The Rohirric Bath Tub Race ~ Rohan Summer Fest

Where now are the horse and rider? In here, probably.
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ARE YOU UP FOR AN ADVENTURE LIKE NO OTHER?

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THE MIGHTY CONCH HAS SOUNDED (sort of)

THE CONTEST HAS BEGUN!
Last edited by Aodh Hammerhelm on Mon Jun 22, 2020 8:53 am, edited 4 times in total.

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Oooh, me! me! me! I can't wait!
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An NPC of mine'll steer a bathtub. Can't promise she'll be good at it. :smiley8:
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The ROHIRRIC BATHTUB CHALLENGE Returns!


Once again, we shall test the mettle of those daring enough to pit themselves against its rigours and hardships.



The event is set to run along the course of the Snowbourne River from Edoras towards the confluence with the Entwash. Competitors shall then take the south easterly branch of the Entwash for a further 50 miles to the finish line.


Participants compete in pairs. Entrants can sign up either in a pair or individually. A draw shall place the individual competitors into a two-man team.



Craft allowed consist of, but are not limited to,: bath tubs, horse troughs, beer barrels, ale kegs, or any item not designed for boating. In sum: anything that floats so long as it’s not a boat!

 Entrants are encouraged to customise and adapt their craft, as points will be awarded for the most innovative and imaginative vessel.


NB: BOATS, YACHTS, KAYAKS, SLOOPS, CANOES (OR ANY OTHER VESSELS 
DESIGNED EXPRESSLY FOR WATER TRAVEL) MAY NOT BE ENTERED!



UP FOR GRABS

ETERNAL GLORY* for the winners


SHINY MEDALS will be awarded to:


* 1st, 2nd and 3rd teams past the post *
* Most innovative and imaginative craft *

CONSOLATORY T-SHIRT** for all other competitors

*Eternal Glory bestowed may not actually be eternal, or all that glorious
**Consolatory T-Shirts may not actually exist



SO WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? 

A PLACE IN THIS PREMIER EVENT AWAITS THOSE DARING AND/OR FOOL-HARDY ENOUGH TO SIGN UP!



IC SIGN-UP'S SHALL TAKE PLACE OVER NEXT TWO DAYS: WE SHALL THEN ANNOUNCE THE TEAM DRAW & FOLKS CAN DESCRIBE THE CONSTRUCTION OF THEIR CRAFT IN THEIR OPENING POST/S.

RULES:



Usual plaza rules apply! That's about it.



OOC the GM's at the bottom of your post if you have any questions or problems. Alternatively you can make use of Rohan's Summer Festival planning thread and '@' Aodh Hammerhelm or Elarith in there.


DON’T take the competition too seriously! Get very wet! Have fun!



PLEASE USE THESE COLOURS WHEN POSTING:

* Competitors in Blue * * Spectators in Green * NPC Goldhwaet “Rustbucket” Dooley in Brown *
Please pay attention to the GM’s posts - 

GM will post in this snazzy pale-ish blue

SPECTATORS:-
Do not help or aid the competitors in any way, shape or form - just cheer them on from the sidelines. 

We may incorporate you into a dice roll, so keep a lookout for your name during the Race. You are of course encouraged to interact with other spectators.

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I have acquired a partner in crime, @Dimcairien Luiniel will be not-boating with me in this not-boat race.

Also, 50+ miles?!
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@Thalionwen and I would like to sign up as a pair, piloting a gigantic cheese wheel carved in the shape of a duck.

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*chants* TEAM DUCK! TEAM DUCK! TEAM DUCK!
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*dragging a beer barrel in her wake* Anyone care to join me in my barrel? It still smells of stout.

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Elvh sauntered into the fenced-off area where an excited-looking Elarith was reading off a list of rules pausing to scribble down names. He reached the head of the line right behind a beer barrel, apparently being hauled by @Amhran.

"We can call it wyrd and I'll help you pilot that thing? At least we'll have a fine smell to accompany the jaunt."

"Or if not I'll have the bosses of the show put me down on the list as a solo and I'll trust to the luck of the draw, eh?"
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Amhran grinned. "Wyrd it is, Elvh, glad for the company."

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Elarith stood behind a table in her Raedbeard disguise, taking names for those wishing to take part in the competition. She was trying to keep a lid on her excitement but couldn’t help bouncing on her toes. After some minutes, she realised that her knitted moustache and beard had slipped and was now dangling round her throat. Curses! She quickly pulled it back up and hoped no one had noticed.

She finished signing up the eight competitors so far, some of whom seemed to have brought suitable sailing devices, some seemed to have just brought one massive snack.

Tipping her tricorn up from where it was sliding over her eyes, she picked up a metal cone to help amplify her voice for An Announcement.

“Avast all Tub Racers!”

“Those in need of a craft, or wishing to add embellishments, may do well to visit the accoutrements displayed over here,” she waved her hand toward a pile of junk, “thoughtfully provided for free by S C Rapp & Son, merchants.”

Many, many things were in the junk pile. Old cart wheels, pipes, bits of furniture (including a battered but once beautiful chaise longue), pots, pans, cots, cans... all unfit for their designed purpose, but possibly some use on a modified tub with a lengthy journey ahead. Or a short but wet journey.

“Anyone else wanting to race for Eternal Glory, or a shiny medal, or just the free t-shirt if your standards aren’t high, please make your way to the sign ups table,” Elarith Raedbeard announced.

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"There, surely is nothing better than to roll barrels around the countryside," Balfur voices happily whilst pushing around a rather big barrel. Normally he would have transported the thing by use of a cart or on the back of a pony or mule, but due to a recent lack of funds he has resorted to rolling the thing. It doesn't bother him much, because it truly is an expertly crafted barrel and therefore it rolls just perfectly. He believes it is one of his own makes, but he isn't sure, because he was usually more interested in filling the barrels with ale and then emptying them again, than actually branding them with his mark. Ah, the good old days...

He hopes @Queen Nerwen has gotten his message to meet him here. He doesn't really remember how she feels about water, but it seemed a good opportunity to reconnect after all these years. Riding a barrel down a wild river is just the kind of thing that gives ample chance to talk and exchange experiences in a relaxed environment. Besides, he seems to remember that the other dwarf was fiercely competitive.

He rolls up to the person who is shouting all sorts of announcements and rules (Elarith) and wonders how he should adress them. Balfur has always found it difficult to tell how he should adress the other folks of Middle Earth. Sometimes he wonders if everyone would just turn themselves into dwarves, you know, for his convenience. At least he knows how to adress those. Instead he opts for: "Ah Hah! You must be the person to speak to if I want to sign up for the race. I will be joined, I hope, by my everloving teammate, Nerwen. Though I do not see her yet." He then sets the barrel on its side, jams a spigot in it and fills a rather bust-up looking mug. He is about to take his first swig when he remembers and splurts out: "Oh, and I am Balfur, at your service."
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NPC: Goldwhæt "Rustbucket" Dubhlaoich

Rusty watched from the opposite bank of the Snowbourn; the sign-ups for the Race, ably commandeered by Rædbeard AKA @Elarith , were going well.

Scanning the far shore with his spy-glass he saw several competitors had come prepared - several outlandish craft were already drawn up upon the strand. Others busied themselves with objects retrieved from Rædbeard's pile of oddments and bric-a-brac. By his reckoning at least six teams would vie for the coveted title.

