Fourth time to Elendor! I’m Nurfal of the Beorning... Oliver Scholz convinced me... (He plays Haukr in the log below...) 🙂
&b_info me=A forester that works together with his two of his brothers, Hrafn and Oern. His oldest brother, Arnlaugr, is in the archery business: Bows and arrows are his life. The four brothers are known for their marksmanship. At parties, he is known to beat the drum and dance and sing and tell the old stories. Nurfal has four children with his beloved wife Hlif: Thora, Hallveig, Njall, and Gamli. Thora is his oldest daughter, nearly grown and both the source of his happiest moments and of his constant worries. Njall has been joining him in Mirkwood summer camp these years. @desc me=A man in his forties, about six foot something tall, blond hair with traces of gray, long beard, strong. He wears a heavy grey cloak that might have been orange or reddish brown a long time ago. It has been patched several times and it shows. Beneath the cloak you see a light shirt with a plunging neckline held together with a thick thread. The trousers are wide and you see that he wears the padded sandals with thongs wrapping around the cotton up to his calves.
Found the names here:
http://www.ellipsis.cx/~liana/names/landnamabok.html
The portion of the village south of the road leading from the banks of the Anduin is dominated by the long, low Trade hall which takes up much of the village’s space in the southern area. Still, the village is not just a stop for the many Traders on the long road East, but also home to its people... and that is reflected in the many small shops and markets which are built here. A road leads to the great crossroads area to the north; smaller paths wind away towards the banks of the Anduin, and deeper into the village.
The road is swathed in a golden glow from the light in the massive Trader’s hall. Still, without a lantern or torch, the ruts and grooves in the road can only be found in the least pleasant way: by stumbling upon them.
The night sky is cloud-filled and gloomy. The early night summer air is hot and slightly humid around you. The moon is not visible.
Torald arrives from the village center to the north. Torald has arrived.
The boy here is tall for his age of just over a decade; he looks to be beginning to develop serious muscles, and it is somewhat obvious that he’ll be the hulking type when he grows up. His hair is blond and cut shortly, so that it only the longest bits of his hair hang even halfway to his green eyes. The clothing he wears is not special in the least; woolen tunic and pants which might once have been greenish, but are now grey.
Rhunedhel arrives from the village center to the north. Rhunedhel has arrived.
His eyes are grey and intense, set in a face with fine, clean lines, but marred by old scars.
There is something about his eyes which suggests past sadness, long stored memories, as in an elf who has walked Middle Earth through many ages of the world.
He moves quickly, with authority; his cape is of rich maroon velvet, his tunic apparently of silk, a lighter, creamy color against which his face (with its dark olive complexion) stands out distinctly.
This total effect is regal, like some king of the ancient world, still walking the third age of Middle Earth.
The color of his skin and the angular lines of his face suggest an Avar origin; the harp he often carries, that he sings passionately; the scars on his face, some ancient tragedy.
And yet he walks with a light step, and his eyes are bright.
Haukr arrives from the village center to the north. Haukr has arrived.
His dark brown hair and beard, and the faint glow of angry sadness in his eyes would give this young man a gloomy appearance. Sometimes, though, when he talks, coming out of nowhere some roguish joy brightens up his countenance. He is tall and strong, hardend from spending his days in the forest. His clothings is simple and looks used: dark gray woolen skirts and trousers, sometimes a heavy brown cloak. He has weals on his hands.
Clouds, trees, flowers, people, small group of children beating the spit out of eachother with sticks, and ... hold up a moment. Small group of children beating the spit out of eachother with sticks?
With a great cry, Torald waps Bjeard (another child of about his age) with his stick. Bjeard’s friend Bjord, not liking this, waps Torald. Torald waps Bjord; Bjeard waps Torald; Bjord waps at Torald but hits Bjeard; Bjeard smacks Bjord’s nose; and pandemonium ensues.
Middle-earth time is: Twilight on Sunday, Day 26 of June. Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.
Real time is: 14:28:55 MDT on Sun Jun 20 2004.
Nurfal steps onto the street with his youngest son. Twilight has descended and he looks about, trying to descern what the noise is all about. Gamli points and says, “Hey! That’s Bjeard! I got to help him!!” Nurfal grunts, “No you don’t, young man. Stay by my side.” To no avail. Gamli jumps and disappears amongst his friends and foes. Nurfal sighs and prepares to intervene.
Torald stumbles out of the mess, wiping hastily at a bloody nose, then charges into the fray. Unfortunately, he is now against three different boys. Wapping Bjord, he is rapped by Bjeard; rapping Bjeard, he is wapped by Bjord. Poor kid.
