Scene 1: The Siege of
After
the retreat of the Grand Muster from the western slope of Gundabad, the army
encamps on the moorland heath a league from the mountain’s West
Gate. Fortifications are built and a leaguer drawn up, for King Elessar
has ordered that the army will lay siege to
Volunteers
are sought to travel across Middle-earth to bring news to the king’s
allies and seek information and aid from them. Éogar longs to see Rohan
again. Reconciliation with Halcred before the man’s death has
emboldened him, and he begs leave from the king to ride with the messengers to
the Riddermark. "I have led the remaining Men of the Mark in battle
after Halcred fell, and it is I who can best report their condition to King
Éomer,” he says. He continues in a wary tone, “As a Knight of
Arnor under your service they must hear me, but my history will not make me
welcome. I do not wish to jeopardize the campaign if my presence will mean
failure, but will you allow me to travel with riders to Edoras and parlay for
additional troops?"
King
Elessar long regards Éogar, the king’s grey-eyed gaze gauging the motives
of his knight. “I know your heart longs to see your homeland again
after so long,” he says. “Though I may send you to Rohan, I
cannot command your acceptance therein. It will be in your hands to win
redemption, son of Garbald.” The king turns his gaze among the
other Riders of Rohan gathered around Éogar and says, “The distance is
too great for you to travel alone, and the matter too urgent. Will of any
Men of the Mark agree to ride with you?”
Éogar
looks among the Riders of Rohan and is about to ask if any of them will
volunteer, or if any of them feels he is better suited to be spokesman for the
king. Before he can speak, three men whose lives Éogar saved in battle
step forward. “None is better suited to speak for our cause than he
whose spear saved us in battle,” the first of them says. Speaks the
second, “Our lives are owed Garbald’s son, and we will not let him
ride alone.” Says the third, “Let Éogar Garbald’s son
speak on behalf of the King of Gondor, and let us speak to the Lord of the Mark
on behalf of Éogar Garbald’s son.”
The
king offers Éogar a gentle smile and nods his head, granting him leave to bring
embassy to Edoras. Other lords and counselors are then nominated to bring
embassy to the king’s other allies. One of the Rangers of Rhudaur
is sent to the Dwarves of the
Rard
Brandybuck waves to Éogar as his friends set off the following morning,
galloping west across the moorlands upon Hildwyn, his noble mare gifted to him
by Master Galleth of Dorwinion. June and July are difficult months for
the hobbit. Ever restless, he squirms at being confined so long to his
sick-bed, but it is the only way that his severe wounds will fully heal.
He is visited often by the king himself, whose own hands saved his life, and it
is only this royal attention that convinces Rard he’d better listen to
the surgeons and keep abed. But with Éogar gone it is very lonely for the
hobbit. Only old Gamba Bracegirdle is available to visit much with him,
and the kind but elderly hobbit is not the kind of company Rard longs
for. Rard desperately wishes that he could be with young Lord Elboron and
the Ithilien scouts combing the countryside for the hidden pass used by the
goblin wolf-riders. Even the gruff one-eyed Biárki Barrelheart gets to go
along with them!
Indeed,
the remaining days of June are busy for Elboron and Biárki, who travel with a
band of Ithilien scouts following the tracks left by the hordes of
wolf-riders. Screened by a column of Rohirric cavalry, the band ranges
across the heath between the Ettenmoors and the western arm of the
And
so passes the summer and autumn. By the end of July, all the men wounded
in the first battle of
Over
the months the messengers sent out in early June return to the encampment,
bringing news from distant allies. Éogar and his comrades return from
Rohan, where they were received by King Éomer. When Éogar identified
himself as Garbald’s son, a great hush fell across the hall. Some
lords then complained that the party should have been turned back, were it
known that a renegade rode with the loyal Riders of Rohan. However,
Éogar’s comrades-in-arms defended Éogar’s honor, and stated that no
man is more loyal than Garbald’s son, who saved the lives of countless
Riders of Rohan in the failed battle of Gundabad. Éomer was torn,
for neither did he wish to offend his lords nor the emissary of King Elessar.
Éogar demurred and asked the Lord of the Mark only to receive him as a Knight
of Arnor, and Éomer did so gladly. News of the death of so many
Riders was received with bitter grief; when the wrapped bones of Halcred
and Grimbold’s son were laid in the hall of Meduseld, a great
lament was raised by those who knew and honored them. Éogar, on
behalf of King Elessar, begged the Lord of the Mark to raise a new host of
cavalry to send to the north; though Éogar is no honey-tongued speaker, he had
learned something of the art of oratory in his time among friends like Finbor
and Frolin, and his plea was supported by the three Riders who accompanied
him. [Persuade (Oratory) test, +3 bonus from his comrades, complete
success] King Éomer pledged to see what additional force could be raised
in the Mark and sent to the north in the spring. “Let the thunder
of the cavalry of the Riddermark be heard again on the slopes of
Éogar
longs to see his sister again, but his exile is not yet lifted and he did not
have freedom of travel in the kingdom; he sadly came to accept that he
will not see Garwyn again until his honor is redeemed. Some days later
King Éomer gave the emissaries leave to return to the encampment of the Grand
Muster, to report his pledge to King Elessar. The Lord of the Mark
granted all of them his blessing, and he thanked Éogar for bringing to him the
remains of Halcred and Grimbold’s son. When out of the hearing of
the jealous lords of the court, Éomer bid Éogar not to forsake his service
among the Riders of Rohan: “It is my hope that glory on the slopes of
Gundabad will wash clean that stain of old from the Crossings of Isen.
Fight bravely with the Riders of Rohan, and if the éoreds hail you as
honorably as these three comrades then none will call you renegade any longer,
and you may be welcomed home once again as a son of Eorl. Farewell,
Garbald’s son.”
Éogar’s
party returns to the encampment of the Grand Muster before the end of
August. The other messengers return at other times—the Elves who
went to the Dimrill Dale in September, the Dwarves who ventured to the
upper Anduin not until the end of October, and the messengers to Minas Tirith
not until November. All reports are brought to the king, who now must
contemplate a course for the future.
In
the months that pass the heroes busy themselves with the army as best they
can. Young Elboron divides his time between leading armed patrols across
the heath and drilling the Ithilien company. His patrols amount to
little, for the moorland is desolate and empty, and the orcs cravenly keep to
the tunnels of Gundabad while the army of the Western Lands leaguers the
field. After accompanying Elboron on the original patrol, Biárki devotes
all of his time to the dwarven company; over the months he comes to gain their
trust, even though the Aglarond Dwarves fear Biárki’s obsession with
Moria and are loath to speak with him on the matter. Rard, after
recovering fully from his debilitating wounds toward the end of July, spends
the rest of the season in the doldrums. The hobbit misses his friend
Éogar greatly. He tries to kill time by gaming with the men of the army,
but he is shocked to learn that games of chance have been forbidden by the
captains, and few of the men possess coins with which to wager. To bide
the time Rard practices the art of fletching taught him the previous year by an
elvish minstrel now slain; though Rard cannot smithy his own arrow-heads, he is
pleased that the army has many such craftsman and heads are not in short
supply. The hobbit makes a spare bundle of arrows for himself, and he
chooses the very best of his work to put into a gift-quiver, which he presents
to Halbarad’s son, in thanks for saving his life in the first
battle. The ranger happily accepts the hobbit’s gift, and jests
that next time it is Rard’s turn to save him. Rard returns to his
normal cheerful self after the return of Éogar, who spends much time among the
Riders of Rohan. Though Éogar doubts that he will be asked to captain the
men when King Éomer sends a new army under a new commander, he still desires
their acceptance and companionship of the men. Éogar also acquires a new
shield from the army’s craftsman. The buckler which was his
companion throughout the Quest of the Angril was cracked in the battle,
and he replaces it with a heavy long-shield. Éogar seeks, too, to acquire
a new javelin, but now that he is a heavy cavalryman with a large shield he no
longer has a free hand to carry it.
*
* *
April,
in the 17th year of the Fourth Age. The Siege of Mount
Gundabad has worn on for nearly a year; the siege-works and the men of the
Grand Muster manning them have suffered a long and hard winter, for nothing is
so cruel and cold as the icy snows of the far north. Much sickness has
wracked the army, and thus have men perished from illness and bitter
cold. Only the regular shipments of supplies from the Shire, brought so
far across the barren wilds of Eriador by bold and faithful hobbit teamsters,
keeps the army from disintegrating. Yet, as the months drag on, keeping
the army in supply becomes a graver burden for the humble Shire-folk. By
April, once the snows have melted even in the far north, the way is open for
reinforcements to arrive. Soon there will be even more mouths to feed,
and the hardship will break the backs of the halflings. Caravans are
fewer and fewer, and they come less frequently. King Elessar orders the
army to cut rations by a quarter, so that what food stores are already acquired
may be stretched. Scouts are dispatched to draw water from mountain
streams—though it soon is learned the water from the
As
the Shire caravans become infrequent, the army’s provender dwindles, and
morale wavers, King Elessar summons all his counselors, lords, and captains to
a Council of Necessity to debate what must be done. Men, grim-faced and
dour, gather at the king’s pavilion. Biárki attends on behalf of
the Dwarves; Gilavas Parmandil is present at the king’s side, as is the
revived Rariadoc Brandybuck. King Elessar’s bearing is not
diminished as he speaks to the assembly, though weariness can be detected in
his visage and voice. The hardships of this protracted siege in the
far north affect even him, for the king shares the difficulties of his men and
accepts no special treatment.
The
king speaks long in summation of the griefs the army has suffered. Though
reinforcements are promised to arrive soon, the Grand Muster is still well
below its original strength; supplies are barely sufficient to keep in the
field even this reduced force. All the while, the Orcs of the North and
their wolf and troll allies betray no sign of weakening, and the long winter
siege has imposed no discernable hardship upon them. “A grave
problem threatens our endeavor,” he says. “We have at most
six more months in the field, before our lines of supply collapse and our stocks
of provender are expended. If
There
is a reflexive gasp among the assembly—that a mere 5,000 attackers could
hope to expel 15,000 well-entrenched defenders from a mountain fastness seems
like folly. Some of the lords demand to know what may be done, or should
the army retreat now and give up this forlorn cause. King Elessar
silences them with a gesture, and then beckons for the messengers who traveled
to other lands to come forward and speak, so that all may hear the news that
has been learned. Éogar addresses the assembly first, and he relates that
King Éomer has sworn vengeance upon the orcs that slew Halcred,
Grimbold’s son, and so many brave Eorlings; it is hoped that the
Riddermark will be able to dispatch at least six éoreds to replace those
who fell in battle and that the reinforcements will come before summer.
Next
speaks the Ranger of Rhudaur who traveled west to Mount Gram and the Shire:
“When I passed to the west last summer, I spoke with the Dwarves of the
Blue Mountains at Mount Gram; they reported that their leaguer had not been troubled,
and it seemed to them that few orcs remained within the mount and none dared
show themselves. On my journey I also encountered some of the Elves of
Lindon who guard the ruins of Carn Dûm; the fair folk said that no evil had
emerged from the ruins, though they sensed that some foul presence in the
The
trio of Dwarves who were sent across the Misty Mountains to the upper Anduin
are next asked to report, and the eldest among them relates their tale:
“It was a long journey across the mountains and up the Great River to the
eastern slope of Mount Gundabad; it took us nearly five months there and back
again, and we barely returned to the army’s encampment before the snows
of winter set in. Yet we did manage to reach the camp of the
King-under-the-Mountain and the Lord of Dale; they have drawn their leaguer
along the banks of the River Langwell some miles beyond the rebuilt town of
The
pair of Elves of Ithilien who crossed the
"But
they do not dare to attack Moria itself!" Biárki snarls, nearly
spitting. "Will the orcs be permitted to occupy its halls
forever?" His question goes unanswered by the Elves or the others in
the assembly, for Moria is a very black name among them all, and not least for
Aragorn the king.
The
Gondorian lords who journeyed to Minas Tirith are called upon last to speak,
and the noblest among them relates what they learned: “Prince Faramir
greatly bemoaned the hardships faced by the Grand Muster, and he set to work
immediately to raise reinforcements. Alas, prosperity and peace have
softened the vigilance of the people of Gondor, and few men of war with ready
arms are likely to be found. He swore that able-bodied men from Emyn
Arnen, Lossarnach, and Dor-en-Ernil would be levied and dispatched north this
spring, but their total number is not like to exceed five hundreds. Given
the great distance they must march, we cannot expect them to reach us any
sooner than June or July.”
King
Elessar now speaks once more to this Council of Necessity. He says,
“The situation is dire. We cannot expect to be able to attack any
sooner than July, and we must occupy the halls of Gundabad by the end of
October or we will be compelled with withdraw. Yet, even with
reinforcements we will face an enemy whose full strength is far greater than
our own and is directed entirely against us.”
A
representative from the Bree-folk of Eriador quails, “Our numbers are too
few! Are there not any more fighting men who can be gathered to us?
Why not call the Dwarves or Elves of the West to our banner?”
King
Elessar shakes his head and answers, “The Blue-Mountain Dwarves and the
Elves of the Havens are too few, and we dare not pull them from
A
Gondorian lord proclaims, “There are yet Free Peoples who have not
contributed to our count of head. The Northmen are hardly mobilized, the
Men of Framsburg and their kin the Wood-men of Rhovanion. And what of the
Beornings of the Anduin?”
“We
have little claim to command these folk,” King Elessar replies in a wary
tone. “Mayhaps they could be persuaded to join us, but it would be
a long journey to reach them, and even longer for them to reach us. We
have but six months left until we must occupy Gundabad or withdraw from the
north.”
An
Ithilien man scoffs, “An army would needs wings to reach us in
time! We would be better to stop dreaming of armies that cannot come and
instead consider what strategy we may employ to defeat the foes who are before
us.”
“Aye,
he speaks truly,” one of the Gondorian lords calls out. “My
King, we cannot hope to carry the West Gate of Gundabad while the full power of
the orcs holds it. Our best hope is to attack the western slope in
coordination with the Dwarves of Erebor and the Bardings of Dale. We must
choose the right day to attack, send messengers to our allies, and instruct
them to assault the East Gate at the same time that we assault the West
Gate. Only if the defenders are assaulted on two sides will our attack
have any hope of success, and it would be best if the orcs could be attacked on
three sides at once.”
A
Ranger of Rhudaur responds, “But we face the same problem: how can
messengers travel across Eriador, the Misty Mountains, and the Anduin Vales to
reach our allies, and then return to us before the attack? For we dare
not attack the West Gate again until we know for certain the Dwarves and
Bardings will attack the East Gate at the same time, and so we must wait for
the messengers to come back to us.”
