Scene 1: From Rivendell to the
Your
Fellowship meets throughout the 17th of May in Elrond’s Hall,
whilst the Council of the North continues to sit in the Hall of Fire.
Your party, just as the king’s council, discusses some weighty
matters. The loremaster Frolin is quite certain that the last thing the
missing Belemir looked at in the Archives of Rivendell, possibly the very thing
he returned here to research, was an ancient scroll mentioning a lost relic
called the Angril. The Elven-sage Belegil, whose memory stretches
back more years than everyone else’s, possibly even combined, explains that the scroll must have been written nearly
twelve centuries ago by two long-lost Wizards, presumably of the same secret
Order as Gandalf and the accursed Saruman. But many questions
remain. Did Belemir actually find this relic and come to Rivendell to
verify it? Or did he merely encounter or hear of it and come to Rivendell
to learn more? And what did he learn in Mirkwood that seemed to affect
him so profoundly? Who else has learned of the Angril? And
how does all of this relate to Belemir’s prolonged disappearance?
As the discussion progresses, most of your party seems
convinced that a journey to Mirkwood is in order.
Food
is the overriding concern of your preparations. Vornmir checks to make
sure the Fellowship is taking enough, although he is not certain precisely how
much is enough. Barion and Rard have already
packed away 14 days worth of trail rations for each member of the party; unless
some disaster traps your group in the mountain pass, this seems to be a
reasonable amount to get you to the Beornings of Carrock, where you hope to be
resupplied. Vornmir also wishes to acquire another weapon, and he approaches
Ingold to request a throwing javelin. [Persuade skill test] The
Chamberlain frowns sharply at Vornmir and responds, “We have precious few
javelins, and more will be needed if we are to storm the heights of
Gundabad. I cannot spare you one. May the spear you hold now be
enough for you, as I hope you will have no need for anything more.”
Later, Vornmir sounds out the possibility of Elf-riders accompanying your party
across the mountains to carry messages. However, so few Elves now remain
in Rivendell that there aren’t any free to join you. As the
preparations for the war in the north proceed, every Elf-rider is needed to
maintain contact between the lands west of the
It
is also decided that King Elessar must be informed of what you have learned and
of your plans. Frolin, Finbor, and Barion all volunteer to speak with
him. While the other members of the Fellowship spend the rest of the day
checking their gear and readying Thorin’s packs, the Dwarven sage, Gondorian
warrior, and Prince of Dale attend the Council of the North and await
recognition to speak with the king. As the strategy session draws to a
close, King Elessar dismisses the Council and grants a private audience.
Frolin, Finbor, and Barion summarize what you have learned – about
Belemir’s movements and whereabouts before his disappearance, about his
sudden return to Rivendell from Mirkwood, and about the ancient scroll and the Angril.
You state your plan to travel to the Woodland Realm of the Elf-king, and beg his
leave. King Elessar nods solemnly and says, “I have never heard of
this relic before, but if it truly is a lost work of the Black Enemy then dark
days may lie ahead. The Shadow has fallen, it is true, but even a
lingering remnant of that evil power can cause great trouble. I fear for
my friend Belemir now more than ever, for your searches suggest that his fate
has somehow become entwined with the rediscovery of this Black Crystal.
An evil relic will attract evil men or worse, and Belemir could be in grave
danger. I urge you, go to Mirkwood and learn there what you may.
Follow any trails you discover, find Belemir, and do what you can to deal with
this foul crystal, if it truly exists.” The king sighs wearily and
continues, “And to think that it may have lain in the treasure trove of
my ancestors so many ages past. Would that it never had been heard of
again! If it does exist, and if it has been found again, it must be
destroyed. Alas, I have no more men to dispatch upon this quest, for our
plans against
King
Elessar proclaims that he will see you off the next morning, granting you his
blessing before the whole Council. He proclaims a great feast this night
in your honor. Lord Elladan and Lord Elohir fill the Last Homely House
with food, drink, music, and merriment. The campaign against the Orcs of
the North and the quest for Belemir are forgotten for a few short hours, as
dozens of delegates from all the Free Peoples of the West revel happily and
wish you safe journey. Indeed, only Devorin, the delegate from Lebennin,
absents himself from the cheer, refusing to join any celebration that honors
Finbor. But he is not missed, and the revelry continues unabated until
the sun sets and the moon rises in full. Though the feast is in your
honor, you are not required to sit as a group, and each of you is often pulled
aside by one delegate or another for a friendly chat. For a brief period
of time, Finbor and Barion appear to have been separated from the rest of you,
but they soon enough return to Elrond’s house and rejoin your company.
On
the morning of the 18th of May, four days after arriving in Rivendell,
your Fellowship is ready to set off on the journey to search for Belemir.
Each of you rises shortly after dawn, readies your gear and pack, and dresses
in your traveling clothes. Finbor and Barion have replaced their
previously worn finery with heavy clothes of wool and fur. Rard himself
wears new heavy clothes provided by the royal stores; Frolin wears the same
thick, heavy Dwarven clothes as always. Only Belegil, whose Elven nature
defies most elements, and Vornmir still wear lighter travel clothes. You
gather together in Elrond’s Hall for a hearty breakfast provided by the
Elf-folk of the Last Homely House, and its nourishments leaves you hale of body
and cheerful in heart. With packs upon your back, your sundry weapons in
hand or over shoulder, you march out through the front door of Elrond’s
house. There you find “Thorin” awaiting you, fully packed and
ready to travel. King Elessar and the assembled Council of the North
stands on the lawn, standing in rank and file by station and eminence; even
Devorin is compelled to be present, glumly. As you walk by the assembly,
you bow your heads respectfully. King Elessar raises his hand and
intones, “Come back to Rivendell when you may, and we greatly hope that
Belemir will be with you. By the close of summer, you may find us
dwelling in the Hills of Evendim by what was once our ancient capital
Annúminas, and next spring we march on Gundabad. Go forth, Fellowship for
Belemir, with the blessing and thanks of the
*
* *
Your
plan is to cross the mountains at the
The
distance from Rivendell to the west-side of the
By
dusk on the 20th, you are well into the mountains.
“Thorin” has a somewhat harder time in the mountains than in the
wooded hills outside Rivendell, but Barion lovingly walks beside him and
carefully guides him by the reins. Even maintaining the same level of
effort as before, the difficulty of the terrain slows your pace to not much
more than a mile and a half each hour, and the fatigue is considerably
greater. None of you is particularly well-versed in mountain survival:
Finbor explains that the Men of Lamedon are hill folk, not mountaineers, and
Frolin grumbles that he is used to living under mountains, not exposed in the
open atop them. Nonetheless, enough of you are skilled in wilderness
survival to find a secure campsite nestled in a gorge. As Barion assured
you, water is plentiful at this time of year. Though the air temperature
is still rather cold, mainly due to the sharp chill breeze howling through the
mountains, the sun shines brightly all day, melting the icepacks at higher
elevations and creating streamlets of water running down into the gorges and
gaps. Summer is still many weeks away, and especially at night the
temperature drops to a level only slightly above freezing. Belegil seems
impervious to the cold, though Vornmir is not – his lighter traveling clothes
cannot warm him sufficiently. As for food, your stocks are holding up
well. Indeed, there is no way to supplement your rations here in the
barren mountain pass; you rely on the cram, dried meat, and dried fruit
provided for you at Rivendell, though Rariadoc Brandybuck proves himself gifted
at spicing meals up with his cooking kit. By this point you have each
consumed three days worth of rations, leaving eleven days for each of you left
in Thorin’s packs.
The
21st of May is another bright spring day; it would be beautifully
pleasant at lower elevations, but up here in the
Weariness
tests (modified for pace, terrain, encumbrance, and personal condition):
Barion
(TN 21): 11 [roll] + 3 = 14 (complete failure) = Spent
Belegil
(TN 16): 5 [roll] + 5 = 10 (complete failure) = Spent
Finbor
(TN 21): 6 [roll] + 4 = 10 (disastrous failure) = Exhausted
Frolin
(TN 16): 7 [roll] + 4 = 11 (failure) = Weary
Rard
(TN 16): 9 [roll] + 1 = 10 (complete failure) = Spent
Vornmir
(TN 18): 9 [roll] + 3 = 12 (complete failure) = Spent
“Thorin”
(TN 16): 6 [roll] + 3 = 9 (complete failure) = Spent
(OOC:
I’m experimenting with a system that determines the amount of Weariness
characters suffer going into a scene by making a single Stamina test at a
modified target number rather than making multiple lesser Stamina tests.
If I had done this the regular way, I would have had to make 5 tests for each
of the six characters plus the horse at a TN ranging from 14-19; I’m
fairly confident the outcome would have been not much different, and quite possibly
even worse.)
By
now all of you are extremely tired. Even the steady Thorin is wheezing
and slobbering at the mouth. Mail-clad Finbor, who is ever in the lead,
ever ready lend a hand to others, looks in a bad way, for his body bears the
heaviest weight. You need only to make it across the Peak of the
First,
walk down the slope as far as you can and then try to SWIM across the
torrential stream: the current looks rather swift and could conceivably pull
you south of the High Pass and dash you against the rocks at the base of the
peak, but the stream probably is not very deep and is no more than 8 yards
wide.
Second,
about 2 yards to the east and a yard above the low ledge upon which you
currently stand is another ledge that runs along the north cliff-facing of the
washed-out canyon. You could try to JUMP from this ledge to the other
ledge and then walk along it above the river. Of course, if you fail the
jump the distance you will plummet into the rapids below.
“Thorin” could never be made to attempt this on his own, and even a
rider on his back might have a hard time urging him to jump.
Third,
though the cliff-facing to your left (north) is currently very sheer, only a
short ways back it was slanted, craggy, and led up onto the peak. You
could backtrack a short distance and attempt to CLIMB up and over the peak,
thereby avoiding the river and ledges altogether. This is a much longer
course that could take up many hours, and those who fall might sustain injuries
as they skittle back down the craggy cliff-side.
As
you are contemplating your course of action, suddenly Finbor begins to fall
forward: completely exhausted by the exertion of getting this far, his eyes
roll up in his head and he passes out into unconsciousness! Like the rest
of you, he is on the edge of this low level and will surely spill over into the
raging stream a couple yards below, and since he is conscious he will surely be
carried away and will drown!
As Finbor
struggles to the top of the ledge overlooking the washed-out canyon pass, the
warrior suddenly collapses from exhaustion.
"Look out!" Rard yelps, "He's falling!" Summoning up his courage to shake off the
crippling fatigue, Barion, though still tired, rushes forward to try to catch
Finbor. [Swiftness reaction test] The
Prince of Dale manages to grab onto Finbor's arm, and both men teeter
perilously on the edge overlooking the rushing rapids a few feet below! Frolin, who is near to Thorin, grasps the
coil of rope on the side of the pack, preparing to throw its length to the men
if they fall into the water. Rard, a
little further downstream along the sloping ledge, rushes
to them with his arms out, attempting to push back some of the weight dragging
them men forward. The little Hobbit
calls upon his courage to overcome his fatigue, though he is still tired. [Stamina reaction test] Rard helps to catch
the falling warrior, his little mass giving Barion the assistance necessary to
avoid spilling into the rapids with Finbor.
Finbor,
jostled by Barion and Rard, comes around just enough to focus his courage; he
regains consciousness by strength of will, though he is still weary. Finbor takes a step back from the edge,
carrying Barion and Rard with him. He
collapses to the earth, fatigued by now safe.
Barion and Rard kneel down with him, glad to be back from the water's
edge! Frolin drops the rope, equally
glad not to have to use it. Belegil,
meanwhile, has joined them; he considers calling upon Magic to try to aid
Finbor, but the Elf is too weary to success and Finbor is already conscious
again. But he lays his hands upon Finbor
and invokes a blessing: "Tired spirit, remember your Warrior's Heart. The struggle has not ended and you may not
rest yet. Awaken and arise!" The Elf's enchanted words cheer Finbor's
heart and help the man completely forget his embarrassment [Finbor does not
have to spent another Courage point for his Proud
flaw].
Everybody
is safe now; some people have gotten rid of some of their fatigue, but others
are still very weary. And the river
remains before you.
Scene 2: Through the Hithaiglin
As
evening approaches on the 21st of May and further progress through
the
The
night of the 21st is bitter cold, for once the sun vanishes from the
sky all traces of bright spring vanish, too. Most of you have bedrolls to
sleep upon, providing some comfort as you wrap in the wool cloaks that are part
of your heavy clothing outfits. No one expressed any concern about
mountain dangers or the need for a watch, so burdensome armor is removed before
bed and everyone drifts off together around the fire (however, Belegil in fact
is conscious most of the night and keeps a de-facto watch). Frolin has no
bedroll, but he is contented to wrap himself in his heavy blanket.
Belegil has neither blanket nor bedroll, nor many possessions of any sort if
truth be told; the Wood-elf pays no heed to the cold night, and merely a couple
hours spent under the stars in waking-dreams is enough to revitalize his
strength. Vornmir lies upon his bedroll, covering himself with the light
flaxen cape that is part of his traveling clothing. Rard sympathizes with
Vornmir, who has never traveled in mountains before and is not suitably dressed
for it. The Hobbit wishes he had a blanket to offer the warrior, but he
has only his little cloak which is hardly large enough to cover the man.
The mountain conditions are none too hale for Thorin either. Though the
horse feasted upon wild grasses in the lush hills beyond Rivendell, the past
two days have been lean; Thorin can only find a few patches of short mountain
scrub on which to graze.
You
rise at first light on the 22nd of May, knowing another long day
lies ahead of you. Though the aches of yesterday’s exertions have
faded, sleeping in the rough is itself trying. [Stamina tests for
Weariness] However, all of you are stout enough to endure the rough ground and
awaken refreshed. Even Thorin appears to be at full strength. Fate
smiles upon you! You start your day by eating a light morning meal (not
so light for Rard, who needs to ready his “mid-morning meals” for
the trip), then you strike camp and make your way back to the washed-out
canyon. Two hours later you reach the ledge upon which you stood
yesterday, though without the crippling fatigue. The same scene confronts
you, with a raging rapids pouring down from the peak to the south, splashing
across the canyon floor, then sweeping southeast down around the base of the
peak.
There
is a good deal of discussion amongst your company as to how to traverse the
obstacle. It is consented all around that most of the party should wade
across the river with the benefit of a rope; this method also promises the best
hope for getting Thorin across the rapids. The sticking point is how to
get the rope fastened to the opposite side of the swirling pool before
you. Though not particularly deep or excessively wide, the current is
strong and the canyon covered with jagged rocks; anyone who is swept up in the
rapids or who falls in from above would surely suffer some harm before they
could be pulled out. It is Barion who first volunteers to make the
crossing, swimming across as best as his strength allows and carrying one end
of the rope with him. Though the young prince’s valor cannot be
doubted, the lad is easily the smallest and lightest Man in your Fellowship,
giving reason to fear for his safety. Frolin steps forward to volunteer
instead. “Nay, lad,” he says, “why
should you get wet for no good cause? Your bravery is laudable,
but you must give way to good Dwarven sense! I have strong enough
legs. Let me jump across the divide using the ledges above; I shall take
one end of the rope with me and hold it on the other side.”
Rard,
not to be outdone, argues, “But Dwarven legs, strong as they are, are too
short for jumping. I am small and light: if there is risk to be taken,
let me be thrown across the divide with one end of the rope.”
But
it is Vornmir who is most insistent, and indeed the most athletic member of
your company. “Hobbits are too good as cooks and rangers to be
wasted as projectiles,” he says with a smile, “and Dwarves are no
good for jumping, though Master Frolin proves they are unmatched in
endurance. If one of us must jump this divide, I claim the task for my
own. My legs are longest and thickest, for they are no stranger to the
rigors of jumping and striding.”
The
golden-haired warrior lays down his pack, shield, and spear, and then scurries
up from the watery slope to the edge of the ledge above. Refreshed from
the night’s rest and hearty meal, he gauges the jump carefully and
prepares to leap across. [Jump skill test, TN 10: 4 (roll) + 4 + 3 (Courage)
= 11, Ordinary success] With one end of the fifty-foot length of rope in
his hand, he crouches down low and then springs up to his full height, leaping
across the two-yard divide and up onto the opposite ledge. He lands with
a hard smack, then regains his footing. Waving
down to the rest of you, he walks along the opposite ledge and then down the
slope to the bank across the swirling pool. Digging his heels in the
earth, he gestures for the rest of the Fellowship to beginning crossing and
grips the rope tightly in his hands.
On
the opposite bank Finbor anchors the rope. Barion volunteers to test his
idea out first. He loads Vornmir’s discarded gear onto Thorin,
grips his horse’s reins tightly in his right hand and the stretched rope
in his left, and slowly fords across the rapids. [Swim test, TN 5] Even
with the hesitant Thorin hindering him, Barion is obviously skilled at swimming
and crosses without any trouble. Frolin grumbles about the water, since
he is no swimmer, but he stomps into the rapids next and relies on his natural
strength to pull himself across. Belegil goes next; the frailest of your
company, he is at most risk but by good luck manages to keep hold the rope and
cross safely. The intrepid Hobbit Rard leaps into the water next,
clinging to the rope dearly – the water proves to be deeper than he is
tall, and only his basic water-skill and some good luck suffice to get him to
the other side. Finbor is last and receives only limited benefit from the
rope, since he must wrap his end around his waist and rely on the rest of you
to brace the other end for him. Fortunately, the Dúnadan of the South is
a good swimmer, raised among the hill-streams of Lamedon. [Swim test, TN
8] Luck and skill combine to aid his crossing, and
Finbor soon joins you on the other side unscathed.
By
the time you get your company and steed across the rapids, it is already
mid-morning. Only half-way through the
Rising
at dawn on the 23rd, your Fellowship steels itself for another long
day of briskly hiking through the
Once
through the
The
25th of May is full of the bloom of spring, bright and warm and
cheery. You awaken to chirping birds, whose songs become a glorious
chorus by the time you strike camp and begin the day’s hike. The
sun is high and golden throughout the day, and bees bustle about your feet as
you stride through patch after patch of many-hued wildflowers. You drink
liberally from your waterskins, filling them at leisure in the innumerable
spring brooks feeding into the mighty Anduin to the east. And then, late
in the afternoon, perhaps two hours before dusk when you normally stop to camp,
you hear a great, steady roar coming from beyond the valley through which you
are strolling. It is the
You
stand before Carrock, the mighty islet that sunders in twain the Anduin torrent
for some few hundred yards. At most places the Anduin is hundreds of feet
wide and dangerously swift, unsafe to swim and even challenging to boat.