But here comes the cavalry! Two kids happen upon the scene and quickly decide to help the losing side, charging in to Torald’s aid!
The woodcutter’s axe on his belt, Haukr passes by, obviously on his way home from the forest, since there are small leaves twigs all over his clothes. As he realizes the scene in front of him, he stops. Uneasily he shifts his feet. “Those children. Hitting. Not right. ’Should do something.” he mumbles.
Nurfal grunts angrily and moves swiftly into the fray. He sidesteps, he turns, he jumps forward, and grabs him by the neck! “Gotcha, frog! What did I tell you?” But it turns out not to be his son. Instead of Gamli he caught Torald. Unfazed, he says, “Stop it!”
Haukr finally forces himself to intervene. Or at least he tries to. Without conviction he steps forward, right into the clew of fighting children. Doing that, he even closes his eyes for a moment. “Stop that. You lads. I say.”, he manages to say with a loud voice. With his big, hairy hands, he tries two get hold of one or two of the many fists and arms he see. “Stop that. I say.”
Rhunedhel is walking from the northern end of the village, and stops well from the edge of the turmoil of boys and fathers. He says nothing to draw attention to himself, but stands watching.
“Oy!” Torald yells as he is grabbed. Wapping backwards over his back with his stick, he attempts to smack Nurfal in the face with his stick, and redoubles his efforts.
The kids (or at least Bjeard, Bjord, and the other two) unite with sticks and fists against a common foe - grownups! And they may not be grown-up themselves, but they -are- lads of Beorning, and strong. And they have sticks.
Nurfal manages to dodge the stick, but has to let go of Torald. Again, he turns and ducks, and when one of them misses, his arms descends like a hammer. Bjord is thunderstruck and drops the stick, half angry, half laughing himself, Nurfal grabs him by the other arm and uses him as a shield against the other boys and shouts, “You have to get up earlier than that, boys, if you want to fight!”
Turning, Rhunedhel leaves the scene, leaving the Beornings to their boys.
Torald runs to regroup with Bjord and the other two, forming a tight knot with sticks raised.
You say, “Help me now, Haukr! You take them from the right and I take them from the left!!”
But the kids are not about to be outflanked, oh no. They turn, running northwards. “To the tree!” Torald shouts, waving his stick. And off they go to the tree.
When the first stick hurts his shoulder, Haukr furrows his eyebrows. For a short moment his eyes glow. “Ah, you rotten...” The forester aims with his flat hand a blow towards the cheek of the lad right in front of him, Bjeard. “Is that what your parents taught you?”. Not awaiting a response he turns to help Nurfal.
Nurfal shouts, “After them! And Gimli, when your mother hears about this, I know who’ll be cleaning...” The rest is lost as he stumbles over a saddle lying by the horse post. “Come on, Haukr, what are you waiting for! Run!” He runs...
Haukr stood still for the fraction of a second, when he saw the children run away. But hearing Nurfal’s call, he starts again and runs after them. He is angry now.
Torald heads towards the village center to the north. Torald has left.
Haukr heads towards the village center to the north. Haukr has left.
You head towards the village center.
You stand at the crossroads of the Beorning township that is situated in this part of Middle-Earth. To the east lies the forest of Mirkwood and all the wonders that lurk within. To the west lies the mighty Anduin River and beyond the soaring peaks of the Misty Mountains jut skyward.
The night air is fresh and the breeze is cool here at the Village Crossroads. The Massive Oak tree tends to obscure the stars and moon from shining down, but many lanterns sparkle and provide ample light to see by. On one corner of the crossroads lies the Great Bear Inn. Sounds of revelry can be heard emanating from within, and the warm glow seen through it’s windows is very enticing. Opposite the Inn can be found the stables. A lantern hangs upon it’s door, suggesting that it is still open, despite the onset of darkness. As you gaze to both the north and the south, you can see that much more of the town lies beyond where you stand at this moment.
The dark sky is overcast and dreary. The early night summer air is hot and slightly humid around you. The moon is not visible.
From above, The children have retreated to the higher boughs of the trees - and they have been sure to snatch a bag of honeycakes from a confused villager, as well as a couple of stones.
“There they are. Sitting above. In the tree. Those rascals.”, Haukr grunts. Haukr slows down. He approaches the tree. Then he pauses, looking up thoughtfully.
Nurfal grins, “Hehe, smart boys, aren’t they? Well, we’ll have to shake them down. Let me get some sticks of my own. Just don’t get to close, you hear me, Haukr?” He grabs a wooden plank and uses it as a small shield. “Better arm yourself, too!” he chuckles. Wooden plank in the left hand and four big sticks in the right he slowly approaches the tree.