One
of Biárki’s dwarven sages growls, “There may be faster routes to
reach Wilderland.
“But
where could such a hidden pass be found?” asks a Ranger of Rhudaur.
“Even were it found, only a small company of messengers could hope to
slip through unnoticed, and even so they might be compelled to face pickets of
orcs and wolves or worse. Such a quest would be a forlorn hope at
best…”
King
Elessar raises his hand to gather the assembly’s attention.
“Our problems are well enumerated, and our limited options laid before
us” he says. “My lords and counselors, what say you?”
Scene 2: The Quest of
Forlorn Hope
A year after the first battle on the slopes of
"My
lords!" Elboron calls out. "Last summer we scoured the region
for the source of the wolf-riders who assailed our flank. Their trail led
us to a hidden canyon that leads to the Northeast. Though I cannot say
where it leads, it may well be a path through the mountains. It may also
lead to a hidden entrance to the ancient dwarf-halls."
“Or
it may lead to a sheer precipice, or a mountain canyon without exit, or into
the underdeeps where the orcs swarm by their thousands,” one of the
Gondorian lords cautions. “It could be a fearsome hardship for
those who undertake the quest.”
Elboron
says, clear of mind and voice, "We must send scouts through this pass.
It would be a dangerous task for certain, but it may be our best chance to win
this war."
The
High-elf Gilavas, who stands by the king’s side, says to him, “What
of the Palantíri, created by Fëanor long ago? Ever since
the fall of Arthedain I've been wondering what happened to the Palantíri
of the Gondor. I know the Seeing-stones of Amon Sûl and
Fornost were lost with Arvedui Last-king, and the Palantír of
Elostirion has been taken to the Undying Lands. The Wise have feared that
both the stones of Osgiliath and Minas Ithil are lost for ever as well, but
what happened to the stones of Angrenost and Minas Anor? A seeing-stone
could very well be the solution to our problems.”
“I
fear little good will ever come again of the Palantíri,” the king
responds. “Long the Anor-stone was shut away in the White Tower of
Ecthelion, where few dared touch it. But Denethor the late steward dared,
and through it he saw the advancing tide of darkness from Mordor. It
drove him to despair, and he held it in his grasp whilst he perished in flame
during that darkest of days. Now all who look upon the stone, unless
their will is great, see only the burnt hands of this unfortunate lord.
The Anor-stone remains in the vaults of the
Éogar
stands and offers another possible option. He says, "If we decide
when our attack will begin, could we not send a swift rider to the East Slope
yet await not his return? It would be a risk not knowing if word reached
the siege lines or if they refused to press the East gate, however.”
One
of the trio of Dwarves who undertook the journey last years says, “The
rider may be swift but not his journey. A horse might speed him across
the scrubland of Eriador, but the beast will not avail him across the Hoarwell
or Loudwater, nor through the dense Trollshaws, nor in
the long stretch across the
“And
yet it may well be worth sending a rider, on the chance that he may get through
to the King-under-the-Mountain and the Dale-men if the party that braves
Gundabad’s hidden pass fails,” a Ranger of Rhudaur offers.
Éogar
voices agreement with Elboron’s proposal and adds, “If we find it
is safe enough to maneuver troops into the pass and under the mountain, perhaps
the dwarves could use their skills in fighting underground to press a third
front on the mountain while the men push the gate?"
“It
would be a great deed to ask of Durin’s Folk,” King Elessar
replies, “and it would be a great risk to our army to divide ourselves
when the enemy arrayed against us is so many times more numerous. We need
not consider such matters until the time comes upon us to deploy for
battle.”
The
King then looks among the assembly and says, “What we now must consider
is who will undertake the hidden pass. It may be a Quest of Forlorn Hope,
but I agree with Faramir’s son that it is our best hope. The risks
are grave, let it be well understood. Yet who will take up the quest, for
the good of our whole enterprise?”
Éogar
is first to volunteer. "King Éomer will soon send another field
commander to control the éoreds here and scouts in the underground will
need staunch defenders. If the way is clear, we will return in time for
battle on the slopes of Gundabad."
King
Elessar smiles at the golden-haired knight and responds, “This would be
the second dangerous quest you have accepted in duty to me, Éogar. Though
I am loath to take you from the Riders of Rohan, I can think of no better man
to defend the lives of all those who undertake the quest than you.”
He then turns his grey-eyed gaze to the assembly and says, “Who else will
go with Éogar Garbald’s son?”
"I
will go with him," Elboron answers, "if my king will grant me
leave.”
King
Elessar responds, “I grant you leave, though I fear the Company of
Ithilien will not bear to part with its captain.”
Elboron
smiles in pride and he states, “If I do not return in time for the
battle, there are others who could lead the company in my stead."
Gilavas
steps forward then, and all eyes are drawn to the lordly High-elf. He says in
an eloquent voice, "Long ago, I was present as an evil force from the
North eventually managed to destroy a fair land, ruled by a noble king. I
will do everything in my power to prevent such a thing from happening
again. With your permission, Lord Elessar, I will accompany these
men. Besides, as your herald, who would be better suited to convey your
message to our allies east of the Hithaeglir?"
“You
have my permission and my thanks, Gilavas Parmandil,” the king answers.
The
words of Rariadoc Brandybuck and Biárki Barrelheart are not recorded by this
chronicle, yet it is thought that Rard accepted the charge out of friendship
for Éogar and Biárki out of hatred for the Orcs of the North. For had
they remained among the Grand Muster their names would pass out of this tale,
for the telling now follows Elboron, Éogar, and Gilavas on their bold
undertaking.
King
Elessar gives his blessing to the fellowship of volunteers: “May the High
Ones watch over you on your journey, and bring you good fortune.”
He says to them, “It will be your task to explore the hidden pass and
follow it to whence it leads. You must find a way through, around, or
under the mountain, to bring word to our allies the Dwarves of Erebor and the
Bardings on the eastern slope. We will plan our attack for the first day
of October. You must reach our allies, convince them to attack the East
Gate on that day, and return to us by the end of September. This leaves
you with nearly five months to complete the task. Furthermore, in
Rhovanion we ask that you look to any other allies that might be found, the
Northmen, the Wood-men, the Beornings, or any free folk who fear the orcs and
would desire to aid us; new allies may reinforce the attack on the East Gate
or, if at all possible, attack the mountain on a third front on the first day
of October.” He then faces the entire assembly again, draws Andúril
from its scabbard and leads his lords and counselors in a salute to the
departing heroes: “We praise you with great praise!”
“Praise
them with great praise!” the assembly shouts. The heroes depart the
Council amidst loud applause, leaving the pavilion to ready themselves for the
long and dangerous journey ahead.
*
* *
The
Fellowship of Forlorn Hope has been assembled, and the fate of the northern
campaign placed in their hands. The king may yet send a rider by way of
the
Scene 3: The Wicked
North
To
loud cheers from the assembled lords of the Grand Muster, a new Fellowship of
Forlorn Hope is appointed to find a way around the fearsome Mount Gundabad,
deliver the king’s strategy to his allies, and to find what new friends
may be gathered to launch a third front against the mountain. All must be
done before the end of October, when King Elessar will attempt one final assault
against Gundabad’s West Gate. As the five companions depart the
pavilion, Rard lets an audible sigh escape his lips and leans in to his friend
Master Bracegirdle. "I will need the best map you have, Master
Bracie!" he says cheerfully. The old hobbit laughs in response:
“Alas, if we had maps of
After
the Council ends, Elboron invites the other four members of the Fellowship back
to his tent to plan the great journey. After many long and uneventful
months in the siege camp, the young prince is brimming with enthusiasm for the
quest. "The success of this entire venture rests on our shoulders
now, my friends," he proclaims. The discussion swiftly turns to the
manner of the trek into the mountains, for it will be long and harsh.
"I would be loath to make any dangerous trek without Léofara, but I do not
know if we can bring horses,” Elboron ponders. “We may need
to cross a high pass, or travel under the mountain; those are not places for
horses, and I suspect there will be little forage on either route."
Éogar
says in agreement, "If the dwarf sage is correct and there is an ancient
passageway, I doubt if they had built it for mounts. I would be surprised
if even a mule might be convinced to travel underground, but a pack animal
might be worth the risk."
"I
think that at the least we will need a fine pack animal,” Rard insists,
knowing full well that without one he may be compelled to walk the whole great
distance, “and Barion is just the companion to make the trek."
Éogar
smiles and says, "The mule is sturdy and should be able to navigate the
most precarious of passes. Rard, do you think you could convince him to
follow us through a dwarf tunnel?"
"I
can certainly try. I have no great knowledge of mules, save what we learned on
our last Fellowship, but I do know that Barion trusts us. But without
him, I fear we will not be able to carry enough provisions for us all.”
Gilavas
speaks in his gentle voice, "Indeed, the hidden dwarf-roads are not paths
for horses, even though they will be sorely missed if we succeed in crossing
the Hithaiglin. The pony seems fine, a brave and noble beast."
He kindly directs the last remark to Rard.
The
hobbit nods, appeased. “It may be a hard trip for Barion, and I
hope our Fellowship of Forlorn Hope won’t have to send Barion back on his
own like Bill had to be turned back from Moria,” he says. Rard
pauses and then complains, “And how foreboding a name is Forlorn
Hope! Why couldn't it be something more like the Fellowship to Defeat the
Orcs, or the Fellowship of Eternal Hope?”
The
companions next begin to calculate what will be needed for the journey.
They spend many hours naming items, estimating food stocks, and contemplating
the matter of water. Young Elboron at first brushes the latter issue
aside, for he believes that fresh water will be plentiful in the mountains this
time of year.
"If
we travel underground, will there be pools that have not been tainted by the
foul fumes of the orcish war machine?” Éogar asks out of caution.
“The surface water flowing from
Gilavas
concurs. "Do not expect the waters from
Éogar
studies Elboron carefully, noting the youth’s inherent decisiveness but
also deference and wisdom. Part of the lad reminds him of himself, a Man
of Rohan. Part also reminds him of Finbor, a Dúnadan of Gondor.
"I once traveled with a young noble of Gondor,” Éogar says to the
others. “He proved, time and again, a skilled captain, despite his
youth." He looks to the others in the room and states, "I will
follow Elboron as captain of this fellowship. Will the rest of you?"
Gilavas
smiles and makes a polite bow to the young lord, signifying his consent to the
proposal. Biárki merely grunts, but he makes no voice of
opposition. Rard grins and agrees with his friend: "Lord Elboron
seems quite competent to be the captain or our fellowship."
Elboron
is taken aback and looks truly humbled. "I can only hope that I may
prove worthy of such respect. You are all far more accomplished than I
am, but I shall do my best," he says.
Rard
cannot resist a little taunt, though, and whispers to his companion,
"Master Éogar, do you remember how subtle Lord Finbor was, taking the role
of leader only when we could not make a decision?"
Elboron
cannot help but laugh. "Finbor of Lamedon may have been subtle, but
you are not,” he says with a smile to Rard. “But, do not
worry: I know that I am not a warrior as great as Éogar or Biárki. I am
not nearly so wise in lore as Gilavas, nor do I know the wild country like you,
Raridoc. You will hear few orders from me, let me assure you."
With
Elboron agreed upon as the captain of the company, it is left for him to decide
the Fellowship’s next course. He divides the list of items to be
requisitioned and requests the companions begin to gather them in the
morning. Éogar’s Hildwyn, Gilavas’s Pelethanor, and
Elboron’s own Léofara will be corralled with the other horses of the
army, left to the able care of the horsemasters. It will be Rard’s
task to pack up Barion the mule and see the animal is readied for the journey
ahead. The task is appropriately given to the hobbit, who can’t
imagine the thought of leaving behind anything; already Rard’s mind turns
to the nooks and crannies in Barion’s packs where his various personal
possessions can be stowed.
The
next morning, the companions go ahead gathering their supplies. Some can
be acquired without any notice: five torches and five faggots of tinder are
packed into the mule’s bags. It takes some doing to requisition the
large amount of food and water the party needs. Given the shortage facing
the army as a whole, many dark looks are sent toward the small fellowship
drawing enough dry rations to feed a great company for a day. A
month’s worth for all five members is drawn; Biárki draws for himself
four weeks’ worth and packs them into his backpack, and glares down any
who dares protest. Rard’s trusty oaken cask is filled to the brim
with fresh water, enough to last a man 75 days of judicious use. The
company also acquires a number of extra skins for water—Biárki brings his
total to four, and Elboron acquires a second skin for himself and
Gilavas. Gilavas approaches the army’s surgeons and acquires a
healer’s kit, a small sack containing bandages and salves and
sutures.
Éogar
seeks out a heavy blanket, for he knows that snows of the north can be
bitter. He trusts, however, in his elvish garb to keep him warm—its
light cloak is unmatched by any sewn by the hands of man. The knight also
takes a lantern and four flasks of oil to put in his pack with the blanket, to
light the way in dark paths. Even this mighty man finds himself slightly
encumbered by the total weight, but it is not enough to slow him down.
Elboron,
with Rard in tow, seeks out a couple coils of sturdy rope. The hobbit
insists on no less than one hundred feet, plus a grappling hook for
climbing. “I’ve heard Mister Samwise’s stories!”
he says to quell any protest. “I know the value of good
rope.” Elboron himself sets aside his heavy mail, for he wishes to
travel light through the mountains. He seeks out a leather cuirass to
take its place, and the Men of Ithilien insist upon it. “Take mine,
lord!” says his father’s trusted sergeant. “It will
keep you safe until you can return it to me, victorious in your charge.”
Rard
cannot resist the urge to pick up a few more items – better safe that
sorry, eh? He begs Ingold for another quiver of arrows, but the
quartermaster scowls upon seeing that already bears 40 shafts. However,
the hobbit deftly manages to acquire a spare quiver and enough feathers,
shafts, and arrowheads (which are most important, because he cannot craft them
himself) to assembly a score more arrows, upon the need. He also grabs a
hatchet, insisting to the quartermaster that the fellowship may need to fell
trees in their path. But, perhaps the most precious items picked up by
the hobbit is a handful of apples and carrots; fresh produce is a delicacy in
the army, and it is all he could do to fast-talk the supply wardens into surrendering
some to him.
*
* *
For
the next several days the fellowship sits in the camp, waiting to depart.
Barion the mule is readied, his packs prepared for the journey. Elboron
is eager to set off, but the youth is wise enough to pay heed to those whose wild-craft
exceeds his own. Éogar keeps watch at the edge of camp, his blue eyes
looking far across the northern horizon, to the
Elboron
instructs the company to maintain a steady but regular pace; a brisk walking
pace with sufficient pauses to rest, for 8-10 hours each day. Éogar and
Biárki carry the heaviest loads among the fellowship, but with their great
strength it is no severe burden. Rard is loaded up to his maximum without
being encumbered. Gilavas and Elboron are quite lightly encumbered,
especially now that the latter wears only a leather cuirass. The hapless
mule Barion suffers the most, with around 270 pounds strapped to its back and
sides; fortunately, the mule is quite sturdy and isn’t slowed by the
load.