But Carrock slows the river and divides it into two narrow branches that have
long been safe, reliable fords. In recent years, however, the river has
been made even simpler to cross with the construction of a pair of humble
wooden bridges leading from the west bank to Carrock and from the east
Indeed,
you do not wait long to find the Beornings, for they find you. For years
uncounted these men have guarded Carrock, and their vigil has not waned since
the War of the Ring. The pleasant groves that provide you shade also
conceal your watchers, sharp-eyed men with longbows of yew. Finbor, Rard,
and Barion are aware of the watchers almost as soon as your party steps upon
the bridge. “Step lively,” Finbor whispers to you, “for
we are being observed.” “Aye,” Barion adds,
“three archers in the copse behind us and three in the grove on
Carrock.” “And a fourth man on Carrock,” Rard whispers,
“hiding behind the tall bridge-post fastening the end of the bridge to
Carrock’s shore.”
You
have walked for much of the day at this point, and weariness has already begun
to set in. [Stamina test for Weariness] Barion is Spent [TN 18, complete
failure]; Belegil is Spent [TN 13, complete failure]; Frolin is merely Tired
[TN 13, ordinary success]; Rard is Spent [TN 13, complete failure]; Finbor is
Spent [TN 18, complete failure]; Vornmir is Weary [TN 14, failure]. (OOC:
In case you’re wondering if I’m just out to screw you guys with
Weariness, the rolls this time were overall quite sucky…as you can see,
the TN is much less than in the mountains!) In terms of your company’s
preparedness, armor is currently being worn, shields are currently being
carried, and walking weapons (spears, staffs, axes, bows) are currently in hand
(though sheathed weapons like swords, knives, and arrows are not). You
stand upon a wooden bridge five feet wide and no more than fifty feet long
crossing between the west bank of the Anduin and the
western
Scene 3: The Beornings of Carrock
Finbor
walks to the front of the party. He hands his spear and shield to Vornmir or
Barion. Removing his high Numenorean helmet, he raises his right hand with the
palm outwards. Then he hails the Beornings in hiding: "Hail, Men of the
Carrock. I am Finbor of Gondor, my companions and I are
on a mission, ordered by King Elessar of the
The
leader of the Beorning party steps out from behind one of the thick
bridge-poles on Carrock shore. He calls out to you, “I am Grimwine,
warden of Carrock appointed by the chieftain of our tribe, Grimbeorn
Beorn’s son. We are friends of the
Barion
gestures to the others to put up their weapons, then walks forward slowly hands
raised. The young man cries out, "Sons of Beorn, let us not be
strangers, nor foes, for my kin, too, fought in that great battle at the foot
of Erebor, with Dwarves, Elves, Men, and Eagles against the Goblins.”
Grimwine
calls back, ”In years long past our great
chieftain did fight alongside Lake-men and Dwarves, Elves and Eagles, it is
true, but not since the Battle of Five Armies have the Beornings mixed in the
affairs of other folk. The watch and ward of the crossings of the upper
Anduin is our charge, and we keep ourselves to that business. What is
your business here?”
“I
am Barion son of Brand, Prince of Dale. My companions and I are on urgent
business from King Elessar of the
[Debate
(Parley)/Persuade (Oratory) combined skill tests, Barion assisted by Finbor;
complete success]
The
other men can be heard faintly murmuring to each other from their places of
concealment, as if the offer of barter or coin is welcome to them.
Grimwine seems to detect this and calls back, “It is well that you are
men of substance and not supplicants, for the days have passed when we blithely
permitted unsavory wanderers to pass through our land and freely taste our
hospitality. The Realms of the West may be free of danger, but I assure
you Wilderland is not. Bands of wild men displaced by the Great War
wander about as brigands, and not all travelers are truly as they appear to
be. Goblins from the North and West press upon the
Anduin, more and more often of late. We do not apologize for our
caution. But if you are fair travelers, your companions will identify
themselves to us as well.”
“Hello!”
rumbles the Dwarf, stepping forward peaceably, “Frolin Droli’s son
at your service!” The others leave it for Finbor and Barion to
introduce them.
Apparently
satisfied, Grimwine makes a broad waving gesture and his comrades step out from
their hiding places amongst the nearby copses. The tall Northmen lower
their bows and return their arrows to their quivers. Grimwine steps off
of the bridge and joins his group on the Carrock shore. “Cross, friends
from the West,” he calls out. One by one you make your way over the
wooden bridge and onto the islet, and when you have assembled there Grimwine
escorts you over and across the other bridge to the east bank of the
Anduin. His comrades resume their places, keeping the watch in his
absence. Grimwine converses pleasantly with you about the terrain through
which you have passed and the weather which you have faced, asking harmless
questions about your route and journey’s length. “The sun
will begin to set soon,” he finally says, looking up at the sky.
“I suppose it would not be hospitable to make you camp out in the open,
so I invite you to stay in my village tonight. Come, you will sup with my
folk and sleep in soft beds. You can tell me more of your journey, and I
will tell you what I may.”
The
Beornings are not very numerous, and they are spread thinly throughout the wide
land between Carrock and the Great Ford. Fortunately, Grimwine’s
cantonment is less than a mile north along the river, a pleasant stroll that
imposes no further weariness. The clutch of log cabins cannot even truly
be called a village, for the buildings number less than ten and the total
number of people less than forty. There are more animals ambling about
than men, mostly cows, swine, and some horses (which seem to regard you with an
almost intelligent gaze). A lad, one of Grimwine’s young cousins,
comes up to you and, at his elder’s instruction, leads off Thorin to
brush, water, and feed him. The air is thick with busy honeybees, for the
Beornings are renowned apiary-keepers. Grimwine leads you to one large
cabin, filled with large, soft beds; he invites you each to choose one and
leave behind your gear and heavy loads. “This cabin we maintain for
visitors from kindred villages,” he says, “but tonight the beds are
given to you.” At his command, a group of women bring in wash
basins and long clothes; you are left for a time to wash and, for those of you
with spare sets of clothing, change into more comfortable clothing.
Barion and Finbor again don their splendid finery, and Rard slips back into his
lighter clothing, but Frolin and Vornmir must stay in their rank, well-worn
costumes. Belegil, too, only has one suit of light clothes, but his
Elf-form seems incapable of staining or spoiling the garments. Grimwine
returns shortly and invites you to his home, a more ornate cabin nearby.
There, the group of women, whom he identifies as his sisters and cousins,
prepare a fine, hot supper of beef stew, honey-wheat bread, roasted potatoes
and carrots, honey-cakes, and sweet mead in tall flagons.
As
you eat and drink, Grimwine converses with you most affably. Rard,
ever-curious and eager, asks about the famous Beorn, of whom he has read in
Bilbo’s incredible stories. Are all men in these parts
shapeshifters? Grimwine lets out a hearty laugh and replies: “You
must think us truly fantastic, little one! But were it not for the visit
from your kinsman long ago, I and my folk would think Halflings to be creatures
of fantasy.” He continues with a smile, “Beorn was and always
will be our great chieftain, and it is not our place to confirm or deny what
outsiders learned about him. If your goodly Hobbit sire said he could
change skins, then change skins he could. As for me and my kin, we
possess only the form which you see before you. Yet, it is said, a rare
portion of my kith is able to throw shapes, and they are honored for it.”
Grimwine
then guides the conversation back to your journey. “How long will
your company remain in our land?” he asks.
Finbor
replies insistently, “We must push on tomorrow, Grimwine.”
However, Vornmir, Belegil, and Rard all express an interest in staying longer,
perhaps even a few days. The matter apparently remains to be firmly
decided. The Dúnadan warrior then inquires if riding horses can be
acquired from the Beornings and at what price.
Grimwine
clearly seems more pleased with Finbor’s reply than with the opinion of
his companions, but he does not openly object to your request to stay up to a
few days longer. When Finbor asks about buying horses, Grimwine frowns
visibly, obviously irked. “We do not sell our animals to
travelers,” he states, quickly forcing the expression of displeasure from
his face. “I know it is a common practice among the Men of the
West,” he adds in a polite tone, “so I do not hold it against you
for asking, but our beasts are more than property; they are our the partners in
our way of life.”
Rard
quickly smoothes over the awkward situation by pressing his comrades to inquire
about provisions – fresh fruits, wine, and honey-cakes. Grimwine
smiles and returns, “Those we happily sell to friendly travelers.
The last cabin in our village as you pass on to the east is maintained by
Grimhild, a distant kinswoman of mine. She collects copper and silver for
our village, and will sell you our spare foodstuffs in return. Visit her
before you depart in the morning.”
The
topic again returns to your journey and your reasons for crossing through the
land of the Beornings. Frolin and Rard decide it is politic to mention
that you are looking for a “royal emissary” who passed through here
sometime ago; Frolin describes what he knows of Belemir and when he was known
to pass through this region. Perhaps Grimwine has seen or heard of
him? The burly Northman thinks long and hard before answering: “I
recall that a troop of emissaries from the West did pass through Carrock last
year. They numbered three men when they came in the summer, but only two
came back in the autumn, and separately at that. They presented
themselves as emissaries from King Elessar, and we let them pass
unmolested.”
“They
did not stay here long, or pass through many times?” Vornmir asks him.
“When
the three men arrived in the summer, they came to us mid-day and rested in our
village for a few hours, traded for provisions as you are to do, and then
pushed on before nightfall,” Grimwine answers. “They told us
their names, and Belemir I recall was one. He said their purpose was to
bring an embassy to the Elf-king of Mirkwood, and we pressed them no further on
their business. It is not unusual for riders to pass through from the
Vornmir
then inquires about Calanlas and Calanhir, the brothers who accompanied
Belemir. “Yes,” Grimwine returns, “those were the other
names, I recall. It was Belemir who passed through first on his way back
to the West in the autumn. He was riding hard and paused only long enough
to identify himself to us; he said he urgently needed to return to
Rivendell. As soon as we knew it was he, we had no reason to hinder him
and let him continue. Calanhir came back through some weeks later, and
stayed overnight among us. When we asked why he traveled alone, he told
us one comrade had suddenly departed Mirkwood previously and the other comrade
had stayed behind in the Woodland Realm as emissary for the West. I found
it odd that this man Belemir would leave his companions in such haste, but
Calanhir had no more to say on it, and so I did not inquire further.”
Vornmir
also asks about any unusual items they may have possessed. Grimwine
shrugs slightly and says, “I have little knowledge of such things.
The brothers carried bows and longswords, I recall, and rode upon fine
steeds. Belemir also rode upon a swift horse, but openly carried no
weapons. Wait, I do recall on his return he bore a staff of curious
craftsmanship, but it meant nothing to me. And alone among the party did
he wear trappings of station, a golden ring with a small black stone. It
was truly grand, and so is remembered by me. The brothers wore no
jewelry, and could have been plain, common men rather than royal
emissaries.”
Rard
inquires of Grimwine about your forthcoming travel, mentioning that your
Fellowship is making its way to the Woodland Realm. How far? What
is the best route? Will “Thorin” be able to graze? What
hazard may be faced? Grimwine chuckles, obviously enjoying
the Hobbit’s company. “The little people are an
inquisitive lot, I see!” he says. “I have paced a count of 72
miles from Carrock to the Forest Gate. From there, you may travel what is
called the Elf-path to the heart of Mirkwood, wherein an enchanted stream is
said to flow. Take care not to touch it or drink its water, our kindred
Wood-men warn us. I have not traveled far into Mirkwood myself, so I
cannot give you much advice. But I have traveled far enough along the
Elf-path to caution you that more than Elves can be found in those woods.
The forest has many eyes, all of them menacing. Take care! As for
your fine steed, the grazing is plentiful from here to the Forest Gate.
But once under the boughs of Mirkwood, the poor animal will find little to
consume. If you are alert foragers, you may find berries off the branch
and fruit off the tree for him. Standing water is also rare in Mirkwood,
and often brackish. Drink it with care, or better yet carry a plentiful
supply with you. If your march is swift and your days are long, you may
be able to reach the Woodland Realm in less than two weeks. But many
travelers have gotten lost when off the
Inspired
by Grimwine’s mysterious account of the dangers of Mirkwood, Rard asks if
there has been any unusual hostile activity in the region by Orcs or other enemies? Grimwine scowls and nods once.
“If Mirkwood has any blessing, it is that the goblins are gone.
When the Elven-realms joined with the King-under-the-Mountain and the Dale-men
to assault Dul Guldur, those goblins remaining were destroyed or driven
out. Stragglers tried to flee to Moria, Goblin-town, or
Grimwine
drains his tankard and gestures for his sister to refill it, and then see to
the drinks of his guests. “Drink and eat your fill tonight,”
Grimwine says, “so you will be refreshed for
your next journey. What other tales have you for me?” He is
willing to talk with you until the moon is full in the sky, at which point he
rises and sees you off to bed. On the way back to the cabin, Rard
inquires if any of the villagers might take him hunting tomorrow so that he can
learn better the lay of the land. Grimwine replies, “We are herders
and fishers here, not hunters. But you are welcome to wander about as you
will, for you may tell any you encounter that you are under the protection of
Grimwine.” He then bids you a good-night and returns to his own
cabin.
>At the
mention of the eagles Barion gets an idea.
Grimwine
chuckles once and replies, "The Great Eagles come and go as they please,
and the Beornings hold no special sway over them. The Windlord flies over from time to time,
and every so often he pauses to talk to us.
But not always, and never at our request. But if the Windlord returns and deigns to
speak with us, I will give him your request."
>wasn't
here at the Carrock, have you heard such information from your kinfolk guarding
the Old Ford? Do you know if it is possible for one man to cross the Anduin
north of here?"
Grimwine replies, "Your missing friend did not pass
through Carrock since last I saw him. My
kith guards the Old Ford, as I guard Carrock, and if he did pass again to the
east it must have been at the ford. Men
from the West frequently cross the Old Ford, and my kith who guard it rarely
take the trouble to inform the rest of the tribe unless the visitors will cause
us trouble. There is no other way to
cross the Anduin within a hundred leagues* in either direction, unless one can
fly like the Great Birds or swim with the strength of the fishes."
Scene 4: What Is Known Before Mirkwood
>"And
Belemir wore this ring only on his return trip?" Vornmir attempts to
clarify.
Grimwine
replies, “He wore the ring when I first met him and his companions last
July, but he did not bear the strange staff. When this Belemir fellow
passed through Carrock on his way back to the West last October, I saw him only
briefly. But I did notice the strange staff, and I believe he still wore
his fancy ring.”
Belegil
compliments Grimwine and his sisters and cousins on the comfort of their home
and the fine quality of their hospitality. "The stories I know
are few, goodman. But, I can give you news of
the Hithaiglin. The spring flood waters are high and the crossing is
treacherous in the extreme. However, we saw no sign of goblins."
Grimwine
nods his head gracious at the compliment, listening to Belegil’s
commentary on the
Conversation
then turns to talk of the urgency of King Elessar’s campaign against the
Orcs of the North. Back in Rivendell, the Council of the North did not
know that goblin raids had reached far down the Anduin; their last reports
suggested that only the northernmost vales had been touch, not much beyond old
Framsburg. When Grimwine ponders that the Orcs of the North may be
unstoppable by next year, you all take his fear very seriously.
"How
should we send word to the King? It would take a messenger to cross back
through the pass alone,” muses Rard.
"I
wish I could have convinced an elf rider to journey with us -- this is valuable
information he could have returned to the King..." Vornmir
states.
"Aye,
I am in doubt over this as well," Finbor says. "We need to
inform the King over this situation as quickly as we can, yet I am reluctant to
split our Fellowship for that purpose, and the Beornings here seem to have
their hands full with the marauding Uruks as well. Then suddenly he raises his
head: "Perhaps I could write a message to the King, describing the
situation here, then it can be handed to the first
traveler going in a western direction."
Grimwine
interrupts and says, “If what you say is true, that the king is in the
north gathering a great host, then his very presence may give the goblins
pause. Rather than exhaust themselves striking the Anduin Vales, they may
well decide to concentrate their strength against the coming of the king and
his army. Besides, the Beornings are fighters not afraid to do battle
with Orcs – we can hold them off for some time yet, and we do not beg the
aid of outsiders.” He then adds in a somewhat more cautious tone,
“But if you feel that the king’s cause would benefit by news from
our land, I am willing to send riders across the mountains to the
Elf-haven. We will tell the king about the goblins raids down the Anduin,
if that will encourage him to hurry assembling his host and to strike
*
* *
After
your dinner in Grimwine’s house, you are escorted back to the guest
cabin, where you are left alone to sleep for the night. Before climbing
into the comfortable beds – a blessed change from camping in the rough!
– you take some time to review what you have
learned and to plan the next leg of your journey. The mystery surrounding
the missing loremaster Belemir continues to grow…
You
know that by late June of last year he had recovered a lost royal relic of some
sort, for he sent an Elf-rider from Rivendell to Minas Tirith bearing news of
it. King Elessar sent the rider back to Rivendell with instructions for
Belemir to travel to the Woodland Realm on an embassy to the Elf-king, whom
King Elessar wished to consult regarding his planned campaign against the Orcs
of the North; the king’s message told Belemir to attend the Council of
the North in May of the next year and to present him with the rediscovered
relic at that time. In mid-July of last year, Belemir rode to the
Woodland Realm along with the Dúnedain brothers Calanlas and Calanhir. In
late July they passed through Carrock, where they encountered Grimwine; they
spent a few hours in the Beorning cantonment, and Grimwine noticed Belemir
wearing a fancy ring with a black gemstone.
Sometime
in early October Belemir hurriedly passed through Carrock a second time on his
way back to the West, alone and carrying a strange new staff. Belemir
reached Rivendell in mid-October and stayed there only long enough to look up
the Lost Scroll of Pallando in the archives. Very few Elves saw or spoke
with Belemir during his last visit to Rivendell; one Elf-rider mentioned seeing
an Elf-staff in his possession, but no one mentioned seeing him wearing a fancy
ring. Belemir soon departed Rivendell, not leaving any messages or items
behind. Belemir was last seen riding northeast toward the
Calanhir
passed through Carrock on his own later in October, and he told Grimwine that
Belemir departed the Woodland Realm quite suddenly some weeks earlier and that
Calanlas remained behind in the Elf-king’s halls as ambassador for the
West. Calanhir reached Rivendell by the end of October, delivering the
Thranduil’s message to an Elf-rider, who bore it to Minas Tirith.