Haukr looks for a moment at the bottom of the tree’s trunk, touching his woodcutter’s axe. “No. Not that tree. Won’t be right.” Then he nods gloomingly towards Nurfal and collects some sticks and trots after Nurfal.
From above, “Hiyaaaaa!” Shout the boys, and they toss their rocks heavily, then retreat to the higher branches of the strong oak, where it would take an earthquake or a Beijabar to shake them down.
Nurfal ducks and uses the wooden plank to avoid the rocks. As the boys are scrambling up higher, he takes aim and throws one of the sticks. Sadly, it missesand hits a few branches instead before tumbling down. Nurfal throws another stick, aiming higher. This one came dangerously close to one of the boy’s hands. But still, a miss. “What do you say, Haurk, should we just go after them? Or shall we try the rope trick?”
Haukr hardly manages to escape those rocks raining from above. His cheeks are red and there is a dark glowing in his eyes. “They don’t have rocks forever. And they can’t stay there forever. I will love to give those young fools a nice warm beating up before bedtime.”, he snarls.
From above, The kids retreat up even higher into the mighty and tall tree, hopefully out of throwing range. “Lovely day, innit,” Torald comments to Bjeard.
“Ayup. Anyone think to bring mead?” asks Bjeard.
“Nope. There’s sap, though, if you want to be poisoned!”
The kids nearly fall off their tree, laughing.
You say, “Lemme get some rope. See that big branch over there? We’ll throw the rope over the branch, then the two of us can give the tree a real good shake... Remember how we did that two summers ago with the horse thieves up in Mirkwood? Hehe. They did take quite a fall, eh?” He raises his voice even more and continues, “If they would beg for mercy, however, I guess we would let them run...”
“Wouldn’t like. To let them run. Beating’em up’s better. But if you say so. I follow you.” He looks up again, thoughtfully. “Not sure. That the horse thieve trick would work. ’Tis a much bigger tree. But if you are game, so am I.”
You say, “I guess then we’ll have to go up, eh?”
Nurfal drops the cloak, the bow, the quiver, and everything else, bundles it up and hands it to Eyvindr the dried fruit merchand who’s about to close shop. “Watch this!”
From above, The kids jeer and make rude gestures (but not very rude - they don’t want to make the -whole- village angry), laughing. Hearing this from Nurfal, however, they prepare more rocks, raising them threateningly. “I wouldn’t advise it!” Torald yells. “We’d make a brave last stand - and we weigh less then you, savvy? We can go to the thin branches at the tippity top, but you’d fall and go boppity bop.” His lapse into silly-words draws another laugh from the kids.
“I am not as good a climber as I used to be when I was a biddie. But they won’t have rocks left by now. Have no better idea myself.”
“Wait. You biddie. Let me just grab one single leg. And you’ll kiss the ground.” Haukr approaches the tree trunk with unusual determination.
Nurfal grins, “They are smart! Wait, Haurk, this is what we’ll do: Tie this around your waist and put some sticks in it... Then you can throw them up when we’re in a tight spot.” He grins as he says it. “And I will wrap my cloak around my left arm and use it as a shield for the rocks from above. Just stay below me. On my command, I will move aside and you will shoot them down. Ready!?”
From above, But the kids are not about to allow the grownups to assemble their plan. With a roar, they pitch down their sticks, retreating higher into the branches, mostly hidden from the ground in a thick mesh of foliage.
You say, “Quickly now, Haurk! After me! I know you climbed this tree just like I did as a kid. I’m sure you still know how to climb a tree!!”
A broad grin appears on Haukr’s face. “Right you are. I could not follow them. Into the tree trops. But this arm is strong enough at throwing to make them wish they were somewhere else. Up we go then.”
Nurfal laughs and runs and grabs the lower branches, and quickly he starts moving up.
From above, Relatively safe - or thinking they are - in the tangles of foliage which would block most sticks, the kids munch on honeycakes and wait tensely.
And Haukr follows him immediately, a bunch of sticks tied around his waist.
From the limbs, the ground seems farther below by a long sight than the climb should have made it. The thick arms of the mighty oak easily support the weight of those who climb her, and indeed a favorite hobby of children is to scurry up into her boughs to spend a lazy afternoon, when they can avoid the eyes of their parents long enough to shirk the day’s work. Knotty but sturdy wood beneath, any one might feel safe and secure enough to nap.
From the ground below, A scurrying is heard as Nurfal climbs the branches of the mighty oak.
Haukr pulls up into the limbs.
