Post by Can-Calan on Oct 16, 2009 23:08:46 GMT -5
The silhouettes, one short and one tall, cast their shadows across the table as behind them, orange flames danced in the hearth of the Hall of Flame of the Last Homely House.
The shadows were anything but startling to the tall elven figure whom sat in deep contemplation at the end of the room. The two sources; a hobbit known as Bilbo Baggins and his elf-friend Lindir, were as much fixtures in the room as the long tables, the elegant chairs and the chandeliers. But Can-Calan wasn't listening to the two as they traded riddles this evening. His sea-green eyes were half closed, his head tilted to one side, as if listening for a distant bird call. Between his steepled fingers was a familiar pin, metal glinting red in the firelight and a strangely dark glass shard set into it.
Can was indeed listening, but the conversations were not of clever questions or astute answers. Rather, he heard the lively banter of those whom he had long called kin. Some spoke of their respective crafts; cooks, armourers and scholars alike. Others of a more martial nature; recounted recent personal victories over the minions of the Enemy. Still others simply arranged later meetings at a variety of inns and taverns, promising drinks and music. All of it a comforting cacophony to him. A comfort he sorely missed during his captivity and convalescence.
This pin felt strange to Can however. It was not his, not really. Yes, his cousin had seen fit to give this one to him when he returned, but it was not like the first. It felt alien to him, though it was of exactly the same design, save for the shape of the crystal shard. The shard of a long shattered Palantir. One of the ancient seeing stones which, when whole, allowed one to see and communicate across vast distances. Indeed, if Can-Calan concentrated fully, he could almost see his kinmates. Hunched over workbenches, standing proudly or merely enjoying a pint. Each of them cast across the continent.
He was contemplating what might have damaged this Palantir in the first place, when he noticed other murmuring voices, distant and faint echoes between the others' words. Focusing on these, he could also hear what seemed like the beating of a heart. No, he corrected himself, it was more like the sound of a primitive drum. Suddenly, his vision darkened and his muscles locked, hands refusing to let go of the pin.
A pair of beady, blood-red eyes fixed on Can's out of the darkness. Dim firelight shimmered at the edges of his eyes. A hesitant chant in the harsh syllables of the Black Speech seemed to issue from the faceless eyes, beckoning to someone or something. The warmth of the room disappeared and was replaced by a damp chill. Can-Calan struggled to let go of the shard, but it seemed welded to his fingers.
An unseen but strong hand gripped his forearm, Can wished he could pull away, but his arms would not respond. Another voice boomed through his skull. Abruptly, he was once again in the Last Homely House, sitting in the Hall of Flame. The elder hobbit shaking him.
"Master Can-Calan, are you quite alright? Can I get you something? You look like you've had a terrible scare." Can could only nod, then shake his head, then nod again as he sagged back into the chair. "Fret not, Master Baggins. Merely a bad remembrance. Not unlike a nightmare. I'm fine." Not entirely satisfied, Bilbo retreated back to his riddle contest, turning a worried eye every now and again toward his end of the hall.
Finally gathering enough strength, Can-Calan looked once again at the badge of kinship. Realizing his hand was cut and bleeding from his grip on the shard, he quickly placed the pin into his belt pouch and secured it. He steadied himself against the table shakily as he rose and slowly walked out of the hall, out of the house and into the fresh night air while nursing his wounded hand.
"It is as I feared, and worse." He sent a message to his closest friend; the Captain named Deveon. "The goblins do have my pin, and they are learning its use. Not only could they be listening to our movements, but I also think they're trying to contact The Enemy. I balk to return to goblin-town; I am not yet ready, but the Palantir-shard must be recovered."
*Please check Deveon's Over Hill and Under Hill thread in the scheduling forum for more details on participation*
The shadows were anything but startling to the tall elven figure whom sat in deep contemplation at the end of the room. The two sources; a hobbit known as Bilbo Baggins and his elf-friend Lindir, were as much fixtures in the room as the long tables, the elegant chairs and the chandeliers. But Can-Calan wasn't listening to the two as they traded riddles this evening. His sea-green eyes were half closed, his head tilted to one side, as if listening for a distant bird call. Between his steepled fingers was a familiar pin, metal glinting red in the firelight and a strangely dark glass shard set into it.
Can was indeed listening, but the conversations were not of clever questions or astute answers. Rather, he heard the lively banter of those whom he had long called kin. Some spoke of their respective crafts; cooks, armourers and scholars alike. Others of a more martial nature; recounted recent personal victories over the minions of the Enemy. Still others simply arranged later meetings at a variety of inns and taverns, promising drinks and music. All of it a comforting cacophony to him. A comfort he sorely missed during his captivity and convalescence.
This pin felt strange to Can however. It was not his, not really. Yes, his cousin had seen fit to give this one to him when he returned, but it was not like the first. It felt alien to him, though it was of exactly the same design, save for the shape of the crystal shard. The shard of a long shattered Palantir. One of the ancient seeing stones which, when whole, allowed one to see and communicate across vast distances. Indeed, if Can-Calan concentrated fully, he could almost see his kinmates. Hunched over workbenches, standing proudly or merely enjoying a pint. Each of them cast across the continent.
He was contemplating what might have damaged this Palantir in the first place, when he noticed other murmuring voices, distant and faint echoes between the others' words. Focusing on these, he could also hear what seemed like the beating of a heart. No, he corrected himself, it was more like the sound of a primitive drum. Suddenly, his vision darkened and his muscles locked, hands refusing to let go of the pin.
A pair of beady, blood-red eyes fixed on Can's out of the darkness. Dim firelight shimmered at the edges of his eyes. A hesitant chant in the harsh syllables of the Black Speech seemed to issue from the faceless eyes, beckoning to someone or something. The warmth of the room disappeared and was replaced by a damp chill. Can-Calan struggled to let go of the shard, but it seemed welded to his fingers.
An unseen but strong hand gripped his forearm, Can wished he could pull away, but his arms would not respond. Another voice boomed through his skull. Abruptly, he was once again in the Last Homely House, sitting in the Hall of Flame. The elder hobbit shaking him.
"Master Can-Calan, are you quite alright? Can I get you something? You look like you've had a terrible scare." Can could only nod, then shake his head, then nod again as he sagged back into the chair. "Fret not, Master Baggins. Merely a bad remembrance. Not unlike a nightmare. I'm fine." Not entirely satisfied, Bilbo retreated back to his riddle contest, turning a worried eye every now and again toward his end of the hall.
Finally gathering enough strength, Can-Calan looked once again at the badge of kinship. Realizing his hand was cut and bleeding from his grip on the shard, he quickly placed the pin into his belt pouch and secured it. He steadied himself against the table shakily as he rose and slowly walked out of the hall, out of the house and into the fresh night air while nursing his wounded hand.
"It is as I feared, and worse." He sent a message to his closest friend; the Captain named Deveon. "The goblins do have my pin, and they are learning its use. Not only could they be listening to our movements, but I also think they're trying to contact The Enemy. I balk to return to goblin-town; I am not yet ready, but the Palantir-shard must be recovered."
*Please check Deveon's Over Hill and Under Hill thread in the scheduling forum for more details on participation*