The
first part of the journey is the simplest; it is only a handful of miles from
the army’s encampment to the hidden ravine that Elboron and Biárki
uncovered many months ago. The terrain is flat, bleak moors until the
party approaches the cliff-facings of the
At
times the gaze of the elvish magician is drawn toward the
The
terrain over which the fellowship passes is quite rough, aggravated by the
presence of winter lingering in the mountains. Ice and snow can still be
found in quantity, and the air remains chill. The company cannot travel
faster than the mule carrying its supplies, and their pace covers perhaps
three-quarters of a mile each hour. The sky above remains grey and cold,
but at least the temperature is above freezing and no new snow falls; sometimes
even the sun is permitted to shine. By the end of the day the company
reaches the far end of the canyon through which the enemy wolf-riders rode last
year, about as far as Elboron and Biárki dared march their company during their
first visit. Éogar estimates the company is now perhaps 5 miles into the
mountains, not quite a tenth of the distance of the width of the range.
Camp is set up, and a fire is made; here in the canyon a fair amount of scrub
can be found, and a fire is readily lit by Biárki. Bedrolls are laid out,
and Éogar unpacks the blanket; it was well chosen, for the night is painfully
cold in this high northern elevation. Only Gilavas ignores the cold, for
Middle-earth has not since a winter in many an age equal to what the High-elves
suffered in crossing the Helcaraxë long ago. Everyone else wraps
themselves tightly in their cloaks and shivers throughout the night. The
warriors keep a watch as the night passes, though Gilavas is alert most of the
time and keeps a vigil. The night is bitter and long but passes without
event.
The
next day, April the 17th, the company rises at dawn and strikes
camp. Rard eagerly heats up the first of the day’s dry rations,
preparing some kind of warm bread-pudding out of the flour and lard.
Within the hour the company is once more on the move, pushing into new
terrain. The canyon, as Elboron and Biárki guessed during their first
foray, narrows and eventually comes to a cliff-facing. At first sight it
seems a dead-end. “Do not despair,” Gilavas says to his
friends, pointing toward the shadowed fringe of the escarpment. There, a
tunnel boring through the cliff-facing can be seen, perhaps fifteen feet
wide. The fellowship advances through the round opening and emerges into
a trench, ten to fifteen feet wide, that winds northeast through the mountain,
a thin and rough pass, but unlike the tunnel it is open to the sky above.
The towering
“What
manner of pass is this?” asks Elboron, surprised by the find.
“It seems a strange craft of nature.”
“More
than like it is a craft of the Dwarves,” Biárki responds.
“Perhaps long ago the weather cut this trench, or the flow of fiery rock
from the mountain in ancient times, but surely it was dwarven hands that formed
one long pass out of the formations, and surely dwarven craftsmen cut the
tunnel through the cliff-facing.”
“Impressive
work!” Éogar marvels. “It will be many an age before Men
learn the skill of cutting through a mountain.”
Unfortunately,
the narrow trench-pass is no easier terrain to traverse than the rocky canyon
before it, and the company manages no swifter a pace than yesterday. What
is worse, the weather is grimmer than yesterday: the wind blows more fiercely,
the sun never reveals itself in full, and the clouds are heavy with
moisture. A cold sleet-rain pours down several times during the day, and
other times the sky rumbles with thunder.
In
the early afternoon Éogar pauses, halting the progress of the company and
looking overhead warily. “I think I see movement above,” he
says.
“Aye,
winged birds in the clouds,” Gilavas answers, his sharp elvish eyes
espying them readily. “Large and black, but I cannot say what
manner of beast they are.” No sooner does the Elf speak than the
birds swirl about and disappear in the thick clouds.
Unnerved
but not undeterred, the fellowship marches ahead through the trench until
nightfall. Here, alas, no scrub grows, and unless the company wishes to
burn the few bundles brought along they must forego fire. All that Rard
can prepare is a cold gruel for dinner, and it galls him. “How can
we get by without a fire?” he grumbles. Indeed, the night proves
hard without one. The temperature drops to well belong freezing, and the
patter of rain turns into a heavy snowfall. Rard and Éogar are sheltered
well by their elvish garb, though Rard feels he would sell all the Shire for
big downy blanket. Elboron and Biárki shiver in their heavy cloaks
alone. Even Gilavas cannot escape some of the bite!
On
the morning of the 18th of April, the camp is buried under
snow. The poor mule has to be pulled out of a dense bank of snow.
The barrel of water is quite nearly frozen, and it takes some effort to refill
the skins. Breakfast this day is as cold as dinner the night before, but
it grants some strength to the body. The fellowship continues to march
through the shadowy defile running through the
Around
Gilavas
stares to the peaks above in consternation. “These are no games of
giants,” he says, “but I fear that some malevolent will drives this
storm.” Suddenly, a lightning bolt slams into the snowy ridge that
forms the western flank of the trench-pass, perhaps eighty feet above the heads
of the fellowship. The entire trench rumbles from the blow, and the heavy
banks of snow and ice high overhead list and fall as the rocky ridge collapses.
“Avalanche!”
cries Biárki. “Move, move!”
A
torrent of snow and ice and pieces of rock is falling down upon the trench,
dozens of feet in width and several tons in weight. The companions have
only seconds before the stretch of the narrow pass in which they are standing
is buried…
Scene 4: The Mountain’s
Wrath
Mid-day
on the 18th of April. The Fellowship of Forlorn Hope is caught
in a sudden mountain storm; thunder and lightning rock the narrow trench-pass,
while howling winds blow clouds of snow about. A lightning strike hits
the ridge high above the companions to their right, and the rocky ledge gives
way from the impact. Several tons of snow and shattered stone fall down
upon the fellowship’s position!
Biárki
knows well the danger of an avalanche, and he does not hesitate to fly forward
as fast as his diminutive legs will carry him. [Run test, TN 15, failure]
Tired from weariness, the dwarf cannot escape the falling debris and is buried
under the last few feet of the collapsed ridge [14 damage, Healthy]. Rard
hears the cries of warning from his companions, and he immediately grasps his
mule’s harness and scrambles forward. "Come on, we've got to
get to safety!" he pleads with Barion, trying to pull the mule along
behind him. [Teamster test, TN 5, untrained, +3 bonus for Barion’s
love for Rard, complete success] The mule trusts the hobbit’s guidance
and gallops forward; driven by fear, the braying mule soon outstrips the hobbit
and nearly pulls him along! Thanks to Barion’s cooperation, the
fleet-footed Rard is unfazed by the difficulty of pulling a mule out of the way
of a snow-crash, and he must only worry about himself. [Run test, TN 15,
+3 for 1 Courage, failure] Unfortunately, Rard is too tired to clear the entire
distance, but with a little courage he escapes the crushing fall of rock and
snow [16 damage, Injured -1]. Rard is buried under a few feeble of
debris, close to Biárki.
Meanwhile,
the other heroes decide discretion is the better part of valor and leap
backwards, doing their best to dodge the collapsing ridge. Elboron summons
up his courage (1 Courage spent, 3 remaining), and now is only winded.
[Dodge test, TN 10, complete success] The young Gondorian noble avoids getting
buried by the snow, though as he scrambles backward he is grazed by a few
falling rocks [9 damage, Healthy]. Éogar, too, summons up his courage to
shake off weariness, and now is only winded. [complete success] The knight
easily avoids being trapped by the snow, though he too suffers several cuts
from jagged stone fragments [11 damage, Healthy]. Gilavas finds himself
quite tired, and the Elven-sage is slow to respond to the danger; only through
an act of courage (1 spent, 2 remaining) is he able to avoid getting buried
under the collapsed ridge [marginal success]. The High-elf suffers blows
from a few falling stone, but he is only shaken [9 damage, Dazed -1].
Barion
the mule, its rein dangling behind, stops its gallop and turns around, nuzzling
the area under which his beloved owner lies. It lets out a pathetic bray,
which Elboron, Éogar, and Gilavas can hear even though the cannot see the
animal, for they are separated by some thirty feet of snowy debris stacked
twenty feet high in parts. [Strength checks] Despite his tired bones,
Biárki is strong enough to burst through the snow and stones about him, pulling
himself free from the weight. Rard, too, manages to wriggle his way out
of the feet of snow and ice around him—he seems to have gotten lucky and
wasn’t buried under any heavy rocks, besides those few that struck his
battered little body.
“Rard!
Biárki!” Elboron cries. “Are you trapped?”
“We’re
free now,” Biárki growls in reply. Rard tries to say something but
is too busy catching his breath, feeling the sting of his many cuts and
bruises. Barion nuzzles up to Rard, stroking the injured hobbit with its
snout. “But now a great mass of snow, ice, and stone separates
us,” the dwarf shouts.
Despite
his injuries and weariness, Gilavas Parmandil suddenly appears atop the icy
mound. [Acrobatics [Balance], TN 10, complete success].
Light-footed and graceful, the High-elf manages to stride atop the snow pile
without falling through, as if his weight is not enough to collapse the snow
beneath him. Gilavas scurries across and jumps down on the other side,
landing with a flourish. Biárki scowls, unimpressed. “Little
good,” he says. “I’d like to see those Men try
it!”
Elboron
shouts in reply, “Éogar and I will try to climb across the mound; we can
use the right ledge for leverage.”
Gilavas
looks at Rard, brushing his light fingers across his face. “Our
friend Rariadoc is hurt,” Gilavas calls out. “We had best
hurry.”
“Aye,”
Biárki says, “for we are not yet safe. The storm still rages, and a
greater avalanche may still come.” Elboron and Éogar hurry, while
thunder and lightning rumbles in the distance and cold wind blows all around
them. [Climb test, TN 10] Éogar [superior success] is a skilled climber
and, despite the slight encumbrance of his load, easily and quickly spans the
width of the mound. Elboron [failure] is a fair climber but loses his
grip and sinks down into the snow. Éogar is compelled to halt is swift
progress and extend his hand to the young noble; together they try again, but
this time it is Éogar who loses his handhold and must be saved by
Elboron. Over and over they try, making slow and tenuous progress.
There is little the hobbit, elf, and dwarf can do but watch and wait, while the
mountain storm vents its fury and finally subsides. Finally, after nearly
an hour, Éogar and Elboron manage to climb across together and make it to the
other side [5 attempts at 10 minutes each, until finally both characters
succeeded on the same attempt].
While
waiting, Gilavas took advantage of the time to tend to the Biárki and
Rard’s injuries. The dwarf is only grazed and at first refuses any
attention, but with a few moments attention Gilavas is able to wipe clean the
bruises [superior success, all damage healed]. Rard, alas, requires much
more effort and attention. He moves very slowly and carefully, taking
plenty of time to rest and recover from his fatigue. By the time Elboron
and Éogar arrive, Gilavas has managed to bandage the last cut giving pain to
the hobbit [marginal success, 8 damage healed]. Rard remains dazed from
his lingering hurts, but the hardy hobbit shrugs off the pain and is ready to
move again. Giving the Men time to rest, Gilavas tends to their minor
wounds and easily cleans them up. More difficult is tending to himself,
but his skill is so great that he even can restore himself to full health.
Biárki
says once the group is rested, "We must hurry onward!" He
gestures to other snow-weighted ridges ahead, and any of them could collapse
under another thunder strike.
"Perhaps
we will find a dwarf tunnel soon and have some shelter against this
storm," Éogar ponders hopefully.
As
the company begins to march onward, Elboron looks over his shoulder at the
massive debris behind them. "Do you think this was no
accident?” he asks. “If our enemy knows we are here, and can
cause such mischief, then we are in grave danger."
Gilavas
thinks on it for many moments and answers the young lord: "The storm felt
evil, but I cannot tell what it is—a malevolent nature spirit, like
Caradhras, or the work of evil sorcery. The Witch-king had many sorts of
servants and in the ages after the fall of Angmar, the darkness has never been
cleansed from these mountains. The only knowledge we have of this area is more
than three thousand years old and was gathered by the scouts of Elendil himself
upon the founding of Arnor, before the coming of the Witch-king."
“
Rard
begs for a fire to lift the harsh chill of the night. He pleads,
“After all, whatever is up here likely knows we are here. I'd rather be
warm and have to fight than cold and have to fight."
Gilavas
shakes his head firmly. “Unless it is a situation of life and
death, no more fires," he states. The elvish magician then reaches
into his pack and pulls out a lembas cake, breaking it into five pieces
and dividing it among the fellowship. "I have but precious little of
this Elven waybread, but after such a day we can use it" he says.
When adding to the rest of the day’s dry rations, it is satisfying and
warms the body. Blessed by the elvish delicacy, the night seems more
pleasant and the companions rest as comfortably as they can under the cold
mountain night sky. Nonetheless, the fire is missed, and if the nights
remain this cold then it will be a hard matter not to have one.
Scene 5: Not Alone
On
the morning of April the 19th, the companions rise once more from
their exposed camp in the narrow trench running through the
As
they walks north through the trench, they discuss their current state of
affairs and what they may yet expect to encounter. Éogar leads the way
and turns to ask the dwarf not far behind him, "Biarki, what do you know
of your people who once inhabited these mountains?" The dwarf shrugs
once and offers only a grunt, indicating that he knows nothing. It has
been thousands of years since dwarves lived in this land, and only a sage might
recall lore from so long ago.
Éogar
looks further back toward Rard and says, "Our hobbit friend speaks
constantly of the Fellowship of the One Ring, and he has more than once
recalled the story of their search for the door into Moria. Would what we
seek be as well hidden and secured?"
It
is a possibility that Biárki does not care to comment on, but Rard eagerly
chimes in with the tale he learned from his Shire kin: "The Fellowship,
too, tried to cross the mountains, but they were turned back by weather and
snow. I hope we don't have to try and go through the mountains instead. I
have no desire to meet either the trolls we saw or a Balrog!" he says
dourly.
Gilavas
reacts sternly when Rard careless speaks the name of the evil demon of flame
and shadow. "One should not speak such names, even in jest!" he
says.
Rard
looks at the High-elf for a long moment and protests, "I was not jesting.
I really don’t want to meet one…" The hobbit then falls
into a moody silence.
Elboron’s
mood is not hampered by the cold and hardship, and as he walks behind Rard and
the mule he asks his friends for their thoughts. Éogar demurs that, as the
agreed captain, it is Elboron’s judgment that must prevail. The
young son of Prince Faramir smiles broadly and says, "Even if you choose
to defer the decisions to me, I would hear your counsel. What do you
suggest?"
