long after sundown, but Amy could see no sign of inhabitants in this city. She frowned, wondering if it was entirely abandoned. She ventured cautiously onward, leading her beloved horse. He was a little skittish, more so than usual. And if she was honest, Amy was feeling a bit spooked, herself. But one of them had to be brave, and it obviously wasn't going to be Wildfire.

She stepped up onto the porch of a building, finding the door hanging on its hinges. She frowned and poked her head inside, finding nothing but darkness and old, dusty cobwebs. "Huh." She commented to Wildfire. "Looks like we've found a ghost town." She was surprised, and then grinned. "Think there's any ghosts hiding around?" She asked, rhetorically of course, since her horse couldn't actually answer. Nor understand what she was saying.

“Hello there? Are you lost?”

A voice spoke suddenly out of the gloom that was deepening slowly around them. Wildfire snorted, startled by the unfamiliar voice, while Amy jumped with a little gasp. She spun toward the sound, green eyes widening in alarm. Perhaps it was the fact she was surrounded by empty, dilapidated buildings. Perhaps Wildfire's nervousness was contagious. Perhaps it was because she had literally just joked about running into a ghost.. whatever the case, she shifted her walking stick into a defensive position as she swiftly glanced around for the source of the voice.

When she finally spotted a figure, moving slowly closer. But it did not look human. A chill ran down her back. What was that? She stood frozen to the spot, forcibly reminding herself to breathe. Wildfire pulled at his lead rope, backing up a few steps before Amy had to brace herself to keep from getting pulled backward with him, or else let go of his rope. This broke her from the 'trance' she had fallen into as she stared in stunned alarm at the unknown creature moving steadily toward her. "What.. who are you, what do you want?" She called back in a challenging sort of tone, mentally preparing to defend herself from.. something.

[The Good Hunter]

The Forests of Winterfylleth
In the Empty Quarter
(With Rillewen, Open to All)

When was the last time Doc had been about the city without his trademarked mask? It had been long enough that he never thought about the owl-esque guise he’d adopted. Everyone in Framsburg knew, when they saw the mask of himself or his wife, that they were the doctors. So commonplace had it become that when this younger stranger reacted so strongly, Doc genuinely thought there was someone else behind him. He whirled around, ready to face of against… well no one. There was no one behind him. A wave of confusion and confustication hit him. What was she so scared of? Sure, whoever she was, she’d wandered into the densest part of the uninhabited city, but why would she be so skittish? It took the plague doctor an embarrassingly moment to realize exactly what it was that had startled her. His mask!

He laughed heartily, perhaps the first happy sound he’d made in weeks. Tension flowed out of that laughter, even though it lasted barely a moment.

“Sorry about that,” he said, not removing his mask. “I wear this so often I’ve gotten too used to.”

Cautiously, aware that this young woman was on edge, Doc approached her, not closing the gap too quickly, but coming close enough that he would not have to shout. There was a saying about yelling in an empty city, what was it again, something about waking up ghosts or something. It escaped Doc for the moment, but the thought certainly occupied his mind.

“Didn’t mean to frighten you lass. Not many people wander through this part of town, especially not at this time of night. Are— are you lost, perchance? Or are you looking for someone?”

[Rillewen]

@The Good Hunter

Amethyst & Wildfire
Approaching Framsburg

To her surprise, the creature.. laughed. It wasn't a cruel or ominous sort of laugh, nor did it have a menacing sound. In fact, it sounded just like.. a human's laugh. A man. Amy stared, confused and not sure what to think of this. As he moved closer, Amy remained where she was, still watching. Still confused.

As he got near enough to speak without calling down the street, Amy realized she was still in a defensive stance. She straightened, relaxing slightly, although she was still wary and kept a hold on her stick. "That's.. a mask?" She asked, frowning in confusion. "It certainly was alarming," She let out a slightly nervous laugh, then glanced at Wildfire. "Shhh," She whispered to calm him, resting a hand lightly on his muzzle. "It's just a person. Nothing to be scared of," She assured him, as much as she tried to assure herself.

Turning back to the stranger as he asked if she was lost, or looking for someone, Amy gave a slightly forced smile. "A bit of both, actually." She answered. "Although, at the moment, I was looking for a blacksmith, and possibly an inn." She tried not to feel too unnerved by the strange appearance of the man before her. "My horse lost his shoe a few miles back," She explained, rubbing the bridge of Wildfire's nose lightly, just below his white spot.

[The Good Hunter]

The Forests of Winterfylleth
In the Empty Quarter
(With Rillewen, Open to All)

“A blacksmith and an inn?” he repeated the girl’s words, closing the gap a little more, just so he wouldn’t have to keep raising his voice to be heard. He swallowed hard. “Unfortunately, my dear, you’re rather in the wrong part of town for, well, either of those things. Not to mention it is rather late, most blacksmiths in Framburg usually close up shop the instant the sun touches the horizon. Horribly practical and persnickety about that, they are, I’m afraid.”

