In search of the past: Visit to Archet

Archet

The village of Archet lies under the watchful eye of the Chetwood, which waits to the east. A small stream flows into the village from under the eaves of the forest and passes behind a large woodshed, before collecting into a small pool at the northern edge of the village. Along with the Woodshed are several smaller buildings, almost all of them of a residential nature. The village land south of the stream is dotted with tree stumps, a testament to the village\'s chief function as supplier of wood to the Bree-lands.

Contents:

Muir\'s Garden

Obvious exits:

Muir\'s House leads to Muirgheal\'s House.

Wooden Doors leads to Woodshed.

East leads to Forest Path.

West leads to Archet.

================================== Bree Time ==================================

Real time: Wed May 27 14:28:46 2009

Bree time: Midnight <02> on Highday of Winter - January 13,1447

Moon Phase: New Moon

Breelands Weather

The winter air is cold and dry around you. Heavy snows fall down from the nighttime sky. The moon is above the horizon and in its new phase.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon is seen occasionally in Archet sometimes in company with his father, though not of late. And today, it seems, he has felt some need of slogging through the snow, for here in the flat mid-morning light, the slight lad comes out of the woods to the east of town. He is warmly wrapped in a cloak that, while well-made, is too large for him and he carries a bundle on his back.

The man currently loitering near the garden of one small house does not fit the description \'commonly seen in Archet\'. The stranger is wrapped in a patched dun cloak, from which a few strands of dark curls emerge, and is currently peering over the wall at the shapeless mounds and white-filled ditches that make up a barren garden. A long spear rests casually against the wall nearby.

At the sound of footsteps he turns - jumpy, one might label him - and squints through the falling snow toward the newcomer. \"Morning. You live here?\"

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon starts too, though he must surely have seen the stranger as he approached. There is a pause before he replies, his voice soft. \"Not here, no.\" Curiously, the boy glances into the snow-covered yard but sees nothing that explains the man\'s interest. (He is taller than Lek, and thinner as well, and his hair is straight and dark, not brown and curly.)

The man grunts at that. \"Where, then? Out east?\" His gaze shifts toward the place where Gidon\'s tracks emerge from the frozen Chetwood. \"I\'m told the folks here moved on, somewhere out that way.\" His voice is a singsong tenor, accented though clear enough if one listens.

[Nob(#16122)] The boy glances at the house again. \"Aye, they\'ve gone,\" he agrees. \"Don\'t know where.\" His own voice is a soft burr.

That brings a snort. \"\'Somewhere Outside\', I suppose. Kiern, don\'t you folk ever travel?\" A note of irritation creeps into the words.

[Nob(#16122)] A shadow passes over Gidon\'s face and involuntarily, he looks eastward also. \"Not often,\" is all he says. A pause during which the snow continues to fall, silently and steadily. \"What\'d you want \'em for?\" he asks at last, and looks a little startled at his daring.

The man seems to note the direction of Gidon\'s gaze, for beneath his hood dark brows draw down in a frown. \"Not them, exactly. A friend of theirs - Uannve by name. My folk are here in these lands seeking the lost - and she has the key to something /I/ lost.\" He scowls into the snow and adds, \"But I\'m not about to head out blindly east without an idea of what I - we - would be walking into. /Someone/ must have travelled that way.\"

[Nob(#16122)] \"Trolls,\" Gidon says bleakly, and his face is stiff, his eyes dark with some unnamed anxiety. \"Some go that way. Hunters and the like. My father ... told me.\" He nods his head a little jerkily, \"I wish you luck in the finding of your friend,\" and walks swift and quiet further into town.

The man stiffens suddenly. \"Trolls?\" he repeats, and it sounds as though his teeth are clenched. \"Oh Kiern.\" He reaches for his spear, only then realizing that Gidon is moving off. \"Wait! What did your father - ach, never mind.\" He scowls after the boy\'s departing back, then mutters sourly. \"Damn. Too many things I\'ve lost in these wretched little townships.\" With a final gaze over the wall at the neat garden - all is in order, its occupants\' departure was clearly planned - he turns away.

