Image created by AI
OOC – Author’s Note:
This story recounts a live RP session held as part a weekly series called "Signs Along the Road". Each week there is a new RP hook. If you would like to come along, please reach out to Naridalis. The series does refer to the Company of the East Road and can be used as a way to ICly introduce your character to the kinship (whether you wish to join is entirely optional).
Additionally: This piece was shaped with a little help from AI. It provided assistance on things like the structuring, some names, shortening some verbose language/ideas as I'd written them, and it gave me the odd turn of phrase here and there. The heart and shape of the story are my own, but I realise it is important to be transparent about my use of AI assistance.
This Week's Hook:
"Folk passing the northern Bree-fields whisper that something stirs by the waters of Nen Harn. The Bree Watchers laugh it off as drunken talk, they don't venture that far north anyhow... If any care for the safety of Bree’s northern bounds, let them see with their own eyes what waits by that lake, before worse comes creeping inland."
The wind moved softly through the grasslands north of Bree, carrying with it the scent of late summer’s final bloom of wild flowers. Word had travelled ahead of Naridalis: the lake called Nen Harn was troubled. Fishermen came home pale and shaken, their nets torn as if by claws; shepherds in the area spoke of voices by the water’s edge, of dogs that whimpered and would not cross the fields. The stories were half-believed and half-dreaded, the sort that grow stronger when the fire burns low. But as ever, even in fireside fables there lingered a thread of truth, and Naridalis had long since learned to heed such whispers, for the truth can be most strange indeed.
At Hengstacer Farm, Naridalis found Emma Rosethorn sweeping crumbs from her apron, her eyes dark with worry. As the elf listened, her gaze turned east, toward the great unseen lake of Nen Harn that seemed to brood at them beyond the hills.
It was there that Piorra arrived; a woman clad for the wilds and carrying the bearing of one who knew how to handle herself in a fight. The two met as travellers often do; one seeking truth, the other purpose, and together they resolved to ride before the light faded to put to rest this disquiet and concern among the Free Peoples of these lands.
The journey led them north-eastward and carried them across rolling fields where the shadows of clouds brushed the earth. Naridalis rode her elk, Sylva, a creature tall and sure-footed, and the sight of them together was still an unusual one in these lands, as Piorra had remarked.
The woman had kept good pace beside Nari, though she was silent for much of the way. Her eyes drawn always to the horizon where silver light marked the fall of waters.
At last the land fell away, and Nen Harn lay before them… a lake wide and still beneath the still rising sun. The air was already heavy with mist when they neared and Naridalis dismounted and knelt by the shore upon their arrival, grazing her fingers along the damp stones and clay.
After a time, they walked along the shore and would come across their first sign… for beneath the reeds, they found a torn fishing net. The cords of the net had been shredded and curled as though seared by talons.
As the day worn on, they would happen across their second sign… for within some mud by the shore foot-prints were found. These prints were broad in step and had a webbed toe… they seemed heavy enough to crush the rushes flat, indicating a large creature at any rate. The prints led from the lake toward the south, where broken ruins could just about be spotted, standing against the sinking sun, for dusk had come upon them in their search.
The two followed the prints in silence at first. Yet as they walked, Nari’s thoughts lingered upon the strange impressions they had found by the reeds. No creature known in these lands left such marks. At least as seen by her in her time here…. and how long now had that been, she wondered.
Still… not bear, nor wolf, nor even the lumbering giant tortoises that sometimes crept from the lake could account for those broad, webbed prints; distinctly bi-pedal in form. The two women eventually spoke of possibilities as they tracked the prints and day turned to night, but neither could say for sure what made such marks.
At the ruins’ edge, firelight flickered between toppled stones. They crept closer, breath shallow as the air cooled around the stones. In the flicker of the fire they saw more clearly the pair who kept vigil there: an old man wrapped in a travel-worn cloak, his back bent though his hands still moved with quiet purpose, and beside him a woman perhaps half his age, her movements measured, wary of every sound beyond the ruin’s edge.
Their faces were drawn and pale, yet Nari thought that their eyes held a steadiness that spoke of… habit. She felt that this was not their first night beside these waters.
Between them lay crates stacked with care, their lids sealed by wax and bound with rope, a sign of important goods for sure. The mark upon the wood caught the firelight, and surprised both… for they bore the sigil of Imladris; that of Elrond Half-elven’s own house. The sight of this sent a ripple of unease through Piorra and Nari both, for what business had Rivendell’s stores so far west of their hidden vale? To find such craft here, in this lonely place, guarded by two common wanderers, was as strange as the prints that had led them here…
Naridalis and Piorra exchanged a glance as the realization struck them both: whatever rite or plot these two strangers kept, it would soon play out beneath the moon. There was no wisdom in rushing in blind. Together they slipped from stone to shadow and chose a vantage by the tree line - a place from which they could see and hear without being seen. The night grew colder as they settled in to wait, their mounts tethered further off where even Sylva’s breath would not betray them. Hidden behind an ancient tree, they crouched low in the shadows. The great tree’s bark was rough and cold to touch, but from against it they pressed themselves and watched.
The glow of the fire within the ruins wavered, throwing the faces of the two strangers into half-light. The old man’s voice came first, cracked and worn, his words shaped by long ritual. He spoke of the moon’s nearing fullness, of an offering overdue, of something ancient that waited in the depths… The younger woman answered softly, fear trembling beneath her calm. Her tone was that of one bound by duty rather than faith, repeating vows she did not choose. Bits of their speech drifted to the listeners… fragments of dates, of tides, of a creature that must be fed lest the waters rise in wrath.