Calanhir apparently presumed his mission was complete, and in subsequent months
he joined the Rangers watching Deadman’s Dike. Calanhir brought no
message from Belemir and, according to the Elf-scout who last spoke with him,
was not concerned about Belemir or even aware he was missing.
*
* *
You
rise on the morning of 26th of May, refreshed after a comfortable
night in a nice warm cabin sleeping on soft feather beds.
Grimwine’s female relations greet you upon waking with a kettle of heated
water, leaving you to wash and dress. When you emerge from the cabin,
Grimwine invites you back to the porch of his house, where he provides a light
breakfast of toast, sweet honey, slices of fruit, and spicy sausages.
“So you are determined to continue your journey today?” he probes,
apparently satisfied that you are not overstaying your welcome. “I
wish you success and safety,” he says. “Have you any last
questions before you go?”
On
your way out of the Beorning settlement, you stop at the last cabin and knock
on the door. Barion is in the lead, preparing to speak on behalf of your
team. The rest of you stand back on the lawn, adjusting your packs,
inventorying your gear, and preparing a neatly groomed Thorin, who has been
returned to you by Grimwine’s young cousin, for the journey ahead.
The door opens and a tall matron with long, braided silver-gold hair
answers. She appraises Barion and the rest of you for a moment with her
cool, gray eyes and says, “You are Grimwine’s guests. Here to
barter for supplies, yes? I am Grimhild. What is it you need, and
what is it you have to offer.”
[Persuade
(Fast Talk) skill test, superior success] Barion introduces himself as a
Prince of Dale, with a Fellowship of brave adventurers in the service of the
King of the West. With persuasive words and winsome charm, he soon
softens Grimhild’s gruff exterior. “We have no spare crafted
goods to trade,” Barion explains, “but we have silver, copper, and
even a precious stone.” Grimhild smiles and agrees to accept a fair
price in treasure for what you need, and she leads Barion to the barn where the
trade goods of the Beornings are kept. Your Fellowship has decided that
you need to carry a full two weeks of trail rations for each member, plus at
least two waterskins and a barrel of fresh water; Barion also hopes to pack
away some fodder for Thorin. Rard chimes in requesting mead and honey,
too.
Grimhild
has plentiful rations for sale—sacks of pleasant cram cakes, dried fruit,
and jerked beef. Everyone except Vornmir already carries two waterskins,
so a second skin is purchased for Vornmir. She rolls out a stout wooden
barrel with leather straps, so that it can be fastened atop the horse in place
of a rider. She also fills up Rard’s empty ciderskin with the
delicious Beorning mead, and provides him with a little jar of Beorning honey,
the best in all Middle-earth. To pay for your acquisitions most of you
have offered to give Barion some of your small stash of coins, but Barion
offers her one of his small gemstones instead. Grimhild eyes it closely,
agreeing it is a fair trade. “We are not miners,” she tells
him, “so even a little garnet like yours is rare in our
land.” Barion also inquires about fodder for Thorin. Grimhild
chuckles and says, “A horse needs may pounds of
hay and oats to eat for a day, and I do not see where you could pack the
load. Your bags are full of food for yourselves.” But she
does hand Barion a sack of apples and says, “You can feed these to your
steed, when your journey is at its bitterest and no forage can be found in the
wild.”
You
bid Grimhild farewell, thanking her for her aid and fair trading. On your
way out of the settlement, you stop at a stream and fill up the water
barrel. It is quite heavy strapped to Thorin’s back, more than 50
pounds, but it holds enough water for each of you to drink for a week.
With Frolin’s axe, you also have the opportunity to fell a small tree nearby, replacing the fuel logs you took with you from
Rivendell but burned in the mountains.
It
is nearly
You
arise early on the 27th, determined to fit in a full eight hours of
travel before sundown. But the exertion is slightly greater, for Rard
requires extended breaks at times to attempt to forage (and is once again
successful, preserving your stocks) and you all wish to spend extra time
finding a defensible campsite. Alert to the possibility of Orc raids in
this region, you make sure to have a watch all night. Belegil is
consciously alert for much of the night, but the few hours he needs to rest,
meditate, and wander under the stars are covered by the rest of the Fellowship
in turn.
The
28th is much as the day before, and indeed the terrain of the Anduin
Vales does not change. Rard again spends time foraging, and again
provides you with plentiful water, fruit, and game. Vornmir states that
you are definitely on-course to arrive at the edge of Mirkwood within the day,
and far-sighted Belegil soon thereafter reveals he can see tall trees in the
distance. You find another safe campsite and spend the night, passing it
once again in safety. You have encountered no other peoples so far, and
no dangerous beasts of any sort.
The
29th is a cloudy day, and rain showers sprinkle down upon you for a
little while every few hours. Fortunately, the air is warm.
Vornmir, who was chilled in the mountains, is quite comfortable now, and those
of you still wearing heavy clothes are now getting uncomfortable. Early
in the day your Fellowship reaches the tall trees of Mirkwood, dark and
dense. With Vornmir’s flawless sense for direction, you were able
to keep upon the marks given you by Grimwine, and you have come upon the
“Forest Gate” that leads onto the Elf-path through the woods.
“Forest Gate” is but a gap in the tree-line, and the Elf-path is
only a well-worn dirt trail barely wide enough for a man and his horse
abreast. The trail twists and turns around knots, knolls, and
copse-covered rises, and quite often the trail is overgrown and must be
cleared, slowing your advance. Rard, who is quite skilled a woodsman,
continues his attempted foraging, but finds it considerably more
difficult. This region of Mirkwood is untouched by Elves and rarely
visited, except by brave travelers like yourselves.
The trees are tall and densely packed, and the only fauna you encounter a
swarms of buzzing flies and huge black-winged butterflies. You are
compelled to eat your rations and drink from your waterskins this day.
But toward nightfall you do find a small opening off the Elf-path in which you
can camp for the night. The air is damp and you are unable to make a
satisfactory fire, but fortunately the evening chill is not excessive.
You keep a watch all night, again benefiting from Belegil’s service, but
despite the forest’s fearsome appearance the only sounds that trouble you
are the buzzing of insects and the screech of bats.
The
30th and 31st of May, as well as the 1st of
June, pass much as the 29th. Your rate of travel is
considerably slower in Mirkwood than out in the Anduin Vales. Only the
humble Elf-path prevents the rough terrain from being extremely
oppressive. Whereas you could cover 25 miles in a day in the open vales,
here in Mirkwood you cannot cover more than 17 miles in a day. The air is
hot, and everyone is forced to change into their lighter traveling clothes or
else strip down some of the layers of their heavy clothes. Despite the
desolation of the woods, you constantly feel as if you are being watched, and
it is most unsettling. Every day Rard tries to forage for sustenance, but
every day he is unable to find game, sufficient edible berries, or even potable
water. The Hobbit knows this says less about his skill and more about the
inhospitability of the heart of Mirkwood. So far you have each consumed 4
days of your stockpiled rations, and your waterskins are drained.
Fortunately, your barrel provides plentiful fresh water—2 days worth have
been drained, but 5 days supply remains for each of you. Unfortunately,
Thorin is unable to graze sufficiently in Mirkwood, for the grass along the
path is scarce, covered more with weeds. Barion is forced to feed his
horse increasingly from the apple bag gifted to him by Grimhild, and the supply
is dwindling.
As
you continue your monotonous hike through the heart of Mirkwood on the 2nd
of June, Vornmir estimates that you have covered more than 60 miles since you
passed through Forest Gate. “Today we shall pass the half-way mark
to the ‘enchanted’ river Grimwine warned us of,” he says,
“and once we cross that river, we are less than 60 miles from
Thranduil’s Halls.” The glum news is that, at this rate, you
are still about 8 days from the Woodland Realm – the going on the
Elf-path is slower than on the
Then,
suddenly in the late morning, after you have been traveling for around 4 hours,
the solitude of your march is shattered by a shriek! It sounds like it
came from beyond the Elf-path to the north, perhaps fifty feet away through a
passable, less dense spot of forest growth. The Elf-path continues on to
the southeast, unimpeded and clear – you could easily run off and leave
this area completely behind. But then you here the shriek again! It
is light, high-pitched, but sharp…a feminine voice? The shriek
repeats again and again. You look at each other…is that a word
being shrieked? Could it be “Help!” in Westron?
Because
you have been traveling for several hours already, you feel the pull of
fatigue… [Weariness tests]
Barion
(TN 18): Failure (Weary)
Belegil
(TN 13): Failure (Weary)
Finbor
(TN 18): Complete Failure (Spent)
Frolin
(TN 13): Failure (Weary)
Rard
(TN 13): Failure (Weary)
Vornmir
(TN 13):
Scene 5: The Many Eyes of Mirkwood
It
is not quite the
Rard
carefully peers into the clearing, wondering what could be making the
shriek. Frolin and Vornmir also attempt to observe the scene ahead.
[Observe skill tests] “It sounds to me like the voice of a woman,
an Elf woman! I hear her cry ‘Help!’ in the Common
Speech,” Frolin states emphatically. Rard is less certain but himself cannot say for sure, nor can he see much of the
clearing from a distance. Vornmir is far more certain: “That is no
woman’s voice, or at least not the voice of any female that walks on two
legs.” He points to the ground and adds, “I see no tracks moving
into this clearing – whatever is calling out to us either has been there
for quite some time, or else does not leave tracks behind. We must move
cautiously.” Frolin, beginning to doubt his own senses, warns that
Mirkwood is known for its fierce giant spiders…
Your
Fellowship slowly advances. Finbor and Vornmir ready their shields and
spears; Frolin grips his axe in both hands, holding it at the ready; Rard,
Barion, and Belegil (who drops his staff on the Elf-path) slide their bows from
off their shoulders and ready an arrow. Finbor and Frolin move forward
along the middle of the clearing. Several yards to their left is Vornmir,
and further to his left is Barion. Several yards to the right of Frolin
walks Belegil; Rard sweeps a full ten yards to the right of Frolin, finding himself actually moving through the dense forest
growth. About fifty feet north of the Elf-path, the thinned-out pass in
the forest growth opens into an actual clearing, circular in shape and about
thirty feet in diameter. Several large, thick, old trees tower up to the
sky in this clearing; alerted to the possible danger, you all look up carefully
and notice the canopies bound together by a thick network of tangled
webs! The “Help!” shriek repeats again, from the big tree in
the middle of the clearing. There, dangling from one heavy branch about
15 feet up from the ground, are half a dozen sewn-up sacks of spider silk large
enough to hold a full-grown man. The shriek seems to be coming from the
shadowy, dense boughs by the silk sacks. In the other treetops filled
with masses of webs, numerous shapes can be seen moving about!
Finbor
and Frolin stand side-by-side at the southern edge of the clearing, with the
wooded flanks fifteen feet to their right and left. Barion and Vornmir
are advancing up along the left flank, moving through the forest fringe.
Vornmir does his best to sneak quietly. Rard advances much further to the
right flank, thirty feet away from Frolin and well into the dense forest
growth. Rard, too, is trying to sneak, but the thick forest is a
challenge even for a light-footed Hobbit. Belegil holds a middle position
at the clearing’s fringe, half-way between Frolin and Rard. Finbor
and Frolin halt at the edge, carefully waiting to see what is going on before
they rush any further into the clearing. Meanwhile, the individuals on
the flanks move slightly forward to guard Finbor and Frolin from the side.
The
treetops erupt into a loud hissing. “No fairsssssss…”
one speaker can be heard to garble. “How dids they knowssss?”
another shrieks. “They seesss ussss, they seesss usss!”
several others hiss. “But we seesss themmmm…” The
voices are the shapes moving in the webs in the trees above – apparently
they were waiting in ambush, to leap down upon unwary travelers who burst into
the clearing heedlessly. Their ambush thwarted, three shadowy shapes
begin to descend rapidly from the trees in the center of the clearing –
they are giant spiders, each as big as a Dwarf! Other spidery shapes can
be seen scurrying to the flanks of the clearing, for apparently they have
spotted Barion, Vornmir, and at least Belegil (if not Rard, too).
The
first group of three spiders dropping to the ground on ropes
of silk are five yards in front of Finbor and Frolin. The other
spiders moving to the flanks are still in their webs along the wooded canopy,
30 or more feet up in the air. But once they reach the flanks of the
clearing, they presumably will be able to drop down to the forest floor within
a few seconds just like their sisters did.
Scene 6: The Spiders of Mirkwood
Lured
off the Elf-path in the Heart of Mirkwood by high-pitched shrieks of
“Help!” in Westron coming from the large tree in the center of the
clearing, your Fellowship has entered a nest of fearsome spiders! Rard,
Finbor, Frolin, and Belegil immediately summon up their courage to shake off
some of the fatigue crippling their bodies.
The
nimble Elf Belegil, though winded, is the first to react, his hand flicking to
his quiver and notching an arrow in his bowstring. He lifts his bow
against the nearest spider scurrying toward him along the web bridges in the
canopy above and lets fly the shaft. Shooting up
into the air is a slightly awkward position, and his arrow arcs too low and
sinks into the nearby tree [failure].
At
nearly the same moment Rard, also winded, hears the commotion from his more
distant location and immediately breaks into a jog, bursting through the
thickets to arrive at Belegil’s side as the Elf’s arrow lands
short. An arrow already in his bow, the sharped-eyed Hobbit immediately
looses at shaft at same spider crawling their way. His aim is true, but
the webs across which the spiders are scurrying proves
too thick and the arrow fails to penetrate the silky strands [complete success,
blocked by cover].
The
other members of your Fellowship are still taking stock of the situation, their
eyes darting about the track the spider’s movements. “For Lamedon!” Finbor shouts his baritone warrior-cry. However, before he,
Frolin, Vornmir, or Barion can level their weapons the spiders celeritously
advance! The spiders along the flanks of the clearing scurrying along the
web bridge and, at their furthest extent, plunge to the ground below on cables
of silk. A pair of spiders now stands within 3 yards of Barion and
Vornmir, and another pair stands within 3 yards of Belegil and Rard. The
three spiders in the center of the clearing leap upon Frolin and Finbor before
the Dwarf and Man of Gondor are ready to attack. Two spiders snap at the
winded Frolin with their dripping fangs, hissing: “Dwarfsessss, we
rememberedssss themssss!” One bite falls short of the Dwarf’s
body; Frolin swings his axe to drive back the second biting spider [marginal
success], but his arc is too high at the fangs slip beneath the blade and sink
into his right thigh [failure, 1 damage]. The bite is a mere scratch to
the Dwarf, but it does its work – a stream of venom squirts into
Frolin’s veins. Immediately, the Dwarf feels his strength and
vitality begin to ebb [Stamina test TN 12, failure, 4 STR & VIT
damage]! The third vile spider bites at the tired Finbor [complete
success], but the warrior manages to deflect the horrid fangs with his stout
shield [complete success].
Frolin,
though stung, wastes no time in chopping at the offending beast with his axe,
but the spider’s natural reflexes prove too nimble and the blow misses.
Vornmir, at nearly the same moment, steps in front of
Barion, leveling his spear at the two spiders and holding them at bay 2 yards
away.
Waving his spear-point at them tauntingly, he mocks them with a little song:
"Come beasts of darkness to the fight! Taste my spear and its
raptured bite!"
Barion,
weary with fatigue, is last to react. Now guarded by Vornmir, and with an
arrow already nocked, the Prince of Dale takes careful aim at the spider on the
left, trying to compensate for his weariness. A moment later he looses
his bowstring and sinks the arrow into the spider’s grotesque body
[complete success]. The beast screeches in pain, injured by the deeply
penetrating arrow.
Finbor,
not swift enough to hold the spiders at bay with his spear before they could
advance, thrusts his spear at the spider that stung Frolin. The spearhead pierces into the
creature’s belly, deeply injuring it. The Dúnadan warrior pulls his
hand away, leaving his spear jabbed in the writhing,
hissing spider.
*
* *
The
monstrous spiders hiss madly, perhaps confused by the course of fighting in
these first few crucial moments. Five of them are unscathed, but two of
them are quite injured, and yet them managed to bite
and poison only one of you. The uninjured spiders prove swifter than all
of you, rearing up to bite yet again. Vornmir, however, his spear holding
the enemy at bay, preempts the fanged assault. The spear strikes squarely
at the spider [superior success], and the creature feebly attempts to dodge the
sharp point but fails [complete failure]. Vornmir’s spearhead rips
into its soft belly, spilling dark blood and solidly wounding the spider, but
the blow also stops the spider’s advance and keeps it at bay.
The
two spiders on the right flank scurrying toward Belegil and Rard, rearing up to
bite at them before the archers can draw another arrow. One horrid beast
jabs at little Rard with its fangs [complete success]. The swift Hobbit
attempts to dodge the bite but feels the sting scrape his side [failure, 3 damage]; Rard feels his blood course with venom, sapping
his strength [Stamina test TN 12, failure, 1 STR & VIT damage]. The
adjacent spider snaps its envenomed fangs at Belegil [complete success].
The Elf attempts to dodge, but he is unpracticed in such maneuvers and has
little hope of success [failure]; the spider’s fangs scrape his body, but
the mysterious blessings that ward him stop the fangs from puncturing his flesh
[0 damage]. The two unharmed spiders facing Frolin and Finbor strike at
the same time. One spider cautiously snaps at Finbor but fails to make
contact. The second spider jabs its fangs at Frolin [marginal success],
who swings wildly to drive the creature back but cannot save himself from
another sting [failure, 1 damage]; more poison seeps into the Dwarf’s
body [Stamina test TN 12, failure, 5 STR & VIT damage]. Convulsing
with sickness, the burly Dwarf freezes up and falls to the earth paralyzed.
Rard,
having received much less venom from his sting than poor Frolin, manages to stay
on his feet. He leaps a few yards to his right, back into the thicket of
trees on the edge of the clearing, and takes cover behind a stout oak.
There, he hopes to find a spare moment to shoulder his bow and draw his little
dagger.
Vornmir
now turns his spear on the spider blooded by Barion’s arrow. The
spear-point barely makes contact [marginal success], but the injured spider is
unable to dance away from the blow [failure]; after this second laceration, the
spider is deeply wounded and shrieking in pain: “It hurtssss
ussss!”