"A
true captain in his veins!” Éogar says, and surely his thoughts cannot
help but turn to the honored memory of Finbor. The Rohirric knight
suggests that perhaps the sharp senses of the hobbit Rard and the elf Gilavas
might better serve closer to the fore.
Gilavas
smiles at the remark and answers, "Those few yards from point to back will
not hinder my sight too much.” Elboron does not order a change in
the order of march.
Éogar
agrees and does not even think of leaving the column’s van.
"As for pace,” he says, “if we keep our normal rate up the
mountain perhaps we will have the energy to speed up on the descent. If
we camp too high in the mountains, perhaps a fire would be necessary; but not
now, not yet." He looks all about him and adds, “Indeed, we do
not seem to be rising much in elevation. The grade is very gradual, and
the elevation of the peaks far exceeds that of this trench. If it is the
work of dwarven hands, they were truly craftmasters to have such control over
whole mountains.”
“Let
us hope that this trench remains level and low in elevation as it cuts through
the mountains,” Elboron replies. “It will make our journey
the easier.”
*
* *
The
day passes uneventfully, and much more pleasantly than the one before.
They air is cool but not cold, and though the sun is always obscured in this
grey land its rays still manage to provide some cheer. Perhaps even these
wicked mountains of the north cannot hold back spring forever. The
fellowship traverses perhaps another 6 miles this day, following the trench as
it winds through the mountains, left and right, up and down and up again, a
gradual slope. Occasionally the company encounters another cliff facing
with a tunnel carved through it, permitting the trench to continue generally
northwards. By the time the sun vanishes behind the high peaks to the
west, Éogar estimates that the company is nearly half-way through the mountain
range. Camp is set, and another grim dinner of cold, dry rations is
prepared by Rard. The hobbit pulls out a bundle of faggots from the mule’s
packs and looks hopefully at his friends, but he is compelled to put the fuel
back when Gilavas and Éogar shake their heads and frown. Another
freezing night! Rard complains to himself. Éogar notes the
hobbit’s discomfort and offers his winter blanket to him, but the
grumbling hobbit refuses to make his friend suffer in his stead.
Elboron
insists that a watch be set throughout the entire night. Since Rard is
the only member of the group still injured from the rockslide the other day,
the young captain offers to excuse him. "I can't sleep
anyway,” Rard grouses as he wraps himself up in his elvish cloak,
“so I might as well be on guard duty." While his friends
slumber, even the alert Gilavas, the hobbit sits at the edge of the camp and
watches the empty barren trench ahead in the darkness, with only the strange
stars of the far north to give him a little light.
The
hours drag by, and eventually Rard’s shift comes to an end. He is
about to wake his replacement when he thinks he hears a strange noise from up
ahead. [Observe test, complete success] At first he thinks he is
only imagining the sound, but as the hobbit listens more intently he realizes
that the noise is definitely real. Footsteps? Suddenly, the noise
stops—could this be an enemy who has come upon the camp and now watches
it from afar? The hobbit’s heart leaps in his breast, and he grips
the gift-bow given him by his friend Halgo. Carefully, Rard begins to
crawl forward, keeping a low profile as he slides along the edge of the trench
toward the noise. [Stealth test, complete success] Foot by foot,
the hobbit sneaks ahead in the shadows, trying to keep as quiet as he
can. He slips perhaps sixty feet from the campsite, stopping when he
hears noises again from the shadows further ahead.
[Observe
(Spot) test, failure] The night is very dark, and Rard’s vision is not
particularly night-eyed. He hears what sound like voices, low and gruff,
but he can make out nothing—not even whether the sound is speak or merely
bestial growls. Squinting, he stares toward the source of the sound,
trying to make out what could be producing the noise. Alas, all he can
discern is a general low shadow against the trench wall, cast by who, what, or
how many he cannot guess. Suddenly, the voices stop and Rard thinks that
he may have been heard or spotted. The hobbit reaches into his quiver for
an arrow and begins to scurry back toward the camp, but then the low shadow in
the trench ahead disappears, and Rard faintly hears the sound of scurrying in
the opposite direction. Whoever or whatever was there is now gone.
Rard
scrambles back to his friends and shakes Éogar hard, rousing him from
sleep. The hobbit hastily whispers the report of what he experienced, and
Éogar grabs his spear and shield before rushing ahead to investigate, Rard
following close behind. However, when they reach Rard’s former
position they do not find anyone or anything left, nor any obvious signs of a
foreign presence in the blackness of the night. “We must wait for
daylight before we have any hope of searching for signs or tracks,” Éogar
says, and Rard glumly agrees. They return to the campsite, and Éogar
takes over the watch while Rard turns in to catch what sleep he may have such a
queer encounter in the black.
When
day comes on the 20th, Gilavas is last on watch and awakens his
friends. Éogar told Biárki of the night’s event, who told Elboron
who told Gilavas, and the companions are ready now to search for signs of
the intruders. Rard, a skilled tracker, leads the search, with Éogar
assisting as he may. [Track test, complete failure] The effort
is to no avail. Éogar sees nothing, and Rard has a difficult time
even finding the position that last night he observed in the pitch black.
The trench is gravely and rugged, and tracks would be quickly lost to the
blowing winds. Rard and Éogar return to their friends and report that
they cannot find signs of the interlopers nor any clues of what they were or
where they went. Elboron orders the camp struck and breakfast quickly consumed,
resuming the march through the mountain trench at a high level of alert.
Only
“Barion” the mule travels ahead without any undue care. All
of the companions walk in silence, wary and uneasy, senses directed ahead
cautiously. The hours pass by slow and heavy with care. Shortly
after mid-day Elboron grants the company a rest to drink water and eat a quick
lunch. It is welcome, for weariness has already begun to set in…
Biarki
[TN 21]: 3 roll + 9 = 12, complete failure (Spent, -8)
Elboron
[TN 17]: 6 roll + 6 = 12, failure (Weary, -4)
Eogar
[TN 19]: 8 roll + 7 = 15, failure (Weary, -4)
Gilavas
[TN 15]: 7 roll + 5 = 12, failure (Weary, -4)
Rard
[TN 16]: 10 roll + 6 = 16, marginal success (Tired, -2)
When
the march is resumed, a weary Éogar once again walks in the point.
[Observe (Spot) tests] All of the heroes are suffering from fatigue, and
their alertness suffers too. Éogar gaze falls to his feet often, and
Elboron and Biárki also are oblivious to what occurs around them. Only
Rard and Gilavas, both possessed of sharp senses, keep their wits about them
despite the exhaustion. “Éogar, look out!” Rard suddenly
cries out, pointing to a jog ahead in the trench.
From
the rear Gilavas sings out in his fair voice, “Beware, I see shadows upon
the ridges on both sides of the trench, small figures. They could be
orcs!”
Suddenly,
a low gruff voice shouts out a string of strange garbled words, and the shadowy
figured crouched behind the rocky ridges up ahead unleash a flight of small
stones, either hurled with force or launched from slings! The missiles
are aimed at Éogar in the fore, who is taken unawares. Biárki and
Elboron, too, are surprised and caught flat-footed. Only Rard and Gilavas
find themselves able to react immediately to this sudden and uncertain threat.
Scene 6: Slings,
Arrows, and Outrageous Fortune
Sometime
on the afternoon of April the 20th, after a cold and unsettling
night and a long day of tense marching, the Fellowship of Forlorn Hope is
ambushed in the exposed trench through the mountains! Fatigued from their
exertions, most of the companions are taken unawares. Only Rard and
Gilavas keep their wits about them enough to perceive the shadowy shapes atop
the ridge walls ahead before they unleash a torrent of stones. Éogar
foolishly looks back when Rard cries out in warning, not paying attention to
the threat he has missed. Once alerted, his heroic blood flows and his
weariness fades [2 Courage remaining]. Biárki, too, is startled, but the
stout dwarf pulls himself together and throws off his weariness with a deep
laugh [1 Courage remaining]. The High-elf Gilavas draws on his inner
courage to fight off the weariness of the day's march [1 Courage
remaining]. Elboron and Rard, too, summon up their courage to fight off
weariness [2 Courage remaining for both].
Six
short arms appear over the rocky ridges about forty feet up the trench,
whirling slings about. At a gruff, indiscernible command shouted from
somewhere ahead, they unleash stones at the surprised Éogar, who stands in the
fore of the fellowship. Caught flat-footed, he cannot try to dodge or
even raise his shield. The attackers seem to have some skill with the
awkward weapon and benefit from higher ground, and five of the stones strike
him squarely upon his helm or breastplate—yet so stout is his armor that
Éogar is not even dazed by the impact [12 damage total, Healthy].
Seeing
his friend thus assaulted, Rard pulls his stout bow from around his shoulder
and quickly nocks an arrow. He has time enough to loose the shaft at one
of the shadowy figures trying to hide behind the ridge, a mighty shot for the
skilled archer. The arrow flies overhead and seems to sink into the
figure’s shoulder, and the victim cries out pitiably before it sinks
behind a boulder [superior success].
Gilavas,
meanwhile, takes a step back and draws his longsword, his nimble legs ready to
dodge should any of the projectiles fall his way. His keen elvish eyes
probe the trench ahead, endeavoring to perceive the enemy [Observe (Spot) test,
complete success]. “I see only the six slingers atop the
ridge,” he cries out to his friends, “three atop the west ridge
wall and three atop the east. There is not space for any others where
they stand, but others could lie in wait in the trench beyond the turn.
Beware!” Remembering the trap the orcs sprung on the battlefield of
"The
cowards strike from ambush!" Elboron exclaims as his senses return to him.
Rard
cries, "Quickly, fall back to the bend!"
"No!"
Elboron thunders, his booming voice filling the canyon. "Éogar, Biárki,
Gilavas: find a way up that cliff and rout them from the heights!"
"Good,
a bit of fun!" Biárki rumbles in his low voice.
"You
mean to stand here in the open and let them sling rocks at us?" Rard says,
gaping for a moment in surprise. When Elboron keeps his resolve, Rard
sighs and hedges closer to Elboron. The young Man is better cover than no
cover for the little hobbit!
Éogar
is the first to react after the brief exchange. Squaring his shield and
lowering his spear, he breaks into a run up the gravely trench floor [Run test,
complete failure]. The jagged rising slope impedes him, but Éogar is
strong enough to clear the distance to the turn ahead. "Ready
your hammer, and head this way!" he shouts over his shoulder to
Biárki before he vanishes around the bend.
"There
are enemies on both sides of the trench!” Biárki shouts back.
“Good hunting, Man!" The dwarf, too, breaks into a run [Run
test, failure]. Alas, his stocky legs cannot carry him as far across this
broken terrain as Éogar, and he only manages to reach the ground directly
beneath the slingers, a few feet before the turn in the trench to the
northwest.
From
just beyond the bend, Éogar lets out a shout of alarm. Suddenly, the
trench ahead echoes with a strange war-cry. A great tumult ensues from
around the turn, and the sound of Éogar’s shield repulsing many a blow
reaches the ears of his friends. At least one blow seems to strike true,
for the knight hollers in pain followed by the sound of a body hitting the
earth.
Elboron
pulls his father’s longbow from around his shoulder, the very bow that
Faramir Denethor’s son wielded at the famous ambush in Ithilien against
the invading Haradrim; he grabs an arrow from his quiver and notches it in the
string, readying to pull the bow at the next enemy. No sooner is his
arrow in the string than five of the slingers—apparently the one stung by
Rard’s shaft remains cowering on his belly—unleash another barrage
of stones, this time at Elboron. The young lord does his best to dodge,
but he is overextended and barely manages to take a few steps aside. All
five stones hit him, some striking his leather cuirass and others grazing his
head, bruising and bloodying him [26 damage total, Injured -3].
Rard,
meanwhile, walks back a few feet behind Elboron, feeling like he at least
possesses some cover in this exposed location. He quickly draws an arrow
and launches another mighty shot at one of the exposed slingers [superior
success]. Again the hobbit’s aim proves true, and the crouching
figure cries out in pain as the shaft buries deep in his shoulder.
Gilavas
holds his ground at the rear of the party, behind the company’s mule,
Rard, and Elboron. He grips his longsword in anticipation of danger,
attuning his senses to the surrounding area. Convinced that there is no
ambush anywhere from behind or the adjacent sides, he returns his focus to the
pass ahead. He hears the war-cry that is clearly not in the Black Speech
of orcs, and he observes Elboron struck by an orderly barrage. [Wisdom
test, marginal success] “I do not think we are facing orcs,” he
says aloud to all his companions, a sense of foreboding in his voice.
Then,
from around the bend a loud voice thunders an order to the attackers in a
language strange to the ears of most of the members of the fellowship. It
is answered by only a weak shout from a few wavering voices, undercut by the
sound of pathetic whimpers from the injured attackers atop the ridges stung by
Rard’s arrows.
* * *
While
his companions remain further behind to face the stones slung from the
opponents hiding on the ridges above, Éogar runs up the trench past the
slingers and turns around the bend to the northwest. The momentum of his
run carries him slightly further up the pass, where he immediately sees that
indeed it does narrow and the ridge walls on both sides slope particularly
low—perhaps ten feet high. The trench walls are still too sheer to
climb, but two ropes fastened to the ridges above by grappling hooks hang down,
permitting a fairly easy climb up. The knight comes to a halt by the
ropes and prepares to climb when he suddenly hears a strange war-cry from just
beyond a rise in the trench floor further ahead: Khazâd-ai-mênu!
Five bedraggled dwarves come barreling toward him at a full charge.
Four of them are unarmored and poorly armed, carrying only hammers or
clubs. The fifth, and the one leading the charge, is a dwarf of lordly
bearing, dressed in a mail coat that at one time must have been splendid but
now is tarnished and chinked; in his grip is a masterful battle-ax surely of
dwarven make. All of them are dirty, their beards unkempt and their
voices hoarse and dry.
Some
of the charges are successful and others are hesitant, but the distance is
short enough that all the dwarves swiftly descend upon Éogar’s
position. The knight quickly abandons any thought of trying to shinny up
the rope and braces his shield against the onslaught, dodging the rain of blows
as best he can. The four poorly armed dwarves are little match for his
skill; their cudgels and hammers bounce harmlessly off his shield. But
the lordly dwarf in the fore slams hard into Éogar with his battle-ax, and even
the swift knight cannot evade the blow. The ax-head pushes past Éogar’s
shield and sinks into his left arm, drawing blood [28 damage total, Injured
-1]. He hollers in pain, but even woorse is the tremendous force of the
impact: so strong is the dwarf’s charge that the mighty warrior cannot
stand against it. Éogar reels from the blow and is knocked prone, landing
on his back. Opening his eyes immediately, he sees the burly opponent
standing above him.
