[The One Ring] The Marsh Bell

[JoeNotCharles]

Part 1: Where Noisome Waters Flow

The Long Lake stretches away southward to merge into the horizon, grey against a grey sky. A few buildings cluster on the shore near the mouth of the rushing river which flows down from Dale and the Lonely Mountain to the north, but most of the light and music that beats back the clouds comes from the end of a causeway that stretches out into the Lake itself - the city of Esgaroth, known to most simply as the Lake-Town.

Before reaching the town the bridge passes through a field of blackened stumps jutting from the water, the burnt remains of the old town, destroyed five years ago when the dragon Smaug descended in his wrath. Today, fishermen moor their boats to the old pilings, and an entirely new set of houses has sprouted on fresh stilts in the bay beyond. The buildings of the new Lake-Town, like the old, are entirely of wood - fresh, new cut timbers floated down from Mirkwood.

Along either side of the causeway are great rafts which bob up and down with the rising of the lake water, bearing a profusion of inns and taverns which do a brisk trade with the merchants and travelers that are becoming common now that there is again a King in Dale. Then the causeway splits into a great ring that carves a sort of lagoon out of the lake, around which stand the houses of the townspeople, some on pilings and others floating on rafts like the inns. Beyond, raw, empty frames of new construction emerge from the Lake as the town continues to expand.

Near the center of town are a few larger structures, including the town hall and the houses of prominent citizens. While most are of unadorned virgin wood, one particularly large house bears intricate carvings in the Dwarven style, including the sigil of the Lonely Mountain above the door. This is the house of Glóin, master merchant and envoy of the King Under the Mountain.

Authiel and Vardolas:

You've followed the river from the Elven-King's halls on a mission for King Thranduil: Vardolas bears a letter for King Dale of the Lonely Mountain, to be delivered to his factotum at the house of Glóin. Near the edge of the Woodland Realm he met his guide, Authiel, a warden who has long watched the edge of the human lands. Now at sunset the two of you approach the causeway leading out to this strange young city.

You are amazed at the exuberance with which the humans have thrown up so many structures in a mere five years, and somewhat bewildered by the riot of sounds and smells - voices raised in a dozen clashing songs pour out of the taverns along the causeway, often drowned by the clink of mugs and rough laughter. The air smells simultaneously of woodsmoke, rain, sawdust, succulent roasting meat, and over all a pungent smell of fresh tar that turns the stomach.

Although your people barter among themselves, you were given a small store of coin such as the merchants here use. You wonder whether you should take a room at one of these inns for the night, and present yourselves to Glóin first thing in the morning, or press on and hope you can find his house before it is too late to presume on his hospitality.

 

[CaBaNa]

Padding along barefoot at a speed he'd refer to as "comfortable", Hobnob Hornblower proud member of the Hornblower family of Hobbits, took a long draw from his strider. He enjoyed the savory flavor of Old Toby, letting the memories of Southfarthing flood his mind. Hobnob smiled, thinking about how pleased his father would be once this was all over.

The elderly pony walking beside the young Hobbit yawned loudly.[sblock=pony picture.]

[/sblock]
I know, but it's only a little further, and after this you get to retire. with a glint in his eye, Hobnob winks conspiratorially at his other traveling companion, Riggins. We know, you're to old for this. says the hobbit laughingly to the pony.

 

[Iron Sky]

Authiel walks down the street warily, hand always moving towards the sword hilt jutting over her shoulder as though a goblin was about to step out from every side street or a spider crawl out from under every bridge.

She is slender, with long auburn hair, sharp cheekbones framing a hard expression. Her flinty gray eyes seem to catch everything and there is little that speaks of joy or laughter in them.

The industry of the Men of Dale is beyond all I had heard, she says with a sideways glance at Vardolas. Like children full of energy and uncaring what they use it on.

 

[FourMonos]

Riggins takes the thick weed he had been chewing out of his mouth, "Oh don't let her fool you Hobbie." Riggins laughs, "She's a fresh as spring. That's why I chose her for this. This old pony has more determination than a mare twice her size. She's perfect for getting us to Laketown."

OOC: Sorry about for posting delays, I kept getting an error when I was posting for a couple days. I definitely think Riggins would have Hobnob as his Fellowship Focus.

 

[fireinthedust]

Would that they were children. So young in years yet so old for them. Still, they have a vitality, a life about them that makes them hurry so. And it has always been thus, even from the beginning, that they may act and make their own way, and live so short yet so brightly.

The elf smiles at the men and women of Dale, as if both amused and relieved that they exist, touched with a longing or regret.

Vardolas the fair, noble of the Sylvain elves, moves through the town with the grace of the elves. He moves among the people as if an image from a dream, avoiding fishermen and their barrels of fish, the odd shipwright and his bucket of tar, and other tradesmen as they bustle by; he does this not with the awkwrd gait of one dodging others, but rather at a supernatural-seeming pace that avoids the chaos as if it were not there, as if not a spot fo the market's grime could touch him; very much like a skiff moving at the exact speed so that waves crash around it but never coming near the skiff itself.