He was pleased to have less of a starring role in this year's event; it was no mean feat to carry off something of such magnitude. And then there were the temptations on offer: beer, wine and spirits at every rest-camp. The motley seadog had vowed to steer clear of liquor over the Summer Festival. A list of his transgressions caused by being drink-taken in prior years would have filled a weighty tome.

Well not this year, he vowed again now, wiping his nose with the soiled sleeve of his shirt. No, this year would be different. He would be a model of good sense and sobriety - mayhap that way he would at last find the affections of a comely lass.

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NPC Éomund

Éomund wandered into the starting area, dragging an assortment of leather saddles with him. They were cinched together in such a fashion that he hoped they would bear some semblances of a floating device. One great thing about living in a nation that prized the use of horses was that there was always an abundance of old tack around that while not quite up to par for use with the Calvary, was still quite useful for other contraptions. As he got to the starting line, he looked around at the other racers and their so-called boats. It was certainly an assortment of odds and ends, including a cheesy duck.

His observations over for the moment, Éomund looked for his "boating" partner @Lirimaer, wondering when she'd turn up and if she would have anything else to add to the boat to help it out.
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Image Laewyn

Laewyn was a little flushed, having run all the way from the impromptu pop-up pub down the river a little way, where she was sure she'd hitched Honey Butter some hours ago. That was before several delicate and fruity little drinks with berries on sticks in them had been served, resulting in a large and melodramatic sing-song medley of sea shanties and children's rhymes, which meant she'd quite forgotten the time until it was race time, so she'd had to run because her mare was missing! (She had had the presence of mind to ask the proprietor to look out for the animal and bring it along, after which she'd handed the man her entire coin and promised more if he looked after her precious baby.)

Having arrived at the tub-race arena, she weaved her way over to the fence and looked around ... ah, there he was.

"Éomund!" she called, waving wildly over people's heads as she made her way across. "Éomund ... oh wow!"

Their craft, a leather pontoon of beautifully designed saddles by rohirric artisans of sterling quality, was a delight. It might not be all that streamlined, or watertight for that matter, but it would be comfortable. She didn't know if the leather was going to hold up to all that water, but even so ...!

"Eafled!" she murmured, touching the leather reverently as she gave the boat its name. "What a beauty. Thank you! She's wonderful," she smiled mistily at Éomund and dabbed her eyes. "And so many places to sit!"
Last edited by Lirimaer on Sun Jun 21, 2020 11:32 am, edited 2 times in total.

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A giant barrel approached. Elarith Raedbeard wondered what was afoot. Had it become... sentient? She took a sniff at her mug. Didn't smell like any spirits had fallen into it. Then a dwarf stepped out from behind it to approach her and she sighed with relief. Barrels with a life of their own were the last thing she needed.

"Yes, I'm the person to see. I have a co-host somewhere but I think he's off organising the start," she said to Balfur, having a quick glance about. Where was Rusty? He'd better not be on the grog already. "I don't think I've seen your friend though. I hope they make it in time for the start."

Balfur made himself busy tapping the massive keg and formally introduce himself. "For official Tub Race purposes I am Raedbeard, but really -" she leaned towards him to whisper conspiratorially, lifting her fake beard up - "I'm a Rohir woman named Elarith. I can see that you were completely taken in by my disguise, but pleased do not be too alarmed," she told him with a wink. "Excuse me one moment, I must address the racers." She pulled out her metal megaphone once again.

"ATTENTION TUB-RACERS! PLEASE FINISH YOUR CRAFTS AND MAKE FOR THE START!

Our brave teams facing this season's Tub Race are...

@Shivased and @Gwai !

Laewyn(@Lirimaer) and Éomund ! (@Dimcairien Luiniel) !

@KingODuckingham and @Thalionwen !

@Amhran and @Elvheimdros !

@Balfur and @Queen Nerwen !


Who will win this fabled competition? How many will finish? How many will be flung to their deaths on the rocks or be horribly maimed falling over the rapids? All questions that will be answered as we get ready to TUB RACE!"

She put down the megaphone and took a long drink. She thought she'd pitched the tone right, keeping it light, no need to unduly worry the racers. She was sure they would all be fine.

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NPC Léowine

Léowine tossed the empty keg over his shoulder and headed with a determined yet rushed stride towards the banks of the Snowbourne River. The keg without a lid was one of the kegs he had picked up from the local pub for a few coins. The barkeep there made a steady profit there this time of year and had been willing to part with more than one empty keg otherwise useless to him. One of those was now Léowine's mode of transport in the great midsummer festival race. The grim determination on his face was because if he failed to do better in this race than his sister Léowyn did in the badger chase, he would never hear the end of it from their eldest brother, Léoheort. He just had to do well, the broad shouldered, tall shaggy honey blonde haired descendent of the Beornlings thought as he neared the banks. In his free hand, he carried a broom he had 'borrowed' from his father's stables and which he intended to use as a paddle. He winced when he thought of the scolding, and the fact that if he damaged it beyond repair he would likely have to buy his father a new one. Although the scolding would not be a viscous one, as Éoheort rarely had to heart to take his mischievous children to task over their good-natured attempts at fun. Joy was not something that had brightened Edoras in more recent days, and he was loathe to diminish any part of it.

He was most definitely late, Léowine realized as he approached the group of mostly young rohirrim gathered at the start of the fifty mile race. If he guessed rightly, he had still managed to make it before the race began, but the sign-ups were closing. He hurried up to the start. "Is it too late to join?"

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Callimdir sat on the roadside munching an apple. He couldn't believe the commotion by the river that ran along the road. He'd heard a lot about Rohan's summer festival, but he'd never quite believed the things people were reported to do during that time. Seeing was believing, his grand father liked to say. And yes, he had to believe what was before him. Lots of folk collecting all types of things to make boats of some kind.

Cal' had really enjoyed his time in Edoras. The people were kind and warm and especially to an errand rider from Minas Tirith. He'd delivered his messages to the Golden Hall before exploring the Rider's town. He supposed he should be heading home, but an errand rider's job was to take messages here and there. And he had no messages to take to Gondor. Well, he should wait then, shouldn't he. Yes, I will wait until I have message to carry. I have plenty of cash to keep me going for a few days.

The lad stood and hurried down the hill to the riverside. "Greeting, sirs," he said to a bearded fellow with a strange hat (Elarith) and a tall fellow (Leowine) who stood by him. "Are the people of Gondor allowed to participate in your water race? How much does entry cost?"

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NPC: Silæs ap Trōtter

Silæs hurried through the steadily growing crowd. He was late, delayed by the thronged track that ran from Edoras to the shingle strand beside Snowbourn. At last he reached the sign-up area for the Tub Challenge. His brow furrowed beneath his wide-brimmed hat. Rustbucket had said @Elarith would be here, but she was quite obviously not.

Two lads (Callimdir & Léowine) stood by a makeshift table making conversation with a rather odd looking fellow (Rædbeard). Silæs had never encountered a beard of such magnificence, and he’d had dealings with the Dwarves for many a long year. The fellow’s rakish three pointed hat marked him out as someone of importance so, when beardy-man had done talking with the two boys, Silæs stepped up smartly.

