Beorning -- Oh what a beautiful morning

The Misty Moors

A round hill rises here, often half-obscured by mist steaming from cataracts, the upper reaches of the northern tributary of the Bruinen.

From this hill the lands about can be seen easily: north, beyond the cataracts, the foothills of the Misty Mountains to the west, a valley descending toward the lowlands of Rhudaur, green with trees to the east, the line of the Misty Mountains and traces of an old road or path climbing up into the hills. South, the land rises gradually into a high moorland, barren, crisscrossed by ravines, punctuated by small stands of trees and tumbles of rock. To the southeast, the view is obscured by a line of heavily forested ridges.

Contents:

Strider

Beorning Campsite

Obvious exits:

West and East

Real time is: Sun Jun 22 14:08:42 2008 - Weather in the Beorning realm is: CLEAR

Elendor time is: Early Morning <08:26:06 > on Sterday of Spring - April 29, 3044

NOTE: Use common sense when interpreting this information. Example, if you're

underground, you're not going to know the exact time of day.

Dawn breaks over the forbidding wall of the Hithlaeglir, a gentle halo cast upon the mists that carpet the lands westward. There the trail vanishes into the fog as it wends along the moors, but before its road is claimed entirely the party from the Anduin Vale lingers in the growing light. With the perilous mountainside behind them as well as a good night's rest, they wake and make ready for a day of travel.

Though one among them has not slept nor indeed does he hail from their lands. Strider, as the road seems wont to name him stands guard against the fleeing night, keeping an eye on both east and west in case of trouble. Happily none comes hither, and so with a soft smile he walks back to join the others, nodding to each as he passes them.

His nod is met with a grunt as Halla, scrambling to her feet, knuckles the sleep from her eyes. "Time to be on the road already? Can't say as I'll be sad to leave this place, mind. There's something about it gives me the .. uh, never mind." She trails off, glancing over her shoulder towards the raw gash left by a landslip.

The gash is not missed by the Ranger, and with a sniff he pauses in his stride by Halla's side. "I agree, there is more at work in this place than daylight and fog alone, but there is naught now to fear, my friend. We are almost in the care of Elrond Half-elven, and his folk suffer no evil to wander near their borders. However," he adds, stepping forward to gain a better look of the wound, "rocks can have a will of their own at times, and injure us all the same. Would you like someone to take a look at that for you?"

Halla quirks an eyebrow as she listens to the Ranger's speech. "Ach, you folk are all so wordy," she grumbles, circling her shoulders as though to relieve stiffness. "What I'd /like/," she pauses a little for emphasis, "is a watertight roof over my head, some hot food and a few ales in my stomach. How far's this place we're headed, anyway?"

A smile tugs at the lips of Strider then, and he nods. "Not so far now, and you'll have food aplenty once we're there. There are few hosts that can boast better board than the elves of Rivendell, though if words irk you then you may have a harder time of it than most. They speak often, and sing, and have a love of both. Did you think it would be otherwise?"

Halla is still now, save for her mouth, which is still shaping complaints - well, it is early morning. Perhaps she didn't sleep well. "They do?" She groans. "It's not the singing I mind, but as for all that talking ... ugh. Why can't folk just say what they mean?" She pauses for breath (and one more yawn), then adds, "As to what I thought ... I didn't think. Try not to, mostly."

There is a pause as Strider watches the woman, ere his smile grows. "It can help, especially when choosing to wander far from home. I still marvel that any have strayed from your fields and business while the farming seasons have begun, but that is not for me to speak of. Instead, I can say to you that the elves do indeed say what they mean.. they simply have a great deal more to say. Are you sure you would not like some attention to that gash on your shoulder?"

The dawn light falls pale on the little party assembling to make the final leg of their journey to Imladris. Now that the night has fled, folk are starting to break camp, or snatch a bite of breakfast. Beorning traders tend to their beasts. One among the Beornings, Halla, however, just stands there, grumbling.