Vardolas' long hair and features are fair, beyond the ken of mortals that have never seen an elf of noble blood, though his hooded travelling cloak covers him somewhat. His garb is that of an elven traveler, unstained in the trip from Mirkwood.

 

[CaBaNa]

14 spokes spun slowly, leisurely making their way around the over-sized wheel of the cart, never complaining at the light burden they bore. Inside the cart lay most all of Hobnob's gear, business supplies, and journey rations. Excepting the sickle and short sword at the hobbits waist.

Marybell, Hobnob's mother, insisted that the young Hobbit carry a shield. The particular shield Marybell picked out, was almost as tall as little Hobbie himself, and strapped like a backpack on his shoulders. The shield being as tall as Hobnob was no great feat, as he was short even by Hobbit standards, coming in at a spectacular two foot eleven and three quarters of an inch tall. Or, as Hobbie would say, I'malmostTHREE foot!.

[sblock=Don't let your character know, but...]

Early in Hobnob's life, he was singled out as "the runt", and his family focused more on his education than his work in the field. This caused jealousy with some of his brothers, who felt he was treated with special care. Years of practice honed Hobnob's ability to show extreme courtesy to others, as a result the diminutive hobbit won over his brothers affection, and avoided their wrath. Courtesy, and his uncanny ability to alleviate everyone aches and pains, won Hobnob a warm place in his families heart.

[/sblock]

Oh HO HO! Gin's got you dead to rights Birch. Patting his stomach as he laughs, Hobnob's mirthful spirit all but radiates around him, and he continues jovially. You couldn't have picked better Gin, nor could I, thanks for coming; I couldn't make it without you. A gruff whinny from Birch causes a burst of laughter from Hobnob, I couldn't make it without you either Birch. wiping a tear from his eye, Hobnob pulls himself together, with another draw from his pipe. After the deep breath, Hobnob allows himself a contented sigh, smoke escaping lazily from his slack jaw.

 

[Iron Sky]

Would that they were children. So young in years yet so old for them. Still, they have a vitality, a life about them that makes them hurry so. And it has always been thus, even from the beginning, that they may act and make their own way, and live so short yet so brightly.

"As long as they don't live like goblins or orcs - so short yet so darkly." Authiel trails off, lips pursed, eyes distant and cloudy as if remembering some bitter memory. She shakes her head and nimbly steps out of the way, watching cooly as a group of half-drunk fishermen stagger past, boasting to one another loudly.

"I hope this business does not keep us long here - the press of so many strangers makes me think fondly of the dark borders of Mirkwood."

 

[JoeNotCharles]

OOC: [MENTION=60965]Iron Sky[/MENTION], [MENTION=51930]fireinthedust[/MENTION]: So what exactly are you doing now? Flagging down random passersby to ask the way to Gloin's house? Stopping in an inn? Becoming enraptured by the sun setting over the water and staring across the lake until something happens?

Birch gives another whinny as the muddy track the hobbits are following curves around a tall clump of trees suddenly opens out into a view of the Long Lake ahead. The trail has been skirting the edge of the Lake's boggy shore, but now it has reached a wide swathe of stony ground that intersects the lake from the north, and the narrow track has turned into a wide, solid road that runs due south towards the barely visible lights of Lake-Town. The pony picks up his pace as he finds more solid footing beneath him.

The foot of the bridge to Lake-Town is guarded by a pair of wooden towers that loom higher and higher as the hobbits approach, though in truth by the standards of Men they are but three story houses. A chain is drawn across the road by the gate house, and beyond it rises a sheer wall of wood - a part of the bridge, drawn up by cunning workings so that it stands vertical. Until it is released, the bridge to Lake-Town is inaccessible beyond a 30' gap of water.

As the hobbits' cart approaches the chain, a man muffled in a thick cloak over a stout chain haubark steps out of one of the towers. His hood is thrown back, revealing a helm with wide cheek guards and a narrow noseguard that leaves plenty of visibility for his keen grey eyes. He looks the cart up and down, rests his spear by the doorway, puts his hands on his hips, and laughs, "Well! These are the smallest and stoutest dwarves I've yet seen! I've oft told you, masters, that I need you to grow a little before I let you pass our gate, but I meant taller, not wider! Why, you've but traded height for width, and in the end not grown at all!"

 

[CaBaNa]

Oh kind and gracious sir, what a wise and generous greeting. flatters Hobnob, as he bows slightly I've grown often and tall indeed, to ply our trade we've sojourned with seed, dwarves without beards would be hard to believe, thus we are? Hobnob allows the riddle to hang in the air, as he waits for someone to guess.

[sblock]I've grown often and tall indeed, to ply our trade we've sojourned with seed, dwarves without beards would be hard to believe, thus we are hobbits who sell pipe-weed.[/sblock]

 

[Iron Sky]

OOC: Authiel will follow Vardolas' lead since she's pretty wary and uncomfortable here. In an unrelated note, I changed my character slightly (hair color) since I found a perfect picture for Authiel. It's attached to her first post. Also found some cool pictures. Look up "hobbit" or "dwarf" on deviant art and you can find some decent stuff.

[sblock=Lake Town]

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[sblock=A Hobbit and an Ent]

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[sblock=Another Hobbit]

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