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Journey Five:
Turning Points
A Burping Troll Adventure
Begun September 2002
On the Yahoo Burping Troll
Latest editing 12/27/02
All Inaccuracies are the fault of the
Compiling editors – Sevilodorf and ERIN
Cast:Russ the Beorning, Celebsul, Warg, Meri, Erin, Anoriath, Sevilodorf, Camellia, Milo, Aerio, Gambesul, Pippin, Azaelia, Tigerlily
Virtual Characters: Anardil, Belegalda, Bob, Cameroth, Dergil, Dimereg, Elros, Esgallyg, Galin the dwarf, Grimm the squirrel, Halbarad, Jareth, Jasimir, Nathaniel, Nik, Rath, Rablot, Sira, Tiroc, Tiroc’s daughter, and rehabilitated orcs Gubbitch, Titch, Hooknose and Nesh.
Table of Contents
3Chapter 1: Arrivals
15Chapter 2: Incongruities
35Chapter 3: Chicken Hunt and Enthor the Tree King
47 Chapter 4: Of Riding Lessons and Loose Ends
54 Chapter 5: Off to Build a Barn / Anoriath and Dergil
71Chapter 6: Meeting the neighbors
92 Chapter 7: Hobbits, Rangers and Gifts
102 Chapter 8: Memories and Cloud Castles
110 Chapter 9: Sev Skedaddles
119Chapter 10: Barn Raising Day 2
132 Chapter 11: Meri's Dream / Sev in Henneth Annun
144Chapter 12: Different Shades of Night
157 Chapter 13: Makeovers / Russ’s Lodge / Letter to Pelargir / A Conspiracy Is Born
171 Chapter 14: Sparring
186 Chapter 15: Doing a Daisy Goodbody / A Conspiracy Unfolds
203 Chapter 16: A Conspiracy of Caring
215 Chapter 17: A Matter of Hearts
230Chapter 18: Mischief and Magic
239Chapter 19: A Return Visit
255Chapter 20: Finding the Essential
270 Chapter 21: Gifts and Giving
281 Chapter 22: Night Terrors
297 Chapter 23: Night Terrors: A New Battle
311Chapter 24: Night Terrors - Reaching for the Light
329Chapter 25: A Well-Planned Day
343Chapter 26: Homeward Bound
356Chapter 27: Milo and Camellia Reunited
361Chapter 28: Healing Meri
369Chapter 29: Illumination
380 Chapter 30: Illumination pt. 2
392Chapter 31: Epilogue
Journey Five: Turning Points
Chapter 1: Arrivals
Afternoon/Evening August 23
The Burping Troll Inn waited for many things. She waited for the weary traveler who found his way long upon the solitary road from Henneth Annun to the marges of Mordor. She waited for autumn, whose chill breezes played high atop the jagged teeth of the Ephel Duath, waiting for the slow turn of the moon that would, in time, kiss the wooded hills with gold and fiery reds. She awaited the unexpected, which forever seemed to find its way to her doors. And she awaited her own, the folk who called her rough-hewn walls home, and who ever returned though strange their journeys often were.
This day her waiting was rewarded with the distant clatter of hooves upon the road, and behind the Inn a tall Ranger straightened from his work - the hobbit-assigned duty of repairing a toppled corner-brace of the garden fence - to see who the arrival would be. Many hooves he heard, rattling ever closer like a rush of hail, and though the tossing heads of tall Rohirrim horses was a surprise, the faces leading them were not. With a whoop of joyful greeting, Bob dropped his tools and ran towards the barn, and flung wide the paddock gate as the merry storm of horses rumbled upon him. Sevilodorf tossed him a jaunty salute as she hurtled past, and in her wake flew Erin the hobbit, just barely attached to the saddle atop her tall horse, and her bright grin was his lasting impression.
"You're back!" he cried, and indeed they were. One shining smile Bob sought especially, Celebsul the Elf, graceful and droll and quick in his promise of sharing a drink just as soon as the occasion permitted. Two weeks before, the little company of three elves, one woman and a hobbit had left on the peculiar business of moving an elven ship overland to the Great River, and thence to the Sea - from whence none had known if Celebsul would return. Now, however, that journey was done, and the Burping Troll settled into the more familiar business of welcoming her wanderers home. A welcome which, of course, necessitated staying awake entirely too long, eating entirely too much, and laughing entirely too loud - none of which any of them would have missed for the world. The black vault of sky shone thick with stars, when at last, and one by one, the lamps began to go out. In the end, only an Elf and his companion warg remained wakeful, and slipped silently into the velvet embrace of the night. Home was not just four walls - home was the familiar hills and the rich musk of the forests at night, and so they fled, silent shadows and kindred spirits celebrating the simple joy of being.