The
spider stabbed by Vornmir, black blood flowing liberally from its bulbous bulk,
manages to turn about and skitter off to the north, disappearing into the dense
copse at the edge of the clearing. The spider stabbed previously by
Finbor shakes its bloated abdomen, knocking Finbor’s spear free of its
body, as it scurries back north 6 yards to stand at the base of the large tree
in the center of the clearing, from which dangles the large silken sacks.
The bleeding spider makes a great show of jumping and hissing, “We
eatssss men tonightsssss!” But, the valorous Finbor scoffs at the
feeble attempt to intimidate him with fear [complete failure], and his heart
can no longer be shaken by this brood of craven arachnids.
Belegil’s
sharp eyes quickly assess the situation faced by his companions. Noting
that Frolin has been paralyzed by venom and that Rard, too, has been stung, he
makes a firm decision. Lowering his right arm, which holds his arrowless
bow, he raises his left arm and chants strange words in an arcane Elven-tongue,
words of magic and power [marginal success]. Suddenly, a bright bolt of
lightning sparks from his left hand and blasts the spider in front of him; it
shrieks as its flesh is seared, visibly wounded.
Barion,
ably defended by Vornmir, is left free to draw another arrow. Seeing
Frolin collapse in paralysis, leaving Finbor to stand alone against two
unscathed spiders, Barion quickly takes the shot at the beast in front of the
Gondorian warrior. Despite his fatigue, Barion’s aim is true
[marginal success]. Perceiving the attack too late, the spider is unable
to leap aside [failure]; the shaft sinks into one of the creature’s many
legs, leaving the beast pained and dazed.
Frolin,
meanwhile, lies on the ground, paralyzed with venom and unable to act.
The Dwarf is barely cognizant of what is happening around him, unable to look
around or see clearly, but he can manage to speak a few words…
Finbor,
who effortlessly avoided the spider’s bite a moment earlier, is free to
draw his longsword from the sheath at his side. He takes a quick step in
front of Frolin’s fallen form, standing over the Dwarf, and slashes at
the spider that brought him down [complete success]. The spider tries to
dodge away from the sharp edge but cannot avoid the sword’s bite
[failure], and the shrieking arachnid is deeply injured.
*
* *
In
less than half a minute, your Fellowship has blunted the vicious spider
assault! Of the two spiders advancing along the left-side of the clearing
against Barion and Vornmir, one has fled into the deep woods to the north and
the other looks to be quite wounded, still 2 yards out of reach of
Vornmir. Of the two spiders advancing along the right-side of the
clearing against Belegil and Rard, one has been wounded by the Elf’s
lightning-spell and still stands within striking distance of the magician,
while the other is unscathed and stands a couple yards to the east. Of
the three spiders that advanced down the center of the clearing against Finbor
and Frolin, one has been deeply injured and compelled to fall back 6 yards to
the base of the tree in the middle of the clearing; the spider that downed
Frolin is deeply injured and in close combat with Finbor; the third spider,
dazed from Barion’s arrow, is just a couple yards west of Finbor and the
fallen Frolin.
Barion,
with Vornmir standing in front of him, is a full 6 yards west of Finbor and
Frolin, while Belegil is 5 yards east of them. Rard is about 4 yards
southeast of Belegil, taking covering behind a tree. Frolin has suffered
2 points of damage, has 0 STR and VITm and is paralyzed due to the poison; Rard
has suffered 3 points of damage and has 5 STR and 7 VIT due to the poison,
which is slowly spreading throughout his body. The other members of your
Fellowship are uninjured.
Your
Fellowship continues to battle the foul spiders of Mirkwood, their numbers
weakened but not destroyed. Prince
Barion, startled by Frolin's sudden fate, calls upon his courage to resist his
exhaustion, though he is still winded.
The wise loremaster Frolin, stung twice and pumped full of venom, has
fallen to the earth. Vornmir calls out
to Finbor, "Do you require aid, Son of Angbor? Is our Dwarf alive?"
"I
cannot say for certain, but I think he breathes still," Finbor shouts
back. He then returns his focus onto the
spiders: "Hahahaha, Come on and die, you foul beasts! I am Finbor! Meet
your Fate!! Haha!"
The trees
above you shake with fury as your weapons wound and drive away several of the
attack spiders. Many smaller spiders,
presumably too young and weak to risk battle, scurry across the canopy,
scattering into the deep woods to escape you.
Dark shadows flit this way and that high above
you, creating chaos in the canopy. The
unharmed spider on the right flank, its Halfling quarry ensconced behind the
cover of trees in the edge of the deep woods, turns its attention instead on
Belegil. Turning its back on Rard, the
spider leaps at the Elf and lashes out with its fangs. Though fortune spared the Elf last time, this
time the fangs sink into his arm and inject him with a dose of venom [3 damage, 2 STR & VIT damage].
The
slightly hurt spider in the center scurries a few yards to close with Finbor,
attacking the warrior's left flank. The
warrior parries the snapping fangs aside with his sword and shield.
Vornmir,
concerned about his comrades, tries hastily too finish off the spider before
him. Perhaps too hastily, for his first
spear thrust sails harmlessly over the creature. He recovers with a firm down-thrust into the
spider's back, which the wounded beast simply cannot dodge: blood splattering
everywhere, the shrieking creature is hobbled and near death. It weakly begins dragging its corpse off into
the woods, sure to perish.
The spider
in front of Finbor lunges at the warrior with its fangs. Finbor is raising his own sword to strike,
not wishing to be pushed totally onto the defensive, and indeed the injured
beast is unable to hit him. The spider
which Finbor drove back several moments ago regains its wits and skitters
forward to join its sister, snapping at Finbor.
Like its sister, it also is too injured to land its jaws on the nimble
warrior--indeed, its aim is so disastrous that it
spills into the ground on its belly, legs flailing in the air.
Rard,
realizing that his pursuer has ignored him to concentrate instead on Belegil,
pulls his hand away from reaching for his dagger and instead grabs another
arrow from his quiver. He fits it into
his bowstring, stepping out slightly from his tree cover to take a shot at the
spider that has just stung Belegil.
Though the dense growth obscures the shot, it is balanced out by
targeting the spider's exposed rear flank.
The arrow sinks into its bulbous thorax, visibly injuring the creature
[superior success].
Belegil,
feeling the venom beginning to sap his strength, which his lithe figure does
not possess in any abundance naturally, calls upon his already taxed mystical
power. Still holding the bow
in his right hand, Belegil throws both of his arms wide and up towards the sky,
radiating his might to try to intimidate the spiders. The spiders shriek in absolute terror, as if
Belegil were Manwe the Elder-King himself returned to these shores! Panicked, the spiders twist away in horror
and look now only to escape.
[Extraordinary success--Belegil's fully modified test result was 30, the
spiders' results were only 6] Then, He
calls out loudly in Sindarin, "Spirits of Light, listen to the great word;
burst forth your brilliance! Spirits of Light, listen
to the great word; blind these foul creatures!" Belegil's courage is not even necessary,
despite his fatigue and despite being drained by summoning the bolt of
lightning. The nearest spider to him, in
addition to its fearful panic, is also blinded by the burst of light, spinning
about chaotically in its terror.
Finbor,
surrounded by three hurt, enraged spiders nearly his own size, recovers from
parrying back on spider to bring his sword down upon another. Spotting the victim
flailing on its back, the shrewd warrior thrusts at its exposed belly. It should be a coup-de-grace, but bad luck
[dice roll = doubles ones, plus another 1, plus -2] prevents the blade from
simply slicing the beast in two. Yet
even this marginal contact is enough to slit the spider wide open--near death,
it shrieks and is sure to perish.
Barion,
grasping another arrow from his quiver and fixing it in his bow, finds that
Vornmir has already dispatched the last spider on the ground near him. He stands guard, holding a shot to cover
whichever of his friends may need his aid.
He looks about observantly, trying to spot any more treacherous spiders,
but the action in this shadowy clearing is too confusing for him to perceive
clearly.
The battle
rages on, though events seem to have quickly turned in your favor. The two spiders facing Belegil flee in
terror, one of them blinded and stumbling off into the woods aimlessly,
battering itself to death against the trees and rocks. Only two spiders stand their ground against Finbor,
both of them hurt. Vornmir has succeeded
in dispatching the spiders threatening Barion, though now the warrior stands
their leadenly trying to take stock of matters.
Suddenly,
the web bridge in the canopy above Barion and Vornmir shakes violently! Another spider is up there, but instead of
fleeing away with the little ones it has been sneaking toward your
Fellowship--its stealth so great that even the watching Barion could not spot
it. With tremendous force it leaps from
the tree limb above and falls upon Barion!
This spider is the biggest one yet, even larger in size that Vornmir and
Finbor. Fortunately, Barion stands
on-guard, an arrow in his bow. As the
spider is falling toward him, he shoots his readied arrow at its
underbelly. The arrow cracks against the
large spider's hairy shell, and the hissing beast is dazed from the pain
[extraordinary success!]. Barion then
attempts to dodge aside, but he is not swift enough to prevent the heavy spider
from jumping on him, taking advantage of the momentum of its high leap. Barion falls to the ground, the massive
spider's body and legs grappling him!
The spiders
facing Finbor titter with malevolent glee, having noticed Barion's plight in
the left fringe of the clearing.
"Mother trickssss themssss, yessss! Tricksies workssssss!" they hiss. The dazed spider quickly snaps at Finbor with
its fangs, but the warrior easily parries back the venomous jaws with his sword
and shield. Finbor thus distracted, the injured spider steps around his flank and
tries to sting him with a flurry of bites.
Though the warrior's parry has already been drawn away, the injured
spider is too enfeebled to connect solidly with Finbor's body.
At the same
moment, Rard draws another arrow from his quiver and takes aim the one of the
spiders menacing Finbor. At short range,
he takes the shot at the spider's exposed rear through the dense tree
growth--the arrow sinks deep into the shrieking spider's side, rendering it
virtually incapacitated [superior success]!
Belegil,
meanwhile, steps back a couple yards to get a clear line of sight against the
more dangerous spider battling Finbor. Holding his hand again high in the air, the Belegil calls out in
archaic speech the incantation to summon lightning in the air. His body is wracked with fatigue, the strain
of casting three spells in so close proximity overwhelming. It takes all of the Elf's remaining courage
[2 points, Belegil now has 0 left] to complete the incantation. A bolt of electricity shoots out from his
hand and strikes the spider it its gruesome head--the spider howls in furious,
helpless pain, virtually incapacitated by the lightning-strike. Belegil's head spins from the strain of using
so much magic in less than a minute's time, a feat almost unheard of in this
age or the last. He knows that he has
not the slightest chance of completing another spell without a few minutes
rest.
Vornmir,
regaining his wits after being taken completely unawares by the big spider
stalking Barion from above, spins about and rushes at the creature trying to
pin his comrade to the ground.
He stabs his spear awkwardly at the great spider, taking care so that
the blade does not accidentally harm Barion.
Vornmir is barely able to land the awkward blow, slitting open the
spider's slide and seriously injuring the beast. The lead spider's head cranes to the left to
stare at its attacker with all eight eyes, its fanged jaws dripping with
malice.
The lead
spider hisses in a voice that sounds familiar--it is the voice you hear crying
"Help!" Yes, it was a
trap...this spider has learned to mimic the voice of an Elf-woman! Now it hisses different Westron words:
"I gotsss your friend... I will stingssss him with deadly bite if you do
not leavessss now! He isssss mine!"
After
half-a-minute of battle, your Fellowship has slain, crippled, or driven away
most of the spiders of this foul nest.
Only two junior spiders remain on the field of battle, both of them in
close quarters with Finbor and both of them all but incapacitated from
wounds. But the lead spider has dropped
upon Barion and knocked him to the ground, grabbing him with its eight evil
legs. Barion is not (yet) hurt, but his
range of movement is badly hindered by the spider--trying to struggle free is
about all he can do. Frolin still lies
upon the earth, paralyzed with venom; Rard and now Belegil have also been
stung, the strength waning as the venom works through their bodies.
The ambush
in the spider clearing has been brutal and swift, but in only half a minute's
time your Fellowship has slain, crippled, or chased away almost all of the
spiders. The brood of little hatchlings
that remained in the canopy web has scattered, fleeing madly into the deep
woods far to the north. Only the
"spider queen" remains a grave danger to your company, for she has
leapt from the web bridge above onto Prince Barion, knocking him to the ground
and grabbing him with her many legs.
Belegil,
who has asserted the power of his nature to its fullest extent, sinks down to
his knees, drained from the exertions of magic and weakened by the coursing
poison. He looks over at the
immobilized Frolin and closes his eyes, knowing he will share that fate in only
a couple minutes...
>"You
debased, vile creature!"
Vornmir hisses at the spider queen.
"Too
>cowardly
to fight with your very children and now too desperate to battle
>me." The warrior shuffles his feet and delays
attacking the spider while
>she has
such an advantage over Barion. "We
will not leave without the one
>you
hold, but if you can take me, the others will leave your nest and you
>alive,"
he offers.
Vornmir
trains his spear carefully on the spider, the point just a couple feet from
her. She hisses malevolently at his
proffered challenge and shrieks in return, "You triessss to dealsss with
ussss? Foolish mensss,
we hatessss your kindssssss!"
Finbor,
meanwhile, rushes to finish off the lesser spiders. Incapacitated by wounds, their reactions are
too slow to resist him. Finbor cannot
sweep them, for they are not adjacent (they are on his opposite flanks), but he
can easily thrust into one and, wheeling about on the recovery, chop into the
other. The first blow is barely
on-target, but the point sinks in deep enough to pierce through the spider's
entrails and slay it outright; the riposte comes down hard on the head of the
other spider, cleaving it in twain.
Having slain both enemies, the Gondorian warrior looks over toward the
spider queen and Barion, ready to aid him however he may.
With the
spider distracted by Vornmir and Finbor, and obviously weakened by her own substantial wounds, Barion suddenly tries to flip
her over, hoping surprise and his own courage will be sufficient. Taken unawares by Barion's resistance, the
spider queen's grip is broken--and, summoning his courage [1 point spent],
Barion is able to flip her great bulk off of his body and land her on her
backside! Barion then jumps on onto his
own two feet.
Vornmir
does not tarry but instantly drives his spear into the spider's bulbous abdomen, a full power-attack which he hopes will dispatch
her quickly before her venomous jaws can strike again.
Vornmir
instead just jabs her twice, until the day comes that the Valar restore Reason
unto Ea so that power attacks made sense.
With the spider prone and on her back, she is an easy target: his spear
sinks deep into her body, spray her innards out the other side. When Vornmir recovers his defensive stance,
he perceives that the spider queen lives no longer. Her evil has been purged from this
earth. Rard, nocking an arrow in his bow
and preparing to shoot if Vornmir's attack were to fail, breathes a sigh of
relief. He looks about for other
spiders, but he finds the clearly completed deserted. The Hobbit stumbles out of the dense growth,
rejoining his comrades in the center of the clearing.
You have
won a great victory, but at cost. Frolin
is grazed by two fang pricks (2 damage) and is in a
coma from the spider venom. Belegil,
too, is bruised (3 damage) by a spider bite; only a minute after the battle is
won Belegil falls into a coma from the poison.
Rard is also bruised from a bite (3 damage);
though he seems to have received much less venom, he is quickly fading with
each passing minute. Rard offers words
of praise for the Elf's awesome power, but he sadly is unsure if Belegil could
even hear him...and he knows that he, too, will soon fall into such a deep
slumber. The rest of your Fellowship is
unscathed, even Barion who quite nearly came to harm but saved himself by his
own wits and courage.
There is
general assent among those of you still conscious that your company would do
well to leave this clearing before any spiders could return. Perhaps there were more fully grown spiders
which you did not yet fight? Perhaps
some of the injured spiders that fled might hobble back to attack again? There is talk about constructing a stretcher
of some sort to bear the wounded, but the unfortunate realization comes to you
that the one best suited to crafting it, Frolin, is unable to work. Furthermore, you now have another body to
care for, Belegil, and Rard is in no condition to do any work. The other companions pull Frolin's blanket
from his backpack, using it as a makeshift stretch to carry first the Dwarf and
then the Elf from the wooded clearing back to the Elf-path. There you find "Thorin" waiting for
you safe and sound, though the horse sadly nuzzles Belegil's unconscious form
when he is laid upon the ground, Frolin next to him. Rard is able to walk away under his own
power, but shortly after reaching the Elf-path once again he collapses, lying
down next to the Elf and Dwarf and passing into a coma. Barion, Finbor, and Vornmir quickly see to
their companions, but the three remaining members of the Fellowship are not
able healers.
"I
know nothing about the art of healing," Barion admits. "Do our friends yet live?"
Finbor
says, "I have been trained somewhat in the healing arts, but my skill
surely pales in comparion to Frolin and Belegil. Alas, they cannot help themselves now."
"I
know something of bandaging wounds," Vornmir says, "but treating
poison or other grave injuries is beyond my ken. Yet I will assist you as I may, Finbor."
Finbor and
Vornmir examines the three bodies, concluding that the companions are not dead
or dying--the poison paralyzes the victims, so that the spiders could haul them
away and sew them up alive in silk sacks.
Neither man has experience dealing with venoms and cannot say how long
the comas will last, only that Frolin is likely to remain unconscious longer
because he received so much more poison than the others. Finbor, Vornmir, and Barion also come to
realize that your Fellowship is poorly equipped to deal with injuries: no one
possesses any healing herbs, or for that matter even bandages,
and certainly no one has a healing kit.
Fortunately, the minor scrapes suffered by the Dwarf, Elf, and Hobbit
are simple for the two men to treat by working together--they wash the bites
with water, damped a corner of Frolin's blanket, and use it as a compress to
soften the swelling. [All the damage is
healed, but they are still conscious from the poison.]
It is now
shortly before
The
clearing itself also remains unchecked.
There was some talk previously of having Belegil climb up the large
middle tree and cut free the silk sacks hanging from the branches, but now the
Elf is unconscious and cannot help. Vornmir
seems interested in at least quickly searching the clearing, but will he do it
alone? Will he do anything to aid his
limited potential to complete a successful search, giving his lack of training?
Scene 7: From the Heart of Mirkwood to the
After the
battle against the spiders is won, Finbor, Vornmir, and Barion sadly tend to
their poisoned friends, paralyzed in deep comas. Their mild wounds are fully treated, but the
venom cannot be flushed from their bodies so easily. You must wait and hope. It is agreed that the Fellowship should push
on, leaving this dark place behind. But,
first Vornmir is insistent on searching the spider nest, and Barion joins him. Finbor remains behind to guard his
unconscious friends and the horse Thorin, which sits down next to him and
allows Finbor to stroke his main in comfort.