Piorra and Nari shifted slightly to catch more of the words, every sense straining. The talk was half chant, half confession, and it chilled them more than any clear threat might have. Piorra’s breath misted beside her; the human’s hand never left her spear. Time seemed to slow around them, the sounds of the night fading to silence save for the crackle of the fire and the low murmur of those two voices within the ruins. Then, from beyond, a ripple passed over the lake…
It began faint as a breath… but then it spread across the still face of the lake with great speed. Nari thought it only wind or wave at first, but the motion deepened, circling in slow rhythm until the waters bulged and broke.
From the black depths rose a form vast and glistening, scales shining like hammered obsidian, its eyes pale as moonstone. Bony ridges crowned its head, and from its maw came a sound like a furnace drawing breath. The two watchers at the fire dropped to their knees at once, laying bowls upon the ground as though before a king. The smell of fine roasted grain and fruit (both elven in origin) mingled with the scent of lake-spray as they pushed the offerings forward.
For a time the creature only fed. Nari and Piorra looked on in frozen silence as the old man reached forward, perhaps too eager to shift a bowl closer or steady a falling crate. It was a simple motion, one born of habit and care, yet it proved his undoing. Even the most seasoned hand may falter in the presence of such power. The disturbance drew the beast’s gaze, and in that instant hunger turned to fury. With a violent sweep of its neck, it struck, and in a heartbeat the old man vanished beneath teeth and a swallowing sound. It had happened so fast. The accomplice’s cry tore through the air, echoing off the ruins; grief and terror were entwined in that instant.
Naridalis moved before thought could form, instincts honed by long years on the wild road. Even as she darted forward across the slick stones, her hand found her bow and an arrow was nocked. Her bowstring thrummed as a streaking silver arrow tore through the dark to bury itself in the creature’s flank before she had even drawn a full breath.
She did not slow; she scaled a fallen column of stone, her cloak sweeping behind her as she scaled it, and from that higher perch she loosed again… one arrow after another, each strike glinting like a shard of moonlight into the beast.
Below, Piorra charged. Her heart was pounding so hard it filled her ears. Terror clawed at her chest, but seeing Nari stand tall above the chaos, even though the two had only just met that day… it gave her solace and helped calm her motion and strengthen her resolve to press the attack.
Piorra lowered her spear and rushed to meet the beast, a cry breaking from her lips. The weapon struck true, sparks flashing as iron met scale. The creature reared, blotting out the stars, and crashed forward at her. Piorra’s shield caught the blow with a splintering crack that drove her to one knee against the stone column. Nari’s arrows struck again, raining from above like the wrath of some forgotten storm. The ruin flared with fire and moonlight.
The creature lunged again, jaws wide, but Piorra’s counterstroke found its mark at the shoulder, opening a dark wound from which blood steamed upon the stones. Still it came at them both… until a voice rose above the din.
The young woman, her hair wild and her face streaked with tears, ran between them and the beast. Her hands outstretched she cried “No! Stay your hands! You know not what you do!”
Her words carried a terror that seemed to halt the beast, for it lowered its head with a hiss… its eyes fixed on her as though remembering some ancient bond.
In ragged gasps she spoke, her voice trembling but sure in itself… She said how long ago, the elves had sought to destroy such creatures, thinking to cleanse the waters. But for each they slew, two more were born. Only when the lords of Imladris made a binding pact… an offering of food, not flesh… was their hunger stilled. She explained how she was one of a small number… who upheld an ancient ‘Pact’. One that had guarded this charge ever since those eldar days.
As she spoke, the creature stirred restlessly, its tail sweeping as it turned back to the scattering of crates from Rivendell’s stores. The scent of fruit and bread filled the air again as it ripped them open and with a low, rumbling growl it began to feed.
The three watched in silence as it ate. When it was sated, it drew back toward the lake of its own accord – though the woman seemed to utter a chant all the same. With a final shuddering roar it slipped beneath the surface, and the night fell still once more.
Silence lingered… heavy, stunned, and filled with the stench of blood and fruit. Piorra leaned upon her spear, trembling from exhaustion and disbelief. “It devoured him,” she muttered. “And we let it live.” Naridalis’ face was grave, pale in the moonlight. “Perhaps mercy is no less dreadful than death,” she said quietly. “Yet I have heard tales of bindings such as this. To break them is to invite ruin.” The woman nodded weakly, clutching the silver clasp at her throat – an emblem of their Pact. “It will not rise again until the moon turns full another year. That is the bargain. We pay its price so others need not.”
The elf’s gaze drifted to the dark waters, to the slow widening rings that marked where the monster had gone down. “Then let the lake keep its peace,” she murmured, though Nari’s voice held no comfort.
Naridalis and Piorra spoke softly of what must come next. They would ride to Bree and tell the Watch of what they had witnessed, though both knew the tale would sound like madness to any who had not stood upon that shore. Piorra gave a weary laugh, saying few in Bree believed in spirits unless they stole their sheep. Naridalis only smiled faintly, knowing the truth was too strange for easy telling, yet still they agreed the warning must be given.
Yet even as she spoke, Naridalis felt the pull of duty stir within her. These lands were now known to her, and she could not in good conscience leave their fate to chance. Quietly she resolved that when the moon turned full again one year hence, that she would return to stand watch beside the lake, to lend what aid she could to those who bore the burden of this ancient pact. If it must be renewed year by year, then she would answer its call for as long as her road allowed.
When dawn came, the mist lay thick and still upon Nen Harn. The woman of the Pact bowed low before them, grief etched deep upon her brow. Nari and Piorra turned from the shore in silence, their hearts weighed by the knowledge that peace had been bought with blood. The pact of Nen Harn endured another year… but in Naridalis’ mind, unease took root like a shadowed seed, and she knew that somewhere beneath that placid surface, hunger yet waited.
You can find more tales along the road here: "Signs Along the Road"