”Westu, Cap’n, hile, I am Silæs, sent by Rustbucket Dooley with supplies and tucker for rest-stage one. I have tar and pitch; tarpaulin and sail; rope and nail if any is needed here. My cart is over yonder, up on the road. I have space if you require anything moving, and a troupe of assistants to carry and load whatever you wish…

Old Rusty sends his apologies for not being at the start of this momentous occasion. He is busy making preparations downstream. The river runs fair tame, he says, until it reaches Entwash, and he is of a mind to liven things up if necessary!

Oh, and he asked me to give you this: the conch shell which has sounded at the start of the race since the time of Eorl’s passing…”
- he hath not forgotten Image the face of his fathers -

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Image Laewyn (with Éomund) in Eafled, a pontoon made of saddlery

"Who will win this fabled competition? How many will finish? How many will be flung to their deaths on the rocks or be horribly maimed falling over the rapids? All questions that will be answered as we get ready to TUB RACE!"

Laewyn grimaced at the dark message called out in a cheery tone. She eyed the organiser suspiciously. She didn't seem evil. But then, Grima had seemd pretty kind, spending hours looking after old Théoden when he was going through that rough time ... she resolved to be careful and watch out for trickery.

As everyone began to take their crafts down to the water, Laewyn broke off and dived into the pile of scrap dumped generously by S C Rapp and sons. Otherwise known as It's Kerapp, by her father. She grabbed two large frying pans which might be good for sculling, a couple of saucepans, which might be good for bailing water out. What else? She looked around, finding a plank of wood about 5' in length, and a long thick pole, which had once been part of a ladder - it was probably about 8' long, but it'd help them out of sticky situations, she was sure. The only thing she wanted now was some rope, but there wasn't any. Looking around quickly, she found a mildewed canvas and took that instead.

When they got to the bank of the river with their haul, she began with her knife to cut the canvas into 3" strips; these she twined, knotted and wove into plaits until she had a few short lengths of pretty strong rope-like strips about 6' in length. With any luck, it'd be enough to see them through.

"Ugh," she grimaced, smelling her hands. "I'll be back in a minute!"

A quick wash in the Snowbourne left her feeling better, if not wholly mildew free, and thinking about lunch. A horror of starvation washed over her.

"Did you bring food?" she asked Éomund, "I've got some oatcakes and apples, and they'll barely last us till this evening!"

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Running late as always, Gwai looked around for Shivased so they could finish up their water craft which hopefully would float. Having experience in this sort of race, Gwai concentrated on the important things, and as a result had brought a leather satchel filled with several flasks of ale and some cookies she had baked earlier. The last time she had brought this satchel it hadn't leaked, although it was considerably older at this point. If nothing else, the flasks would be fine. Gwai had plaited her hair back, worn her oldest trousers which she had daringly cut off somewhere around her calves, an old dark blue linen button down shirt which would dry quickly, and had opted to go barefoot to avoid ruining any of her boots. She should be ready for the river.

Gwai hurried over toward the pile of junk, er, building supplies, and looked for something to use as a watercraft. Hopefully Shivased would have a better idea, but for now, Gwai liked the idea of comfort, and the old chaise lounge in the junk pile looked like it would provide that. It was ragged, previously a probably lovely crimson color, but now more of a faded grayish-red. It had clearly had belonged to somebody rich before it was consigned to the junkyard, but would be more comfortable than the classic bath tub raft. Rummaging around the piles of junk, er, supplies, Gwai found what she was looking for, an old barn door hiding under some other junk. The door was heavy, but she managed to drag it out. She looked at it critically. This should do nicely. There was plenty of rope laying around, which hopefully was fairly new, so Gwai grabbed some, and was lucky enough to find an old axe handle, which would do nicely for a rudder. Some old boards could be put to work as paddles, and if she had time she would try to carve handles into them. Now just to lash the chaise lounge on top, and they should be fairly good to go, assuming the whole thing would float, especially with two Rohir on it as well. Gwai stood up and wiped her forehead, already thirsty. Hopefully Shivased would bring some ale also, because Gwai was worried she would drink their supply before they even started down the river.

OOC @Shivased (If you have a better idea for a boat let's do that instead!!)
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Shivased grinned across at Gwai when the teams were announced. They would make a good pair. She picked up the pack she had set at her feet to sign up and hurried after her new partner to the pile of old junk. The grin was still on her face, but mostly because she had brought a secret weapon. Or...err...well she had brought something that had worked for her in past Bathtub Races. And she couldn't wait to show Gwai. She was also well set with a waterproof canvas bag filled with goodies from her brother's sweet shop and a flask or two of mead.

While Gwai hunted in the junk pile she went around to where she had put the thing she had brought and signalled to her ceorl. He was technically Cavalry, but she had pressed him into service for this one thing. Together they each grabbed a corner, dragging it to where Gwai was, and let it drop with a grunt. The Ceorl quickly left so as not to appear like they were cheating, and she stood grinning proudly. It's the SS Minnow, she stated, gesturing at the object, which turned out to be a giant old wardrobe.

It wasn't much, at least not anymore, but it was large enough to fit four adults, at least. The doors were long gone, jagged gouges showing where the hinges had been ripped off. Boards had been nailed haphazardly on the outside here and there in quick repairs and bits of black goo showed where it had once been water sealed. The wood was faded, waterlogged and stained, but by the grin on Shivased's face, it might as well have been brand new. It has stood up to three Bathtub Races so far. I found it in the back of a barn at home months ago and can't believe I kept it! I've checked, and it still floats. If we take the chaise you found and tie it down inside, we'd have somewhere comfortable to sit! We'd just need something to use as paddles, and we would be set!


(OOC: @Gwai: Feel free to refuse the Minnow, it's definitely not the sturdiest-looking wardrobe, LOL. )

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Éomund (with Laewyn) in Eafled, a pontoon made of saddlery

"Good day, Laewyn," said Éomund as he found his boating partner. "I'm thankful you think our 'boat' is lovely. It was what I could procure for this rather interesting event. I've never participated in this race before, have you?"

His question was interrupted the the announcement. "Who will win this fabled competition? How many will finish? How many will be flung to their deaths on the rocks or be horribly maimed falling over the rapids? All questions that will be answered as we get ready to TUB RACE!"

He paused while Laewyn rummaged in the pile of odds and ends that were brought out for the racers to use to add things to their crafts. Éomund wondered if he was excited about or regretting his choice to enter the race. The idea of being dashed against the rocks to his death did not appeal to him, nor would it appeal to his wife.

Before long, there were several pans, a plank of wood, and a long pole, which looked like it could be helpful if they ever were in danger of crashing against some rocks. Laewyn then began the process of transforming an old piece of canvas into a makeshift rope. He was grateful that his partner appeared to be very competent.

"Do you have some food?" he heard her ask. He nodded, and pulled out a sack. "I have bread, cheese, and some dried meat. My wife would never send me on an adventure without sustenance. There's also a bottle of wine in here. But perhaps that should be saved to celebrate completing the race with. Boating in a non-boat while drinking wine sounds like a recipe for disaster."
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As Elarith Rædbeard set her cone down and watched the Tubsters making their ways to the start line on the river below, two latecomers came hurrying up, asking to join. She took a calculating look at her hourglass.