He looked the girl over, then the horse. They both looked to be in decent health, but they were definitely not from around here, not anywhere close. Her accent was southern, not Minas Tirith southern perhaps, but it had been so long since Doc had been down that far south that he might have forgotten what they sounded like in the Ringed City.

The horse, though, once she mentioned the missing shoe, did seem to be in some discomfort, not pain, but on the verge on unhappy. They both looked tired too. “How long have you been on the road lass?” he asked. “Where do you hail from?”

He felt bad for bombarding the poor girl with questions, but it was not everyday a stranger wandered into the Empty Quarter of Framsburg.

“I don’t know of any inns close by, but if you follow me, I can take back to where there is at least a little life in the city. Unless you fancy sleeping in an abandoned building tonight.” He looked up, the stars were all out, there wasn’t much sign of rain, but the nights here could get awfully cold, especially this time of year. “Come along, my wife will be wondering where I’ve wandered off to, the cat as well.”

[Rillewen]

@The Good Hunter

Amethyst & Wildfire
In Framsburg

Amy smiled in understanding as the masked man informed her the blacksmiths would all be closed by now. "Yes, I figured they would be. Which is why I hoped to locate an inn," She explained. She had been traveling for several years now, and while every town had various differences about it, certain things were generally the same everywhere she went, whether it was in Gondor, Rohan, or elsewhere. Shops usually closed at nightfall, which meant you'd have to wait until the morning before you could conduct any business with them.

As the stranger asked her how long she had been on the road, and from where she hailed, Amy paused to think what sort of answer he might be hoping for. "A long while," She answered after a moment's hesitation. "Depends on whether you mean 'how long in all' or 'how long since I left the last town'." She shrugged with a tiny smile. With a little nod of agreement, she motioned for him to lead the way, as she set off alongside. "Originally, I come from Lossarnach, in Gondor." She answered, as she walked. She kept her gaze searching their surroundings as she followed him, remaining wary of any potential danger. "Though, I moved to Minas Tirith when I began an apprenticeship there, years ago." A little sadness tugged at her heart as she mentioned that. She missed being there. It had been difficult to leave, but she would be back someday.

"If I may ask," Amy glanced sidelong at the stranger, hesitant about possibly offending him, but she was very intrigued and puzzled. "Why do you wear that mask? It sure gave me and Wildfire a fright, seeing you come out of the darkness with that one," She admitted with a little laugh. "And, pardon me for being a bit inquisitive, but.. where are we headed? You mentioned this place was called.. Fram..burg?" She hesitated, unsure if she had heard right from the brief mention he had made that seemed to refer to the name of the town.

[The Good Hunter]

The Forests of Winterfylleth
In the Empty Quarter
(With Rillewen, Open to All)

This young woman was interesting, Doc had to hand it to her. The wanderlust bug had bitten he and his wife years ago, that was how they ended up in Framburg, at the edge of the world, of all places. There was some wonderfully troubadouric and scopish about the notion, wherever and however it arose in a person. Answering ‘Where are you from’ questions were notoriously difficult for Doc because, well where was he from anyway? Without even knowing the name of this young lady, he was already finding he liked her. And because he liked her, that meant getting her out of the ghost haunted empty quarter and back to where there was liveliness, at least in some sense. “From Gondor, eh? Lossarnach? I can’t say I ever made it that far south; you’ll have to tell me about it there some time.”

Her next statement nearly stopped him in his tracks, but Doc was too good a guide to falter that profoundly. “An apprentice you say?” Could she be answer to the letters he’d sent out? He dared not hope so foolishly, but he could not deny a slight glimmer in soul at the possibility. He held his breath. “What sort of thing does a lady like you apprentice in? I can imagine half a dozen professions for you.”

He touched the beak of his mask absently when she asked. He was not self-conscious of it, not quite, but he was quite aware of it in that moment. How long had it been since anyone asked him ‘why’? Several years at least. He found it amusing, after so long, to recall. “This old thing? Well, that’s quite a story. Perhaps a little too long and complex for a walking conversation, but suffice to say, I am a doctor. Well—something of a doctor. I was never formally trained by anyone or any guild. So, I can’t really lay claim to the title. I wear the mask as a symbol of my unordained position. I do apologize for give you and... Wildfire, fantastic name by the way, I think it fits him, such a fright. I’ve worn it with such longevity that I tend to forget with it actually looks like and might symbolize.”

He stopped, allowing the girl and the horse to catch up. His pace had quickened, and he was already a few steps ahead of them. It worked out quite perfectly, as it happened, with her question. “You are in Framsburg, the forgotten gem in the crown of the Wilderlands, the once home of the Éothéod.”

As soon as he said it, he waved his arms as if to present the city to her, they’d just come around a corner and lights, sparse at first, began to appear like fireflies, first one then two then five and so on. The sounds of life too, a murmur of music and conversation began to filter through the air. It was rather late but Framsburg was not a city that slept all at once.