The ranger's query is met with a scowl. "It's just a cut, for Bear's sake. Expecting me to drop dead or something? Nothing for someone like yourself to worry over." The words are mild, but her suspicious glare says plainly, 'Foreigner'. Who knows what kind of 'treatment' he might push on her?h

"Cuts have a way of haunting one, if not tended," replies Strider, shrinking not from the suspicious in Halla's gaze. "Aid offered honestly is a blessing, not a wile. Perhaps the most subtle of the Enemy's evils is mistrust among those who should be friends. But, if it bothers you little, I shall mention it no more."

He turns his gaze then to take in the crowned line of the mountains, and asks: "What drove you to come so far into foreign lands, friend?"

Moving amongst the gathered beings, the slender middle aged man hums a tune. The detailed carving upon the walking stick held within his grasp taps in time as he carries a woven linen holder with strap slung over his shoulder. He seems to be heading off somewhere towards the hills near the camp.

Elaos pauses, catching the exchange from the corner of his eye. WIth a merry lilt of his now whistled song, he begins to mark his way towards Halla and the ranger.

Halla shrugs ... or starts to the motion is curtailed abruptly. 'It is a bit stiff, mornings,' she admits after a drawn-out silence. ''Least it wasn't my axe hand. As to what brought me here,' she hesitates noticeably, then ducks her head and mumbles something under her breath. "It was a wager, if you must know." The blood is in her cheeks, and not even Elaos' merry whistled tune can make her look up.

The mumbled words arch the brow of Strider, but he does not reply. Instead he sniffs and looks away to find the approach of Elaos, to whom he offers a fresh smile and a bow of his head. "Good morn, friend, or so your tune would suggest. I trust you rested well?"

"Any morn is a good morn.." The man's thick northern accent brushes over the westron with some practiced ease. For a moment more he looks between them but comments on nothing other than the weather. "A fine summer, a good one to travel and for the harvesting of roots and tubers." He pats the woven satchel on his hip as he takes up a place near them, pressing the tip of his walking stick into the ground.

"There is nothing like a light tune to keep feet moving and hearts light. And what of you two? I hope there is a tune on your own minds." He adds with a warm smile, a hand brushing over the faint stuble on his chin.

Halla looks up, eyeing the newcome Elaos sourly. "A tune?" She snorts. "It's morning. There's no need to be so damned cheerful about it." That comment might be aimed at Strider too, for her her grey-green eyes glare in his direction for a moment.I

But alas for Halla's mood, for Strider laughs gently at this and nods to Elaos. "I have a tune, but it seems not all here would wish to hear it sung -- mornings are perhaps not for the folk of the Bear. What of you, sir? Do you draw strength from your Bear also, or does another loyalty give you such cheer and energy in the morning. For surely you are advanced in the years of your folk, and yet more spry than someone half your age..."

"Spry or not, its my busy manner that keeps me so." He gives a thump of his chest in jest. Elaos casts a look with a arching brow upon the beorning lass. "It seems the bears like to hibernate, no, I draw strength from my roots and let the wind speed my limbs." The Tree Clan healer smiles softly, the scratching of his stuble is followed by the rub upon the back of his neck. "But once most bears are up, they are hard to stop." He bows his head slightly, respectfully to the woman.

Halla lets out a huff of breath. "Hibernate. Aye. That's what I should have done, not traipse clean over the Mountains with a bunch of morning larks for company." At Elaos' respectful glance, some of her ill mood lifts, however. She quirks one eyebrow. "Unstoppable. Does that mean I'm supposed to keep walking from here to this Elvish Valley without rest? Bears need food and drink, sometimes." She turns her gaze back to Strider, and queries without her former irritation, "How many day's travel did you say it was again?"

"From here," answers the Ranger, pointing westward, "we need march only a few days longer. Four, at the most, if you keep so hardy a pace as you have done over the mountain trails. We should catch sight of the rivers that guard their land soon enough, but.. I warn you now: you will never find their Valley without aid. Indeed, there is a chance the elves will bid you wear blindfolds as you walk into their home. Imladris is a secret place, and they guard that secret well."