"Yes, my lads, you've made it," she told Léowine and Callimdir. The latter asked a couple of questions, and Rædbeard nodded as she leafed through some parchment on the table. She kept looking whilst she answered.

"Yes, anyone fool- I mean, bold and water-crafty enough, of any race, can join. And no, there is no charge. Just make sure you sign the indemnity waiver here," she said, triumphantly pulling a page from a pile and thrusting it towards the pair along with a quill. "Usual legal bumph, not fallible in case of loss of property, limb, life, and so on, and so on. It runs to seventeen sides of parchment if you absolutely must read all the details, but I'm afraid, gentlemen, that it may delay you somewhat."

“Anyway, important administration documents with potentially costly legal implications aside, you're a team now. Best hurry down to the start line and into your keg,” Rædbeard finished.

The fake-bearded lady shuffled her papers back into some semblance of order. Another person came up to her and saluted and called her ‘Cap’n’. Fine by her. As he began to speak, she twigged that she did indeed recognise him - though obviously not him her.

"Ho, Silæs! It is me, Elarith!" she said with an outrageous wink, tugging the beard down. "But we're keeping that under our hats, yes?" she said, tapping the side of hers. “Glad to hear you have a cart on stand by, I’ve got all this bits of parchment to keep safe and dry. Don’t want any comebacks now.” She slipped the pile into a leather wrapping and tied it shut.

Silæs also had news of Rusty’s whereabouts for her. “So he’s gone on ahead has he? As long as he’s making himself useful. Shame he's going to miss the start though.”

As Silæs produced the legendary conch, Elarith whipped off her hat in honour of it. “Oooh! Shiny!” she said, taking it carefully from him in both hands. If she dropped this now she would never hear the end of it. Trying to remember to breathe, she walked to an outcrop of rock which overlooked the starting markers of the race course. The crowd of onlookers went quiet. She took a deep breath and shouted:

“Six intrepid teams set out to ride the Tub Race! May Ulmo watch over them!

“All set… and….”

Rædbeard filled her lungs and blew through the conch as hard as she could.

Pfft…. perrrrrrrpt…. perraaaaaapt”

‘Oh, just GO!” she yelled, defeated by a shell.

What was it with this conch? Did you need a special course she hadn’t attended to get anything louder that a badger’s sneeze out of it?

GM: TUB RACERS! Please get yourself and your crafts into the water and underway, ready for the first round!

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At the sound of the "Pfft", Amhran rolled the barrel into the Snowbourne and stepped into it, squeezing against the side to make way for her fellow barrel-rider. "I feel like a Baggins for some reason," she muttered, and then suddenly looked at @Elvheimdros. "Ehm... have you got something to use for a paddle? I have a bread peel, a broom, and a long handled spoon. And, uhm..." she rummaged in the bottom of the barrel, "...two spatulas and a bottle opener, though why I brought that I don't know. Anyway, you're welcome to any of this stuff, if you need it."
Last edited by Amhran on Mon Jun 22, 2020 1:03 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Elvh followed Ahmran down to the water, then at her question, felt around his person with an embarrassed air. "Strangely, no. Well, I wasn't planning to do this at all, it just seemed like a good idea. Lemme see here, give me a moment."

He dashed over to the pile of oddments, rooted around for a couple minutes, and came dragging back. "Not the most useful gear," he said, displaying his findings: 20 feet or so of frayed rope, a pitchfork (missing a tine), and a wooden battle-ax, sized liked a child's toy. "Pole and paddle," he explained, passing up his additions. "And you always want rope," he added, finally clambering in himself. Fortunately the barrel was still wedged against the bank: he grabbed the pitchfork to push off into the stream and twisted awkwardly to stow it back against the side, tines waving in the air like an odd figure-head.

"Ooh, this is tight," he muttered, bumping elbows with his barrel-mate as the stream rocked the ersatz craft dangerously. "Be easier if we were Dwarf-sized, I'd say."

"I don't supposed you brought a bottle to go with the bottle-opener?"
May the Horse be with you.

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"Well it looks like we're team mates," Callimdir grinned at Léowine (@Durien) with an outstetched hand . "I'm Cal' by the way."

A weird sound made him turn around.

"Cripes! we better getting moving," he called to Léowine as he noticed the bearded fellow (Raedbeard) starting the race. "It doesn't look like we have time to build anything major... What about we just get these two barrels and tie them together? Hey, there's a third... We can tow that along as a spare! Do you have any better ideas?"

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NPC: Silæs ap Trōtter & Goldwhæt "Rustbucket" Dubhlaoich

"Eh… Elarith!" Silæs spluttered, taken aback by her transformation from rugged pirate to cheerfully winking lass. He tapped his hat, then the side of his nose. "Your secret is safe with me, Cap'n - and your documents."

Before he could say anymore Ela, hallowed conch in hand, bustled off. It was time too for Silæs to be off. It was a wrench to miss the start of the race, but he had to make sure his crew had carried out the task Rusty had set them.


In the reeds where he'd made his hide a faint farting sound roused Rustbucket He shifted uneasily, loosening his belt - Shouldn't have had all those beans this morning! - then sprang aloft as Elarith's strident call rolled across the river. Bema, that isn't your belly, it’s the conch!

Standing with his trousers at half-mast, a grimy set of skull 'n' crossbones printed undergarments fluttering around his scrawny waist and knobbly knees, Rustbucket cackled as he watched the first of the ramshackle craft take to the water.

"Get ready, laddies! he said, over his shoulder. "The current's apt to swing them our way as they near the bend."​​

In the shade of the rustling reeds four pairs of eyes widened in anticipation.
Last edited by Aodh Hammerhelm on Mon Jun 22, 2020 5:03 pm, edited 5 times in total.

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Gwai was relieved when Shivased arrived, a large wardrobe in tow. The wardrobe clearly had seen better days, but hopefully would be at least partially waterproof. "This is exactly what we need!" Gwai exclaimed, looking at the SS Minnow. "Putting the chaise lounge in it will be perfect. No reason to sacrifice style," she said with a laugh. She dumped her bag of supplies inside the Minnow, and gestured to the old boards she had been attempting to carve handles into. "Carpentry is not my forte, but hopefully these will do! I'll just sand them down before we leave so we don't get splinters," she mentioned, having learned from previous mistakes.

An odd spluttering noise caught her attention, and Gwai turned to see Raedbeard blowing into a conch shell with limited success. The yell of "Go" was unmistakable, however. Gwai turned back to Shivased. "I don't supposed the ceorl is still around to help us drag this down to the water?" she asked only half jokingly, grunting as she stooped to pick up a corner of the Minnow to carry down to the river and cast off.

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Image Laewyn (with Éomund) in Eafled, a pontoon made of saddlery

Laewyn pasted a bright smile on her face and jollied Éomund along. "Don't worry about getting injured, it's death or glory all the way - and your wife will be cheering us on, 'cause we ain't dying! Come along, let's get this thing in the water!"

She gave a particularly vicious tug and the whole thing shuffled into the water, where, to her surprise, it floated. She tossed their extras on top of it, and threw herself on afterwards, tumbling all over the place. Clearly, riding in Eafled was not going to be a ladylike endeavour.

She rolled herself to one side of the pontoon, sitting in a nice comfortable saddle designed with extra room for those with extra padding. She might not have any, but it made for a good seat nonetheless.