The warrior keeps a careful vigil, sure not to allow his companions to
be ambushed again. As he watches, he
cleans off his sword and sharpens it with his whetstone.
Vornmir and
Barion return into the clearing, on-guard.
Barion keeps an arrow readied, eyes scanning the canopy for the return
of any spiders. Vornmir cautiously
approaches the main tree in the center, laying down his shield so that he may
climb, though he keeps his spear in-hand.
[Climb test] His first attempt is problematic, and the burly soldier
loses his grip on the lower branch and harmlessly drops back to the
ground. His next attempt, though, is
perfectly executed, and in just a few moments he has scurried up to the canopy,
clogged as it is with a network of thick, sticky webs. Vornmir makes his way over to the heavy
branch supporting the spider sacks and uses his spear to separate each, one at
a time, from the branch and lower them to the waiting Barion below. When all six sacks have been cut free,
Vornmir climbs back to the ground.
Convinced
that the spiders have not returned, Vornmir and Barion conduct a quick search
of the silky pouches. [Search tests] The
sacks are actually quite large, especially when cut open and laid out, and
searching through the dense webbing is difficult. As Vornmir suspected, the sacks no longer
contain any living victims to rescue--though you do find the remains of
humanoid victims, long since drained of their physical essence and reduced to
nothing more than bone. Barion hacks his
way through several sacks, tearing free the contents as best he can [complete
success]. He finds a great many bone
fragments, the disjointed remnants of many victims from times long past. Scattered amongst the bones is the occasional
coin carried by the victim to his doom, and ever since encased. Barion retrieves in this
manner 6 small silver pennies, and 10 copper pennies...Dale coins from
the time of the first King Bard, when Lake-men often explored the depths of
wild Mirkwood. Vornmir slits open a
sack, peels away enough layers of silk, and actually finds an entire skeleton. It is impossible for the golden-haired
soldier to know what race this unfortunate soul belonged to, but he suspects he
was once a Man or Elf. From the bones he
pulls a bronze conical helm and a corselet of scale-mail, preserved from rust
these many years by the spider silk.
Alas, the helmet and coat are both damaged and in need of repair, but otherwise they are of masterful craftsmanship
and could see service again if refurbished by a skilled smith. Vornmir also locates a small leather sack
holding the victim's cache: 4 large silver pieces--pure, unminted specie!
Barion and
Vornmir carry away the recovered hoard, but first Vornmir pauses to light a
small fire. Setting one of his torches
ablaze, he steps over to the trees in the center of the clearing and spreads
the flame into their leaves and branches.
Then, he hurls his torch high up into the web-tangled canopy. Soon, the network of webs are crackling and
burning up. As the lair burns, he looks
up into the trees about the clearing and shouts out, "You mother lies dead
at my spear. Cross us again and you will
join her." His brave words,
however, are greeted only with silence.
Once heavy smoke engulfs the clearing, Barion and Vornmir rush back to
the Elf-path.
Finbor
awaits them, having cleaned his weapon and searched the path, convinced that no
further danger awaits the Fellowship at this point. Eager to leave the clearing behind, the three
mobile members of the Fellowship discuss how to transport the unconscious
ones. Finbor, anguished because he feels
his strategy failed Frolin, desires alone to carry the Dwarf upon a
stretcher...but, of course, no stretcher exists. Only Frolin could possible built such a
craft, and he is unconscious. Instead,
Vormir suggests that Barion and Finbor together carry Frolin on the Dwarf's
blanket, while Vornmir carries little Rariadoc slung over his shoulder. Belegil is sat atop Thorin's pack saddle,
hands looped through the slack reins; it is a noble load which Thorin readily
and gently accepts.
Encumbered
with carried comrades, Finbor, Barion, and Vornmir are slowed to barely a mile
in an hour. The Fellowship makes its way
slowly along the Elf-path to the southeast.
Much of the path is narrow and occasionally overgrown, with dense forest
off the path to both sides. Finally,
after traveling for a couple of hours, the party locates a small clearing south
off the path. Leading
Thorin and the paralyzed heroes off the Elf-path, the fellowships lays down to
rest on the exposed green grass.
The afternoon sun in now in the sky above, peaking through the canopy,
but you decide you should not travel any further on the 2nd of June. Vornmir and Barion go off to south the
surrounding area while Finbor sets up camp.
Bedrolls and blankets are laid out so that Frolin, Belegil, and Rard can
be made as comfortable as possible. A
fire is started and Finbor begins to heat up the rest of the day's rations as
best he can. Vornmir and Barion return
shortly, reporting that the area is barren and devoid of life. Thorin, however, is able to graze lightly on
the clearing grass--the first such treat he has had in many days.
Finally,
right around dusk, the first poisoned comrade regains consciousness. Rard opens his eyes and looks around, alert
but still terribly weak. Finbor plies
the little Hobbit with food and water, helping his regain his strength. A few hours later, right before moonrise,
Belegil comes back around, silently rising to bask in the lunar light. He takes some rations and water, too, for he
is greatly weakened. Fortunately, a full
night's rest is all that is needed for them to completely recover their strength
and vitality. By the time your company
rises shortly after dawn on the 3rd of June, both Belegil and Rard are fully
recovered from their ordeal and no worse for the wear.
Unfortunately,
Frolin still has not regained consciousness.
He received a tremendous amount of venom, and the Fellowship becomes
greatly concerned for his safety. The
rest of you prepare breakfast, put out the fire, and strike camp...and Frolin
still is not awake. Finbor pushes the
Fellowship to get underway again, carrying the Dwarf along upon his
blanket. The going is slow, for you
cannot move faster than the reduced speed of those carrying Frolin. The sun rises in the sky as morning gives way
to mid-day. Finally, about an hour after
Your
Fellowship travels onward much as it did before the encounter with the fearsome
spiders. These are warm June days,
indeed too warm in the stifling confines of the Heart of Mirkwood. The days would also be bright and cheery,
were it down for the dark, dense forest growth warding out the sky. The insects again are numerous and
irritating, and even the lovely large black-winged butterflies are becoming a
nuisance. You travel thusly on the 4th,
5th, 6th, and 7th of June. It seems so
long since you left Rivendell on the 18th of May! By the time to reach the
"Enchanted" forest stream on the afternoon of the 7th, you have been
traveling for 21 days and are weary from the hardships. Water is now scarce. The barrel is empty, and the only water you
now have is what little is left in your hide flasks. The water of the forest stream looks crisp
and refreshing, and you all feel an overwhelming desire to leap in and drink your
fill. [Willpower tests] Armed with
Grimwine's dire warnings about the stream, though, the entire Fellowships manages to shake off the spell and avoid touching the
water. A small raft is tied to the bank,
and your Fellowship, Thorin included, climbs aboard. Only Rard has experience with sea-craft, and
he takes up the attached pole and guides the barge across the stream to the
opposite bank. Your company debouches
onto the east bank and continues the journey, marching northward along the
stream's shoreline. The
"Elf-path" is gone at this point, but the river shore is itself a
kind of path through the dense growth.
By the time you stop to camp for the night, Belegil and Barion
confidently state that you are on the periphery of the Woodland Realm.
You
continue your journey on the 8th of June, following the river to the northeast
another seventeen miles before nightfall.
All throughout the day you keep your eyes open of Wood-elf scouts, even
calling out for them from time to time, but no Elves are seen or respond. Some of you grow concerned, but Belegil and
Barion explain that the Elves do not view their "lands" like Men do,
as fixed borders that must be mapped and guarded. Rather, the Woodland Realm is a wide area,
only as big or small as the Elves have use for it. Sometimes the Elves range far afield, but
often they stick to the woods much closer to the
Your
Fellowships stumbles onward on the 9th of June, weary with fatigue and nearly
mad with thirst. The summer's day is hot
and humid, your parched throats only taunted by the moisture in the air. Thorin is particularly bad off, for his time
in Mirkwood has also left him badly malnourished. Foaming at the mouth, the weakened horse
follows along out of sheer loyalty. It
is only mid-morning, and already you are suffering! If potable water is not found soon, you will
surely perish. Suddenly, the sharp-eared
Vornmir whispers to you, "We are not alone. I hear faint footfalls in the woods
beyond."
You all
look about carefully, trying to find what stalks
you. It is Rard who raises his arm to
point into the woods to your east, at a group of shadows in the treeline. "Look, Elves!" he pipes up.
The sound
of light laughter emerges from the trees, and moments later a party of perhaps a
dozen Silvan Elves approaches your position from all around the riverbank. The ones who were spotted clap blithely, as
if this is nothing more than a lark or a game.
"The little one has sharp eyes," a beautiful Elf-maid says
cheerfully in a dulcimer voice, "he would play well our games!" She adds, "I am Mithalqua, speaker for
this party. You have come to the
Woodland Realm from far away. We spotted
your company when it made camp last night, but we wished to observe you by the
light of day before we approached, to be assured you are not
hostile." Though his beautiful lady
with raven hair is unarmed, many of her companions are males with long-knives
and longbows.
"Come
forth and say your names to us, so that we may judge if you are worth to stay
in the Woodland Realm," she states boldly.
"What is your business in these woods, and what would you have from
us?"
Scene 8: In the Halls of the Elven-king
Mithalqua,
the beautiful raven-haired Silvan maid listens to your polite
introductions. Though you are dirty from the dust of travel and grime of
battle, and parched with thirst as well, your Fellowship minds its manners when
greeting the Elves. Mithalqua’s dark beautiful, cool and radiant
like the moonlight, cheers all who look upon her and
melts away your burdens and cares. She smiles lightly as she listens to
you, replying to each speaker with soft words in her gentle voice.
Finbor,
removing his helm, replies: "Good day, fair lady. My name is Finbor, son
of Angbor, and I hail from the fair lands of Gondor.
Please,
oh Grey Swan, allow me to introduce my companions…”
Mithalqua’s
smile turns sly as he takes in Finbor, immediately recognizing him for a
Dúnadan. “You know something of our ancient tongue,” she
says. “A proper translation of my name, if
literal. I have always preferred the more poetical
‘silver’ or ‘twilight’ to grey. But friends from
Gondor are welcome here, especially in such notable company.”
From
Barion: “As my friend has already made the introductions allow me to say
that though we have travelled far from storied Imladris beyond the Misty
Mountains, you are by far the most wondrous sight that our eyes have yet
beheld…”
The
Elf-maid’s eyes light up and she returns with a small nod of her head,
“Your name is well known to us, Prince Barion. We welcome you to
your second home, Elf-friend. Your words are as noble as your
reputation.”
Vornmir
bows slightly and says, "Much seems enchanted in this wood. The
river makes sounds to lure the thirsty, but its sight grips even greater.
The footfalls I heard of your approach have also proven to be the less alluring
of the two senses."
Mithalqua
rests her melting gaze long on Vornmir, smiling warmly at his terse
compliment. “The Men of your Race are not reputed for such honeyed
words,” she says, “but I find them most welcome. Indeed, I
wonder about your race. Your visage recalls the men of the North who did
walk the Vales of the
Frolin
introduces himself simply as, "Folin son of Droli, at your service."
Mithalqua’s
mirth is quickly subdued, and she regards Frolin most seriously.
“It has only been in recent times that Dwarves have been welcome in
Mirkwood, for our years of alliance are far fewer than our years of
strife,” she says. “But if you are at our service, son of Droli,
and are trusted by your noble company, then you will not be turned away from
the Halls of the Elf-king.”
From
Rard: "My lady. I was told false. At home in the shire,
my cousin Merry and Grand Took Pippin would spend hours over who
was prettier, the lady Galadriel or the elf-queen Arwen. I
think they must both be wrong. They had been to
Mirkwood though, and had not met you."
Mithalqua
giggles happily, a musical trill sweeter than any bird’s song.
“The Periannath are famed among the Free Peoples of the West for their
notable contribution to the War against the Shadow,” she says, “but
who knew they were also masters of flattery? Nay, good Rariadoc, the
coolness of my beauty is burned away by the golden flames of Galadriel the
Great, and I am but a star in the night sky compared to the luminous moon that
is Arwen Undómiel. Sweet as your words are to
me, I embrace the truth.”
When
the fellowship is finally met, Belegil says to them simply, "I am Belegil,
emissary to Elessar. Please send a runner to tell the king that I have returned
and seek to present myself and my companions."
Mithalqua
regards Belegil with a return to seriousness. “We welcome you to
your home, Belegil our brother,” she says decently. “You
travel with strange company, odd groupings not seen since the Nine
Walkers. But upon your word and the word of the Elf-friend, they are sure
to be accepted into the royal halls.”
Mithalqua
steps forward, resting her hand upon Vornmir’s shoulder. Her touch
fills the man with a fiery energy, restoring the spirit of his heart (OOC: +1 Courage restored). “Friends old and new,
welcome to the Woodland Realm. Though you have struggled through the dark
dangers that remain in Mirkwood, know that now you are safe in the restored
Shortly
after the
The
horses gallop along the riverbank all afternoon on the 9th of June,
three-times faster than your Fellowship’s previous rate of travel.
In just a few hours your company reaches the banks of the
The
Elves help you down from your borrowed steeds, leading them away to the stables
behind the hills. Mithalqua tarries by your side. She says,
“I have fulfilled my word to you, friends. You have been delivered
safe and refreshed to the halls of my king. But my home is in the woods,
and it is to there that I must return. My Fortune smile upon your quest,
you who serve King Elfstone! Namarie!”
With a final smile radiating from her beautiful visage, the Elf-maid slips away
into the woods, disappearing among the trees beyond. The guards open the
gate for you, gesturing for you to enter. Your party walks inside the
carved portal, descending into a torchlit subterranean palace of breathtaking
workmanship. “Dwarves made it, long ago,” Frolin notes wryly.
The
porter goes ahead of you, clearing the passages of various Elven servants,
guards, and courtiers. He leads you past many sub-corridors to the main
hall, the Royal Audience-chamber wherein sits King Thranduil and his
guests. It is a huge, high room, with mighty Dwarf-made pillars
supporting it. There are many tables and chairs filled with Elves, both local notables as well as visiting nobles from Lórien
and Ithilien—and some Men, traveling emissaries from various
realms. At the far end of the hall, sitting in a stout wood throne upon a
raised stone dais, is the Elf-king himself, ancient Thranduil, elder yet
eternal. At the nodding from his king, the porter pounds his staff upon
the stone floor to silence the assembly. “Hail, Thranduil
King!” he cries out. “Travelers have come into your realm
from the allied lands to the West. Among them is your loyal subject
Belegil the Magician, and Prince Barion the Elf-friend. In their company
is Finbor Angbor’s son of Gondor, Rariadoc Brandybuck of The Shire,
Frolin Droli’s son, and Vornmir of Minas Tirith.” The porter
bows low and then withdraws from the room to return to his post, leaving you
standing in the middle of the hall, under the eyes of the king and his
assembled court and guests.
“It
is well that you have been admitted to our presence forthwith,” Thranduil
says in Westron, “for all of your races are welcome visitors to this
land.” His eyes drift to Frolin and he adds slyly, “Most, at
least.” He continues in his previous tone, “Tell us, why are
you here? Belegil and Barion, you have returned to us from the Council of
the North in such a short span of time—have you news to report to us
already?”
Scene 9: Weighty Matters in Mirkwood
You
arrived in the royal halls-under-the-earth of Thranduil, Elf-king of Mirkwood,
shortly before sundown on the 2nd of June after an overland journey
of some three weeks. All of you are weary, worn, and (except for Belegil)
somewhat dirty and unkempt, still dressed in your travel garb badly in need of
laundering. But you stand before the king’s assembly of courtiers
and guests as proudly as you can, presenting yourself to the Elf-king.
Barion and Belegil step to the fore when prompted by Thranduil, sweeping a
deferential bow to the king. Belegil, an Elven-subject, speaks first:
“My king, we have returned to Mirkwood sooner than you or we expected, at
the behest of King Elessar, who himself chose and appointed this new Fellowship
standing before you.”
Young
Barion eagerly offers up an oration of your purpose here: "Hail Thranduil
king. Long have we travelled cross the mountains and back again to seek not
only your great wisdom but also your boundless memory.
We are sent on a quest by King Elessar to find the sage Belemir, who was
recently a guest in these most magnificent halls, and so we were told by
Grimwine of Beornings passed back away south…”
"You
are asking the wrong questions, lad," Frolin stage-whispers.
"We know where Belemir went from here. We must know what he did
here, and most importantly we must find Calanlas. And oh yes, ask about
his staff..."
Finbor
nods upon hearing Frolin speak. "Great Elf-lord, Master Frolin of Aglarond
speaks truly. We are here to seek answers for Belemir's mysterious
disappearance and the related finding of an ancient artifact."
“Peace,
peace!” Thranduil croaks with as much of a bemused smile as this aged,
dread lord can manage. “Many questions you have, and we will answer
them as we may. For two ages of this earth have I ruled over the Woodland
Realm, too long to be interrogated whilst I sit on my own throne.”
He then rises and steps down from his dais, walking toward his banqueting table
at the head of the hall. “You and your companions are worn from
your travels,” he says, “and you need to be refreshed. The
sun sets outside these halls, and this night we will celebrate your welcome
with a feast. The Fellowship of King Elessar will sit at my table, and
there you may ask us all that you need to know.” He claps his
hands, summoning a pair of servants; he instructs the commoner Elves to take
you to guest chambers, to provide you with water to wash, and to dress you in
Elven-garb so that your travel clothes may be laundered. The servants bow
and politely lead you from the hall, guiding you to guest rooms in an adjacent
wing. There you are washed and clothed in light, airy Elf-tunics, your travel
garb carried off to be washed.
A
short while later the servants return and lead you back to the royal hall,
where you find a great throng of Wood-elves and notable visitors to the realm
assembled for the feast. The day’s fresh hunt has been cooked, the
meat laid out on silver trays atop the many banquet tables. Flagons of
Dorwinion wine and tall goblets as well as bowls of grapes and olives are set
out in plenty. Six places are reserved at the king’s table, and you
are guided to your spots by the servants, who bow once more and depart.
King Thrnaduil sits at the head of this table, and you sit on his right and
left. He gestures for you to take your fill of food and drink.