---

A few days later ...

The Chetwood

The forest here seems darker and fouler, and the trees seem to grow crookedly at strange angles. There is a small stream through the forest here that runs east-west. To the east, the stream plunges down into the rank Midgewater Marshes, its clean water mixing in with the brown muck and mire of the swamps. There are several paths here that lead away into all directions, but the most well-worn of them leads to the west.

A small hut has been built into the woods an anvil sits in front of the door.

Obvious exits:

West

================================== Bree Time ==================================

Real time: Thu May 28 23:09:53 2009

Bree time: Daytime on Trewsday of Winter - January 17,1447

Moon Phase: Waxing Crescent Moon

Breelands Weather

The winter air is cold and dry around you. The dark sky is overcast and dreary. The moon is above the horizon and in its waxing crescent phase.

===============================================================================

[Nob(#16122)] The snow has been falling heavily for some days but now has let off, and there is actual blue sky over head. The morning sun shines brilliantly - somewhere beyond the tall ancient trees. But here, in a small clearing by a stream, it is still dim in the shadows.

A small house stands here, and a boy is outside, shoveling path - to the water, most likely. He stands straight, brushes his hair out of his eyes, and looks up into the clear blue sky.

[Caelwen(#24844)]

Somewhere to the south there is motion, an opening and a closing of a green cloak lined in white, and fiery hair dimmed by tree-shadow. Caelwen is watching the boy and creeping closer. Something about the fairness of the tall lady feels incongruous to the dank atmosphere of the nearby marshes.

The man moving warily along the path walks with a hunter\'s tread, near-silent to other human ears - though he has done nothing to hide the trail of footprints stretching out westward behind him. He carries a long spear, and at the sudden burst of movement from Gidon his initial response is to stiffen, its tip shifting forward as he peers through the trees. Then, as recognition comes, he lowers the weapon and steps out into full view. \"Boy,\" he calls softly, then adds the name he has no doubt been given by someone in Archet, \"Gidon.\"

From where he stands, Caelwen is hid from his sight.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon doesn\'t hear anything to indicate an elf (or anyone else) nearby he starts to whistle softly as he bends to his work again - only to jump, startled, as Brev steps out of the trees and speaks his name. The boy looks alarmed, daring a glance over his shoulder at the house not far behind him, and taking a step backwards, shovel held defensively.

[Caelwen(#24844)]

\"Al-Abanangel,\" gasps the lady to the south, her voice like a bird\'s, perhaps, or bells, though it clearly speaks words. Her hand flares out and she looks over her shoulder, stepping to the side as a pale mimic as the man walks toward Gidon.

The man snorts. \"Kiern! There\'s no need to get so jumpy. Just wanted to talk to y-\" The words break off suddenly as something, some faint breath of sound, to the south catches his attention. The single word that follows is low-voiced: \"What?\" The spear is still held, and now its tip swings suspiciously to the south.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon still looks rather more scared than not, but he is nodding cautiously, recognizing that he has seen this man before when the same trill of syllables catches his head around. This time though, the boy doesn\'t seem too concerned. Whether he knows the voice, or there is just something about it that comforts him, who can tell?

[<#24844>]

\"\" the woman calls in a musical and comforting voice, but as Brev turns, she spreads her arms wide from within the cloak like a startled hawk, and bears her teeth to him in a way perhaps meant to be threatening, should he be able to see her.

That thread of unknown speech is not comforting to the Dunlending - he stands stiffly, tenseness betrayed in every muscle. But Gidon\'s reaction is noted ...

\"Friend of yours? What\'s she saying?\" he demands of the youth now. \"I\'m not looking for trouble - if anyone here has other ideas they might want to think twice. You\'ll find I\'m quite able to defend myself.\"

[Nob(#16122)] \"I don\'t know,\" Gidon admits quietly his first words so far. \"But... I think it\'s an elf. They don\'t hurt people.\" He squints into the dim forest, but can\'t seem to see the lady.