"Let's get this show on the road!" she grinned. "Éomund, this is going to be epic!"

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Ducky strained to push the oversized wheel along the increasingly marshy grass toward the water proper. It smelled much worse than he would have thought possible when he and Thalionwen conceived the idea. There was apparently a type of cheese that had stinky in the name, and it must have been what was used to construct the majority of this wheel-boat. They had dubbed the thing the Stinking Duck-ship in honor of its unmistakable odour. It was heavy too, but Ducky finally managed to heave it into the water, and it rolled onto its belly.

Yes, its belly, seeing as how this cheese wheel had been hollowed out and carved roughly into the shape of a duck, complete with carved feathers, wings, and facial features. Ducky was particularly proud of his work on that.
He leaped into the boat, bouncing slightly on the water. He would have to acquire his sea-legs as soon as possible. He found his spot at the stern, and reached down. He had placed an oversized cheese stick paddle in the bottom of the boat in advance, ready for take-off.

While he waited for his teammate to show up, he bit off the entire top of his paddle. Not only did it taste good, but the shorter paddle would give him somewhat tighter control of the craft. Finish line, here we come!

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Éomund (with Laewyn) in Eafled, a pontoon made of saddlery

Clearly Laewyn noticed his slight bought of nervousness at the mention of death because she quickly reassured him by saying, "Don't worry about getting injured, it's death or glory all the way - and your wife will be cheering us on, 'cause we ain't dying! Come along, let's get this thing in the water!"

With that, his companion tossed their extra supplies into the pontoon and jumped (or more likely rolled) into the makeshift boat. Éomund quickly followed, the saddles seesawing a bit as he entered. This was not going to be a smooth ride at any rate, no matter how comfortable the seating arrangements. He too settled himself on a saddle, this one a bit on the firmer side, hoping that it would help him stay at least semi-upright.

He picked up one of the pans that Laewyn had selected for use as a paddle and raised it high in the air. "Let's race!" he cried.
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Artanis / Éomund / Brandor / Zarâm

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NPC Léowine
@Callimdir

"So you're a Gondorian, eh?" Léowine turned with a big smile to his newfound partner in the race. He stuck out his own big paw of a hand to shake the one proffered by Cal. "I'm Léowine. It's a pleasure to meet you." He swung the empty keg barrel down to the ground with a soft thunk. ["Do you have much experience on water, Cal?" He asked, genuinely interested. Being so near the sea, many Gondorians were more familiar with boating and sailing than the Rohirrim. If he was, than it was all to their advantage, Léowine thought with a competitive gleam in his eye. If not...well it would be all the more adventurous. If there was one thing everyone in the Riddermark knew about him, it was that he liked a bit of fun and adventure whenever he could get it. Perhaps his father might be a little more gray-headed because of it, but he'd survived this long.

Léowine's thoughts turned back to the building of their craft. His summer sky blue eyes studied his own barrel along with the other two barrels Cal had in tow. "What if we rope them together in a triangle....like this." He pushed the smallest one, or at least what he thought was the smallest one, since they all seemed to be pretty equal in weight and size, to the front, set it at a hundred-eighty degree angle, so that it looked like the prow of boat, and then pushed the other two behind, these two perfectly upright. "In theory, you could be in the right barrel, and I can take the left barrel. That way we can steer, or paddle as needed. The front barrel, angled that way, should help keep us straight as we cut through the water, don't you think?" He glanced around, found an abandoned piece of rope, and started lashing them together. It wasn't the easiest work, as he had to wind them through the few catches and lacings on the kegs that there were in order to keep the three barrels tightly together. He pushed it into the water. Miraculously, it bobbed up and down, staying afloat. "There! What do you think of that?" He asked the Gondorian. After all, he was going to risking life and limb with him as they attempted to float fifty miles down the Snowbourne. Testing the craft, he climbed into left keg, a rather cramped space, but dry. He waved the broom that he had brought as a paddle. He arched an eyebrow at his partner and waited. "I'm open to suggestions." He offered, waiting to see if Cal had a better idea than this current harebrained one likely to drown them both. "Did you bring a paddle?" He asked, starting to get worried as everyone on the banks started piling into their own crafts. It was nearly time to start.

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@Durien
Callimdir shook Léowine's hand. "Pleased to meet you," he grinned. "Yes I am from Gondor. I live outside Minas Tirith. No, I'm not much good at water travel. I'm an errand rider you see." Cal' thought about telling Léowine why he didn't like water. But telling someone you just met your fears was most probably not a good idea. Especially when you were about to share a dangerous adventure with them. An adventure on water.

He watched as his team mate worked on the barrels. Soon Léowine had made a craft that looked good to go. How good they'd only know when they had travelled a few miles."Looks great," he grinned at Léowine. "But the bow sticks up a bit when you sit in it. I haven't got a paddle. Hold on!"

Cal' ran across to the sign up area. The pile of bits and pieces wasnt a pile any more. Most of the good stuff was gone. A little cart stood by the sign up table. A fierce looking man stood by it. Was this Rustbucket the legend of many Tub Races? The man turned around and Cal grabbed some useful looking things off the cart.

"I've got a hammer and nails," he laughed. "And a brush and pot of tar, Léowine. And we'd better get going the other boats are on their way!" Cal hopped into the left hand tub. He threw the tools and stuff he'd nicked into the front tub before pushing off with an old broom handle he'd found.
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Thalionwen, with Ducky, in the Stinking Duckship

"So we meet again, Ducky," Thali said as she approached the river, a giant corkscrew and a length of rope slung over one shoulder. "Don't think I've forgotten that wretched Mordorian theatrical where you set me on fire and vanished. I am, however, willing to let bygones be bygones and join forces to crush the competition here. In fact, I've brought along a weapon which can be used to that effect!"

With some difficulty, given that the Stinking Duckship was already in the water, Thali lashed the giant corkscrew to the front of it, for use as a ram.

"There," she said, stepping back and surveying it with satisfaction. "That's better. What's a duck without its corkscrew?"

She leaped into the boat alongside Ducky, nearly knocking him over, but after a little confusion, all was balanced (sort of) and the Stinking Duckship and its crew were ready to traverse the river! Thali readied her oar (a large wooden paddle used for separating cheese curds from whey) and assumed a smart, seamanlike posture.

"Ahoy! Avast! Argh, maties, etc!" she called out, to no one in particular.
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Team Balwen Nerfur - in the tub

Nerwen had used a new fangled travelling device to get her across to Rohan in time. The man operating it had been snappily dressed and referred to the machine he used both as TARDIS and his girl. The dwarfette had been very bemused but had entered the home of the horselords with no harm done, so she bowed slightly in the gangly man's direction and darted off to the boat race. In typical Nerwen Balfur fashion, he had asked her to be involved in this fun activity and she had royally forgotten. Hopefully she could make it up to him somehow, or maybe he would forget that she had forgotten. Either way she had made it down to the Snowbourne and found her dwarf gamely making a barrel into a tub boat. And by that, she meant he was drinking the contents, "Good dwarf" she said, laying a hand on his back, "but i think we might actually need to do some wood work here". She gestured in the direction of some tools, "Go and get one of those saw type things. I think we should cut it in half, tie them together and then we can sail merrily next to each other". She gave him a look of encouragement and nodded at him.

