Elendor - Monday, April 16, 2007, 7:52 PM
On the Moors
You are on a vast plateau slanting up towards the Misty Mountains in the east. Long grasses, heather, and short shrubs grow all around in the thin soil, and the wind coming down off the mountains whistles through them. The cold wind chills you, no matter how heavy your clothing. As you travel you find that frequent rock outcroppings or small undulations in the ground can hide sudden bogs or even ravines. You often have to detour a few miles in one direction or another to go around an obstacle.
The High Moors are devoid of life, or so it seems on this cold autumn night. Even the moon is barely visible in his new phase and so it is the sound that announces the coming of something unusual. "Baah!" Somewhere there seem be sheep out on the moors. "Baah!" Yes, that was the sound of several sheep.
In the same direction can be heard the clanking of bells, though there is no presence of shepherd or guide.
"Baah!" That sheep definitely has talent for singing, for it has a wonderful, wonderful voice. It sounds... seductive, in a strange sort of way. "Baaah!"
That's more like it; now the voice is lower, more raw.
Scraping .. falling rock .. a low grumbling growl .. these are the sounds that echo from the mouth of the cave. It steadily grows louder, as if the mountain's oriface were about to regurgitate. A large form stops just before stepping out into the night. Another sound, much like a sniff, comes now ... and still it waits.. "Sheep.." Lucy murmurs, but still she waits - remembering her trip into the ravine because of some other 'sheep'.
Sheep, indeed! Twenty of such beasts can be seen moving across the moors in the dim light of the stars. At times they stop, apparently to graze, unaware that further south of them lies a ravine and in this ravine is something, someone else.
A few even wear bells about their woolly necks, tinkling peacefully as they crop the short grass even shorter.
An astute observer might notice that some of the sheep don't graze; they just stand still from time to time. It might be that those have other tastes, or they are just not hungry.
a different figure of the two legged variety moves silently as possible through the moors, he looks on as the sheep and 'sheep' make there way across. He stops in range to see them but not to be seen the sounds and voice catch his skilled ears. Dinadir watches though trying to spot the one who made the noise. This visitor knows the danger that comes along with this plan and stands for what it's worth ready to help the others to escape. For the moment he just remains low to stay hidden.
Another sniff, and Lucy's head peeks out of the cave. There is another growl, but it is different now. The deep, wet sound makes the troll look down... a hand coming up to rub against her rotund stomach. Despite her hesitation, she can't resist the temptation of a sheep dinner. Stepping fully out into the night now, Lucy stretches her body to it's full height. "Sheep.." she mutters again, a hand returning to her stomach as if she were reassuring it that food is on it's way..
As if they were sensing the danger, the sheep move further to the northeast. "Baaa." This sounds a bit more timid than before, but still some of them continue their task of eating away on the heather that covers the land.
Some of the sheep seem to have a different idea of the direction the herd should go. Some seem to actually shepherd their colleagues.
And, regretfully, mutton is not delivered to Lucy's door.
They are still in sight, though now one may only see the woolly wagging of tails and shiny hooves.
Lucy's bulbus eyes glare, viscous fluid now dribbling from her slightly parted lips. She sniffs the air again, and reaches 'round to grab her club. With it in her hands, she - slowly - starts toward the woolly waggling tails.
Lucy wields Troll Club.
"Baa-aah!" To some, that would seem almost like a tasty "baah."
Dinadir looks on closely as the troll leaves her cave; he keeps a close eye on what the sheep are doing, as they move he himself makes his way still staying low and silent. He stays in visual range but far enough back not to cause himself to be on the menu. He can see the massive creature wield a club of sorts and knows this is where it could get hairy. He removes his bow from his back and readies it for action, should he need to get the attention of the troll quickly.
Yet again the sheep move a little further, so Lucy would eventually have to follow them if roast mutton should be on the menu. Step by step they move northward yet with no haste.
A few of them even baah and mehh among themselves, as if they were leading a conversation. In no hurry.
Lucy continues her slow pace.. even small steps for the troll would easly catch her up to the smaller skittering steps of the sheep. Her fingers grip against the club, the wood whining beneath her hand. Her tongue tastes the air as she gets a little closer, and Lucy ponders how many of the little fluffy morsels she would be able to fit in her mouth at the same time. A pleased snort blasts from her nose as her pace picks up it's speed.
Was it the snort that gave her away? Even as the troll queen grabs her club, the sheep begin to hobble with a fast pace, away from Lucy, to the northwest. After quite a while they stop to look back at her from afar.
Some of them seem to wonder why they have stopped at all, but at least half of them did - so that is what the rest did, too.
Lucy's expression is a mixture of a frown and stubburn determination. Where the heck did they think they were goin? Lucy's trollish steps would easily catch up with them, and so she tries. Now that Lucy has been seen by her soon-to-be-dinner, she doesnt seen to care if she is heard or not. Her club is held tightly in one hand, the other reaches out as she runs toward the sheep. "SHEEEEP!" she blurts excitedly, fingers wriggling with the anticipation of tasting one.
Now, half of the sheep herd can no longer be stopped, and they resume their way. Blazingly fast, according to sheep, terribly slow, according to others.
Dinadir continues his stealthy moving along side this flee stop action. He has a clear view so far, everything seems to be going to plan as the troll continues its movement away from the valley and back towards the river and the shaws. He takes a few more steps as the troll charges forward now the hidden figure pulls an arrow from the quiver on his back and places it in the longbow only still waiting to see if it will be needed.
A few of them are terribly graceful, trotting along smoothly alongside the others without raising the dust of the moors.