The
lordly dwarf shouts out an order to his mates in a language Éogar does not
understand. It is only Biárki who understands the old dwarf’s
command, in the secret dwarven tongue called Khuzdul: “Kill the
interlopers! Seize the traitor and the mule!” The four poorly
armed dwarves answer with a weak cheer, but Éogar can see in their eyes that
they have no fighting spirit. Hesitantly, the humble dwarves turn away
from him and prepare to run down the trench toward the other members of the
fellowship. Only the lordly dwarf looks like he plans to stay by
Éogar—and to strike a finishing blow!
"They're
dwarves!" Éogar shouts in a panicked voice after being knocked to the
ground. The knight’s voice echoes around the bend and reaches his
confused comrades.
"Are
we betrayed?!?" Elboron exclaims.
"Master
Éogar, are you all right?" Rard shouts, worried for his friend.
"Biárki, quickly, help him!" But, Biárki is clearly
taken aback by the sound of his race’s secret language and breaks his
stride toward the bend. For a moment the bold dwarf visibly trembles, and
Rard and Elboron hear him murmur an exhortation to Balin’s ghost.
Biárki seems loath to press forward.
*
* *
Meanwhile,
Éogar quickly removes his conical bronze helmet, which he has worn since it was
refurbished for him by his old friend Frolin after finding it among the spiders
of Mirkwood. "Will a noble dwarf of such bearing fell an enemy of
orcs, and a Knight of Arnor too?" he asks, looking straight into the
dwarf's eyes. "We struggle against a common foe, and our task may
well spell the demise of the Orcs of Gundabad once and for all." [Persuade
test, 1 Courage spent (1 remaining), marginal success]
Éogar’s
words reach the lordly dwarf, who is moved to pause his strike. He holds
the ax menacingly above Éogar, aimed at his neck. After a moment’s
thought he demands, "Do you surrender, intruder? If you and your
fellows surrender, I may yet let you live. Call out for them to lay down
their arms!"
"I
will call out to them," Éogar responds. He shouts, "Lay down
your arms; these are not our enemies! Let us prove that we are not theirs
as well!" The knight then continues his parley with the dwarf:
"We are not your enemy but understand your distrust of invaders. I
will lay down my spear," he adds as he releases it, "as a sign of
good faith. Now, can we speak of orcs and of aid?"
“That
depends on your compatriots,” the dwarf answers, stepping on the
spear’s shaft and pinning it under his foot. He keeps his ax aimed
directly above Éogar.
*
* *
In
the trench behind the bend, Éogar’s companions are uncertain what to do
as the knight’s strange words reach their ears. Rard doesn’t
care who is doing the attacking, dwarves or no. These pesky slingers have
pummeled his comrades with stones, and he aims to make them pay. His
little hand flashes to his quiver and quick-draws an arrow, and he carefully
aims the point at the next torso to appear above the rocky ridge whirling a
sling. Rard lets the shaft fly and once again lands it in the chest of
his target [superior success]. The hobbit lets out a gleeful little
laugh, met only by the pathetic squeal of his victim, who slams onto the ground
behind the boulder.
Suddenly,
from around the bend appears a gaggle of screaming little dwarves—their
voices parched, their clothes ragged, their beards unkempt. They have a
slightly panicked look to them, but nonetheless they charge down upon
Biárki. Shaken from his trepidation, Biárki lifts his mattock and appeals
to the onrushing dwarves, "Hold! By Durin, we are
friends!" The dwarves pay no heed and pile onto him in a mass,
dropping their cudgels and hammers to the ground behind them.
However, they are hardly able grapplers, and Biárki barely needs to shake off
their failing grasps.
The
three slingers still in action release their stones, this time aimed at their
chief persecutor; however, the stones skitter wildly around Elboron and Rard
and fail to make contact. "Master Gilavas,” Rard says over his
shoulder to the elf, “if anyone comes from around a corner, you must take
care of them till I am done with the slingers."
"Don't
worry about the back, Rariadoc, it seems to be safe," Gilavas answers,
rushing forward toward the bend.
The
hobbit sighs and says to Barion the Mule, "Old friend, it looks like
you are the rearguard for us now!"
Gilavas
is no skilled runner—for an elf—but he is able to jog up the trench
beneath the slingers and reach the gaggle of dwarves swarming Biárki [Run test,
complete success]. The wise elf regards them for a moment and quickly
realizes they are not feral or corrupted—they are frightened and desperate
dwarves obeying the command of their lord [Insight test, complete
success]. Gilavas hopes to reach Éogar and the dwarves’ leader but
realizes that he can proceed no further while the gaggle of dwarves blocks the
pass. "Shield your eyes...now!" he calls to his friends.
Murmuring soft elvish words, he points his finger at the mass of dwarves in
front of Biárki. [Blinding Flash test, complete success] Suddenly, a
flash of light explodes in the face of one of the little dwarves; he cries out
in surprise, blinded, and falls back from the melee. But, now
Gilavas’s veil is dropped—and he has made a mark of magic in this
region that perhaps others could discern, if they knew to look…
Biárki
does not share Gilavas’s insight, and when the wild-eyes dwarves try to
grapple him he loses his temper. He unleashes one hard blow against the
nearest dwarf, cracking him hard in the chest [superior success]; his second
blow against the next dwarf is equally harsh [superior success]. Bones
crack from the impact of the maul, and the two badly injured dwarves stumble
back with their blinded comrade.
Elboron,
well injured by the barrage of sling stones and stirred virtually to a
battle-frenzy, drops his father’s bow onto the ground and draws his
longsword. Despite his fatigue and injury, Elboron is a skillful enough
runner to jog up the slippery slope and close the distance to the melee.
*
* *
Regaining
the initiative, Rard quick-draws a shaft and takes a carefully aimed shot at
another slinger atop the ridge. This time the arrow only grazes the
target’s shoulder, but that is enough to elicit a cry of pain and
encourage the slinger to drop back out of sight.
Meanwhile,
around the bend the lordly dwarf holding Éogar at the edge of his ax swallows
hard, hearing the sounds of combat and the cries of his badly out-classed
followers. The disarmed knight lying on the ground tries to implore him
to talk: "I am Éogar son of Garbald, Knight of Arnor and servant of King
Elessar of the newly reunited lands. I believe we have much to talk
about…” The dwarf curses in Khuzdul, an oath Éogar cannot
understand but can sense its meaning. Angrily, the dwarf brings his ax
down hard—on Éogar’s spear. The weapon splinters up and down
the shaft, exploding into several pieces from the blow. Leaving Éogar
thus disarmed, the dwarf rushes down the slope around the bend to join his
beleaguered colleagues. Éogar slows rises to his feet, shield upon his
arm but wholly weaponless. The knight realizes that the lordly dwarf is
perhaps his equal in battle and could have inflicted a grievous wound upon him
but chose to respect his surrender. A sinking feeling strikes his heart
that the fellowship may have done a grave injustice here.
The
lordly dwarf quickly closes the distance around the bend to Biárki.
“Traitor, you would turn against your own kindred!” he bellows as
he chops at Biárki with his ax. It is a deadly swing that Biárki is able
to parry only with equally brutal force. The two dwarves crushed by
Biárki’s mattock fall back in a panic, screaming in pain and forgetting
their lord. The blinded dwarf stumbles about pathetically, slowly making
his way back up the trench by feeling his way along the ridge. Only the
fourth unhurt dwarf holds his ground, picking up his hammer and standing at his
lord’s side; he feebly swings at Biárki but fails to make contact.
Only
two slingers atop the ridge dare to hurl stones back at the archer who has
stung so many of their number; Rard is too overextended to dodge effectively,
and without Elboron to provide him cover both stones strike true and draw blood
[17 damage total, -1 Injured].
Seeing
that the lordly dwarf is enraged and possessed with a fey doom, Gilavas decides
to do what he can to quell the violence that threatens to bring death to one
side or the other. He raises his hand in a magical gesture and speaks the
words of power, intending to evoke awe directly in the mind of the dwarven
lord. [Evoke Awe + Spoken Thoughts, TN 10, 5 roll +7 modifier –3
combined effect –3 second casting –1 weariness = 5, failure] "A
Elbereth Gilthoniel! Who dares attack this Fellowship of the Free Peoples
of the West! Put away your arms, we mean you no harm!" The High-elf
breathes hard, tired from the exertion, but his heart sinks when he realizes that
his efforts have come to naught.
“If
you dare call me traitor, you deserve the freedom of death!” Biárki
growls at the fellow dwarf who dared insult him. His first blow is
matched by a parrying swing from the other dwarf’s axe, but his second
and third blows push past the other’s increasingly overextended
defense. The mattock blows graze the lordly dwarf’s stout mail
coat, leaving him dazed from the impact.
Meanwhile,
Elboron has closed from the other side and plunges into battle with the other
dwarf, unleashing two lusty blows. The dwarf is none so skilled as his
lord and makes a simple target. Elboron’s blade pierces the
foeman’s shoulder and then lashes into his side; the dwarf gasps in pain
and stumbles backward, seriously wounded.
It
seems that now the lordly dwarf stands alone, all of his followers on the
ground either seriously injured or blinded. The burly old dwarf roars in
the Common Speech, “Nurin Thurin’s son shall have his
father’s hall or no-one! Thieves of the West, die upon my ax!”
Wild-eyed and fey of heart, the old dwarf seems prepared to fight in the
last…
It
is then that Éogar appears from around the bend, carrying only his
shield. The knight looks slightly injured but in no immediate
danger. The four dwarves who are either maimed or blinded collide with
each other to avoid him and, their escape blocked, fall to the ground in a
weeping mass, pleading for mercy. Their cries are echoed by the
whimpering pleas of the arrow-stung slingers atop the ridges overhead.
Even the slingers lucky enough not to be struck by Rard’s arrows wave
their hands overhead desperately, begging to be spared.
Scene 7: The Ironfist Lord
The
lordly dwarf who commanded the ambush grimly holds his ground, despite having
all his followers defeated and himself suffering an injury from Biárki’s
mattock. The burly old dwarf roars in the Common Speech, “Nurin
Thurin’s son shall have his father’s hall or no-one! Thieves
of the West, die upon my ax!” The sharp head of his ax whirls
back and forth in front of him, ready to strike whoever approaches.
"Thurin's
son you might be, but your mother was an orc if you think us thieves!”
growls the one-eyed dwarf warrior, slowly lowering his great mattock.
“I am Biarki son of Biárlin, called Barrelheart. We seek passage
through Gundabad and will drive the orcs from these mountains. The line
of Isildur is restored, and all dwarves of good heart see that the banner of
King Elessar does honor to Durin’s Folk. By attacking this company,
it is you who have proven yourself a traitor. You shall have to live with
that shame, Nurin son of Thurin."
“The
House of Durin does not have sole claim to the Halls of Gundabad,” Nurin
retorts, standing firm with ax in hand. “Durin’s Folk may
have pledged fealty to the Kings of Men, but not my royal fathers or I!
The King of the West has no claim here, and all of you are trespassers.”
"Elboron,
put down your sword! Rariadoc hold your shot!" Gilavas yells at his
comrades, returning his own unused sword back into its scabbard.
“Biárki, stop this terrible kin-strife!"
Biarki
shoots back angrily, "Close your mouth, elf, this is not a matter to be
settled by the likes of you! If a company of dwarves had been chosen for
this expedition, this never would have happened."
For
but a second a fierce light burns in the eyes of the Noldo elf, and all who
look upon his majestic visage tremble in their hearts. For a moment the
clouds part overhead and a hot ray of sun shines upon his face, but soon his
wrath passes and the clouds once more blot out the sun. Even Nurin
Thurin’s son betrays a reaction, no longer able to hide his awe at the
full wroth of a High-elf of age and power; the mighty battle-ax slowly sinks
lower toward the ground. "Is the stain of evil left by Angmar still
so great that even to this day it corrupts the Free Peoples?" the elvish
sage wonders aloud.
"Enough!
Is this how we prove that we are not an enemy?" Éogar, standing several
feet behind the dwarf-lord Nurin, shouts at his friends. "Do you not
yet trust my judgment?" he asks, with a sad look at Rard.
Biárki
takes a step back and angrily throws his fell hammer to the ground. Rard,
too, seeing that the slingers are no longer hurling stones, lowers his bow but
does not unstring it. “They attacked us!” the hobbit
protests to Éogar. He calls out, glaring at the dwarf-lord, "Why is
the king’s fellowship attacked by dwarves?"
“Because
you trespass upon our sacred ground without right or claim,” Nurin says darkly.
“We will not abide the spies of the King of the West, who covets a land
that does not belong to him. His agents are no more welcome here than
orcs.”
"Do
we look like orcs? No, we are obviously not!” the hobbit snaps back
in a rage. “Why not simply show yourselves after surrounding
us? Invite a discussion, not a slaughter!"
“I
am right lord of this land, and I decree what doom befalls trespassers and
thieves,” the dwarf says. “We assailed your force justly, for
we are defending the land of our forefathers. Your company is but a gang
of murderers.”
Éogar
slowly steps down the trench toward Nurin. He raises his hands in a broad
gesture of peace. "Great mountain-lord, I am sorry that my words
could not sway my own friends enough to stop a battle between allies,” he
says. “But all is not lost: Please, let us speak of our quest and
let us hear of your troubles.”
Young
Elboron breathes hard, his sense of reason returning as the lust of battle
drains away. He looks at what he has done, and sees the pathetic dwarf
cut down by his own blade. Hearing Éogar’s gentle words, he quickly
returns his sword to its scabbard and says plaintively, "I am Elboron son
of Faramir, captain of this company. We have no desire for further
bloodshed. Let us save our blades for the orcs.” With a
graceful motion, the young lord unhooks the scabbard from his belt and lays it
flat across his palms. "As a token of good faith, I offer my sword
to you to keep while we remain in your lands." Elboron sinks to one
knee, holding out the sheathed sword to the dwarf-lord. [Persuade (Oratory)
test, assisted by Éogar [+1], superior success]
Nurin
Thurin’s son regards Éogar and Elboron for several moments before slowly
lowering his battle-ax. He steps toward the kneeling young lord and takes
the offered scabbard. “Let it be said that the servants of the King
of the West are nothing if not courteous,” he says, nodding in
satisfaction. “I accept your submission, pardon you your trespasses
in my land, and lift the verdict of death. Whether I grant you aught else
depends on your errand.”
“Warriors
on both sides are wounded and in need of succor. Let us see to their
hurts, and parley,” Elboron suggests in a kind voice, and Nurin agrees
with a nod.