[<#24844>]

The lady backs away a few steps. \"\" After a breath or two she whirls and runs away to the south. If any are near enough, it would be seen that she runs atop of the snow without leaving any footprints, but she does make some sound for the first few steps before this stills, too. She is gone.

\"Elf?\" the man, Brev, repeats, without Gidon\'s calm. \"That\'s not what I\'ve heard. Sorcerers, deceivers of men ...\" The suspicious words break off as another thread of musical yet unidentifiable speech drifts his way. He listens a while, then sighs softly. \"That one\'s going, I think.\" He is not near enough to see the lack of footprints, fortunately - what more proof of sorcery does a man need?

\"So. You willing to talk, then?\" he queries the youth, still on edge.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon shrugs silently, watching in the direction of the lovely words for a long while after the elf is surely gone. Finally he looks back at Brev, and nods. \"Don\'t know what I c\'n tell you though, that you don\'t know already,\" he says.

At that, Brev snorts. He continues to watch the southward woods, dividing his attention between these and the boy before him. \"Anything would be something I don\'t know already,\" he comments drily. \"I want to know what lies east, and you\'re the nearest I\'ve found to anyone who\'s been there. You said your father knew those lands?\"

[Nob(#16122)] A motion, as if the boy started to look behind him but stopped himself. \"Aye,\" he says. \"Some...\" He hunches his shoulders up and adds, \"Told you what\'s there - trolls...\" There is a thread of some pain in his voice, covered up as best he can.

For a moment the sharp lines of suspicion etched on Brev\'s features soften to something else - pity? Sympathy? \"Like that, is it?\" he queries softly. \"You\'d not be the first to lose something precious to them.\" The softness is replaced by a sudden harsh scowl.

After a moment he queries gruffly, \"Take it he\'s not around to ask? Then I\'ll ask you. How does a man pass through those lands and live? Folk do, there must be a way.\"

[Nob(#16122)] \"Hunting,\" Gidon says defensively, aborting another instinctive glance at the hut behind him. Brev\'s unexpected kindness leaves the boy uncertain, but the gruff voice and scowl are more easily dealt with. \"Hunting,\" he repeats confidently. He is quiet, spare with his gestures - still. But now he nods his head towards the marshes. \"Plenty to eat in there, and grass beyond. Deer, rabbits.... not so much water, Da said. Y\'can find it though, enough.\"

Brev does not seem particularly interested in the hut - perhaps he assumes it empty. \"Hunting,\" he repeats, levelly. \"Fair enough. I can hunt, as can others of my folk. But how does the hunter avoid being the hunted? I\'d rather not end as troll-bait.\" Again that scowl.

[Nob(#16122)] An expression crosses Gidon\'s face - half longing, half amazement. \"You\'re going, then?\" he asks. \"Wish...\" He shuts his mouth tightly and only opens it to say, after a minute, \"They\'re dumb. But... other things out there, too. Orcs, Da, says. I\'m not to go there - alone.\" There is a flicker of something now - can it be hope.

\"You wish what?\" Brev demands. A muscle in his cheek is twitching, and he looks away until it has passed.

He listens quietly enough to the rest of Gidon\'s words. \"Orcs - that\'s a word for goblins? Fought them before, though I\'ve no wish to make a habit of it. There\'s always too many of them ... and your Da is right. The wise man doesn\'t travel anywhere alone. I don\'t, if I can help it. It\'s just a case of finding the right travelling companions ...\"

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon looks down. \"Wish I could go,\" he says barely audibly. Then he lifts his head, proudly. \"Winter ain\'t a smart time for traveling,\" he tells this no-doubt-seasoned traveler. \"But y\'ought t\'be right enough for a bit. The road goes east, Da says, and there\'s a big bit of rock sticking way up out in the grasses a ways. And a town, he said, farther...\" A hint of uncertainty enters his voice. \"Don\'t remember just where\'s,\" he confesses a minute later.