As fast as the sheep might be in their own terms, a troll would surely catch them if it came to a race. But lo! As the herd begins to gallop away fro Lucy, the sheep seem to disappear for a moment. As they resurface on the moors it becomes apparent that their number has shrunk. And these sheep run fast, bleating and meehing.
Where there had been twenty sheep before, now only ten are escaping from the troll. The others are nowhere to be found.
And although the sheep thought they were fast, and on a good day - well, with a Troll on your tail, who can say it is a good day - they are fast indeed, these sheep move with grace and a lithe speed that wouldn't look bad on deer.
"Baah! Baa-ah!"
Lucy's ran far too long and without even so much as a fuzzy EAR to chew on! She had gotten close, but close is not good enough for the rumbling of her large gut. The sounds of water brings a wicked smile to her face. Trapped! Those sheeps should be trapped now! Her pace slows just a little, and the anticipation of the tastey furry little bite-sized goodies makes her laugh eagerly. "SHeeeeeps..." she calls sing-song.. "Coome to Luuuucyyy"
Water is it indeed that has seemingly trapped the sheep. But what is this? Instead of sheepishly seeking for a way to escape, they begin to - sing? Yes, it is song that comes from their mouths, no mere bleating as before! And what a song they sing as they move through the water, away from Lucy:
Sheep, sheep,
meep, meep!
We are not afraid of trolls!
But you, troll,
You are afraid of any ewe!
Singing this, they move on to the other bank.
We say Bah! to you, and surely it ain't hard,
To understand that bit of Sheep,
It is a language very simple:
Bah means - you're a creep!
And what voices they have, fair beyond the bleating of any herd. These are no ordinary sheep. It might even occur to Lucy that these are not sheep at all!
Lucy's steps stop completely now. She stares agape at the sight and *sound* of the now singing sheep!! She has no idea what they mean, but ... "Sheeps??" she asks, as if the singing would stop their taunting song, and would freely answer her questions. "How sheeps sing? Sheeps sing to Lucy??" a pause.. "Lucy not scare of sheeps! Lucy EAT sheeps!" The troll stalks toward the water, stopping just short along the bank. The taunting continues, and her eyes move from the sheep, to the river, and back.
But then, they are already quite impossible to reach for closer inspection -- banning that Lucy cross the river, somehow.
But if the river was shallow enough for sheep to cross, would not a troll have no difficulties at all with reaching the other bank? There they stand, these sheep, taunting her majesty the queen of the shaws!
Dinadir moves quietly closer to the scene ahead of him, the 'sheep' taunt the troll towards the water. This soldier though aware of what the plan is cant help but shake his head at the idea of it all. He keeps his quiet though simply watching arrow still in string ready should it be needed.
Catch us, catch me, if you might, we're as tasty as can be,
Roast us, cook me, chew us right, don't you covet me?
I have juices, fat and vitamines, I'm healthy for your skin,
but if you don't get over here,
You'll grow weaker, small and thin!
Lucy snorts, this time out of frustration. She glares at the water again. The LAST time she had tried to cross these waters ... a hand rubs her rear at the memory. Her gaze moves then to the sheep - a definate inspiration. "Sheeps wont come to Lucy.. Lucy come GET sheeps!"
Lucy kicks a few rocks and some mud toward the water, watching them splash into the fast moving waves. Grumbling, she steels herself - back straightening and pushing chin up to stare across the water again. "stoopid singing sheeps.." she grumbles, more to herself.. "Lucy cross the splashes ... Lucy eat stoopid singing sheeps! Then LUCY sing!!" Obviously pleased with this idea, the Queen takes her first wet step.
The water is cold and swift, but that is not surprise as the Bruinen springs from the foothills of the Misty Mountains. But look, now the sheep are laughing! They laugh at Lucy, how dare they?
Lucy never hears the laughing, nor does she have the time to realize her tormenters were NOT the fuzzy bits of yumminess they pretended to be. The round foot that stepped into the water also never even had time to fully settle at the bottom of the rapid stream before the rush sweeps her off balance and sends her sprawling!! Stumbling, toppling head over club, limbs and weapon peek periodically out of the top of the water as she is carried far away from the singing sheep.
Lucy heads down the river rank and splashes into the water.
From Ford of Bruinen, Suddenly the chuckling of the river changes to an angry hissing and roaring. A surge of white water, capped with foam, crashes down on the fords. Many rolling and grinding stones and even boulders, logs, and other debris are also pushed along in the flood. The shores are lost in a swirl of foam and mist as the wall of water roars by...
From Ford of Bruinen, Lucy is swept away in the powerful flood! She is gone in the blink of an eye and the river roars on.
From Ford of Bruinen, After many minutes of roaring water and crashing of debris, the river begins to subside. At first, the violence of the waters calms, but they do not recede. A few minutes later, the waters are visibly sinking, and then they return rapidly to their normal level...
Finally, it seems safe to cross again.
The mirth of the 'sheep' -- clear as elven voices -- echoes above the roaring waters. There is a glance stolen here, a surreptitious check there, and finally someone stretches cramped legs and pulls off a sheepskin.
Dinadir looks on from his hiding spot off to the side. He watches as the troll moves towards the water. He is watching to see what will happen though the flooding of the river comes on very suddenly; this Mithlondhrim looks on only able to watch. He has heard in his many years of protection this river gives and the control the inhabitants have. He has never yet until now seen it. He comes out of hiding bow still in hand as the water comes back to normal. The troll gone he still doesnt speak.
As the Troll Queen is washed downstream by the suddenly irate river a fiery arrow shoots up high into the skies from a tree at the eastern shore. After a while it seems that a fire has broken out far away to the east on the high moors. And the 'sheep' would know that this fire was now burning brightly in the very entrance of the troll cave, to prevent any olog from entering or leaving until dawn.
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