Prompted by Finbor and Frolin, Barion restates his queries in polite and
persuasive tones, using his oratory to try to win over the king’s
cooperation. He is aided by Vornmir, who offers a brief story: "Your
majesty, during our travels through the Western wood we dispatched a lair of
spiders seeking to ensnare travelers. Already have we performed a service
for this wood…” This captures the
attention of the entire table, all the revelers insisting on hearing about the
battle of the spiders. Though unskilled in such performance, Vornmir does
his best to provide an account. [Perform (Tell Stories} skill test,
8-2=6, complete success] Thranduil and the favored courtiers seated at
his table appreciate the tale, raising a toast of wine for each spider
killed. “Long has Greenwood the Great suffered under the presence
of the cursed spiders, and ever shall this forest be Mirkwood so long as they
live upon Middle-earth,” Thranduil states. “You do our realm
good service by slaying them,” he adds, “and mighty warriors such
as you are our welcome guests.”
Soon,
the tale of the
With
the assembly’s mood livened by Vornmir’s tale, Barion presses the
king for his aid. [Persuade (Oratory) skill test, 7+9+1=17, superior
success] Thranduil readily agrees to answer all of your questions.
Also, the Elf-king produces Calanlas. When his name is called, a tall,
thin man with green eyes and black hair rises from his seat at the other end of
the table. “I am here, lord,” he says. “Join us,
Calanlas,” he says, ordering a courtier to make way for the emissary,
“for I believe this matter will involve you as much as it involves
us.” After Calanlas takes his seat next to you, Thranduil asks you
to explain more about why King Elessar has dispatched a Fellowship in regards
to Belemir. Your company briefly explains your mission – to track
down the missing loremaster, who disappeared after leaving Rivendell eight
months ago and has not been seen since. Thranduil frowns and looks to
Calanlas – both the Elf-king and the Dúnadan emissary are surprised by
your news, unaware of Belemir’s strange disappearance. Thranduil
invites you to ask any questions you need answered.
Barion
begins by asking about the “dire relic” that he believes Belemir
brought to the
Frolin
raises the questions about what Belemir did during his stay in the Woodland
Realm, and about the staff he seems to have acquired here. Thranduil
replies, “Belemir, Calanlas, and Calanhir came to us bearing a missive
from King Elessar, who proposed his great campaign against
Frolin
and Vornmir press for more information about the ring, expressing the fear that
this could be the “dire relic” Barion referred to. Thranduil
shakes his head and says, “This ring was not dread artifact, and that you
would say so tells me you do not know what it is. He had rediscovered a
lost Elf-ring of old, a wrought gold band beset with a small obsidian stone.
It was one of the ‘Rings of Friendship’ crafted in the Elder Days
and given by Elf-lords as tokens of alliance to the Men of the House of Hador,
Third House of the Edain. Surely you know of the Ring of Barahir,
friend-token gifted by Finrod Felagund to Barahir, of the House of Húrin, First
House of the Edain. The Ring of Barahir was most famed, but it inspired
similar acts between the Eldar and Edain throughout the centuries. Most
of these Rings of Friendship are lost and forgotten, as was the Ring of Barahir
for many years, but the recovery of even one last Ring of Hador’s Line is
a great discovery, a link between Lord Elessar and his most ancient
ancestors.”
Vornmir
steers the conversation toward Calanlas, in whom Frolin is also greatly
interested. Vornmir and the Dwarf begin to interview Calanlas. In
response to the discussion about the ring, Calanlas admits to having seen
it. “When we departed Rivendell,” Calanlas says,
“Belemir said nothing of possessing an ancient ring. But when we
came across the Beornings, Belemir took the ring from the belt-pouch in which
he had hidden it and put it on. He said it was a token of kingship, but
that its blessings would help us secure the aid of the Men of Carrock, for it
augmented the persuasion of his words. He spoke truly, for the Beornings
were glad to help us. He revealed the ring again here in Mirkwood, to
show to King Thranduil. He told the tale of its recovery – how it
long was buried in the grave mounds of the north until looted by Wild Men, how
the bandits came to his attention while he stayed in Bree, and how he tracked
them down and tricked them into surrendering the ring to him. The Elves
were greatly impressed with his story, as I recall,
which was why the Elf-king gifted him with the enchanted staff.”
Vornmir
interviews Calanlas about the various journeys between Rivendell and
Mirkwood. Calanlas answers, “You already seem to know all there is
to know about our journey to Mirkwood. We set out from Rivendell in the
middle of July last, traveling across the
Vornmir
asks why Belemir returned to Rivendell alone, and of
Calanhir’s solitary journey back several weeks later. Calanlas
answers, “Early last October, late at night after a great feast, Belemir
left the Woodland Realm without speaking to anyone. He did not explain
himself to me or my brother – he only left us a short letter, which
explained that an urgent matter required him to return to Rivendell immediately
to consult the archives, and asked us to offer his apologies to King
Thranduil. Strange behavior for normal men, it is true, but Belemir was a
sage, and their ways are strange to us. My brother remained in the
Woodland Realm for two more weeks, so that King Thranduil could complete his
missive to King Elessar. When the letter was ready to be delivered, King
Thranduil asked one of us to stay behind as a resident emissary for the
Vornmir
finally inquires if Calanlas knows where Belemir may have gone after departing
Rivendell for the last time – possibly to some location to the northeast? Calanlas responds, “I cannot say, for
he revealed nothing of his future plans to us. All that we knew was that
he possessed a Ring of Friendship which he was to present to King Elessar at
the Council of the North this past May. Until you came here tonight to
tell me otherwise, I presumed that is what he did. He never said anything
to me about a journey to the northeast, nor can I imagine what might lie in
such desolate lands. Are you certain that is where he went?”
Frolin
asks Calanlas about what he knows of how Belemir spent his time in
Mirkwood. Calanlas answers, “After we presented King
Elessar’s embassy to King Thranduil, we were given freedom to spend our
time in the Woodland Realm however we wished. My brother and I spent much
time exploring the surrounding woods, full of splendor and beauty.
Belemir never joined us. He spent his time among the sages and magicians
of the court, studying their magical arts. Belemir himself could work
such enchantments, though he rarely displayed his power openly. When the
Dorwinion trade delegation arrived, we spent many nights feasting in these
noble halls. My brother and I paid little heed to the songs and stories,
though Belemir seemed greatly affected. He especially esteemed the
Dorwinion minstrel Wogan, who sung for us many of the legendary tales of his
land. I suppose there is great affinity between loremasters and
minstrels, for Belemir spent much time with Wogan. Indeed, Belemir was
particularly excited by Wogan’s performance on the night that he departed
the Woodland Realm, and I believe Wogan was the last person Belemir spoke with
before his sudden departure.”
“Where
is the Dorwinion trade delegation now? Is Wogan still here?” your
Fellowship asks. Thranduil shakes his head and replies, “The
traders departed our realm at the end of last October, for they wished to
complete their journey home before the snows of winter. They dwell in the
towns along the southern bank of the River Carnen by the
*
* *
When
your questions are through, Thranduil and Calanlas wish you good fortune in
your search for Belemir. Both of them share Elessar’s concern that
Belemir could have met a foul end in the wilds, and they hope you will find
him. Your questions answered, the feast continues until the late hours of
the night, full of merriment and drinking of sweet Dorwinion wine.
Eventually you are returned to your guest rooms, where you sleep the whole
night in comfortable beds, safe under the watch of the Elves.
You
rise late on the 3rd of June, and food for breakfast and lunch is
brought to you by serving Elves. When you come before Thranduil later
that day, he grants you freedom in his land to do as you wish. Barion
inquires about acquiring horses for the Fellowship, and about sending a message
to his brother. Thranduil hesitates about the former request: “We
shall need all our Elf-steeds if we are to contribute a strong force to the War
against the Orcs of the North, but perhaps we could lend you a horse or two for
a short time, if you need to ride someplace swiftly…”
Thranduil is much more accommodating about delivering a message to
Barion’s brother: “Elf-riders often travel to Dale, and a
delegation will go there later this month. If you wish to scribe a letter
to your brother King Bard, I will order my riders to deliver it to him
personally.” Frolin asks if the Elf-king has a forge in his halls,
and if he may be allowed to use it. Thranduil answers, “We have
forges to rival those of the
You
are free to wander Thranduil’s halls for the rest of the day, until
sundown when you will rejoin the Elven court for another evening meal.
Barion prefers to spend his time merrymaking with his friends in the
king’s court – as an Elf-friend, he is
beloved by many Wood-elves. Rard is eager to return to the woods, and
spends the rest of the day tagging along with Elven hunting parties. At
first they are loath to take the Halfing along, and do so only to humor their
king’s hospitality. But Rard quickly proves himself a match for
their woodcraft and archery. The Elves also find his chattiness a unique
experience. While out hunting he exclaims, "What a well-placed shot
on that rabbit. My cousin Merry once said that
Legolas could hit a sprinting rabbit at twice that
distance." The Elves are most impressed that he is related to one of
Legolas’ companions, and they ply him for all his lore about the
Fellowship of the Ring. [Lore: The Fellowship of the Ring (Legolas) skill
test, 6+5=11, superior success] His knowledge about Legolas impresses the
Elven-hunters, and by the time they return from the hunt at nightfall Rard has
completely won them over. They welcome his company on their future hunts.
Finbor and Vornmir spend a couple of hours in the early afternoon sparring with
each other, testing their skills with weapon and shield. The two men find
themselves evenly matched. Finbor is slightly more adept with his sword
than Vornmir is with his spear, but both are impressed with each other’s
skill. Vornmir is stronger and sturdier than Finbor, yet he is also
impressively swift and skilled at dodging strokes. Finbor, though not as
swift, is a very solid defender with his sword, stout, long shield, and corslet
of mail. They complete their sparring with increased respect for each
other, and a stronger sense of camaraderie.
Scene 10: Your Time
in the
[Smithcraft
(Armor) skill test, extraordinary success]
Taking advantage of King Thranduil's excellent forge and the aid of his
craftsmen, plus the Crafting-spell taught by the Elves, Frolin is able to
refurbish both the corslet and the helmet without any trouble--after a few
hours work, both are in fully restored condition. The panoply was originally of masterwork
quality, which you were able to restore in full--it is more protective than
common scalemail. Furthermore, it is
imbued with your Dwarven-magic: the corslet and helm are now virtually
unbreakable, with twice the durability of mundane armor.
[Appraise
skill test, complete success] When you try to present the armor to Vornmir, he
asks you to identify its origins. This
is something Frolin was already able to do.
You are certain that the armor is of Dwarven made, certainly made in the
forges of the King under the Mountain before the coming of Smaug. However, it is clearly sized for a Man, not a
Dwarf (though with further work it could be altered). Frolin suspects it was crafted on commission
or as a gift for a noble warrior of the old Dale-men or Men of Eotheod--you
cannot know for certain. Frolin, of
course, is free to tell the others as much or as little of this as he wishes.
:) Frolin may even desire to keep the
armor for himself, though it would be a selfish, possibly corrupting act (which
might be a battle for Frolin's inner struggle).
During
the royal feast in your welcome on the night of the 2nd of June, you
speak with Calanlas, one of Belemir’s original traveling
companions. Only Vornmir has a further question for him. "Do
you recall what Wogan's performance was that evening?" Vornmir asks
Calanlas. "Do you know which of the magicians and sages here spent
time with Wogan and Belemir?"
The
Ranger thinks carefully, stroking his chin in thought. “It was a
good deal of time ago…” he ponders, “Wogan performed many
tales during his time here, most of them very strange to our ears. The
legends and myths of Rhun are not the legends and myths of our lands.
But, if I recall correctly, the song Wogan performed that night that Belemir
left us was about a dragon and a wizard. I am sorry, that is all I
recall.” Calanlas, when further prompted, points to the table to the
left of the king’s royal table and says, “Those are the minstrels
of the Elven-court. Wogan spent much time with them, and Belemir often
joined them.”
Vornmir,
who admits he possesses no great skill in eliciting information from others,
encourages Barion to speak with the minstrels and learn what they know.
But the young prince does not immediately consent, for he has many of his own
Elf-friends in court and will spend much of his free-time with them…
*
* *
On
the 3rd of June, after being granted the hospitality of
Thranduil’s halls, you all depart to seek your own relaxations.
Frolin takes the battered armor recovered from the spiders’ lair to the
royal forge, spending a few hours studying under the Elven sage-crafters and
refurbishing it under the tutelage of their arcane Art. That evening he
presents the gleaming corslet to Vornmir, who indeed wears the armor very
well. Of Dwarven-make and now imbued with craft-magic, the scale coat is
lighter than a chainmail corslet but just as protective, and even more durable.
Frolin’s greatest pleasure comes from the exercise of his skill and the
reward of giving away such a prized gift. It is an act of honesty and
generosity [+1 Courage restored to Frolin].
*
* *
Your
Fellowship decides to spend five days in the Woodland Realm, fully recovering
from the drain of your long journey to get here. It is a stay that King
Thranduil readily grants, for he is glad to have
visitors from so many lands honor his court with their presence. As the
days pass, Finbor summons the rest of the Fellowship from their various
individual diversions to play the next part of your journey. The
Gondorian nobleman’s son implored King Thranduil for the use of his maps,
and the Elf-king orders his sages to provide your
party with access to their map scrolls. The Wood-elves have been numerous
maps of Mirkwood, Rhovanion, the Anduin Vales, and even the country around
Erebor and Dale. And while some of the Rhovanion maps extend to Dorwinion
and the
However,
a close examination lays out your route and distance involved. Along the
Finbor
asks of Barion, “Will you not tell us more of the
*
* *
Your
Fellowship enjoys a stay of five days in Thranduil’s Halls, from the 3rd
through the 7th of June. Vornmir during this time attempts to
seek out Mithalqua the Elf-maid, believing her to reside somewhere in these
woods. He wanders the woods in the daytime, in the nighttime, hoping to
see her. At night he thinks he hears the sound of laughter in the woods,
and sees the glow of torchlight, but every time he nears the sound and light
fade as quickly as they began. One afternoon, after searching several
other times, he begins to despair. He hears a light giggle,
Mithalqua’s musical laugh, but when he turns about she is not
there. Suddenly, the wind blowing across his face bears a light whisper,
strange words that he does not understand but which he cannot forget.
When he returns to Thranduil’s halls, he asks the Elf-porter who tends to
his guest-room if he understands the phrase. “Yes, the language is
Sindarin, the tongue of our royal line,” he replies. “The
words you speak mean, ‘Not every nightingale is meant to be
caged.’ The word for nightingale is ‘Tinúviel’ –
its significance comes from our most revered ancient lay.”
You
decide the morning of the 8th of June is when you should depart, and
you inform the king of your intention. Finbor approaches King Thranduil
upon his throne, bowing respectfully. He requests the king’s aid in
securing water transport at least to Lake-town. [Debate (Parley) skill
test, complete success] The Elf-king listens to the modest request and
replies, “It would be no great burden for the Elves of my realm to transport
King Elessar’s Fellowship to Esgaroth. We, too, mourn the loss of
Belemir and hope that you will be able to find him. From time to time we
send an Elf-raft to the town of
You
thank the king for his assistance, and he nods his head in
acknowledgement. He then summons his servants forward, and in their hands
the Elves are holding bundles of clothing. King Thranduil says, “We
have prepared a gift for you, ‘ere you depart. You already wear the
soft tunics of my folk, imbued with their spirit. My people have prepared
for each of you the rest of a traveler’s garb, so that when you traverse
the distances of this earth you may dress as if you still resided in my happy
realm.” The servants hand each of you cloth breeches, Elven-boots,
a light cloak, sheer gloves, and silken sleeves to go along with your
tunic. They are perfectly sized for your bodies, as if simply by watching
you the Elves could gauge your very dimensions. Thranduil adds,
“Master Rariadoc made it known to my folk that he desired some of our
clothing, and it is a gift we are happy to make of you. You will find
these clothes more durable than any made in other realms, and the magic in
their fibers can mend most any gash on its own. They are lighter than any
garb of Men, and shall keep you cool in the summer, yet when winter comes you
will find them as warm as cloth twice the weight.” Later, when you
don the entire outfit, you are pleased to discover the whole assemblage weighs
only 3 pounds (and Rard’s weighs only 2). Your may keep or destroy
your dirty old outfits, as you please.
You
also turn your thoughts to acquiring supplies for your journey. The Elves
assure you that you will have food, water, and wine aplenty on the river barge,
so you need not fear deprivation on that leg of your travel. You also are
helped to refill your water barrel and skins with delicious spring water
flowing from the royal hills, crisp and clean, and those of you with wineskins
are refilled with Elven-mead or a vintage from Lake-town. The Wood-elves,
however, generally do not prepare large quantities of travel rations, nor do
they have much interest in selling their foodstuffs for coin. If one of
you wishes to make the effort, perhaps you could convince an Elf to make and
sell to you some rations much as Frolin convinced an Elf to craft for him a
healer’s kit. On the other hand, you could trust in your luck to
reach Esgaroth and secure food there.
Scene 11: To Lake-town
>Finbor
will try to persuade to Elven minstrels and magicians to tell of their
conversations with Wogan.
Barion
is too busy with his own friends in the Elven-court to be bothered with this
matter, so Finbor attempts to charm the Elven intelligentsia into sharing what
they know with him. [Persuade skill test, failure] Unfortunately, Finbor
is a man of the sword, ill-suited to appealing to the ways of thinking shared
by minstrels and magicians. He is unable to inspire them to reminisce
about Wogan or his tales. They merely verify that indeed Belemir and
Wogan did spend much time together, that Belemir grew increasingly interested
in Wogan’s lore, and that before he departed Mirkwood he had requested
Wogan perform a particular legend, about a long-ago battle between a
“wizard in blue” and a dragon from the far north that descended
upon the Sea of Rhun. The minstrels add that Belemir seemed particularly
excited by the legend’s details. Finbor is unable to convince the
minstrels to recall or attempt to perform the legend.
>Finbor
also checks on the food they had bought from the Beornings and looks if it's
still edible.
Finbor
counts 3 days worth of dried trail rations in the packs of the party’s
steed. They are still edible, and will likely remain so for some time to
come. Finbor also checks on the party’s water barrel, seeing that
it is completely refilled. However, the Elves he speaks with assure him
that there is plentiful drinking water on the trip to Lake-town and indeed even
further beyond to the east. Potable water is only scarce in the Heart of
Mirkwood.