After some tinkering, one argument, and only two incidents involving the hammer, the craft was built. Nerwen nodded in satisfaction. Considering neither she or Balfur had any building experience, she was almost definitely probably sure that it was river worthy. Together, they carried it down to the water's edge, and grasping her steering pole, Nerwen hopped into her side. "what shall we name her?" she asked Balfur.
Family Stealtharm | Sil's #1 Property | Knowledge of a woman, pride of a dwarf | Khazâd ai-mênu!

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Team Furbal and Wenren - Delerious drinks drown daring dwarves

A Rohir... that means something like horsemaster, right? Balfur wonders as he takes another swig. It might, of course, mean something else, but there's no time like the present to make mistakes. He slightly tugs his own beard to see if that one will come off of his chin as well. It stays firmly put. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, horsemaster Elarith... I mean Maremaster Raedbeard." Wondering why people needed to use different names the impoverished dwarf listens to the announcement of the organisor of the game. What was that? Death on the rocks? That sounds like a drink he once had in a pub not too far away from this place. There had been many bearded fellows there, too. Though they had called themselves wizards. Balfur wonders if their beards could have been tugged off too. He never tried to, back then, because it had seemed rude to do so. Maybe now the time has come to try? Lost in thought he finishes his beer and quickly pours himself a new one. And another one after that. The barrel starts to feel rather empty when a sudden hand touching his shoulder makes him jump a bit. Turning around he looks right in the face of a dwarf he has not encountered in a long time. Nerwen doesn't seem any different, though. "Good grief, loveling, he exclaims, there's no need to scare me like that, suddenly appearing out of the blue! I nearly spilled this drink." He groans a bit when she suggest cutting his lovely barrel in two, but complies in getting the saws and gets to work alongside her.

Somehow, it feels as if they have never been apart. She is still as (how did she call it again? Determined?) stubborn as before, but her bossing him around seems to get him worked up enough to actually do something. Though the look of encouragement had surely helped too. Still, he isn't dissatisfied with the result. Seeing Nerwen grab a steering pole, Balfur produces a small keg and saws it in two. 'Where do these things come from,' he wonders, marveling at the seemingly endless supply of barrels, casks and kegs he carries around unawares. "You do the steering, I do the paddling," he laughs as he ties the two halves to his hands. Holding up his hands, he says: "Of course, this means you'll have to help me remain lubricated." He winks at his teammate and goes to sit in the front of the craft.
After being asked what they should call this tub, he wonders for a moment and then slowly says: "We should definitly call it "Drowned in the Rapids" because that way, the river will hear its name and assume it no longer needs to antagonise us... Anyway, let's go! The other teams are ahead already!"

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AHOY TUBSTERS!


You, your team mate and craft have been launched into the Snowbourne river. Though it is turning to high summer, the water is still icy cold and runs fast. The shallow and wide flow that you are currently in splits further along to pass round a wooded islet. The left-hand channel looks darker, deeper, but swifter than the right-hand channel, which has the small waves and ripples of shallower depths. Many spectators are lined up along the left-hand bank to see the teams pass before them - if they're lucky.

Team Wyrd - @Elvheimdros & @Amhran

Roll 1:
Moves: 6
Damage: -1
Hit points: 19

Your keg lands in the water and, with your myriad of paddle options, gets off to a decent start in the middle of the pack. You are soon upon the wooded islet, and jolted down the right-hand channel. Rocks litter the shallow water here, and one scrapes your hull, but you get away lightly.

Team Insertnamehere - @Durien (Léowine) & @Calimir (Callimdir)

Roll 1:
Moves: 6
Damage: 0
Hit points: 20

Your oddly-shaped kegcraft built with STOLEN goods gets into the middle of the river, and makes a steady start - you are neck and neck with the good ship Wyrd. Your triangular boat is also swept down the right-hand side of the islet, but it miraculously avoids all the rocks. So far.

Team Minnow - @Gwai & @Shivased

Roll 1:
Moves: 9
Damage: 0
Hit points: 20

So, it turns out the Minnow is a far more water-dynamic craft than a wardrobe has any right to be. She shoots into the lead, plunging down the left-hand channel past the islet, where spectators can cheer you and / or throw things at you. Your craft comes through scot-free.

Team Eaflaed - @Lirimaer (Laewyn) & @Dimcairien Luiniel (Éomund)

Roll 1:
Moves: 4
Damage: 0
Hit points: 20

The saddle-pontoon Eaflaed makes an ungainly craft, built seemingly for comfort rather than speed. Your stately progress at least gives spectators more time to cheer (or heckle) as you float past. And with such a slow start, you take no damage whatsoever. But now the islet is approaching - which way will the current take you?

Team Stinking Duckship - @KingODuckingham (Ducky) & @Thalionwen

Roll 1:
Moves: 2
Damage: -3
Hit points: 17

The good news is that cheese will float. Mostly. The bad news is that a chunk of your craft seems to have come adrift. The even worse news is that some slugs have overtaken you.

At least you haven't gone backwards.

Team Drowned in the Rapids - @Queen Nerwen & @Balfur

Roll 1:
Moves: 8
Damage: 0
Hit points: 20

Last to enter the river, but you more than make up for it, and are soon up into second place. Your modified keg is pulled over to the right-hand channel, but either luck or some nifty paddle-work means you avoid all the rocks.

ALL TEAMS:


Past the islet, the river starts to form a huge bend. At the beginning of this bend, fallen trees lie on the left-hand bank whilst fishing nets and traps lurk on the right. And then the rapids begin... The first rest point is still a long way off.

A NOTE ON DAMAGE AND REPAIRS:

Each craft started with 20 HP. Damage may or may not be inflicted with each roll depending on sheer luck. If your craft reaches 0 HP, it sinks. Apparently this has never yet happened...

Players can elect to try to repair their craft on the go by sacrificing half their move points. When a rest point is reached, every team gains 5 HP (although as certain Gondorians have STOLEN repair materials this may be less likely now). A craft's total HP can never exceed 20 points.

NEXT ROLL IN ABOUT 24 HOURS, MORE OR LESS



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"PITCHFORK TIME", yelled Elvh as the stream swept them down the rocky channel. He'd rather hoped they'd make the smooth one but the barrell, now steady and not apparently ready to tip over any more with two people and accoutrements weighing it down, still kept spinning. He jabbed at a couple rocks that came too near, and fended off most of them but missed one. He hoped they'd get safely past the rest...

Up ahead he saw a bend he couldn't see around, but the litter he could see made him think the pitchfork might be past its usefulness. He wedged it back in, trying not to rock the boat barrel, and deployed the PADDLEAXE to try to steer.
May the Horse be with you.

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It was the best of starts, it was the worst of starts.

Evidence in favor of the first half of that statement: They were actually moving! In a cheese! And moving forward, at that, instead of the other direction. Honestly Ducky hadn't been sure about the whole cheese stick paddle thing, but Thalionwen had insisted, and he had gotten to insist on certain other things, like a duck. With a beak. And feathers. And a corkscrew ram on the front. So he couldn't complain just yet. And for now, it seemed to be working.