Elboron
rests a rueful gaze upon the cowering dwarves; three lie dreadfully stricken
upon the earth, and the fourth, no longer blinded, sits by them in shame.
"You will not be harmed," he calls out to the surrendering dwarves,
casting his voice up to the ledges above. Those slingers who still can
move peak around the boulders and cautiously climb down the ropes to join their
comrades on the floor of the trench. Biárki grunts in disgust and climbs
up and down the ropes, fetching the dwarves injured by Rard’s arrows.
One is able to climb down with assistance, but three are so badly hurt that
Biárki must carry them. He lays the three dwarves with arrows in their
chests next to the three struck down on the floor of the trench; all are
seriously wounded. The two unharmed slingers, the fourth slinger lightly
wounded in the arm by an arrow, and the dwarf who was shortly blinded watch
over their six injured friends with concern.
Nurin
whistles loudly and shouts, “Mim, come, the fight has ended!”
Several moments later an elderly dwarf, unarmed and unarmored and as bedraggled
as all the others, slinks down the trench from further past the bend, beyond
where the dwarves laid in ambuscade. The old dwarf stares wide-eyed
at Éogar, who turns aside to let the little elder pass. The old dwarf
scurries past Éogar as quickly as his old legs will carry him and rushes to
Nurin’s side.
“O!”
the elder cries in a high voice, surveying his stricken comrades. He
gasps to Nurin, “Are we undone?”
“Still
your tongue, Mim,” Nurin commands. Old Mim nods several times and
makes a weak bow.
Éogar
asks the dwarf-lord, "Is there a safe haven nearby where we can rest and
recover from our folly?” He looks about the dire condition of
Nurin’s band and adds, “We have food and fresh water with us, enough
to share with a few. I pledge you all of the food that I can call my
own.”
"And
perhaps a fire now?” Rard gripes as he leads the fellowship’s pack
mule up the trench. The hobbit pulls Barion’s rein in his left
hand, his right hand still clenching the stock of his bow. “Theses
wretches look as if they could use a hot meal."
Gilavas,
too, desires to move to a safer place, but Nurin shakes his head.
“There are no havens in this trench,” the dwarf states.
“It was cut long ago by my ancestors, connecting many open flows together
into a single hidden trench running north and south through the
Rard
opens up the mule’s packs, and Gilavas retrieves the healer’s
kit. The sagely elf offers to treat the wounds of the dwarves, and Nurin
readily accepts. “It is said that the Elves who pass through the
Grey Havens are wise, and I now see the praise has merit,” he says.
Gilavas realizes the Éogar, Elboron, and Rard are all visibly injured, but he
decides it best to tend to the dwarves first. One is only lightly wounded
and is quickly and easily treated. Six are critically stricken, and it
takes him many hours to clean and dress their severe wounds. Biárki
follows him closely, lending what assistance he can but otherwise remaining
silent. The dwarf wishes he could tend the others alone but knows that
his skill is far short of what is needed, and that this elf is their best
hope. [Healing (Wounds) test, assisted by Biárki [+1], TN 20, 8 roll + 8
+ 1 = 17, failure; spending 1 Courage = 20, marginal success].
While
Gilavas and Biárki tend to Nurin’s troop, Rard glumly pulls out one
bundle of faggots from the pack and starts a fire; four bundles remain in
Barion’s pack. The hobbit also pulls out foodstuffs and his pots to
prepare a large meal, though he cooks plainly and without any enjoyment.
Glaring at the dwarves who ambushed him and his friends, Rard finds himself
resenting every morsel of bread that will be given to the attackers.
Éogar, meanwhile, goes back around the bend and retrieves the head of his
trusty spear, all that his left of his weapon; he sadly murmurs a few Rohirric
words in commemoration of the spear that served him so well for so long, and
his heart sinks at the knowledge that he is now wholly disarmed. The
knight returns to the makeshift campsite in the open trench and joins Rard by
the fire. The two friends exchange gentle words; Éogar tries to assuage
Rard’s hurt feelings, but the hobbit was stung by his earlier words and
still resents how Éogar and Elboron submitted to Nurin. “You know
that dwarves are good-hearted people from our time with Frolin,” Éogar
says to him, smiling.
"No,
I think that Master Frolin may have been unusual amongst them,” Rard says
arrogantly. “Nurin son of Thurin is deranged, and Biárki
is worse than a thick-headed Proudfoot. These dwarves are not like
the stories of yore, nor are they like Master Frolin." Éogar can
only shake his head in silence, and he lets Rard finish cooking the hasty meal.
After
Gilavas and Biárki have done what they can to help the injured dwarves, Rard
and Éogar pass around a hearty cooked meal and share a healthy drink of fresh
water from the fellowship’s barrel. All the dwarves are very hungry
and thirsty, and they readily devour the day’s ration given to each of
them. Those who are too hurt to feed themselves are fed by their
comrades. This is the fifth day since the fellowship departed from the
encampment of the Grand Muster, and their own use reduced their stocks to 125
man-days worth of dry rations and 63 man-days worth of water. Sharing
with the dwarves has further reduced the stocks to 113 man-days of rations and
51 man-days of water. Rard is first to note the dwindling stocks and
grits in teeth angrily.
It
is now nearly sundown on the 20th of April, and it seems that this
is where the fellowship will camp tonight—in the company of Nurin
Thurin’s son and his dwarves. Nurin sits with the fellowship by the
campfire, and it is obvious that the grim old dwarf is glad to feel the
warmth. He holds his hands near the flames and says, “Now, let us
speak.”
Gilavas
is the first to speak, asking Nurin how long his people have lived in the
mountains and how they have survived. “Are you of the long
forgotten race of the Noegith Nibyn?” he asks with a sage’s
curiosity.
Nurin
does not recognize the name and looks to the elderly Mim, who translates the
elvish words into Khuzdul. “Ha!” Nurin laughs.
“We are no petty dwarves, for certain! They were thieves wherever
they were found.” He levels his gaze on Gilavas and then the rest
of the fellowship, one by one. “We are the last of the Ironfists in
the West, and I am the last royal heir. This trench,” he says in a
darkening voice, “in which you are trespassing, leads to the halls of my
forefathers, my inheritance.” He pauses to let his words take
effect and then continues: “Ages ago my ancestors were driven from
The
elderly Mim, sitting next to his lord, listens with interest. He chimes
in, “We still were living in the East when nearly twenty years ago we
heard of the fall…” Suddenly, Nurin rumbles in his throat and
glares at Mim. The elderly dwarf stops his speech and glances into the
fire.
Nurin
interrupts before anyone else can speak again: “I will say no more until
your company has made an accounting. I now know who you are, but I do not
know your purpose or errand. You say that you are here to slay orcs, but
orcs you may slay on the slopes, where your army is encamped. What brings
you to this hidden pass?”
Biárki
addresses Nurin, and explains that the company sought to pass around
Nurin’s
dark gaze narrows as he regards his fellow dwarf, and he passes his glance
among the others. He pauses for a long while and glares once more at Mim,
who sinks his head low. Finally, Nurin speaks again in a quiet voice:
“If that truly is your mission, there may be hope for you. It is
possible to follow this trench through the mountains, but you must pass through
my ancestral halls. One hall leads to the north side of
The
day’s events have been stressful for the heroes of the fellowship.
The tragic misunderstanding strikes deep into the hearts of some, while others
still nurse their wrath at the dwarves who their treacherous ambush.
Biárki is normally guided by his sense of Compassion, but he is tempted by the
anger that risked kin-slaying. Éogar’s, guided by the virtues of
Honor and Nobility, feels guilty that the truce he promised was at first
ignored by his friends. Elboron’s, who normally comports an air of
Compassion, feels like a hypocrite for surrendering to battle-lust.
Gilavas, guided by compassion, feels great remorse for the violence. Rard
is normally guided by his sense of Honesty and Fairness, and he grapples with
the guilt of shooting down so many humble dwarves who never really stood a
chance. Elboron, Éogar, and Gilavas come to terms with their consciences,
but Biárki and Rard refuse to accept in their hearts their role in the wrongs
committed today—and it is through the temptations of wrath and
heartlessness that Corruption wedges an entry into the soul even of the
greatest hero...
* * *
On
the evening of the 20th of April, the Fellowship of Forlorn Hope
parleys with Nurin Thurin’s son, who claims to be heir to the halls of
Gundabad. They sit around a dwindling campfire, the first that the
company has dared light since entering the
"We
were not aware that the Ironfist had returned to the West,” Biárki says
to Nurin. “When I visit the halls of the Longbeards, I will tell
them of your coming."
“That
is well,” he responds. “We have had little congress with
Durin’s Folk since we returned to the West. The Longbeards may
treat with me in my hall in Gundabad or nowhere.” The mighty old
dwarf-lord levels his gaze upon the Men and adds in a firm voice, “I will
not be chased from what is rightfully mine, not by orcs or by the Men of the
West.”
"I
have served King Elessar of the Reunited Kingdoms for some time now; he is a
just and fair ruler,” says Éogar. “His only goal here is to
ensure that the darkness remaining in
“So
we have learned,” Nurin returns, his voice darkening. “When
we came back to the West, we had thought that your king had defeated all the
Dark Lord’s servants. Yet, we found that a vast host of orcs and
trolls had congregated in Gundabad, and your king left them to their
refuge. Only after the passage of many years does he come to fight the
enemy, when he is strong enough to claim the dwarven halls for his own!”
“We
men are not suited to live in your glorious halls under the mountain, and I am
certain he would sooner have allies than enemies residing here. You could
send an emissary, or visit him yourself,” Éogar suggests, as helpfully as
he can. “He will not deny a rightful ruler lest he anger the
dwarves that are allied with him already."
Nurin
betrays no reaction yea or nay; but he fixes his gaze upon Elboron, the deputed
captain of the fellowship. “Éogar Garbald’s son has told me
his king’s purpose, but I do not yet perceive the purpose of this small
company.”
Elboron
chooses his words carefully: "My lord Nurin, the mission of this
Fellowship is to secure a path to the other side of the mountain so that we
might coordinate an attack with our allies on the eastern slope. If
possible, we would like to locate an additional entrance to the mountain, so
that we might attack the orcs from three sides instead of two.” He
pauses to let Nurin consider their task and then continues. “Éogar
speaks true when he states that King Elessar does not seek dominion over
Gundabad. Our army is camped on the slopes because of the constant threat
the orcs pose to the entire Northland. That threat has only grown since
Mordor fell. Numerous Trolls and Uruks that served the Dark Lord have
flocked to your lands and have swelled the ranks of our enemies. We have
seen hints that some greater power also dwells below the mountain."
“So
we have seen,” Nurin replies. “The orcs have grown strong in
this place, bolstered by the presence of much evil. You seek a path
through the mountain through which you can assail the enemy. It is said
that in ancient times all the dwarven-halls of Gundabad connected to a great
Assembly Hall at the heart of the mountain. I do not know if the ancient
ways are still open, nor if they are large enough to permit an army of Men to
pass through, but you would do your king some good service if you sought such a
passage. It also would be the swiftest and surest route to the eastern
Elboron
nods in thought. "I echo Éogar’s counsel: Go to King
Elessar,” the young lord says. “He cannot be expected to
honor your claim when he is entirely unaware of it. He would be a
powerful ally in your fight to reclaim your home and also in the future if its
rule is restored to you. Likewise, I know you could be a very valuable
ally to him in the coming fight.”
Éogar
quickly speaks to reinforce Elboron’s point, and to inquire further about
what the dwarves might offer. "You and your followers came here
after the Great War, yes? You must have expected many orcs to flee to
their remaining dark holds. How many dwarves did you bring? This
cannot be your entire tribe, can it?" he asks hopefully.
The
sagely dwarf-elder Mim shuffles uncomfortably in front of the fire at these
questions, and Nurin grunts to him. Mim looks into his eyes and then
turns to speak to the fellowship around the fire. “Even in the
dwarf-holds far off in the East we heard news of the fall of the Black Lord of
Mordor,” the elderly dwarf explains. “The Men of the East
whom he pressed into his service returned home broken, no longer strong enough
to threaten traveling parties. Ten years ago my lord Nurin decreed that
it was time for us to reclaim our ancient hall and led a company of Ironfists
back to the West. We had thought that the Orcs of Gundabad fell along
with Sauron and the mountain would be open to us, but when we reached the
mountain we were assailed…”
Nurin
cuts off Mim’s narrative and says angrily, “Assailed by an army of
orcs, of every imaginable variety! The victories in Mordor and Wilderland
only drove the surviving orcs into Gundabad, where they are stronger than
ever.” The dwarf-lord calms after a moment and continues, “We
lost many of our number in our first excursion to the mountain. Those
whom you see among me today are all that remain of the western line of the
Ironfists. We withdrew to the
Biárki
speaks, letting his fellow dwarf know that the Grand Muster has already
done battle once with the orcs and suffered by it. "Two companies of
Warg riders passed through these trenches some months ago. They were
slain to the last by Longbeards, and many died by my hand. Do you have
information on the enemy?"
Nurin
shakes his head. “There were wolf-riders among the orcs when we
first returned to the mountains, so I should not be surprised that there are
even more of them today,” he says. “That you killed some of
their number is news well-told.”
"What
dangers remain in your halls? Do they connect to the orc-held
defenses?" Éogar asks. "Are there enemies or allies nearby in
the Northern Wastes nearby that exit?"
“Many
dangers surely remain,” Nurin answers, obliquely. “The only
way to learn is to venture into the ancient halls and see for yourselves.
We had hoped to do so, but now our numbers are too few and we are too poorly
equipped; our food, fresh water, and fuel are utterly exhausted. I do not
know if enemies or allies lay in the frozen wastes beyond the mountains, and
no-one will learn of it until the North Gate of Gundabad is retaken.”
“Then
will you go to the camp of King Elessar?” Elboron asks.
“Or
at least permit me to guide you there?” Éogar offers.
“I
will think on it,” Nurin replies. He looks at the sheathed
longsword lying at his side, picks it up in his hands, and returns it to its
owner. “Elboron Faramir’s son, I now see that you are a man
of honor; I think the battle between us was an unfortunate accident. I
return to you your sword. On the morrow I will decide further what to
do.” Nurin and, more reluctantly Mim, rise from the smoldering
campfire and retire to where their comrades lay, convalescing from their wounds.”
The
companions of the fellowship remain about the fire to discuss what should be
done. Only Gilavas is distant, his eyes drawn to the cold stars above;
lost in the paths of elvish dreams, he does not respond to inquiries.
"Should these dwarves travel with us? After all, I do not think they will
be much resistance should an armed party of orcs appear," Rard offers at
the start of the conversation. “Or one can guide us while the rest
make their way to the safety of King Elessar."