***
Midnight August 24
If anyone inside the Troll had been awake to notice, they might have been surprised to find wagon after wagon silently rolling down the middle of the road. Each was huge and made of wood and even one of them would have been large enough for all of the residents of the Burping Troll and nearly all of their possessions as well! Many were simple and flat and were piled high with great logs cut from the hearts of even greater trees. Fir and Oak, Rowan and Maple, Redwood and Cedar, all were thick and strong and must once have stood proud and tall. If one were to look carefully, one might even be able to tell that many of these trees had once lived beneath the mighty tower of Isengard and were quite old long before the Tower's former master had fallen under the spell of the Dark Lord and his own pride and arrogance. Others had come from places in both Rohan and Gondor and more besides. Wherever battle had come or the shadow of the Dark Lord had fallen, these trees had been gathered from the wreckage and now were making their way along the road past the Burping Troll. Many of them there were and one after another, pulled by great and wonderful horses with dark flowing manes, thick beautiful tails and bright, shining, starlit eyes they passed on down the road.
Behind them came other wagons, some equal in size, others smaller, but all were made of dark wood, marvelously carved with the images of animals of every sort. Some of them were wildly fantastic, others more mundane. Dragons, bears, lions, eagles, the variety seemed to be endless. The side of one wagon was entirely taken up with the carving of an eagle, another with an oliphaunt and yet another with the image of a magnificent horse adorned with a single large spiral horn in the center of its forehead. Over each of these wagons, held in place by hoops of iron, was a plain cover of earthen tones. Each was simple and finely woven, yet sturdy as a ship's sail. What was within the wagons could not be seen for they were sealed fast against the prying eyes of passersby, which were few this night.
Behind the wagons came a variety of animals. All were traveling as quietly as the wagons as if not wishing to disturb the peaceful slumber of those inside the darkened Inn. Dogs and cats, pigs, goats, sheep, cows and bulls followed the train as it made its way past the Troll. And at the head of it all, muttering as if in quiet conversation with the beasts, walked an exceedingly large man.
Thrice as tall as even the largest of Hobbits he was and he wore a long tunic of grey wool and a heavy cloak of the same. His legs were as sturdy as tree trunks and his powerful arms were long and thick and heavily muscled as if from long years of hard labor. His great chest was nearly as broad as the widest doorway at the Burping Troll and everywhere he seemed to be covered with thick brown hair. Everywhere it seemed save the top of his head, which was shorn clean. It was not hard to tell though, from the stubble, that when it returned, his hair would be thick there as well.
He carried an axe over one shoulder and upon the other a large grey squirrel dozed peacefully, its tail wrapped snuggly around the man's thick neck.
He looked up at the darkened windows of the Troll as he passed. "Hmmmph", he thought to himself as he surveyed the Inn. "No one told me about THIS. Ah well," he growled softly. "I'll be far enough away by the time they arise that they will not even know I have passed by. Still, they'll be closer to home than I would have liked. Oh well, things are as they must be."
The man shrugged and moved on, softly humming tune with a touch of wildness to it. Then he stopped and raised a hand and when he did, the entire train stopped as well, silently waiting behind him. The squirrel sat upright on his shoulder, ears pricked up, whiskers and tail twitching.
"Yes, I heard it too," the man said in an odd sounding language. A pair of medium sized short haired dogs trotted quickly up to him, eyes looking up questioningly.
"Yes, yes, I know." He sighed. "You two keep an eye on things here. If anything happens, you know what to do." The two dogs trotted back to the other animals at the rear of the train. The man turned to the lead pair of horses. "You too," he added, "If something is amiss, don't wait. I'll be along in good time. Just make sure you get to where we are going." The two horses snuffled and nodded their assent. The man plucked the squirrel lightly from his shoulder and set him upon the ground. "Go on you," he said gruffly. "Have a look, but be quick about it! We haven't got all night, nor morning neither!" The squirrel scampered off in the direction of the Troll and quick as, well, a squirrel, disappeared into the night.
The man went to one of the wagons and, leaning his axe against its side, withdrew a long heavy staff of oak. An ordinary man might be able to fit both hands around its girth, but this fellow handled it easily in one.
He smacked the staff solidly into his other empty hand a couple of times and, satisfied, turned to go in the direction of the squirrel.
"Russ, Russ, Russ," he half muttered, half growled to himself. "What are you getting yourself into this time."
Silently and with surprising speed for a creature of his size, the huge man crept along outside the Troll. He did not have to go far before he came upon his squirrel sitting atop a large pile of cut wood. The creature had a particularly disgusted look upon its face if indeed a squirrel can be said to have any look at all upon its face. Russ stopped and sniffed the air. He wrinkled his nose and gave a low soft hiss through his teeth and took a step closer. He stopped for a moment right next to the woodpile and looked down. He rolled his eyes and gave his head a bemused shake and then, quick as a striking snake, he reached out one of his platter-sized hands and grasped one of the feet that were protruding from behind the wood pile and stood up.