Evidence in favor of the second half of that statement: He was pretty sure the cheese was re-soggifying under the influence of the river. Already he could feel the boat diminishing as bits of cheese broke off and floated away in other directions. Like not forward. Would this boat last them the whole race? ALSO, he could hear some horrible slimy munching sound somewhere just outside the boat. He looked to Thalionwen.

"Can you hear that? You want to check and see what it is for me? The sound is making me want to puke all by itself. Or maybe that's our boat smell too, I don't know." He raised his paddle at the ready in case it was some hostile creature on the outside of the boat.

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Team InsertNameHere: - @Durien

“We’re doing great!” Cal’ called to Léowine Their triple-tub was bumping along through shallow water and there were only two teams ahead of them. He gave a loud whoop as some rocks whizzed by. “I don’t like the look of what’s ahead! The water is running faster and there’s a bend coming up.”

Cal’ used his broomstick to avoid a rock and Team Wyrd's boat on their port side. The shock of the rock against the broom gave his shoulders a nasty jolt.

“So far so good,” he said to Léowine. “That stolen stuff in the front barrels keeping our nose down nicely. It’s a pity I didn’t think to grab the course map while I was borrowing supplies." Cal shifted in his tub, his trousers were dry which meant the tub was still water tight. “Hey, Léo, you do realise we haven’t named our keg-ship?”

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Team Minnow

The wardrobe was heavy and as they pushed the bulky "boat" into the water, Gwai thought of how many times she had skipped training days, and regretted it. Once the Minnow was in the water, however, it bobbed gently as if it wasn't a floating monstrosity. "Maybe we won't sink after all!" Gwai commented to Shivased cheerfully, stowing her gear inside where it was less likely to get wet, and handing her a paddle.

Stepping into the water to get into the boat was a bit of a shock. It was still summer, but nobody had told the Snowbourne. Her feet soon got used to the water though, and they soon cast off, rowing toward the middle of the river. Gwai sat comfortably on the chaise lounge, close enough to the side she could still paddle. It was actually a bit relaxing, being on the water. She had missed she sound of the river. The current soon began picking up, however, as the river split around a small inlet, with a gentle current to the right, and what looked like faster current to the left. Gwai gestured with her paddle. "It's early on, shall we aim for the left side?" she suggested.

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Team Wyrd

Amhran, back to back with @Elvheimdros, heaved a sigh of relief as he pitchforked their craft through the rocks, wincing only slightly as they scraped a particularly large stone. "Nice work, Elvh, thank you. Now if only..." she saw the logs and fishing nets up ahead as they approached the bend in the river. "Uh oh." As her shipmate attempted to steer with the paddleaxe, she pulled out her bread peel and prepared to fend off any encroaching obstructions.

If only she *had* thought to bring a few bottles to go with the bottle opener. They might be thankful for a restorative - or an anodyne - in not too long.

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Image Laewyn - Team Eaflaed (20 hp)

Éomund was getting into the spirit of the thing, now, frying pan held aloft, ready for the off.

Laewyn fell over sideways, on purpose, reaching out for the other frying pan and one of the saucepans. She had an idea that one of them might come in useful as they passed the spectators lining the shores in the distance. She rolled back to a seating position, creating a wave effect on the saddle-raft and giggled. "Oh dear, I do hope you're not squeamish!" she uttered, but then they were off! No time to chat!

Well.

Actually there was plenty of time to chat. Despite some energetic rowing, the conglomeration of saddles refused to move at more than a walking pace.

"The saddle-pontoon, Eaflaed, makes an ungainly craft, built seemingly for comfort rather than speed. Admire its stately progress as it crawls past," called some wag on the shore with a carrying voice. "And remark the crew, clearly old hands at this sort of thing, all the best equipment - are those your grandma's pots and pans?"

Laewyn made a gesture her grandmama would not have been proud of, and a rustle of laughter rippled through the crowd. She grinned and turned her face into the wind - well, breeze - oh, all right - oncoming air.

They'd taken no damage with their gentle meander into the centre of the river, and now they'd have to think about direction, hmmm ... the current seemed to be trying to take them left, she attempted to scull backwards to give them more time to think about it.

"Which way do you think, Éomund?" she asked. "Shall we go left or right, do you think? Whoa, Éomund, it's getting closer! We need to choose!"

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The Team that Drowned in the Rapids

"This is exhilirating!" Balfur exclaims as he paddls to the maximum of his abilities. The river itself is quite calm at this stage, especially when they drift into the right passage. How different from the river Running, on which he has spent many a youthful day. Nerwen steers them expertly past the rocky shallows and the other watercrafts, some of which seem to be hitting the riverbed. He turns around to hold up a thumb, but due to the half-keg strapped to his hands this does not really succeed. "Great work!" He yells instead. "I think we might be in first place!"

Right at that moment, a WARDROBE comes from the left side of the islet and skiffs past them. Balfur growls in fury. He is not going to be outdone by people having so many spare closets they can use one as a tub. Not while he has only the clothes he has on his person. Bending back forward he returns to paddling furiously, hoping Nerwen can steer them round that bend up ahead. They will have the advantage in the rapids, he is sure of it. The dwarf points with his head to the right side of the river. "Steer us away from those fallen trees and towards those nets over there! Maybe we can do some fishing along the way." Suddenly he realises how hard his stomach is growling. A fish dinner would be great...

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Éomund - Team Eaflaed (20 hp)

Slowly the saddle boat started to drift down the river. At least they weren't getting wet like some of the other racers, but it was still a bit difficult for Éomund to keep his balance as the raft wasn't exactly smooth sailing either.

Éomund heard the announcer say, "The saddle-pontoon, Eaflaed, makes an ungainly craft, built seemingly for comfort rather than speed. Admire its stately progress as it crawls past. And remark the crew, clearly old hands at this sort of thing, all the best equipment - are those your grandma's pots and pans?"

"Only the best pots and pans will be used to paddle the Eaflaed!" Éomund shouted back at the same time Laewyn gestured towards the crowd, which resulted in a ripple of laughter.

Thankfully their slow start meant their craft had not taken any damage, at least so far, unlike several other crafts that appeared to have shot ahead rather quickly and collided with some rocks lying in wait. But, they were still slowly approaching an islet. Laewyn asked with some urgency which way they should try and go. Éomund, peering into the distance, noticed that several of the crafts who had taken the right hand side seemed to be having trouble with some rocks. "Why don't we try going left?"
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Artanis / Éomund / Brandor / Zarâm

Knight of The Mark
Points: 812 
Posts: 426
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 3:55 pm
Team Minnow - Gwai and Shivased - 20hp

Shivased grinned when Gwai agreed to use the Minnow. The old wardrobe had belonged to someone in her mother's family from Gondor, hence it's size and the rather elaborate carvings on it, but it had served a better purpose as a boat for the bathtub races, and she hoped it survived another race. She was rather attached to it.

The spluttering noise of the conch shell and the yell of GO! sent a surge of excitement and energy through her. Tossing her bag into the wardrobe and grabbing the other end, she laughed as she helped Gwai haul it down to the river to cast off. As their wardrobe-boat bobbed easily in the water she felt a mixture of relief and pride. See, told you it made a good boat! she replied to Gwai's comment as she clambered in, splashing water everywhere in her awkward attempts. Being short wasn't in her favour, and as a Rohir it wasn't as if she had a lot of experience in boats.