“And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to help you find a place to sleep tonight.”

[Rillewen]

@The Good Hunter

Amethyst & Wildfire
In Framsburg

Amy shrugged as he asked her to tell him about Lossarnach sometime. "It's mostly a lot of farmland. At least, that's what it was like, where I grew up. Farms, farms, and more farms. Lots of fields, crops growing, you know." She smiled faintly. It had been an adventurous childhood, roaming the fields and getting into all sorts of silly scrapes with her little sister, but going to Minas Tirith had been the start of a whole new adventure for Amy. And from there, this one had sprung up.

When asked about what sort of apprenticeship she had taken, she smiled a little sorrowfully. "I was studying to be a healer, before I left." She answered. "I still pop in from time to time, and sort of.. refresh my memory about the things I had learned. But I don't know when I'll be returning fully." She admitted, letting out a soft sigh. She did miss it. But she felt this was more important.

As the man explained that he was a doctor, and that was why he wore the mask, Amy still didn't quite understand the connection, but she nodded. "Interesting," She paused and smiled softly at the comment to her horse's name. One hand lightly rubbed the animal's neck, while the other briefly came up to lightly finger a necklace that hung around her neck, hidden beneath her clothes. Her thoughts strayed back to the day her beloved young man had surprised her with the beautiful horse on her birthday.

"Thank you," She murmured softly, in reply to the comment that the name fit the horse well. They had spent some time trying to think up names, and that was the name he had thought of. Amy had thought it fit perfectly, too. She cleared her throat softly, pushing aside her reminiscing. "It's alright, we were both a bit spooked by the emptiness around us, anyway," She admitted with a little smile toward her horse.

Framsburg, as it turned out, was not a ghost town after all. She stopped as they turned the corner and saw lights, and heard the sound of people ahead. Amy turned to him. "That's very considerate of you, doctor..?" She hesitated. "Sorry, I just realized I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Amy," She smiled. "And, you already know Wildfire's name. And what may I call you, sir?"

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Old Framsburg, Mathleisburg and lands of Ronen-in-Anduin.

Bogs of Aughiska.

Those lay outside the town of Framsburg. Grasgnur and his troop of nineteen orcs had left the dangerous and hungry bogs behind. In the open landscape they were quite vulnerable, but were at least safe from the ghosts in the bogs. One member had been lost, Balhur. This orc no longer existed. The ripped up corpses from the wolves were no longer for consummation. They had rotten too far away and left a terrible stench. Grasgnur left also the woods and headed back for the mountains. Their round of reconnaissance was completed. Even then it was never certain they would be battling somewhere or lost a member by other circumstances like Balhur. They were plain orcs, imbued with the evil from the dark lords in the tradition of Morgoth. However from the location of the Anduin it was still a stiff travel over flat near open land for the relative safety of Orc country, before they reached that they were vulnerable, even their numbers.


Utchuk in town Framsburg (3)

Not all was as it should be. The bogs were not far off, but today it was rather quiet, not misty or with low hanging clouds that promised rain later on. The inn Utchuk stayed was quite robust in build, but also slight dilapidated, meaning the last layer of paint was falling off, revealing others underneath. The roof was good but had seen better days. Utchuk wore a human mask that blended him in with the rest of the vagabonds. It was dark in the main room, where a few customers sat spread. The dinner was long over, but the kitchen was still open for latecomers. Utchuk sat quiet in a corner, looking over a map of the area. The cap hid his features nicely. And further across his whole body was covered up to handshoes as well. These lands were suspicious of any Orc, let alone an Uruk. Utchuk was just a big male human, hard to kill.

Utchuk had never known any form of slavery, or obedience to a master. Ancestors had served Morgoth, thousands of years ago. But what he had heard, were only legends and myths today. Sixthousand years was abig chunk of time, his head only dazzled about it. He couldn’t imagine to live so long. He was distrustful of the elves, but humans were okay. Or least how he knew them on the tundra lands of the north. They lived short, so memories were gone very soon. Anonymity was better guaranteed among them. By far he hadn’t talked with anyone, only small orders and paid in cash straight. Up here in Framsburg food was not expensive. But recon on it that was not what you found in the southern cities.

A gaze on the outside learned of the north star. Its light was real bright. A guide to return home. Who or what had placed there the stars, was not known. But the patterns were very useful on the dark landscape. He sighed deep and kept an eye on anyone passing by. A knife was never far away, to kill you and take your purse, with whatever was left in it. Two days he was now in town, but little had happened. In the morning it would be a good idea to visit the market, where anything could be gotten. Secret dealings in slaves was possible too, but Utchuk had no use for any companion. Alone was the best way, sword loose in the scabbard and dagger always in handreach. He smiled slightly. If the weather was okay tomorrow, he could get some fresh dried meat for on the road.