"Nurin's
company is in great distress, and much of it is our doing, regardless of how we
were provoked. I feel we are honor-bound to accompany them back to the
camp if that is where they wish to go," Elboron states.
"Captain
Elboron, I think we must press onward. I am not sure that we have the time to
spend to turn back," Rard says, with a glance at where Barion the mule
rests on the trench floor. "And I do not think we, or the Army of
the West, can afford to use our supplies to turn back."
“This
handful of dwarves, while I feel for their situation, cannot challenge the host
in Gundabad, unless there are more than Nurin has told us,” Éogar points
out.
“But
they possess something our host needs more than warriors,” Elboron
replies. “They have invaluable knowledge of Gundabad that we
lack. They know a secret way into the heart of the mountain. One of
our objectives was to find such a way and report it to the King. We have
many weeks to complete our task, and it may be well worth it to spend some of
that time helping these dwarves reach the camp.”
“However,
if we turn back we may appear to be the spies he suspects,” Biárki
warns. “If Nurin has knowledge of the forces of within Gundabad, or
would allow at least the company of Longbeards to pass through this trench to
his halls, it would mean a great deal. But he seems not to have much
knowledge of the enemy or even of the halls he wishes to claim.”
Éogar
wonders if the fellowship has equipment enough to continue onwards
regardless. He holds out the leaf-shaped head of his sundered spear on
the flat of his hand. He says, "I cannot ask these dwarves to
replace what they do not have, but I am of less use to the group without a
spear, and far less without a weapon at all."
Elboron
looks at the scabbard resting on his lap and passes the sword to Éogar.
“Take it,” he says. "I still have my father's
longbow.”
Éogar
takes the sword, offering him a grateful smile. "Then I will use it
to defend us both…at least until I can replace my spear."
*
* *
The
Fellowship and the company of dwarves rests for the night in this defensible
portion of the trench, and for once the night is neither cold nor
ominous. The temperature remains well above freezing and the sky
clear. A watch is set throughout the night, but nothing is heard or seen
in the pass or surrounding mountains. On the morrow the company rises and
has a light breakfast; Rard makes it especially light, given the large number
of ravenous guests to be fed. “Our foodstuffs will not last seven
days with so many mouths to feed, and our water will be gone longer before
that,” Rard whispers begrudgingly to his companions.
When
light has returned to the sky, and Gilavas has returned from his dreams under
the stars, Éogar asks the elf to take a look at the injuries suffered by the
fellowship the previous day. He tends first to Elboron, who was the most
grievously assaulted [Healing (Wounds) test, TN 15), failure], but
unfortunately Gilavas finds that most of the damage is beneath the skin and
there is little he can do; Elboron remains hurt [25 total damage,
Injured]. Gilavas next turns to Rard [TN 15, complete success] and
readily cleans and binds the abrasion inflicted by the sling-stones; Rard has
only a few remain bruises [7 total damage, Healthy]. Last he treats
Éogar, who suffered a great buffet upon his corslet from Nurin’s axe [TN
15, complete success]; the knight is readily bandaged and suffers from only a
residual scrape [13 total damage, Healthy]. Afterwards, Gilavas returns
to the stricken dwarves to look after their hurts…
Nurin
Thurin’s son watches with interest Gilavas’s ministrations, and it
is clear that he is concerned for the lives of his followers. Especially
since it is not yet certain whether they will recover from their wounds or
perish, the dwarf-lord is loath to move them or to leave their side. When
the fellowship approaches him to ask if he has thought further about the last
evenings topics, he pulls himself up to his full height—something under
five feet—and regards them with a regal bearing.
“I
have decided that I cannot consent to go with you to King Elessar’s
encampment. Until my servants are well enough to travel, we cannot leave
this place and I will not leave them,” he states. After a
moment’s pause he continues, “Nor am I certain that I wish your
king to know of this hidden pass. I have only your word that he will not
seek to use it to steal my halls.
“Indeed,
I am not certain that I can even give your company free leave in my
lands. My party has suffered grievously at your hands, so that we now
have no hope of retaking our halls. Yet, you could do us justice,
and good service to your king too, were you to venture into our halls.
All of your company are great heroes, skilled in war and well-armed.”
The dwarf’s gaze drifts to Éogar and he adds, “Even if you have
lost your weapon, there are many to replace it the halls of my ancestors.
It is said that my forefathers of old forged many great armaments for their
allies the Northmen, and surely some remain unsoiled by the orcs. Were
you to do this task for me, I would gift you with any weapon of your choice,
Éogar Garbald’s son, to replace that which I destroyed.
“What
say you to this offer, King Elessar’s fellowship? You say you are
not spies, that your king sent you here to aid in the fight against the
orcs.
“Two
choices are open to you. Somewhat ahead this trench forks, and a branch
leads to a hidden dwarf-hold; it may be that his lost mansion leads to the
halls beneath and through the mountain to the East Gate. If you follow
this trench to its end you will reach the North Gate of Gundabad, an
ancient dwarf-hall that guarded entry between the mountain and the Northern
Wastes beyond. If you decide to pursue one of these routes, I will grant
you leave to go through it.”
* * *
On
the morning of the 21st of April, the High-elf healer tends to the
injuries suffered by the fellowship and checks in on his dwarven patients,
too. The wounded dwarves, thanks to Gilavas’ courageous efforts at
healing them, will all recover. Nurin stands by the elf as he tends to
the wounded, nodding in satisfaction. Already the dwarves are mobile again,
though still in considerable discomfort that will take several weeks to heal
entirely.
When
Nurin states that he will not consent to leave the hidden pass for the
encampment of the Grand Muster, Gilavas tries one last time to convince Nurin
of the good intentions of the king. "Does not the composition of our
own fellowship tell you enough about the wisdom of King Elessar?” he
says. “Only the wisest and noblest of Kings would be able to
assemble a fellowship of Elf, Dwarf, Hobbit, and Men."
Nurin
answers coolly, “The wisdom of elves in the healing arts must be praised,
and the Men among your company are of honorable character.” He
looks past Biárki and glares at Rard as he adds, “But I have cause to
question the wisdom of those who inflict an arrow’s sting without justice.
It was such foolishness that wrongly struck down my warriors and our hopes for
liberating our ancient hall.”
"The
dwarf has been in the mountains for too long!” Rard protests.
“They couldn't defeat a party of younglings much less hope to retake their
halls. It certainly isn't our fault!"
“It
is your fault that we are too hurt to survive here on our own!” Nurin
snaps back.
Gilavas
rests a hand on Rard’s shoulder to calm down the arrogant little
halfling. The elf says in his calm and pleasant voice, "How will you
yourself survive, with orcs in front of you and rocks behind? You may be King
of the mountain, but unless you can feed on rocks you will not hold that
title for long.”
Elboron
reinforces the elf’s argument: "The only hope for you to reclaim the
halls of your fathers is through the King's victory over the orcs. This
trench could be of great use in the King's cause, and you would be wise to
apprise him of it when your folk are well enough."
"You
should at least send an emissary,” Éogar advices.
[Gilavas’s
Persuade (Oratory) test: 5 roll + 9 modifiers + 1 Éogar + 1 Elboron = 16,
complete success]
Nurin
thinks long and hard on their words and at last answers, “It is true that
my people cannot remain here much longer without your charity, for the wounded
require food and care. They would be safer in the king’s
encampment. Very well: I will send my people to your king. The
uninjured will help the wounded, and they will bear a greeting to King Elessar
from me.” He folds his arms about his chest and says in a firm
growl, “But I will not go. I am sworn not to leave this mountain
until I have reclaimed the halls of my ancestors. I will remain in this
place, and my trusted advisor Mim shall remain with me.”
Old
Mim looks up wearily and asks, “But what of food, and the orcs?”
Nurin
says to him, but clearly meant for the fellowship: “These travelers will
share their food with us. They have already offered to do as much, to
make up for the violence they accidentally caused. Besides, our own
foodstuffs may yet be recovered.” He then looks to the fellowship
and adds, “Our mules disappeared some days ago around the North
Gate. Perhaps they were stolen away by orcs?” Old Mim frowns
deeply and hangs him head but says nothing.
"The
orcs control the North Gate as well?" Éogar asks.
Nurin
and Mim exchange a look, and the dwarf-lord replies, “They may. You
say that a horde of wolf-riders came through this pass many months ago.
They must have passed through the North Gate.”
“They
could not have come through the hidden mansion,” Mim chimes in
quietly. “That way is still sealed.”
Nurin
frowns and adds in a stern voice, “But it can be unsealed, should you
choose that route.” At this, Nurin returns to his wounded people
lying on the ground, and Mim follows behind. The fellowship is left alone
in the pale morning light to decide what to do.
"What
are your thoughts, friends?” asks young Elboron.
Gilavas
muses, "I am not sure what to make of this dwarf. When he heard of the
Grand Muster, he could not get here fast enough to claim the spoils of war,
only to find that the orcs were much greater in number than expected. He
attacks us for trespassing on his strip of rock-hard land, and now he wants us to
clear his halls for him.”
"Would
that Nurin did not stand with such a royal aura, I would be suspicious,”
Éogar responds. “Yet if he has a rightful claim, his actions are
not foolhardy. Still, we should be wary.”
Elboron
offers, “The path directly through the mountain will be shorter, but
likely fraught with peril. The longer road to the North may keep us away
from the bulk of the orcs, but our supplies may not last.”
The
friends exchange what lore they know about the strange northern wilds.
The sagely Gilavas mentions tales of the Snowmen of Forochel, who may possibly
tred the icy waste this far to the east. More ominous are the
cold-drakes, foul wyrms that have long plagued Forodwaith and the
Elboron
listens in consideration. When he speaks again, it is to discuss the
strained supply of food and water. "The dwarves have nothing, and it
would be wrong of us to leave them with nothing. How much can we spare,
Master Brandybuck?"
Rard
estimates that the food can be made to last ten days at three-quarters rations,
a little longer at half rations. He suggests that the fellowship take
along seven full days of rations for each member and leave the remainder for
the dwarves, enough to preserve them for a week. Water will run out more
quickly. The hobbit climbs up one of the dwarf-ropes to the ridge above
and scoops up some snow, packing it into his skin. Holding the skin close
to his body, the snow quickly melts. Rard takes a tentative swig and
grimaces, for the snow-water is sordid and tastes foul. Snow-water from
accursed Gundabad may serve the desperate who would otherwise perish, but it
cannot be stomached for very long.
Nurin
and Mim returns to the fellowship after a short while. “My people
will rest in this spot one more day, and on the morrow they will set out for
your king’s encampment. One of my slingers is crafty in the ways of
the wild, and if you give him directions from the mountain ravine onto the
heath he can guide the others to the camp. They will need food, of
course, and at least a little water to last them until they reach the
heath.” His last statement is issued expectantly, not as a request.
The
dwarf-lord then passes his gaze among the companions and rests on
Elboron. “And what is your decision?” he asks.
“Will you venture the North Gate—or will you go east under the mountain
through the lost mansion?”
Elboron
answers the dwarf lord, "Lord Nurin, we have made our decision. We
will take the path through the secret dwarf-hall in the hopes of reaching
Gundabad’s East Gate. Tell us how we may find the entrance, if you
will. If there is any other lore that your party possesses that might
help us win through, we would be grateful to hear it."
Nurin
nods several times, and it is difficult to tell if he is pleased or
disappointed. He replies, “Very well. Mim and I will follow
you. The lost mansion is a short distance up the trench, where it forks
to the east and butts up against a rocky facing. That is the
mansion’s seal. Mim possesses the map that led us to the lost
mansion, and it will help us open the seal too. As for what you may find
inside, I cannot say. No dwarf has set foot in the hall for over an age
of this Middle-earth.” Mim stands at Nurin’s side, silent,
his head hanging low.
As
the Fellowship packs up, Elboron directs Rard to keep rations for the current
day plus seven more, and leave the rest for the dwarves. Forty man-days
of rations set aside for the fellowship. The rest is divided up among the
twelve dwarves—enough to keep Mim and Nurin in the field for many days to
come, and enough to last his people until they reach King Elessar’s
camp. Nurin seems content that he and Mim will drink from the
fellowship’s large cask, but he says that his people will need water to
reach the army camp. “Two or three full skins will be needed, at
the least,” he says.
When
the company prepares to move on from this place, Elboron pulls himself up to
his full lordly height and addresses Nurin. If the dwarf-lord is to
accompany the fellowship, even for a time, he must come to an understanding
with them. "Lord Nurin, I would have you consider the debt of
gratitude and friendship you will owe to King Elessar when his army succeeds in
driving the orcs from Gundabad. Also, consider the tale of the
reclamation of the
Nurin
nods once and returns, “No lust for riches brings me here. I come
by the call of duty, to reclaim what was taken from my forefathers. If
King Elessar drives the orcs from Gundabad, he will have my
friendship.” The dwarf-lord then turns to one of his followers, the
slinger who will guide his people to the camp of the Grand Muster.
“When you arrive, greet King Elessar in the name of Nurin Ironfist,
Thurin’s son, right Lord of the Ironfist Halls of Gundabad. Tell
him that I have set foot in the mountain and lay claim to my inheritance, in
the name of my forefathers who were unjustly driven from their home. Tell
him that if he honors my right claim and does not seek to take what is not his,
then he shall have the friendship of my House. Once a hall has been
reclaimed, tell him my oath will be fulfilled and I will come to his camp
myself.” The little dwarf nods in understanding and bows low to his
lord.
Scene 8: The Way Is Sealed
It
has been settled: the Fellowship of Forlorn Hope will seek a path under
During
the day of rest, Elboron approaches Rard and speaks privately with the hobbit
on a difficult matter. "It may be that your mule will not travel
through the caverns,” he explains. “If that is the case, it
may be wise to leave him with the dwarves rather than abandoning him at the
gate. I will leave that decision to you."
Rard
thinks long and hard on Elboron’s advice. Finally he gives his
answer: “I think that Barion should accompany the company of dwarves back
to camp. He can carry the water cask, which we cannot take with
us." He shoots a dirty look at the bedraggled dwarf-lord, not liking
the thought of entrusting his beloved mule and trusty old barrel to his ragged
followers. The hobbit gives Barion and hug and promises to see him
again. The dwarves, who are glad to have the mule’s foodstuffs and
water cask, swear to take good care of the animal and deliver him safely to the
army camp.