*
* *
On
the 8th of June your Fellowship is ready to set off again on another
journey—this time to the
A
large royal river barge has been taken from its housing and is tied to the
dock, its tiller and pole-men ready to cut the tether and set adrift upon
command. A party of Elven watermen is already aboard, stowing supplies
for their trade delegation to Esgaroth. Thorin is led aboard first, and
then the rest of you are invited onto the barge. Thranduil and his
courtiers remain on the dock in formation, offering you a hail and salute in
farewell. You are surprised to see that Belegil remains with them and
does not join you on the barge. “Farewell,
friends!” Thranduil calls out, “May you find the missing
sage Belemir safe and return with him to the West in safety, too.”
He then turns to Belegil and adds, “Our servant
Belegil cannot go with you any further, for he must remain here with us.
He has fulfilled our realm’s obligation to King Elessar by attending the
Council of the North and reporting to us, but it is not our custom to send
Wood-elves far from their homeland. He will attend us here, and perhaps
march with our host to battle the Orcs of Gundabad.” The Elves
salute you one last time, then turn about and stride into the woods back to the
royal halls.
Leaving
your comrade Belegil behind, you give the word to the Elven boatmen that you
are ready to depart. The Elves cut the tether and the barge is caught up
in the swift current, being pulled downriver to the east toward
Your
company rises on the morning of the 9th, the night have passed
pleasantly and peacefully in the presences of the Elves. A breakfast of nectar-drink
and sweet cakes is given to you, and Thorin is foddered from a small supply
aboard the barge. Once again by mid-morning your barge is well under way,
floating swiftly downriver toward Lake-town. The day is again clear and
crispy, a bright blue sky with few clouds and a happy golden sun. The
hours pass quickly, and by the early afternoon you notice that the river on
which you travel is opening wide, flowing into a great lake up ahead. The
lake is riven by a hilly islet, dividing the body of water into an eastern and
western section. Standing upon great stilts in the shallows of the
western body is Esgaroth-upon-Long-Lake, the famed town of the Lake-men of
Wilderland. The Elven boatmen have plied this route many a time, and they
effortlessly guide the barge to the docks and tether it securely in
place. The Elves guide Thorin off the barge, putting his packs in place
upon his back, and you disembark and assemble on the wharf next to the faithful
steed. The Wood-elves bid you a found farewell, turning their attention
to the trade-work, unloading the goods for which they will acquire wine and
other items from the Lake-men.
It
is barely mid-afternoon on the 9th of June, and you still have
several hours of light in which to accomplish some of your business.
First, of course, is making your presence known to the Men of Esgaroth, which
is a simple matter since the arrival of an Elven-barge is always a public event
here. As you make your way down the wharf toward Lake-town, you are intercepted
by a party of Burgesses representing the elected Master of Lake-town.
They immediately recognize one of your company.
“Hail, Prince Barion!” their leader cries out, leading the embassy
in a polite bow. Barion introduces your Fellowship to them, explaining
that you have come into Wilderland from the West in search of a missing royal
emissary. It is enough of an explanation for the Burgesses, and all of
you are immediately given welcome to conduct whatever business you desire in
Esgaroth. One of the Burgesses, however, is bearing dire news for
Barion. “Noble Prince,” he says gently, “we bear news
for you, sent to us by your brother the King of Dale, for he knew that you
would pass through our town before returning to Dale. I regret to inform
you that your sister has fallen ill this past week, and your brother the King
fears her condition is serious and that she may die. He urges you to
hasten back to your home, so that you may see her before she passes away, if
that is her fate.” The Burgesses bow once more, and then move on to
deal with the party of Elves awaiting them by the barge.
Barion
addresses his companions somberly: “I would that I could continue on with
you to the East, but I fear that my fealty to my brother the King outweighs my
pledge to this Fellowship. We are not sworn by oath, for which I am
thankful, because I must obey King Bard and set out immediately for Dale.
I fear my part in this story has come to a close, as has Belegil’s, but I
wish you success in our enterprise. The four of you are the soul of the
Fellowship, I know that you can find Belemir and bring him home.”
Barion, of course, will need to take Thorin to ride swiftly to Dale.
However, he leaves behind for you all of the Fellowship’s supplies: the food,
barrel of water, arrows, and rope, as well as all personal belongings stowed in
the animal’s packs. (OOC: That’s right, Rard, you little
pack-rat, you’re going to have to carry all of your own crap now!)
Barion also hands to you his pouch of treasure, in which the party’s
coins had been kept along with his own wealth. “Take all that I
have,” he says, “for you will have greater need of it than
I.” Inside the pouch are 30 copper pennies, 8 silver pennies, 2
silver pieces, and a small gemstone probably worth a few silver coins.
The young prince offers you a farewell salute, hops upon Thorin’s back,
and gallops off toward Lake-town’s bridge to the mainland, his mind
already bent toward Dale.
Saddened
by the loss of two comrades in as many days, the remaining Fellowship of Four
pledges to carry on the work of finding the missing Belemir and discovering if
any threat may truly lay behind these rumors of the Angril. The
rededication of purpose fires your hearts (OOC: +1 Courage
restored to all four of you, returning all of you to your current maximum
levels). Finbor, bereft of Barion’s
influence, states that he will do what he can to arrange proper accommodation
in Esgaroth, acquire stocks of rations, and charter a river boat to take the
party to Dorwinion. When Vornmir and Frolin head off toward the taverns
by the docks to try to gather information, Finbor gestures for Rariadoc to
follow along with him. The Gondorian lord’s son and the Shire
Hobbit step off the wharf and make their way into the center of Lake-town, down
long, straight alleys lined with wood-and-thatch townhouses. The pair
attract quite a bit of attention, not only because Rard is the first Hobbit to
set foot in these parts since Bilbo Baggins but also because he and Finbor are
garbed in Elven raiment. Finbor and Rard first stop in the marketplace,
and they find no shortage of vendors selling dried rations for travelers.
The going rate is 25 coppers for a week’s rations per person; Finbor
calculates that it will cost 4 silver pennies to buy a full month’s trail
rations for the remaining Fellowship of Four.
In
the center of town Finbor quickly finds the best inn, an exclusive
establishment for traveling dignitaries called the Golden Eagle. Its fine
tavern attached to the inn serves quality meals for discriminating palates,
those mostly belonging to the wealthier river merchants. Finbor and Rard
speak to the proprietor, who provides your Fellowship with lodging, meals, and
drink for a day for the cost of 10 silver pennies! After Finbor pays the
bill, your party’s pouch is left with only 30 coppers, 2 silver pennies,
1 silver piece, and the small gemstone.
Finbor
and Rard visit the tavern next, and make it known that their “company of
four warriors” is seeking passage by river to Dorwinion and would be pleased
to provide protection in exchange for passage. [Persuade (Oratory) skill
test, superior success] A few of the merchant-grandees in room express
interest, for apparently Wilderland between Esgaroth and Dorwinion has grown
dangerous in the years since the War of the Ring, overrun with bandits who
formerly soldiered for the Shadow. In the end, Finbor and Rard are left
with two choices: a merchant who owns a slower, pole-driven river barge and is
willing to transport the Fellowship without any fee in return for protection,
and a merchant who owns a faster river sailboat and is willing to transport the
Fellowship in return for protection and a fee of 2 silver pennies per
head. In either case, your Fellowship is expected to provision
itself. Both merchants are willing to set off whenever your company is
ready, as early as tomorrow or as late as three days hence.
Meanwhile,
Vornmir and Frolin find a popular tavern along the wharf, filled with fisherman
and boatmen. It is well that Frolin is with him, for Vornmir possesses no
gift of gab. His taciturn presence intimidates the patrons rather than
loosening their tongues. Fortunately, Frolin has considerably more
winning ways. Vornmir’s chief contribution is to spend his 20
copper pennies to buy a few cheap mugs of beer for people willing to
talk. [Inquire (Converse) skill test, marginal success] The men in the
tavern are quite familiar with Dwarves, as several of them do trade with Erebor
and the Iron Hills, and Frolin’s cheerful conversation and charming
persuasion, reinforced by Vornmir’s beers, convinces a few boatmen to
spend time answering your questions. When Vornmir asks what can be
expected on the River Running, the boatmen explain that the waters are often
quite rough and rapid—hence the river’s name. Most raft-men
dread poling the River Running, whereas the sailors are pleased to take
advantage of its swift currents and strong breezes. The boatmen do not
report seeing any Orcs in Wilderland along the river, though they do complain
that the unsettled land is overrun with bandits, mostly Nurn and Khand mercenaries out-of-work since the defeat of Mordor.
The bandits are violent, aggressive, and can’t even be reasoned with in
normal speech. Frolin asks around if there are any visitors from Rhun,
but apparently there aren’t any in town currently. These boatmen
have not heard any news from Dorwinion in recent months, nor have they heard of
Wogan.
Later,
Finbor and Rard find Vornmir and Frolin leaving the wharf tavern, and the
Fellowship of Four makes its way to the Golden Eagle Inn before sundown.
There, the pairs report to each other what they learned and accomplished.
You spend the evening in the Golden Eagle’s tavern, enjoying mugs of ale and
mead along with hearty dishes of roasted tubers that the Hobbit insists on
calling “potatoes” and tasty slices of pork. The tavern is
filled with lofty clientele, mostly rich travelers but also some local notables
willing to pay to eat well and hear the news from foreign dignitaries.
Scene 12: Journey to
the East
In
Lake-town’s marketplace the plucky Hobbit Rard attempts to haggle with
the ration-vendors. He boasts of his adventurous travels since leaving
The Shire, offering to share them with the merchant’s household in return
for a cut in price. "How many others could claim to have seen a
hobbit, let along hosted one?” he quips, “And to be
entertained by one? None. In fact, he
should be charging for the privilege of visiting." He grins impishly
and winks when he says the last part, then lets out
a laugh to let them know he was joking. [Persuade (Fast Talk) skill test,
complete failure] The merchants in this corner of the market regard the cocky
little Halfling dubiously. “We had a Hobbit visit our town some
years ago,” says one of the older men, “and he brought nothing but
trouble in his wake. Best you take your stories and move on, leave
Lake-town in peace.” Rard and Finbor quickly move on to another
corner of the market before rumors of the arrogant Hobbit spread, paying that
last silver piece from the party’s purse to a different merchant in
exchange for 4 weeks rations per person, a load weight over 100 pounds!
But, now each remaining member of the Fellowship has a tally of 31 days worth
of trail rations for future journeys.
Next,
Rard and Finbor deal with the merchants who own riverboats going to
Dorwinion. Finbor grumbles, “Perhaps we are able to persuade the
good merchant to lower his price somewhat, for I have never heard of guards who
had to pay themselves for doing their job.” The sailboat
merchant replies somewhat snidely that the storage he will lose giving berth to
four guards will cost him money, that it might be wisest to pack his hold with
trade goods instead of extra guards and trust to his luck reaching Dorwinion
unscathed. Finbor apparently grows irritated with the sailboat merchant,
resorting to persuasive intimidation. [Intimidate (Majesty) skill test,
+1 Persuade affinity bonus, complete success]
Drawing himself up to his full Dúnadan height, the Gondorian lordling browbeats
the merchant into seeing reason and dropping his request for fare. The
sailboat merchant sheepishly backs down, cowed and a little fearful.
“I see you know your trade,” he whimpers, “I will not quibble
with your terms. Berth and passage in return for your service as guards,
and you supply your own victuals. Fair enough.”
Rard chimes in, “And I can become the ship’s cook every other
evening, since you’re not charging us a fee.” The merchant quickly
accepts, shooting a fearful glance at Finbor, obviously unwilling to do
anything that might provoke his ire.
Later,
Finbor begins to feel a little guilty for his intimidation of the poor
merchant, a man defenseless against Finbor’s might. In his heart
the powerful Dúnadan struggles with corruption of the spirit, as he tries to
come to grips with the allure of intimidating others. [Willpower test, TN
7, 5 (roll) + 2 = 7, marginal success] Slowly, he comes to terms with his
guilty conscience and avoids the taint of corruption. However, he knows
he must be wary of the desire to dominate others in the future…
While
Finbor and Rard take care of their business in the Golden Eagle Inn and Tavern,
Frolin and Vornmir make their way through the marketplace. Frolin begs a
moment’s leave from Vornmir, privately walking over to the corner of the
market occupied by the town’s smithies. The dwarf rummages in his
pack for a moment and withdraws a long steel dagger. "A pretty bit
of work, would you agree?" Frolin asks as he holds the dagger
aloft. The sunlight gleams off the polished steel blade, and the tiny
runes affixed to the hilt seem to glow. "I forged it while we were
in Mirkwood. I am ordinarily loath to sell my work to strangers, but I
fear we will need some silver more than another knife before our journey has
ended." [Debate (Bargain) skill test, +3 situation bonus, superior
success] Despite the fact that the Dwarf is offering merely a long-knife
dagger, its obvious quality dazzles the smithies. They all immediately
begin expressing interest in the weapon, offering escalating competing bids
until only the wealthiest traders are left in contention. Frolin expertly
handles the bargaining, playing the smithies off each other until finally one
rich craftsman offers a bid of 19 silver pieces, Dwarf coins from Erebor struck
for the King of Dale. Frolin surrenders the long knife to the proud new
owner, who pays the rich hoard to Frolin in return. It is a lordly sum,
nearly enough to equip a knight with horse, corslet, and sword!
[Willpower
test, TN 12, 7 [roll] + 4 = 11, failure] Frolin is very pleased with himself
for his highly profitable transaction, a bit of crafting and selling that would
make his Dwarven ancestors proud. But, these were the same
ancestor’s to delved too deep and too greedily
beneath Moria… Frolin during dinner hands over 3 bright
silver pieces to Finbor, who currently has the party’s purse.
“I sold a trifle that I crafted in Mirkwood to the Lake-men and made a
little bundle,” he says affably. “This should cover the cost of the
inn and provisions, I think.” His companions are pleased and
impressed, for 3 silver coins is no mean sum of treasure! Of course, they
do not know of the hoard stuffed into Frolin’s own purse, a secret that preys
upon his deep-seated Dwarven lust for treasure. Frolin thinks no more of
it now, but his spirit grows slightly tainted with the lure of greed [gains 1
Corruption point].
On
the evening of June 9th the Fellowship of Four relaxes in the
comfortable Golden Eagle tavern, enjoying rich food and lordly drinks.
Though it has come at no small expense, it is a pleasure that the travelers
enjoy all the more for knowing that a long journey to the east awaits
them. Rard sits back and sips his oversized ale-mug. "It seems
there are people from all over here, perhaps someone here has heard of
Wogan?” he says. “Should we ask around this place to see what
news can be learned?" Rard spends the rest of the evening looking
for someone to play stones with, wagering his handful of copper pennies with a
variety of opponents who take up his challenge. [Games (Stones) skill
test, superior success] The Hobbit wins three games for every game he loses,
doubling his hoard of copper before the night is out (he now has 40 in his
purse). While playing he passes the time conversationally, attempting to
mention a minstrel by the name of “Wogan or Wolan” he
once saw. "Quite good,” he says, “and another fellow who
wasn't a minstrel, but still knew some interesting tales. His name
escapes me, but he carried an Elf staff, if you can believe it. Queer fellow,
kept to himself, but he did know some tales." [Inquire skill test,
untrained, complete failure] Unfortunately, Rard plays against a series of sore
losers who resent the Hobbit’s surprising skill and bitterly denounce his
distracting small talk. Even when Rard offers to return their lost
wagers, they refuse and huff away angrily, declining to tell him anything about
his queries—even how they feel about the Orc menace!
Finbor
also spends the evening hours among the local notables, sounding them out on
what they know of current affairs, Dorwinion, or the minstrel Wogan.
[Inquire skill test, untrained, complete success] These wealthy traders
and dignitaries are heavily entwined in the affairs of Dale, Esgaroth, Erebor,
and the Woodland Realm, and they happily chit-chat about the inconsequential
politics between these regions, interesting in their own right but of no
special use to you right now. Word seems to have finally reached this
region of King Elessar’s campaign against
*
* *
Your
Fellowship decides it is best to move on from Lake-town as soon as possible,
and you inform your merchant-captain of your desire to depart on the
marrow. He quickly assents and tells you to come to the docks at
Since
the sun is already half-way through the sky when you sail away from Esgaroth,
the riverboat travels for only five hours on the first day. Carried by
the river’s strong current and blessed with a lucky wind blowing from the
northwest, five hours is enough to take you from Lake-town clear through the
eastern fringe of Mirkwood, beyond the terminal point of the
On
the 11th and the 12th the swift riverboat repeats the
monotony of long-distance travel over water—passing tree, hill, meadow,
tree, hill, meadow over and over again. The strong river current and
brisk winds carry you a satisfactory distance, well over a hundred miles each
day. Since the sailors do not have to halt the boat’s progress to
rest, your party can travel for ten hours each day and still have some
remaining light at dusk in which to set up camp. As the sun begins to
sink in the western horizon behind you on the 12th of June, you
notice the river ahead of you widening and gurgling into heavy rapids.
“We are no more than a league away from the confluence with the might
Redwater,” the boat’s pilot announces, searching for a safe
outcropping in deep enough water for him to bank the boat safely for the
night. The pilot has made this trip many times before, though, and he
knows there is a perfect spot just up ahead. “We do not dare
negotiate the rapids at the confluence in so little light,” he
explains. “Let us halt here for the day, and we will do better by
light of day. This promontory is a famous waypoint known to all
experienced watermen.” After the boat banks against the outcropping
and drops anchor, your Fellowship of Four debouches to set up camp.
The
promontory is like a little land bridge that juts out from the south bank,
which is low and wide and leads up to the grassy ridge running like a wall east
to west for a couple hundred yards. You can see why this waypoint is
popular with sailors, for it permits them to camp on a pleasant, flat river
beach shielded from southerly wind and rain by the high ridge, screened by tall
grasses and copses of trees. Finbor, however, frowns at the pilot’s
choice. He is trained in the ways of war, and he knows such a bivouac is
indefensible: anyone on the ridge can observe the beach in full concealment,
and if a troop charges down from the height those on the beach have their backs
to a rapid and deep river, with nowhere to run but east or west along the
narrow, flat, and wholly exposed beach. Your band makes its way to where
the promontory joins with the beach, carrying all the gear to set-up
camp. The four boatmen have just finished battening down the boat and are
preparing to step down onto dry land. Finbor and Vornmir stand at the
fore, with Rariadoc right behind them. Frolin huffs as he brings up the
rear, dropping his share of the load onto the beach and joking loudly about how
good it will feel to lie on solid earth again. [Observe skill tests]
Suddenly, Rard gasps and starts to raise his arm to point to
the ridge to the south, but Vornmir quickly puts his hand on the
Hobbit’s arm and stops him. “Shhh,” he cautions the
excitable Hobbit, “I hear them—men moving in the trees on the ridge
to the south.”
