Drifa
...Great stores of goods, food, and beer were found that had been hidden away by the ruffians in sheds and barns and deserted holes, especially in the tunnels at Michel Delving and in the old quarries at Scary; so that there was a great deal better cheer that Yule than anyone had hoped for.
The Return Of The King, The Grey Havens
But this was not so during the month of Winterfilth, before the discovery. Nay, no cheer, only fear. The quarries at Scary become haunted. Some say it was spirits from the hills of Tyrn Gorthad that had crept in after their barrow's destruction. Some say it was the phantom of Saruman and his servant Wormtongue. And some even whispered that it was the fable Mewlips, evil creatures out of Hobbit legend.
Although most considered the brave group of folk with no common sense, characters of this Winterfilth month have gotten together to root out the menace around the Hills and quarries, and in doing so, discover the stores. Or, at least, tried to.
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- Welcome to Word Sleuth with a twist. WS Rp means one must Rp in character in-game posts instead of just posting a play.
Follow the plotline. Prompts will be given at each update to keep the game exciting and the RP going.
Please Rp, if interested in playing, your arrival at Scary Village prepared to hunt out spirits, phantoms and evil creatures.
If you have any questions, please address them here: The Michel Delving Mathom-House (OOC).~~~~~~~~~~The Shadows where the Mewlips dwell
Are dark and wet as ink,
And slow and softly rings their bell,
As in the slime, you sink.
You sink into the slime, who dare
To knock upon their door,
While down the grinning gargoyles stare
And noisome waters pour.
Beside the rotting river-strand
The drooping willows weep,
And gloomily the gorcrows stand
Croaking in their sleep.
Over the Merlock Mountains a long and weary way,
In a mouldy valley where the trees are grey,
By a dark pool's borders without wind or tide,
Moonless and sunless, the Mewlips hide.
The cellars where the Mewlips sit
Are deep and dank and cold
With single sickly candle lit;
And there they count their gold.
Their walls are wet, their ceilings drip;
Their feet upon the floor
Go softly with a squish-flap-flip,
As they sidle to the door.
They peep out slyly; through a crack
Their feeling fingers creep,
And when they've finished, in a sack
Your bones they take to keep.
Beyond the Merlock Mountains, a long and lonely road,
Through the spider-shadows and the marsh of Tode,
And through the wood of hanging trees and gallows-weed,
You go to find the Mewlips - and the Mewlips feed.
Richard_Svensson
whoops! I knew I'd get something wrong at some point...)