From the ground below, A scurrying is heard as Haukr climbs the branches of the mighty oak.
Nurfal climbs and laughs, “We are coo-oo-ming...!! Watch your legs, frogs or I’ll bite them!” Watching the dark foliage above, he climbs, always ready to stop and protect his from from a shower of stones. The higher he gets, the slower the two foresters climb. Was that a shadow of a kid over there? Or just a branch moving?
The kids are now perfectly still and silent, crouching down on the branches and watching, waiting.
His brows still furrowed, his teeth slightly bared, Haukr follows grimly. More than once his right hand is about to pull a stick out. But he doesn’t. Yet.
Nurfal eyes the darkness above. There it was again. Looks just like two lazy legs dangling from above! He looks down. Haurk looks up. Nurfal points at the feet. Haurk nods. Nurfal says, “Go for it!” and swings to the right.
In one rush the angry Haukr pulls a stick out, aims, swings, throws. With impact the missile flies up through the leaves.
And - whack! the stick is tangled in a branch and falls back towards the people who threw it.
The kids, besides, are not dangling their legs down - they’re too smart for that. They’re lying on their stomachs on branches, legs wrapped around them.
You say, “Damn.” You say, “Can’t see in the damn darkness.” Nurfal continues up, cautiously, now. He whispers, “What are you doing up in this tree, ol’ fool?”
“Doubt that we can follow them. Not that high. Branches too thin.”, Haukr snarls. “Whish they hadn’t climbed that oak. Any other tree. And I’d know a solution.”, he adds grimly.
The kids are holding their breath, wishing to be neither seen -nor- heard.
Haukr raises his voice, crying up towards the tree’s top: “’Tis right, you lads. You had your fun. Come down now and make your excuses. Or I promise that I camp all night at the bottom.”
“We were having a brawl!” comes a voice. “You grown-ups do it all the bloody time.”
Nurfal whispers, “I’m not going back, now, Haurk... Just let me get them.” With a sudden burst, he now swings up quickly, with broad shoulders and strong arms, he seems to able to climb like a squirrel. “Come on little frogs, show your legs!” he roars as he climbs the last branches that will still hold him.
Not confident that he will be able to go up much further, Haukr yet manages to move his heavy body a few more feet up. “Yeah, you had a brawl. Alright. Had many of them myself. Have been stopped by my elders many o’times myself. But what is this hitting adult people with sticks? What is this being nasty. Is that how you honour what your parents taught you?”
“Eh?” asks the voice of Bjeard. “That’s just plain dumb! We can smack you whenever we want. We always -have-.”
Between bare teeth Haukr manages to answer: “Not me, little biddy. Not me. And be sure not to try it when standing on even ground.”
Nurfal stops his ascent and looks up. Still not high enough! The branch he is standing on is not rock sold anymore, however. “Nobody smacks people whenever they want. That would be very dumb. But now that you’re up there and where up here as well, what are you going to do... Wait the entire night? Think about it. You can’t run anywhere now... And I don’t want you to just jump! Think about it, boys. Hiding in trees is a good way to run from wolves – but only if you are hoping for help to get rid of the wolves eventually... I think the time for bargaining has come. Let’s see what we have to offer: Cold tea, some bread, some cheese, some honey, smooches from Mama... What do you little ones have?”
The kids glance at eachother. “Ick. Disgusting. Cut smooches from Mama out.” A pause. “We have to offer... eternal gratitude?”
Nurfal smiles at the thought... “We’ll see about eternity when we get there. If you promise to be nice for the rest of they day, we can back to Hlif and have something to eat. Do you agree?”
“Alright!” Torald says cheerily.
Haukr struggles to defeat his wrath. “Save that gratitude for ... Keep it to yourself. And excuse for the stick of my shoulder. That be something. And what was this brawl about, anyways?”
There is a long pause. “Bjord says my sister Magda is ugly.” Torald shrugs. “I guess I forgive him - if he takes it back.”
You say, “Don’t be a spoilsport, Haurk. You can come over to our place as well, if you promise to be nice!”
Nurfal laughs.
Haukr’s anger was never to stay up long against the cheerfulness of his fellow forester. “Well,” he says carefully, “so a nice sitting around in the end? Damn it. Alright. Won’t be the one who spoils it. By the bear!”
You say, “Ok, down we go!”
Nurfal starts to descend cautiously. From time to time he looks up suspiciously, however.
With the same—if calmer—determination that brought him up, Haukr climbs down again. Looking nowhere than to the tree’s trunk and the branches below him.
Torald and company show themselves carefully, lowering down slowly. They pick up pace, however.
#Elendor