Ghost of a Chance

[Torebras(#25187)] It is a cold December afternoon, and already the sun has dipped behind the frost-rimed slopes of Bree hill to leave the cemetery deep in shadow, though faint streaks of red can still be seen along the horizon. Against this backdrop a lone figure trudges toward the cemetery gate, mufflered and woolly-hatted and swathed in blankets. Two bright brown eyes peer towards the gravestones, on which the first fluttering flakes of snow are starting to settle, and then young Brandebras Bywater sets his hand on the broken gatepost, stating bravely to the shadows, \"I don\'t /believe/ in ghosts.\" Even if he doesn\'t sound entirely convinced about it.

Behind Brandebras another figure is coming up the hill, wrapped in a thick cloak of fur. The snow and the setting sun suit this figure\'s purpose, apparently--the slim walker seems to be trying to flit from shadow to shadow and so hide from Brandebras. As the hobbit puts his hand on the gate, the figure pauses, watching and waiting.

[Brandebras(#25187)] The hobbit, busy scouring the cemetery for signs of mysterious persons, is not looking behind him. After a moment he steps through the open gateway, hesitates, then settles himself down in the lee of the broken gate, bundling his blankets around him. \"I\'ll show them,\" he mutters. \"Bet it\'s someone like that Boldo Burrweaver playing tricks on folk. I\'m not scared ...\" \"...but why does it have to be so cold?\" he murmurs a little later, plaintively. He\'s shivering hard, and already his vigilance is slipping.

With a smirk, the cloaked figure continues to walk, going up the hill a little to come at the cemetery from a different angle. The figure--Cordelia, though her hood is drawn up and her face in deep shadow--tries to stay to the trees and the shadows. And then she stoops and pics up a handful of small pebbles. She waits.

[Brandebras(#25187)] As time passes Brandebras\' head begins to nod ... He jerks it up, but then it drops back to his chest again. A moment later faint snores can be heard issuing from his muffler-impeded nose. The ghost-hunter dozes peacefully beneath the darkening sky.

Cordelia isn\'t about to go -into- the graveyard. Still, that doesn\'t stop her from waiting quietly until the hobbit is asleep. And then she throws the handful of pebbles his way and lets out a low, very ghostly sort of sound. And stays well into the shadows to watch the results.

[Brandebras(#25187)] As the pebbles shower around him - one actually bounces off his blanket-wrapped shoulder, though with all that padding it\'s unlikely he feels it - Brandebras\' head jerks and he gives a loud, long snort, followed by a fit of coughing. Looks like he\'s waking up.

Another ghostly howl comes from the graveyard. Or is it the woods? Night has settled in fast around here, and the snow isn\'t making the shadows any easier to see through. In the graveyard there seems to be some sort of scratching sound...wind on the headstones? pebbles falling on the headstones?

[Brandebras(#25187)] Brandebras\' head lifts, and this time the sound he makes is unmistakeably a yawn. He\'s awake, all right. At the sound of the howl he jumps to his feet, or tries to unfortunately those said feet are still tangled in the blankets. \"Ouch\" he protests reflexively as he trips. And then comes the scratching ... \"Who\'s there?\" he demands loudly into the darkness, with only a little bit of a quaver. \"Is that you, Boldo?\"

The wind blows through here now, quite conveniently shaking the last of the leaves on the trees into a noise on their own--and with that comes a voice, a howl of sorts again. \"You\'ve come to offer me your soul?\" Cordelia carefully moves her hiding place in the woods, though, going around the edge of the cemetery in between the trees, to try to avoid detection.

[Brandebras(#25187)] \"Wh- what?\" Poor Brandebras really is trembling now, as he kicks his feet free of the blankets and steps into the cold. He turns a complete circle, trying to make out where the voice is coming from. \"What do you mean?\" He scans the ground at his feet as though looking for a stick or a stone - there are none - then starts groping beneath his muffler.

The voice is a long time answering--it seems to answer from the wind only, when it blows and shakes the trees. And it comes from a different direction once more. \"The girl\'s soul is ours...and now yours is too...disturbing the dead. You owe us tribute, what is ours....or your soul....\"

[Brandebras(#25187)] Brandebras seems more than a little shaken - why else would he not realize that the voice comes from outwith the graveyard? \"You can\'t touch me,\" he proclaims nervously. \"I\'ve got protection. See?\" His hand comes out from beneath his muffler clutching ... a string of garlic. In the freezing air it can barely be smelt. \"And I\'ve got silver, too.\" On his little finger something glints: a small loop of silver, finely tooled and just the right size to fit a hobbit as a ring, though perhaps it was originally made for some other purpose. \"Go back to your sleep!\" He brandishes his odd necklace triumphantly.

The voice laughs now, deep-toned, again with the wind. \"Trinkets....think you they will protect you.....\" Another deep laugh that fades with the wind and seems to have moved once more. \"Bring us what is due......\"

[Brandebras(#25187)] Brandebras pauses, his hand clutched tightly round a garlic bulb. \"What is due?\" he asks innocently. He\'s still shivering like a leaf, but oddly there is no longer a tremor in his voice. He pivots round to face the latest direction from which the voice had spoken, squinting toward the gloom.

\"Our treasure...\" comes an unearthly howl on the wind, accompanied by that laugh again. \"Or your soul....\" The wind kicks up again.

[Brandebras(#25187)] The wind snatches at Brandebras\' muffler, and he gives a little squeak as the bobbled end whips in his face. The voice\'s demand produces an odd reaction: \"No! It\'s mine! I found it.\" Then, without warning, he breaks off a single bulb of garlic from the string knotted around his neck, and hurls it into the darkness with typical hobbit accuracy, in the direction he /thinks/ the voice came from.

There is a soft \"plunk\" as the garlic bulb lands in the snow. The ghost--such as she is--has already moved on, up Bree hill and into the darkness, Cordelia slipping away even before Brandebras gives his defiant answer. As such, there is no answer now--only the wind in the trees.

[Brandebras(#25187)] The hobbit waits in silence. One heartbeat, two, three ... \"Well?\" he demands, then, his wary gaze never leaving the darkness for a moment, he bends to pick up his blanket. Then he carefully begins to pick his way /out/ of the gate and around the graveyard fence, edging toward the place where he had heard the voice.

There are tracks in the snow--smallish. Human, leading off into the woods.

[Brandebras(#25187)] Brandebras reaches the place, and stares at the footprints. \"So it wasn\'t Boldo,\" he murmurs, puzzled. \"Then who?\" But it\'s cold, it\'s dark, he can\'t stop shivering (and come to that he\'s smelling rather strongly of garlic by now). He stares into the woods, trying to look defiant, then sets off down the hill as fast as his furry feet will carry him, in the direction of home and hot bath.