"SQUEAK!!!"
"You!" Russ growled softly. "What are you doin' here? And why shouldn't I eat you here and now?"
Dangling from his massive hand was the form of a particularly small and rather terrified orc. The poor fellow's eyes were wide with terror as he sputtered and wheezed and tried to speak, but try as he might, no words would come. And for all the fierceness orcs were known to possess, this pathetic little creature seemed to have none of it. Only fear shone in his eyes, but of that there was plenty. It should not have been much of a surprise though, for the ensnared creature would barely stand taller than Russ's knee so small he was, hardly larger than a hobbit and certainly no more dangerous. Much less so, more than likely.
"Well? Speak up!" Russ demanded. "Why have you followed me all this way? Out with it! Or shall I spit you and roast you now? Better yet, this place smells of Elves. Perhaps you would prefer their company. I'm sure they would know just what to do with the likes of you!"
If the sad orc had been terrified before, at those words he became positively apoplectic! He began to squirm and wriggle and twist but to no avail in the Beorning’s iron grip. Finally the words came out.
"P-p-please, don't feed me to nobody and don't give me to no Elves!" he cried. "I'm not going to hurt nobody I promise! But please, don't give me to the Elves, I'm begging!"
"Hmmm, I'll think about it," Russ grumbled in a low voice. "But for now let's step away from here. These folks are trying to sleep I reckon and there's no sense in waking them up for a no account orc."
He set the orc on the ground and the little fellow quickly got to his feet. He was poised to run, but before he could take a step the squirrel ran lightly up the orc's back and sat himself squarely atop his frightened little head.
"Now don't you go trying to run off. One wrong step and Grimm here will have something to say about it. You get me?"
"I get you." The orc replied in complete surrender.
"Good." Russ said. "Now, out to the road with you."
The defeated Orc moved quietly back up to the road and stopped in front of the lead wagon. The horses grunted their displeasure. One of the dogs approached and sniffed the creature, growled slightly and turned away. The orc just sighed and looked pathetic as Russ studied him. He badly wanted to laugh at the sight. A poor, pint-sized orc standing alone in the middle of the road. He was dirty, tired, his shoulders slumped and there was a well fed and rather large squirrel perched triumphantly atop his bowed head with nothing the little fellow could do about it but stand there. His clothes were tattered and he wore no shoes. His face was scratched in a dozen places and it must have been sometime since he had eaten well as his ribs could be quite easily seen through the rip in his tunic. As hardy and tough as even the smallest of orcs can be, even they need to eat sometimes.
"Well," Russ said finally, "I suppose I could eat you, but after I was finished gutting and filleting you, there'd be little more than a mouthful left. Too much work for such a small meal." The Orc said nothing, but merely stood there looking pathetic.
"I suppose that I could turn you over to these folks, though I doubt they have anymore love in their hearts for an orc than I do. And it's clear from the look of you that you aren't able to go much of anywhere in the shape you're in. And you still haven't explained to me why you followed me all the way down here from Isengard. So the question is what do I do with you?"
"If you let me go I promise I won't follow you anymore." The orc said softly.
The Orc looked up into the big man’s eyes and Russ felt his resolve begin to weaken. There was no danger here, not for himself or anyone else. He shook his head and sighed. Then he said, "You still haven't said why you came after me."
"When you pulled me from the river..." the orc began and stopped.
"If I had known you were an orc I might not have." Russ said. "You certainly didn't smell like one and in the fog and as small as you are and covered with mud like you were you didn't look much like one either. Consider yourself lucky and leave it at that."
"I will...I do." The orc croaked.
Russ looked at the orc again. This was more of a dilemma than he had thought at first. He could send the orc packing, but if he did someone would most certainly come upon him on the road and kill him, a common fate for orcs these days. But only if he didn't starve to death, first. The latter thought bothered him more than the first. One could make the argument that the orcs had deserved their fate at the hands of others following the War. Even Russ had sent more than a few of this kind off to their graves during his travels. But those had been dangerous orcs. Large, well-armed and strong, and bent on nothing but destruction. This sad creature however, was none of those. He just seemed lost and confused and struggling to survive in a world that was changing far more rapidly than the Beorning cared to admit, even to himself.
It was true that in the south and east some few capitulant Orcs had found work doing the hard labor of rebuilding after the war, a task that they were uniquely suited for, but for the most part they were hunted and killed. And with good reason, without any force left to guide them, the most part of the surviving creatures had fallen back into wildness and savagery, obeying only their own true natures, the killing and slaughter of Men, Elves and anyone else unfortunate enough to have crossed their path. No, there was little hope for a future of any sort if he sent this orc off on his own. It would be little more than murder, pure and simple. And though Russ cared little for this kind he was NOT disposed to send someone off to what amounted to certain death, whether it came sooner or later. Assuming that he didn't starve first.