\"No, winter is not,\" Brev agrees flatly. \"Most like I won\'t be gone for a while yet. Unless some guide magically appears.\" The words are dourly spoken, and he casts a wary glance southward, before turning back to peer at Gidon suddenly. \"So you /do/ know the lands to the east? Hmm.\" He is silent a while, frowning thoughtfully, then states simply, \"I will speak with you again on this.\"

He glances to the track behind him, half-turns, then stops. \"Thank you for the information,\" he offers at last.

[Nob(#16122)] \"Only what Da told... tells me,\" the boy says, honestly. He nods as Brev thanks him and turns away, and moves his shovel as if he would begin again to his work. But he just stands in a sudden shaft of sunlight, and watches the man as he leaves.

---

Later again ...

The Chetwood: Waterfall

A small stream cascades in a waterfall down among washed stones before collecting into a small pool. The waterfall is no more than ten to twelve feet high, with the landscape rising in a jumble of rocks to reach it. At the waterfall\'s base, the pool is ringed by small plants, their green leaves leaning out over the water. Set back from the smaller plants are larger trees, their roots running down and into the water, through the shrubbery. The stream that feeds the falls vanishes into the wood to the west. A small animal track that leads to the water, also leads away westward. It is in that direction that the country rises up from the pool.

Obvious exits:

North, West, and South

================================== Bree Time ==================================

Real time: Fri May 29 10:30:52 2009

Bree time: Early Afternoon <14> on Mersday of Winter - January 19,1447

Moon Phase: First Quarter Moon

Breelands Weather

The early afternoon winter air is cold and dry around you. The day sky is cloud-filled and gloomy.

===============================================================================

[Caelwen(#24844)]

The waterfall still rushes down, though the top of it has frozen into an arch and there are snowdrifts all along the pool. It\'s dead cold, which is why it might be surprising to find two people here.

The woman, tall and slender and wearing her coppery hair piled atop her head, has her hands plunged into the icy water near the base of the waterfall. She is wearing a cloak, but is thrown back and her hands are bare.

There is a child with long, shining dark hair across the pond from her, making a game of leaping from snowdrift to snowdrift. He barely makes a mark in the snow as he does this, and he is dressed in very rich and fine clothes, but they don\'t look particularly warm. His little cloak has the ability to flutter in the wind, for instance.

It may be cold, but the sky above the arcing branches is crisp and clear. A fine day to be out on the hunt. Thus it is that the single figure of a man edges his way carefully down the slope to the west, following the animal track that leads toward the little pool. He moves quietly enough for his kind, for he is light and fleet of foot, but even so one or two faint rustlings will be heard. His hunting spear is held in one hand, but at this point in time it is being used solely to steady him on the slope. He rounds the edge of a concealing screen of bushes, pulls them carefully aside ... eyes of smoky amber widen at the tableau before him, and he freezes in place like one of the deer he might have been hunting.

[Caelwen(#24844)]

The woman pulls something out of the water, white and dripping in a sheet. The child squeals as he makes a leap from a high hillock, and his voice is inhumanly fair, and his movements, even at play, are with a sure-footed grace. He walks atop the snow without sinking in.

The woman, on her knees, has paused, the pure white and wet cloth held in the air. Slowly she turns and looks over her shoulder, her pale green eyes unerringly meeting a smoky amber pair.

Should the woman\'s gaze reach across the distance between them, she will see fear uppermost in those amber eyes. And wonder, yes, as they gaze upon the two whose unnatural beauty gleams forth. The man, Brev, rises slowly to his feet, abandoning his concealment. For a moment he watches the child at play - the footprints, where are the footprints? - then slowly he begins to back away. The spear is not brought to bear rather his free hand is held palm-forward as though to show that it, at least, is empty.

