LOCATION:

The Harad Road

Long and hard, the Harad Road stretches away into the distance. No sign of habitation you can see here, but the road itself is quite wide and well-beaten now by thousands of hooves. These are the northern limits of the nomads' herds grazing, as you realize, because grasses that are half-alive here, clinging to every boulder, shrub or shade, wither almost completely to the north. You can actually hear some insects croaking in the grass with unmelodic voices, but at least some kind of life would be welcome to the traveler from the barren north. And if you are not one, you better turn around... a strange reddish-brown haze hovers in that direction, clouding your mind about your intentions... should you go there?

Obvious exits:

Northwest Southeast

The flat country of northern Harad shimmers in a dusty haze as the afternoon sun shines on it, dusty earth interspersed with a few parched scrubs and withered grasses. Looking north, all that can be seen are earth and rocks, fading into a blurred smudge at the horizon. To the south the vegetation becomes more abundant, and the road wider.

It is northwards that a lone traveller walks, gaze fixed on the horizon. The cloak that covers him has been turned a reddish colour by the dust and grit, and strands of dark hair drift about his face, stirred gently by the warm, dry breeze. A large pack is on his back, and in his right hand is a long staff of wood, its upper end shaped to a sharpened, blackened point. Onward he plods, head down, paying little heed to the road behind him.

[Fredmin:] A dot appears on the road ahead of the lone traveler, moving swiftly along the road. Soon to be seen is a figure on the road ahead, moving along at a fair pace towards the traveler with the large sack. As he nears the other, his pace slows down until he begins walking casually towards him...

The traveller with the pack stops abruptly as he catches sight of the other figure. Then he glances from side to side as if seeking somewhere to hide - but the area is flat and open, there is no cover. With a determined set to his steps the man starts off once more, keeping his pace slow and casual, and he narrows his eyes to see better the figure who is approaching.

[Fredmin:] Stopping now, upon the road, the brightly colored traveler grins, and his grin grows wider until he throws his head back and laughs aloud to the sky above his dark hair. "You fear me!" He calls to the other, who is now quite close to him. "Do not fear Fredmin the bard of travels!" He chuckles as he removes the netting from his back that he uses to carry his few items in. Setting his upon the ground he sits quickly down beside it and looks up at the other. "Who are you?" He asks with a smile.

At this laugh, the other man stops dead, regarding the bright-clothed one as if he were a madman. Then he shrugs and curiosity wins over caution, for he stares at the bright clothing, the odd-looking net, twisted lip twitching slightly. His reply, when it comes, is hesitant, his Adunaic oddly accented. "I am ... a traveller, I seek the north." Perhaps he is reluctant to say more, for his mouth quickly snaps shut at the end of the sentence, but then after a pause he asks eagerly, "you did come from the north, then?"

[Fredmin:] Fredmin grins again from his place on the dirt road, fingering his net bag. "That depends." He says, "I have come from where ever I first started yes? So I come from the womb, do I not?" He laughs aloud again and nods, "Yessir! I come from the North! But I have no permanent home, friend." At this, his deep blue eyes scan the area around him, and then up and down the traveler before him.

A slight frown appears on the standing man's brow as he listens, and his lips part slightly. Then he replies slowly, deliberately, "I have not heard of that place. 'Thewoom'. I do not know this land so well, my home is ... elsewhere. But," he pauses, and amber eyes blink as he looks down at the other, "I also have no fixed home, I do travel - did travel," he corrects himself, cleft lips pressing tightly shut.

[Fredmin:] The smile drops from Fredmins face for but an instant as he listens to the others reply. His head cocks to one side and he grins again. Standing up quickly he chuckles, "You never worry about 'thewoom' my good friend. Indeed, it is a place far too small for one of your size and age." He pauses again, looking back behind him as if he heard one comming. Turning back he continues. "My home is where I rome, as I always say... Say, I am beginning to feel hunger now. Won't you sit and taste a crumb with me?" Bending over he unties a string on his sack and unfolds the netting, revieling a another piece of cloth tied up inside of that. After opening this, his eyes look down upon two large wooden flasks, a loaf of hardend bread, and an assortment of small packages wrapped in drie, brown leaves. "Will you now eat with Fredmin, good man?" He asks, turning back around to the other.

The fellow who is standing shakes his head at the first part of Fredmin's speech, puzzlement written plain on his face. And as the bard glances round, the other man too lets his gaze wander towards the horizon - but in the dusty haze it is hard to be sure if any movement is real or imagined. He hesitates once more as Fredian produces the food and drink. "I can not take your food, if I do not give in return," he says doubtfully, but still he places his own pack down and begins to rummage. His hand falls on one carefully wrapped package. "Some dried meat, maybe?" he questions, before continuing, "I did try not to use this food to soon - they say that in the Great Waste there is no food and no water. If I stay, can you tell me of this Great Waste?" His amber eyes reflect curiosity - perhaps even a hint of desperation?

