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Joy

Dancing Like Wild Fae in Combe

Submitted by Ryheric on March 11th, 2023
in
What type of content is this?: 
Screenshot: General screen

... Then others joined them. Locals, travelers, as though a spell had been woven. The birdsong in Combe changed from that day forth, for those with the keen ears to notice.

Kinship/Band link: 
Narrators of Fate
Chronicle link: 
Ryheric's Muses

To Celebrate Life

Submitted by Ryheric on March 11th, 2023
in
What type of content is this?: 
Screenshot: General screen

The dance in Combe after Bryn's threat was ended. Ryheric got them all drunk as skunks, shouted defiances against darkness and startled the entire group into a bursting revelry where none of them needed to hide, any longer. Freedom was never safe but it was pure, and nothing compared to it.

Kinship/Band link: 
Narrators of Fate
Chronicle link: 
Ryheric's Muses

Impulsive Horse Race in Breeland

Submitted by Ryheric on March 9th, 2023
in
What type of content is this?: 
Screenshot: General screen

They rode and raced through Bree-land during the last days of autumn. Many of the company were new to one another, and it was important chance to familiarise their horses. Also to get a feel of what it would be like to travel together as a team. The day was full of good company and preparation for longer roads.

Kinship/Band link: 
Narrators of Fate
Chronicle link: 
Ryheric's Muses

Employee of the Month, Fired

Submitted by Daphnee on April 21st, 2022
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What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

(OOC: I read this while listening to this music piece, and as long as you read it somewhat slowly, it works beautifully. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5zFnGRaO0E )

Chronicle link: 
Bloodhound and Brigands

Not Home

Submitted by Drandr on August 7th, 2020
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

Éadrandr smiled as the shadow of the East Gate passed over him. It was a mixed smile, that at the surface showed a man happy with returning to Bree, but it masked a nervousness. The Northman's hands jostled with the reins as his mount tramped into Bree with a cacophony of clomping hooves on cobbled stones. The steed was new to him, only taken from Viduward in Rhovanion for his return journey West, after his beloved Fleotend had died but a few days short of Éadrandr's home town.

Of motherhood - One year after the birth of Hjotr.

Submitted by Joy on May 18th, 2020
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What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

The wind had picked up, warm gentle gusts making their way down Bree’s dusty streets. The rustle and clapping of washing strung from window to window created its own rhythm above her head. Joy leant against the stone wall surrounding the market square, Hjotr nestled against her chest, bound by cloth. That rustling of linen above lulled her into distant memories as she awaited Kip, the grocer, with the parceling up of her goods.

Joy

Submitted by Joy on May 18th, 2020
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What type of content is this?: 
Artwork: Painting
Source: 
Portrait of Joy, by me

The Weeping Hobbit, Poetry From 1388-93, Poem Four: The Depressed

Submitted by Dorso on December 30th, 2015
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What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Poetry

“Oh, I can never be happy again

nor can I ever be a Dad,

thus Death had much to gain.

Am I mad?

 

Chronicle link: 
The Weeping Hobbit, Poetry From 1388-92

Favors given, not recived.

Submitted by Amullyn on December 18th, 2013
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary

Bree, maybe this was not so great idea to settle here where eastern practices are so new to this folk. Book of Pleasing, that set up practice of companions and entertainers in Gondor, is largely unknown here. Someone called Maedlyn a wench last night, such disgrace! I can only comfort my little songbird they are ignorant fools, not knowing of what is meaning of our practice of Pleasing. 

Strange as news from Bree

Submitted by Amlarad on July 6th, 2010
in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary

A hundred roofs and chimneys, highlighted by the rising moon ensnare my eyes as the west-gate locks behind me. The road ahead becomes strangely compelling, climbing eastwards through the town, leading my eyes to the looming Menelvagor glittering in the night sky, guarding ceaselessly over the homes of these men. The rustic air is strong here as I wander up the paved street and processions of creaking wood and sharp snaps follow my strides from the many window shutters eitherside. The Swordsman becomes my only companion along this lonely road.

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