Finally, with a bit more splashing and some curses, she was in the wardrobe-boat sitting on the chaise with a makeshift paddle in her hands and they were sailing down the Snowbourn. She was shocked to see they had darted into the lead, and following Gwai's suggestion she nodded and helped steer them down the left hand channel. So far things were going good! They shot past a line of spectators that she knew from previous experience often threw things at the boaters. This time they were lucky and made it past still floating and, better yet, not covered in rotted fruit and vegetables!

So far so good! she shouted to Gwai, paddling hard and hoping the rest of the race went this smoothly.

Doorwarden of The Mark
Points: 549 
Posts: 305
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 7:40 pm
AHOY TUBSTERS!


All six teams have gotten underway, to the delight of the thronging spectators. Some tubs more successfully than others...

Team Wyrd - @Elvheimdros & @Amhran

Roll 2:
Moves: 3
Damage: -2
Hit points: 17

The shallow water with all the nasty, gashy rocks on this side of the islet are hampering your progress now. Despite all your efforts with the Paddleaxe(TM) to dodge them, they take some nibbles out of poor Wyrd. You're nearly through - keep going! - but watch for the fallen trees and fishing traps ahead.

Team StolenGoods - @Durien (Léowine) & @Calimir (Callimdir)

Roll 2:
Moves: 7
Damage: -3
Hit points: 17

With some luck and hard work, you make it out of the shallow, rocky patch and head into the bend of the river. Fishing nets are on your right but the current catches you and sweeps you away from them - into some fallen trees, which cause some damage but do not slow your zippy progress as you press up into third place. You are now at the entrance to the series of three rapids. Hold on.

Team Minnow - @Gwai & @Shivased

Roll 2:
Moves: 8
Damage: -2
Hit points: 18

The Minnow zooms past the fallen trees and fishing nets, as if guided by Ulmo's own hand. However, even the Lord of the Waters himself can't do anything to stop your craft taking a few knocks as it bumps its way down three steps of rapids. The momentum is still with you though, and you are carried along to where the river splits again around a tiny island. This time you are taken into the right-hand channel, where a series of fish traps await.

Team Eaflaed - @Lirimaer (Laewyn) & @Dimcairien Luiniel (Éomund)

Roll 2:
Moves: 3
Damage: -3
Hit points: 17

Those old pots and pans are rather handy, and with scooping and steering, you successfully pilot Eaflaed into the left-hand channel. You are still making slow progress though, and now you're in range of the spectators lining up along the bank. Maybe that gesture wasn't the best idea. The spectators are armed with some week-old fruit and veg, and they don't hesitate to launch them at you, causing damage to your pontoon. You are joint last.

Team Stinking Duckship - @KingODuckingham (Ducky) & @Thalionwen

Roll 2:
Moves: 5
Damage: -4
Hit points: 13

The bits that have broken off your dairy-based vessel were holding you back. Now they've gone you have accelerate significantly - enough to pass those slugs again and, by taking the deeper, quicker left-hand channel, catch up with Team Eaflaed. However, in your haste, even more damage has been taken by the Duckship. She is starting to look rather precarious.

Team Drowned in the Rapids - @Queen Nerwen & @Balfur

Roll 2:
Moves: 7
Damage: -5
Hit points: 15

Your barrel-craft sees you speeding along in Minnow's wake, as you leave the islet behind and turn into the first bend. You dodge the fallen trees, but a large fishing trap becomes entangled on you and does some damage. The Drowned in the Rapids tries to live up to its name by bucking violently as you go over them. Luckily you cling on but more damage has been caused. After the rapids you are carried down to another small island, and along the fast-flowing right-hand channel, just behind the lead non-boat.

ALL TEAMS:


For the teams at the back, fallen trees and fishing nets are your next obstacles. Then you have the fun of the rapids, before another island awaits. Once past this island, an ominous rumbling can be heard and a misty, watery haze dances on the river surface... The first rest point is still some way off.

A REMINDER ON DAMAGE AND REPAIRS:

Each craft started with 20 HP. Damage may or may not be inflicted with each roll depending on sheer luck. If your craft reaches 0 HP, it sinks. Apparently this has never yet happened...

Players can elect to try to repair their craft on the go by sacrificing half their move points. When a rest point is reached, every team gains 5 HP. A craft's total HP can never exceed 20 points.

NEXT UPDATE IN ANOTHER 24 HOURS OR SO
Last edited by Elarith on Thu Jun 25, 2020 9:55 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Dúnadan
Points: 424 
Posts: 400
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 6:28 am
Team InsertNameHere/StolenGoods
NPC Léowine

@Calimir

Léowine arched an eyebrow as his new teammate quickly stole a whole bunch of items from a nearby cart and dumped it into the front keg in order to weigh down their tripod of a watercraft. This Gondorian was going to end up getting them both into serious trouble...it was a good thing they were headed fifty miles downstream in a hurry. Of course, Léowine wasn't one to shy from trouble, but even grown, his father wouldn't think twice about lecturing him up one side and down the other, twice, if he got into any real trouble. Making a mental note to try and return whatever they managed to keep afloat when they finished, along with interest, he grinned once again at his newfound partner in crime, and shoved off from the shoreline, using the handle of the broom.

Flipping the broom around in his hand, he trailed the brush end into the water, creating a makeshift, and poorly designed, rudder of some sort or another. It hadn't been one of his brightest ideas, but remarkably, it seemed to work. Cal was busy using his broom handle to push them off the rocks, and between them, they managed to hit a steady current. The current carried them down the right hand side of the islet, prow and prow (or whatever stuck out farthest in the front of their boats) with Team Wyrd. Two other teams had managed to get an extremely fast start, which seemed to have left them struggling for third. Barely avoiding disaster against another rock via his broom, the rohir finally got a chance to answer his co-captain. "A map? When would you have time to read it?!" The big man laughed as they narrowly avoided another rocky collision. "Let her run with the river! We'll find the end soon enough!" Her, of course, was their unnamed craft. "Of course, that's if we don't break apart and drown first!" Another mad hearty laugh followed from the rider. Léowine was already alive with the thrill of the race, adrenaline and joy surging through his veins in equal measure. If he admitted it to himself, he liked the physical challenge and skill needed. He eyed the craft beside them, wondering if they could manage to inch ahead without inviting total disaster.

"What do you want to name her?" Léowine asked Cal. He figured the "boat" was already christened, as the kegs had already been opened and more than one bottle broken against in in the pub from whence he had gotten his. Almost as soon as he asked, they surged into the bend of the river, catching the current and sweeping ahead of the team beside them. "Yes!" He yelled to no one in particular, the cheerful glee in his voice echoing his highly competitive streak. Of course, it was still far to early in the race for such cheers. Frantically alternating between using his broom as paddle and as a rudder, they managed to avoid the fish net near the banks, only to slam into a batch of fallen trees. He winced at the crrraccckkk he heard and saw splinters fly off of one of the kegs, but at least they were afloat, even if they were spinning out of control but speedily along. Glimpsing the choppy surface just ahead of them, Léowine dug his broom hard into the water, bracing the handle as hard as he dared against the half submerged tree. He would rather not enter the rapids backwards. "Hold on!!" He yelled to Cal as the sound of rushing rapids ahead became louder.

Locked