[Fredmin:] Fredmin falls silent and he nods. "Ah, yes... I do not want to force you to eat, you know? That would be a pretty thing for you: No food in a place like hell." He shakes his head as he unwraps one of the small packages, letting show a strange white wafer, soft and chewy when placed in the mouth. "The great waste. All I can tell you is that it's name speaks for itself. Keep your food till then. You are wise to do so..." He nods again, looking hard at the food in his hand.

The hare-lipped man, Barzag, listens carefully, his gaze following Fredmin's towards the strange white wafers. "I thank you for the words - you did come through this Waste?" he guesses, one corner of his mouth raising slightly. His eyes raise to search the other man's face, as if expecting a map of his travels to be writ there. Then after a pause, Barzag adds, "I do not wish to offend - but you eat this to live?" He indicates the wafer held in Fredian's hand. "It does not look very much ..." His tone is doubtful as he looks back at his own package, so much larger and bulkier.

[Fredmin:] Sniffing at his food, which he now finishes, Fredmin grins at the other. "You will try my food, friend! Here." Eagerly he takes another wafer and hands it to the other. "You not hesitate. It is light, but it gives energy; however it gives no such thing as a full belly." He now answers the former of Barzags questions. "You ask me if I have gone through the waste? I am glad to say that I have! Though I did not travel the length of it. I came from the east first, entered the wastes from the side and travled on a corner ways through it till I found the road... Very confusing it was, too!"

Barzag's curiosity gets the better of him, for he reaches out to take the proffered wafer, sniffing it before breaking off a corner and placing it in his mouth. After a moment he says in surprise, "But it is good. It is - like bread? I carry journey-bread, but it is so dry!" And the corners of his mouth pull down in a grimace. And at Fredian's talk of the wastes he sighs. "It will not be easy ... I will try to look at night and follow the North Star." Then with a pleased smile, "I thank you for the food, and the words."

[Fredmin:] Fredmin smiles again and shoulders his pack after handing another wafer to Barzag and placing his food back. "I must be off, good friend. Remember, if ever we meet again, my name is Fredmin, the bard of travels!" He grins and begins to walk off down the road, turning back and waving once more. "I wish you good luck and eagils wings on your trip! Perhaps you shall find 'thewoom'!" Even as his figure grows small down the path, his merry laughing can be heard ahead and behind him on the road.

Barzag blinks in bemusement as the strange man is gone as quickly as he had arrived. He looks down at the wafer in his hand, then at his own pack, and murmurs softly, "but I did wish to give ..." He shrugs, then, and carefully stows the wafer, before hefting his pack again. "Fredmin, Bard of Travels," he repeats the name to himself as he sets off once more towards the north, this time a spring in his step.

Participants:

BARZAG

You look upon one of the Hill-Folk, the race known to the Elves and Edain as Rhevain or Men of Twilight. At about six feet in height, he is taller than most of his kind, and this is complemented by a strong build; his well-muscled frame and calloused hands show that he is no stranger to hard work. Indeed, his shoulders are slightly stooped as if from carrying heavy loads. His skin is swarthy, weather-beaten from long days spent outdoors.

A mass of dark hair hangs to just above shoulder level, shadowing his face, and he wears a short beard, usually kept neatly trimmed. It cannot, however, hide this man's main distinguishing feature. His upper lip, upon which only a few sparse bristles grow, is cloven in the manner of a beast, and twisted slightly so that his mouth appears to be set in a perpetual sneer. Above this, his nose is long and straight; amber eyes generally regard the observer coolly from beneath lowering black brows, bitterness all too often visible within their depths. Were it not for the wrongness of his mouth, he might even be considered handsome, but his disfigurement prevents this.

He wears a tunic of dusty blue fabric, which appears to be in fairly good condition still. The sharp-eyed might notice some sort of mark on his upper right arm, although the short sleeve of his tunic has been pulled down as if to conceal this. His trousers are of a dark material, faded now in many places. On his feet are a pair of scuffed leather moccasins. And he has one more item of clothing - clearly a valued possession. A grey woolen cloak, old but still serviceable, protects his form in inclement weather, and is carried rolled up and slung across the back at other times.

FREDMIN

You see a man of dark skin, such as one who spends much time under the day time sun. He is not overly musclular, his body is covered in bright green pants and a red vest. Atop his head in a white fez, adorned with a purple tassle.