[<#24844>]

The woman arises in the same moment as Brev does, but her limbs unfolding in a smooth and liquid way. She turns to face him in the same movement. \'Banan,\' she says urgently while dropping the white cloth on the snow. \"\"

The boy, perhaps eight years old to look at him, glances over at Brev and then dashes for a tree, swarming up it as easily as any squirrel.

At that the man shakes his head. \'I don\'t understand,\' he says simply, in sing-song Common, a rough edge to his voice. A muscle in his cheek has started to jump, and he shakes his head as though to clear it. Wittingly or not, he has frozen in place again, staring - at the woman now, the boy having fled. Further, hesitant speech comes: \'What are you?\' And then again, in a different tongue, this one more akin to the guttural sounds of bird and beast, \" What are you?\"

[Caelwen(#24844)]

The boy is high up in a tree now, peering worriedly down from between crotch of two thick limbs.

The woman waits patiently as Brev speaks in common, but then her eyes widen and she takes a half-step back as he speaks in a more gutteral tongue.

It is the boy who answers first in his piping voice. \"Quendi.\"

The woman lifts her slim hand up and back in a hushing motion to the child. \"Elllf,\" she answers instead, so hesitant and thickly-accented that it might be difficult to understand.

Gidon\'s words of earlier help in that respect. \"Elf?\" Brev repeats, his own accent far lesser. \"I mean you no harm. Let me go.\" What compulsion holds him in place, who can say - for still he stands, still he stares. His breath mists the chill air, and the spear rests forgotten in his hand, frost glittering on its skyward-pointing tip.

Tearing his gaze away from the woman with the copper-spun hair he glances to the tree wherein the young one rests. Then, hesitantly, he asks, \"Quendi? That is his name?\" Something, some brief impulse of trust, prompts him to offer up a name in return. \"Brev. I am Brev.\"

[<#24844>]

Her brow furrows, shifting the alien beauty of her face, and she stares at Brev for some time.

\'Nana?\' the child says hesitantly, more of his face peeping up from behind the tree limbs. \"\" he adds. \'Brev.\'

\"\" the woman answers in a low and level voice, but her face has cleared somewhat. \'Collwen,\' she says slower. \'Collwen-- name. My... me. Collwen.\'

The child\'s eyes widen.

Doubt flits over Brev\'s features at the sound of that musical speech, and once more he shakes his head. \"I can\'t understand you,\" he states again, slowly, but then as the elf-woman tries her halting Common, the corners of his mouth curve up slightly. \"Collwen,\" he repeats, gently, awe in his voice. \"You are Collwen. That much I do understand.\" Perhaps he has said all that is to be said - surely he should go? - but he tries once more. \"This place is your home?\"

[<#24844>]

\"\" the boy asks excitedly. Collwen looks over her shoulder at him, shakes her head, and motions for him to be more hidden. He obeys at once, ducking down behind the tree.

She takes a deep breath and faces Brev again. \'Home,\' she says hesitantly. \'...your... home.\' She bows her head a little and spends a moment in brow-furrowed thought. \'My,\' she murmurs. \'... my home.\' Her head lifts and she answers Brev. \'No.\' And she smiles with inhuman beauty and triumph. Her eyes even seem to glitter with a light within.

Brev\'s gaze flickers upward, to where the child rests within the sheltering branches, and for a moment one corner of his mouth twitches, the awe vanishing. Any youngling might act so. But then the elf-woman speaks again, and all his attention is on her, on the shining face and glittering eyes. Perhaps the single word is taken as command perhaps such beauty is just too much for a lone man to bear in any case, he swallows and tears his gaze away. \"I go now,\" he states, the hoarseness of earlier returning. Then, fitting action to words, he turns and begins to work his way up the slope. Every now and then he pauses to look back, wistful almost, and once his lips part to murmur two names, committed now to memory. \"Collwen. Quendi.\"

[Caelwen(#24844)]

Caelwen watches him go steadily, without any farewell, but the boy climbs up eagerly to watch Brev. \"Perhaps he will be our friend?\" the child says with hope. \"No,\" his mother answers. \"He will not. He could harm us if he does not like him.\"