Finbor
gestures for all of you to drop your loads as if nothing is amiss.
“I see them, too,” he says.
Frolin
furtively looks around, uncertain. “What, what is it? I see
nothing.”
Finbor
replies in a soft voice, “Bandits, I think, six of them. Two men with bows hiding behind a pair of trees atop the ridge due
south, perhaps 20 yards away. To the immediate right of the bowmen
are a man armed with a scimitar and buckler and a man armed with a whip.
To the immediate left of the bowmen are a man armed with a spear and a man
armed with a mace.”
“Do
they see us?” Vornmir asks, impressed by his comrade’s
extraordinary alertness.
“No,
I think not,” Finbor answers. “They are lying in wait to
strike. The bowmen are preparing to load and draw, and I suspect the
other men will charge down upon us after they shoot. If they still think
they have us unawares, we may have time to time to ready ourselves briefly
before they strike…”
Meanwhile,
the four boatmen are climbing down from their vessel onto the little
promontory. They are perhaps 10 yards behind you and blissfully unaware
of the danger. None of you currently has your weapons readied to attack,
though Frolin’s axe and Vornmir and Finbor’s spears merely lay at
their feet, Rard’s bow is strung and slung around his shoulder, and
Vornmir’s shield is strapped to his arm. The sun is low in the
western horizon, providing sufficient twilight for vision and not in
anyone’s eyes.
Scene 13: Bandits in
the East!
At
dusk on the 12th of June, less than a league from the confluence of
the River Running with the Redwater, your Esgaroth sailboat anchors off a small
promontory jutting out into the river bend, leading onto a wide, flat, but
terribly exposed beach. It is a well-known waypoint for mariners and, as
Frolin points out, apparently well-known to bandits, too! A troop of six
(that you see!) lies in wait in a copse of trees up on the ridge twenty yards
to the south, overlooking the exposed river-beach. Thanks for Rard,
Vornmir, and Finbor’s sharp powers of observations, your Fellowship is
not caught unawares by their ambush—but you have only precious seconds
before they will surely attack! Quickly whispering your consensus plan to
hold the promontory’s neck against any possible bandit charge, Vornmir
and Finbor kneel down quickly to pick up their spears and ready their shields
and Frolin bends down to pick up and ready his axe. Rard, meanwhile,
turns about and runs back to the boat, calling out a story about
“forgetting his lute” on the ship; a skillful runner, the little
Halfling quickly reaches the mooring before the crew disembarks, whispering for
them to re-embark and hide behind the boat’s thin wooden bulwarks.
The
startled crewmen quickly reverse direction and start climbing back onto the
anchored boat. Unfortunately, this seems to be enough of a cue to the
concealed bandits: the archers draw their strings and the armed men step out
from the tree-line and prepare to charge! Several of the enemy fighters
seem ready to move, but they delay until the archers have fired their
volley. Rard is the first on your side to act, pushing the sailors up
onto the boat and hopping up after them. The crewmen drop prone, cowering
on the deck. Rard kneels behind the starboard bulwark, slipping free his
bow from around his shoulder.
Meanwhile,
one of the archers looses his shaft at Vornmir; the arrow falls short, however,
not even reaching the warrior. He then flicks his hand back to his
quiver, readying the arrow to be shot. Vornmir and Finbor then ready
their spears, holding to receive the enemy charge. Frolin follows suit,
holding his axe for a clean chop at the first enemy in reach. The second
archer now looses his arrow at Finbor: the shaft flies at the Dúnadan but hits
his shield, snapping from the force of impact. He, too, quickly reaches
for another arrow, fitting it to his string and drawing. At the same
moment, his compatriots pour out of the trees with a whoop and holler, charging
down the ridge and onto the beach. Vornmir pre-empts their bold assault
with an intimidating battle-cry: "Flee while you can bandits! This
is not an easy catch." [Intimidate skill test, untrained, -5 penalty
for additional targets, failure] Vornmir’s words ring hollow to these
brigands, who feel that, with their numbers and superior position, they have
good odds of overwhelming you. Finbor, meanwhile, pulls back his spear and
throws it at his first target of opportunity coming within point-blank
range. Since he did not specify a target of preference, random chance
turns up the mace-wielder as his victim: the spearhead connects with the
man’s leather cuirass, bouncing off but leaving the flesh beneath
bruised, dazing the bandit. Finbor then grabs for his sword-hilt, sliding
his longsword from its scabbard. Vornmir and Frolin, too, are ready to
receive the enemy, and without a specified target of choice they simply attack
whom chance brings to them. Vornmir jabs at the scimitar-and-buckler man:
the spearhead strikes the shoulder pad of his cuirbolli cuirsass, dazing him
from the blow and, more importantly, stopping his charge short before he can
reach Vornmir with his sword. Frolin, nestled between Vornmir on his left
and Frolin on his right, steps up to meet the spearman, catching him in the arc
of his precisely swung ax: the blade bounces off his leather cuirass, but the
bone-rattling blow dazes him.
The
scimitar-fighter has been thwarted by Vornmir, who keeps him at bay with his
long-reaching spear, but the others complete their charge and close to
attack. The whip-fighter purposefully ends his charge at a distance, so
he can lash out with his weapon’s truly superior reach, even longer than
a spear. However, his clumsy charge has lost whatever momentum he gained
coming off the ridge, so he gains so special advantage. The man is
obviously skilled with his exotic weapon, quite nearly wrapping it around
Vornmir’s arm, but the golden-haired warrior, whose strikes now seem
swifter than ever, manages to dodge the leather strap. Momentum carries
the spearman into Frolin, however, and he raises the spear high to jab it down
upon Frolin, who is already within blade-reach: the spearhead comes crashing
down fiercely at Frolin’s head, but with a little bit of courage [1
Courage point spent] Frolin manages to parry the point aside with the flat of
his battle-ax. The mace-fighter crashes into Finbor just as the warrior frees
his longsword from his scabbard; the weighted head slams down upon Finbor, but
despite being overextended from his previous actions the warrior manages to
skillfully parry the blow with his sword and shield. The first few moments
of battle have passed, and your line at the neck of the promontory is holding,
unscathed. You have weathered the enemy charge, and three of the armed
chargers have suffered one hit a piece.
Vornmir
quickly regains the initiative, going on the offensive. The spearman
feebly tries to parry his strike, but to no avail. Vornmir slams his
spear into the scimitar-fighter, punching straight through his cuirass and
piercing his belly, wounding the man. Vornmir follows up with a second
stroke, a hard blow to the chest that mortally injuries the man, who sinks to
the ground near death. The brigand spearman, only a second later, takes a
stab at Frolin: once again the aim looks to be true, but once again the little
Dwarf courageously parries the spearhead aside with his axe [1 Courage point
spent]. Rard, meanwhile, grabs an arrow from his quiver and pulls back on
his bow. A moment later he shoots at one of the archers nearly 30 yards
to the south. The shot is at medium range for the Hobbit’s short
bow, and half of his target’s body is covered by the trees; normally this
would not be too taxing for the eagle-eyed archer, but his fingers slip at the
last moment and ruin his shot, firing the shaft far too high.
Not
dissuaded by Rard’s first shot, a bandit archer takes careful aim at
Vornmir, the arrow already nocked in his string. With his comrades
already downed by the warrior, and the whip-fighter at a small distance, his
shot is unobstructed and only at short range for the longbow: it is a weak shot
that looks like it only barely has hope of hitting its mark, and Vornmir easily
dodges aside so that it strikes only dirt. At near the same time, Frolin
swings his axe around for a strike against the spearman—who seems to be
hesitant to attack the brave Dwarf too aggressively. Alas, the axe blow
is a little too weak, and the spearman manages to deflect it with the shaft of
his spear. Finbor then takes advantage of the close quarters of the
promontory’s neck to attempt a sweep, trying to slash through the
mace-fighter and on into the spearman engaged with Frolin: the Dúnadan’s
blade sweeps wide at the mace-fighter, who is easily able to block the arc with
the weighted head and end Finbor’s assault. The second bandit
archers, his shot at Finbor obscured by his two compatriots, instead takes aim
at Rard in the distance, shooting at the furthest extent of short range for his
longbow: the arrow is a fair shot and would hit the Hobbit were it not for
Rard’s little size compared to the side of the boat, but instead it sinks
into one of the wooden planks. A moment later the whip-fighter manages to
recoil his lash, attempting to strike Vornmir, but the warrior is too fast on
his feet to be struck by a clumsy whip—indeed, perhaps only the Balrog of
Moria could hit him when he is so possessed of celerity! The timid
whip-fighter sizes up his foe, looks down at his stricken comrade, and decides
his best course of action is to turn about and jog back south toward the ridge
and the trees, crossing about half of the distance. The mace-fighter is
not so craven and tries to pound Finbor: it is a solid swing, but the Dúnadan
lordling reserved enough of his momentum to defend with his shield, knocking
the weighted head back harmlessly.
The
fight has raged for barely a quarter of a minute. Your sailors are safely
on the boat, lying prone. Rard is in front of them, kneeling behind the
boat’s starboard bulkward with his shortbow in hand. Vornmir,
Frolin, and Finbor stand nearly side-by-side where the promontory opens up onto
the beach. No one on your side has been even so much as scratched.
The bandit swordsman, however, has been mortally struck by Vornmir and is
sinking to the ground near death. The whip-fighter is fleeing, having
crossed about half of the 20 yards distance from the promontory to the wooded
ridge. The spearman is engaged with Frolin and appears to be only dazed
from his received blow; the mace-fighter is engaged with Finbor and is
similarly dazed from his hit. The bandit archers are unhurt, but neither
have they managed to hurt any of you so far—and, what’s more, they
current do not have arrows in their strings (but, for that matter, neither does
Rard).
As
the fight against the bandits rages on, Vornmir swiftly leaps into
action. He jogs a few yards ahead and hooks to his right, flanking the
spearman threatening his Dwarven comrade. The spearman vainly tries to
ward back Vornmir’s point, but the spearhead punctures his leather
cuirass over his chest, visibly wounding him. Rard, meanwhile,
disappointed at his last shot, has fixed another arrow in his bow and takes
careful aim at the opposing archer. The enemy archer, however, decides to
take advantage of Vornmir’s exposed position, grabbing an arrow and
swiftly letting it take flight, but the warrior turns in time to catch it
against his little shield, effortlessly avoiding harm. At the same time,
the bandit whip-fighter seems to have a change of heart. Seeing Vornmir
blood his comrade, the whip-fighter utters an oath in a strange tongue and
charges the gold-haired warrior. He closes to within a few yards of
Vornmir at a full run, attacking from a pincher’s position opposite his
spear-wielding friend. The whip lashes out with superior force at
Vornmir, who proves unable to dodge aside this time. The lash cracks
against his helm and corslet, bruising the skin underneath (5 damage); the
sudden force of the blow quick nearly knocks Vornmir off his feet, but the
stout fighter manages to keep himself upright. Unfortunately, the
whip’s length has wrapped around the shoulder of his shield arm, holding
him defenseless! At the same time, the second bowman finishes readying
his shot and lets fly at Vornmir—fortunately,
the arrow only glances off his helmet, with no appreciable harm. Frolin,
then, takes a precisely aimed swing at the spearman, careful to balance his axe
for a quick defense against any counterstroke, but his arc is too short and he
fails to make contact. Finbor, at nearly the same moment, goes on a
full-out attack, attempt two precisely aimed slashes at the man’s upper
body: the clumsy mace is unable to parry the swift strokes, and the cuts to his
arm and shoulder leave him visibly wounded. The mace-wielder angrily
counterattacks despite his injury, and Finbor is too overextended to block the
lucky blow with his shield: the weighted head nicks his chainmail corslet,
bruising his sternum (6 damage). The spearman
advantage of Vornmir’s predicament; unable to dodge or parry, the warrior
is an easy target even to the bleeding attacker: the point scrapes against his
arm, smashing the mail scales into his flesh (5 damage).
Frolin
is the first to regain the initiative, repeating his cautious mode of attack:
the ax-edge cuts at the lower edge of his cuirass, a wound to his thigh that
could be incapacitating. Rard, having completed his careful aim, takes a
shot at the archer in the copse: the extra aim seems to be all the Hobbit needs
to make contact through the cover, though the arrow only glances off the
man’s cuirass, bruising the skin beneath. Rard takes advantage of
his remaining momentum to grab another arrow and try to follow up with a second
shot, but this time the shaft sinks harmlessly into the covering tree.
The whip-fighter suddenly yanks on the lash wrapped around Vornmir’s
shoulder: despite Vornmir’s great strength, his opponent has too much of a leverage advantage and drops him prone. The archer
previously threatened by Rard now returns the favor, landing a fairly lucky
shot through a gap in the boat’s bulwark: the arrowhead grazes
Rard’s thigh, drawing blood (7 damage)!
Vornmir, meanwhile, tries to struggle free from his predicament, but even as he
twists and flails with all his strength he is not able to wrest himself free
from the lash of the strong and skillful whip-fighter. The second archer
joins his comrade in trying to take out Rariadoc: the arrow slices past his
arm, drawing a little more blood, but the hardy little bowman is unhindered by
the dazing pain (4 damage). A second later
Finbor repeats his barrage of masterful strokes against the mace-fighter,
precise but still dangerous. The wounded mace-fighter tries to block the
first stroke, but his parries feebly misses and Finbor’s sword-edge cuts
through his cuirass and rips into his chest; the follow-up stroke punctures the
cuirass at his neck, slaying him outright. The bloodied spearman,
frightened by Finbor’s skill and his comrades
fate, drops his spear and backs away from Frolin, limping away at a hobbled
jog, getting about half-way to the ridge. Despite his pleasure at
Vornmir’s discomfort, the whip-fighter quickly perceives that he has no
chance of standing against both Frolin and Finbor alone. He, too, lets go
of the whip and jogs south back toward the ridge, quickly catching up with his
fleeing compatriot.
As
your foes flee from you, Vornmir is able to rise to his feet and shuffle off
the lash binding his sore but not significantly injured shoulder. He
stands over the mortally stricken scimitar-bandit and shouts out, "Your
men do not have long to live! If you wish to parley for their release,
you must return soon in surrender. Their wounds are grave."
The enemy archers ready arrows and hold their shots, trying to cover their
comrades’ escape. Rard, too, readies an arrow and takes careful aim
again. Frolin shows no interest in pursuing the bandits, instead dropping
to his knees to examine the dying swordsman—he knows the slain
mace-fighter is beyond all aid. Finbor, though, knows that so long as the
archers are picketed in the woods your Fellowship remains in danger. The
mighty Dúnadan advances wildly toward the archers, waving his sword and uttering
his battle-cry, “Lamedon!” As soon as Finbor starts to close
in on the fleeing bandits, the archers let loose their arrows. Finbor
trusts to his shield to guard him, but with higher elevation the archers are
able to land two lucky shots! The first arrow pierces his mail coat,
cutting a chink in his armor, but the point is stopped by his arming jacket
underneath and only bruises his ribcage, leaving him dazed (9 damage); the
second arrow strikes his corslet and snaps, further bruising his chest’s
bone and muscle, leaving him on the edge of being injured (5 damage).
But, Finbor’s advance is irresistible, his battle-cry fearsome: having
landed their parting shots covering their friends’ flight, the
intimidated archers turn tail and flee deeper into the woods. The unarmed
bandits formerly facing you in hand-to-hand combat also desperately fly from
Finbor, the unhurt man helping his hobbled comrade reach the relative safety of
the woods…
By
the time Rard is ready to loose his aimed arrow, only the hobbled bandit’s
back presents itself as a target; the Hobbit lowers his bow, declining to take
such a cruel shot. Finbor continues his pursuit into the woods, making
sure the bandits are chased completely from the beach. With the fierce
Dúnadan in pursuit, the bandits do not look back and hastily quit the
field. Finbor makes certain that there are no more bandits in the nearby
woods—these six men were apparently striking out on their own.
Vornmir
checks promontory, the beach, and the ridge for signs of tracks. For such
a remote and desolate place, he finds it well-traveled. He suspects that
sometime virtually every week some traveling party uses the area as a camp
site, perhaps mariners, perhaps bandits preying upon them. Finbor,
returning from his pursuit, joins Rard in cleaning up the area. They
gather the whip and the spear left behind by the fleeing men, as well as the
mace, scimitar, and small shield dropped by the vanquished. The leather
cuirasses worn by the dead and dying were ruined by your attacks and are
unsalvageable. The bandits left behind no treasure, their loot
undoubtedly squirreled away in some hiding spot in the distant wilderness.
Finbor
has taken 20 points of damage, officially putting him in the Injured (-3)
column; his chainmail corslet now has 1 chink in it (reducing its protection
value to 4). Vornmir has taken 10 points of damage, though he is still
Healthy (-0). Rariadoc has taken 11 points of damage, putting him in the
Dazed column (which is still -0 to the “Hardy” Hobbit); he has 14
arrows left in his quiver (no, the spent arrows cannot be salvaged!).
Frolin is unscathed.
Frolin
examines the dying bandit and discerns that his injuries are mortal; he will
expire within the night if not treated, and even then there are no guarantees
so seriously is he wounded. Frolin’s magic is somewhat
limited—he has never used his Healing-spell before, and it would take an
act of Courage (using his last point) even to have a chance of
succeeding. Using his Healing-spell a second time in short order would be
just as difficult. Does Frolin use his Healing-spell on the bandit or on
one of his own companions (and, if so, on whom?), or does he not use the spell
and reserve his last point of Courage? Is he willing to use his new healing
kit, and on whom?
*
* *
The
sailors emerge from the boat, profusely grateful for your protection. The
merchant-captain shakes Finbor’s hand, vouching that his presence is
worth the lost cargo space on this trip! With the bandits defeated, you
are able to set up a secure campsite on the beach. Rard cooks up your
rations into as delicious a meal as possible (you have 27 days remaining
apiece). You set up a night watch up on the ridge, making sure that
nothing can threaten those sleeping below on the open beach. The night
passes uneventfully, and in the morning your traveling party rises fully
rested. It is now the 13th of June, and the River Carnen
awaits you.
The story continues
in Part III (click here)