"Ahh and that is why the bears look to the plants and earth for food. You will not be ill provided." Again Elaos taps the satchel at his side and then leans upon this walking stick, which appears not to be for any form of disability.

The healer tilts his head though, looking towards where the ranger points. "I did not vote to take such a trip, but one does not pass up the chance to see about gathering plants and herbs our own home is shy in." He rubs his hand across the other, pushing away an irritating insect.

Halla rolls her eyes at Strider's remark. "Friendly, eh? But for a warm dry bed and a bellyfull of food and ale I'll walk there upside-down, if they insist. Wiser heads than mine planned this, no doubt they'll have made arrangements."

To Elaos the woman gives a sudden grin for those first words. "Glad to know we have the same interests at heart, in some things at any rate." Curiosity, perhaps, prompts her to add, "Found anything, then?"

"Wisdom rarely resides in wagers," remarks Strider then, arching his eyebrow anew as he watches Halla. But he says no more, turning his eyes instead to Elaos.

"Nothing of great mention, a few plantains and so forth. I am going to seek out blue vervain and others. It should be blooming at this time of year. I had heard it grows on this side of the mountains more readily. Did you wish to help me at all?" He lifts a brow and shifts his weight off the walking stick to straighten and stretch, a sigh escaping his lips.

Halla grunts at Strider's comment, and says no more to him. She looks rather less than enthusiastic at Elaos' query, alas. Volunteer? "Suppose I can keep an eye out," she mumbles. "But not right now - I need a cup of something hot before we're on the move. And there might still be some of that journeybread left ..." Giving her two companions a rather awkward nod of farewell, the Beorning woman wanders off toward a campfire, muttering quietly to herself as she goes. Mornings ...

=== Strider's DESC ===========================================================

The man before you is tall, that much is clear. A good few inches seperate him from what one would think of as the norm for the men of Eriador, and he stands proudly with his back straight. What is not clear is what features he has, for they are masked by the shadow of a deep cowl his clothing likewise wrapped in the cloth of a heavy cloak. Sturdy walking boots can be seen where this cloak ends, and from his sleeves sprout rough hands, but aught else is hidden by his garb, which surely is designed to brave the harshest of weather. From within his hood a keen gaze twinkles amiably whenever the light catches it, but even so, the point of a scabbard peeks out by the side of his knees suggesting that this fellow is perhaps not one to catch in a darker mood.

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=== Elaos's DESC =============================================================

Tall, ever so as the great trees of the Anduin Valley, the wisened man is of a slight but healthy frame. Dark brown nearly black hair is gathered in a tidy braid that ends at his shoulder blades, twined tightly by a woven cord. His countenance is one of aged knowledge yet youth stays flush on his cheeks and in his eyes against his tanned skin. Those orbs are a deep forest green, intermingled with flecks of jade and amber. A slightly hooked nose is the prominent feature upon his angular face along with the cleft in his chin. A faint stubble is found most often upon cheeks and chin, though for the sake of himself, can sometimes be seen clean shaven. His hands are creased with wear, but there is a softness born of his work a nimbleness.

Broad shoulers are covered in an off white linen tunic who's sleeves remain eternally rolled and tied back. Over this is a cobalt blue vest of linen fastened by hand carved wooden toggles. His pants have been mended a few times over and they disappear within well made linen boots, tied tightly at his calves and wrapped several times over. A belt of woven cloth cinches the vest over the tunic and is the holder of many a small pouch and satchel an assortment that ring his entire waist. Several strings of beads hang from his neck and a small cloth thong rests at his chest, the scent of herbs eminating from it.

His cloak finds rest mostly over his arm, opposite the hand that holds his worn walking stick. Upon this carved effect are words in Eothrik and an older tongue.

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