Early
the next morning, the travelers prepare to go their separate ways. The
companions take their fill from the cask, so that each carries at least two
full flasks of water; each also carries at least seven full days of dry
rations. Rard carefully goes through his hoard of goods in the
mule’s pack trying to decide what to carry, for he is fearful of being
overburdened. He briefly considers abandoning his cooking kit and even
his bedroll, but he finds that he can carry both important comforts in addition
to his bow, favorite dagger, pair of arrow-filled quivers, elvish clothes,
backpack, tinder kit, candles, and two skins of water. However, he cannot
carry any further load, so he leaves behind his fishing line, spare
clothes, and extra daggers and quiver. His friend Éogar spares the
hobbit the trouble of carrying extra weight in food, putting the hobbit’s
share of the foodstuffs into his own pack. The party’s
fuel and other supplies, as much as they wish to bear, are divided among
the stronger members.
As
the sun appears in the dawn sky on the morning of April the 22nd,
Nurin bids farewell to his people. The ragged dwarves bow kindly to him
and wish him success; they swear they will return to him in his newly gained
hall as soon as the Grand Muster defeats the orcs. With the
fellowship’s mule in tow, the dwarves amble off through the trench to the
south. Nurin and old Mim remain, their previously emptied satchels now
filled with the fellowship’s food and water. “Come!”
Nurin booms, “To the lost mansion!” The dwarves, though, show
no inclination to lead the way. They hike just behind Biárki, letting
Éogar take the point and simply calling out to him how much further they
believe it is to the sealed path. Occasionally, Mim consults an old map
that he keeps folded up in his satchel. Nurin constantly fusses over the
map—apparently it is an ancient heirloom passed on through the
generations of Ironfist exiles from the West, and the dwarf-lord seems
convinced it will permit access to the sealed dwarf-hall.
The
going is slow, for the trench soon rises quite steeply as the general elevation
of the surrounding mountains increases. Éogar reckons that they are
passing over the
The
sealed way proves to be somewhat further up the trench than Nurin originally
promised, and briefly he and Mim squabble over the map in an attempt to discern
whether it had accidentally been passed. The trench is filled with little
forks that dead-end into empty or collapsed flows. After a lunch break,
though, the dwarves are certain the sealed path still lies ahead, and the march
is resumed. In the mid-afternoon the travelers come upon a particularly
sizable fork in the trench, and for once each path looks equally like a
candidate for being the main way through the mountain range. “This
is it!” Nurin exclaims, and Mim silently confirms the claim with a
nod. The dwarf-lord points to the right branch and says, “This way
leads to the lost mansion. The left branch continues on to the North
Gate.” Éogar estimates that the fork is some 30 miles from the
ravine far to the south that lead the fellowship into the Grey Mountains, and
the North Gate must be nearly another 20 miles from here.
Following
Nurin’s direction, the fellowship takes the right branch and starts to
head nearly due east. At first this branch looks to be like any of the
other old flows that have come before, but instead of reaching a quick dead-end
the branch merely narrows into a thin defile that keeps running due east.
The defile often is less than five feet wide, and the travelers are compelled
to walk single file much of the time. Fortunately, the ground is quite
flat at a steady elevation, and after an hour the group has hiked over a
mile. Suddenly, the travelers come upon a dead-end, a high and perfectly
sheer cliff-facing. There are absolutely no markings anywhere, no runes
or symbols or visible outlines.
Rard
gapes at the dead-end, tired and irritated. He glowers at the dwarf-lord,
“It looks like a perfect dead-end to me! Are you sure this was the
right way?”
“It
is a secret pass,” Nurin growls back at the hobbit. “If it
didn’t look like a perfect dead-end, it wouldn’t be much of a
secret. Of course this is the right way!” He shoots a look at
Mim and asks, “Well, isn’t it?”
Old
Mim unfolds the map again and lays it against the cliff-facing. “I
think so,” he murmurs, running his finger along a long series of runes
written on the parchment. “If I read the map correctly, there is a
door in the cliff concealed by ancient enchantments. We must speak the
words of opening,” he explains.
“What
are the words?” Gilavas asks.
“The
map does not clearly say…” Mim answers in a weak voice.
“Go
on,” Nurin urges, “tell them the clue.”
The
elderly dwarf shrugs helplessly and says, “At this place on the map the
runes form a riddle in the ancient tongue of the dwarves. I will
translate it into the common speech, as best I can.” Mim clears his
throat and slowly intones:
A draught of wine fills every vessel when first made;
Sleep comes when the goblet is bereft;
When a foeman offers a libation, drink unafraid;
Who enters here unbidden will have none left.
Mim
looks at the cliff hopefully, but nothing happens after he finishes the
recitation. “What now?” he asks.
Scene 9: The Lost Mansion
The
dwarven-lord Nurin and his elderly sage Mim have led the fellowship east along
a branch in the trench to a solid cliff-facing. Their ancient map marking
this place as the entrance to a lost dwarven mansion provides only an obscure
riddle as a clue for gaining entrance. "I have little skill at
riddling, my friends," Elboron says, shifting his weight to find a
position more comfortable for his bruised ribs. Focusing on the third
line he adds, “I know that I would drink nothing given me by an
orc.”
Gilavas
searches his mind for all the opening-spells he knows, and the high-elf
gingerly speaks a few magical words without effect. Nurin looks at Mim,
but the elderly dwarf can only shrug helplessly.
Elboron
asks his hobbit friend, “Master Brandybuck, are not the Shire folk
renowned riddlers?"
Rard
scratches his little head and stammers, “Errr, riddles aren’t
my…”
"Blood
is the answer,” Biárki states. When the grim one-eyed dwarf solves
the riddle, a quick flash of amazement can be seen on Gilavas’s
face. The elvish magician perceives that this dwarf possesses a share of
native wisdom that his coarse speech bellies.
The
hobbit crinkles his brow for a moment and then claps gleefully.
"That is most impressive, Master Biárki!” Rard exclaims.
“I think even Old Mister Baggins might have needed a bit more
time."
Biárki
nods once without fuss and responds, “Now, what does it mean?"
"Hmm,
I don't see how blood helps us," Rard says. "Are we supposed
to cut an orc’s throat on it? Use a dab of our own
blood?" A sudden look of revulsion crosses his face as he squeaks,
"I hope we do not have to drink it!" After a brief moment he
jumps and squeals, "Oh! Cousin Merry told me of the secret to the
entrance to Moria: You must speak the password to find the door!" He
pulls himself up to his full little height and intones loudly,
“Blood!” But, the cliff-facing remains impassible. He
sighs and offers, “Maybe it needs to be said in some ancient Elvish
language?”
"The
West Door of Moria was made to trade with the Elven-smiths of Eregion,”
Gilavas says. “Since the Dwarves would not teach their secret
language to anyone, it had to be an Elvish word for the opening-spell. I doubt
that many Elves ever set foot through this door."
"We
have a dwarven sage right here who must know the word in the ancient
language,” notes Éogar. He turns to Nurin and Mim and says,
“You have granted us passage through this mansion, so what is the ancient
dwarf word for blood?"
Nurin
nods slowly in response to Éogar’s words and steps to the fore. He
rests his hand upon the stone and says a strange, guttural word that only
Biárki recognizes. Suddenly, the trench begins to rumble and fissures
appear in the cliff-facing! The outline of a door appears; Nurin easily
pushes the stone door open, revealing a long, dark tunnel leading east into the
side of
FOR
REACHING THIS STAGE IN THE CHAPTER, IT IS TIME FOR REWARDS. BIARKI AND
RARD REGAIN 1 POINT OF COURAGE; ELBORON, GILAVAS, AND EOGAR (WHO AVOIDED
CORRUPTION) REGAIN 2 POINTS OF COURAGE; FURTHERMORE, BIARKI GAINS 1 POINT OF
RENOWN FOR SOLVING THE RIDDLE.
Rariadoc
leans around the burly dwarf and peers into the dark tunnel. “How
about a break for an afternoon meal first?” he suggests warily.
“After all, we may find ourselves in quite a hurry once
inside…” There are no objections, so the company breaks at
the foot of the entrance. The hobbit pulls out a portion of the way-bread
that he previously made and distributes it among the travelers, who enjoy it
with a drink of water from their skins.
Éogar
chews on his bread while keeping a careful watch—after all, orcs could
appear in the dark tunnel at any moment, come to investigate the sudden
intrusion of outside light. When no orcs show themselves, the knight is
puzzled. He muses aloud, "Would the orcs have put the riddle on this
door and warded it with dark magicks to keep out intruders? It seems
unlike the beasts, but clearly some greater evil has invaded Gundabad..."
Nurin
shakes his head firmly. “This riddle-door is certainly the work of
dwarves,” he states. “No orc, however dwimmer-crafty, could
construct such a barrier. Nor do orcs know our secret
speech.” He gazes at the stone portal in admiration and adds,
“It must have been built by dwarves in ancient times who tried to defend
this hall, in an effort to keep the enemy from pouring in through the hidden
pass.” Éogar is uncertain but does not challenge the dwarf-lord on
the matter.
Perhaps
an hour before dusk, the travelers rise from their places on the ground and
venture into the dark tunnel. Éogar insists on being the first to enter,
filling his lantern with a flask of oil and carrying the flame into the black
interior. The knight carefully searches the entrance for traps but finds
no pit or loose stones. Indeed, what he sees in the glow of the lantern
is a rocky hole bored into the mountainside, leading farther to the east and
gradually deeper under the earth. His companions fall in behind him, keeping
to the same marching order as out in the trench. At first the tunnel is
rocky and crude, filled with dust and rocky shards, but after a few hundred
yards it becomes smooth and carved; the floor is leveled in a slow downward
grade, and the tunnel is supported by well-crafted stout arches spaced every
few dozen yards. After the company has gone perhaps half a mile in the
tunnel, the travelers start noticing periodic branches left and right from the
main causeway. The branches rapidly drop down deep into the nearby earth,
into unfinished pits braced only by wooden frames that have nearly
disintegrated over time. “Ah,” Mim gasps, “There were
mines in Gundabad! These dwarves must have owned great riches, and
that is why they were loath to leave.”
Nurin
glowers at Mim, and the elderly dwarf falls silent. “These halls
will know the sounds of working mines again,” the dwarf-lord
boasts. “Once we have reclaimed this place from the orcs, I will
call for Ironfists from the distant East to settle here and build this colony
anew.”
After
an hour Éogar’s lantern burns out, and he must fuel it again with another
flask of oil. Its glow is sufficient to light the steps of the entire
company, as long as the travelers keep within a few feet of each other.
Indeed there is no shortage of space to walk; once the company clears the mine
branches the causeway widens into a great hallway, never less than fifteen feet
wide and increasingly reaching higher and higher above, until the ceiling
arches are nearly fifty feet overhead. Some ninety minutes after entering
the mountain, Éogar gauges that the company has traversed more than three
miles. Even his unfailing travel sense cannot perceive their depth, but
based on the gradual downward slope of the floor the companions must be many
hundreds of feet below the surface and under the very foot of
Everyone
gapes at the wonder of this lost dwarven mansion, truly a testament to the
stone-craft of the dwarves of old. “This must be what Cousin Merry
felt like when he entered Dwarrowdelf, in Moria,” the hobbit murmurs in
wonder.
Biárki
grunts, “This place is smaller than Dwarrowdelf.”
“No
work of the dwarves anywhere in the world equals Dwarrowdelf,” Nurin
admits, “but this place is older than Khazad-dum.”
Éogar
leads the way into the circular chamber. There are many stone pillars
holding up the high ceiling, and all of them are carved with marvelous runes
and statuary, dwarven tales and famed figures long forgotten. The huge
room is filled with stone bench cracked and sundered, large wooden tables
overturned and reduced nearly to dust, and oaken chairs broken to rotting
splinters. It must have been a great hall at one time, where hundred of
dwarves could have gathered in comfort to hear a mighty lord address them from
atop a stone rostrum, now crumbling and stripped of all finery. Along the
eastern wall is a grand arch that leads onto another broad hallway running
further to the east. The north and south walls feature dozens of smaller arches,
each leading to a side chamber or ancillary passageway.
“And
not a single sign of orcs!” Nurin calls out in jubilation.
“Maybe the ancient dwarves drove them out before sealing up the hall, or
perhaps kept them out altogether. Either way, they are gone now.”
He strides into the center of the great chamber, to the base of the old stone
rostrum, and pronounces in a loud, firm voice: “I, Nurin Thurin’s
son, right lord of the Ironfist Line in the West, have come to
[Observe
tests all around]
Nurin’s
voice echoes throughout the hall. When the sound finally dies, Éogar
starts and looks about warily. He holds back as the others gather in the
heart of the chamber, watching over them carefully. Gilavas comes to his
side and whispers to him, “What is the matter?”
“I
thought I heard something. Movement along one of the walls,” the
knight whispers back.
The
elvish sage scans the vast chamber, focusing his keen eyes on the shadow.
“We are not alone in here,” he says in a quiet voice.
“I have seen a shadow moving from blackness to blackness at the edge of
the lantern’s light. It is difficult to perceive, and I do not know
where it has gone.”
“What
do you think it is, Gilavas?”
“I
cannot say,” the high-elf answers, “but I sense a lingering Power
here, old and fearsome.”
Elboron
gathers Rard and Biárki to him, rejoining Éogar and Gilavas when he overhears
their quiet conversation. Nurin notices the gathering and says,
“Why all the fearful whispering? We should rejoice that this hall
passed so easily into my hands. You are welcome guests here. Come,
let us explore this place and see what legacy remains.”
Scene 10:
Discoveries, Great and Dire
It
is late in the day on April the 22nd, and the Fellowship of Forlorn
Hope has ventured three miles east under the foot of Mount Gundabad into a lost
dwarven mansion. The Ironfist lord Nurin is jubilant as he claims this
ancient stronghold, and he keeps his old sage Mim close at heel.
"Perhaps Nurin is attempting to deter treachery from us, but he seems to
silence Mim quickly when the old sage reveals something to us," Éogar
whispers to his comrades when the dwarves are distracted.
Rard
nods his agreement and cannot resist a barb at the Ironfist Lord: "I think
Mim knows that their trek was foolhardy but he can't mention it or his
lord will beat him!"
"You
are too free with your tongue!” Biárki growls in a low voice, stepping
chest-to-chest with the hobbit. “One day you'll wag it wrong and
find it cut off. If you say such things when we reach the halls of my
people, I will do it myself."
Rard
gapes at the brawny dwarven warrior, speechless. But, the hobbit is
comforted to find his dear friend Éogar swiftly at his side. The knight
rests his hand on the hobbit’s shoulder, pulling him safely away from the
dwarf; he shakes his head, signaling to his quarreling companions to save their
loud words for another time. He looks at Biárki and Galavas and asks
quietly, "Would one of you consider talking to Mim to find out what he
knows of Gundabad and this mansion? Mim seems quite intimidated by me,
and I do not wish to raise the ire of our 'host'."
Gilavas
smiles at the knight's suggestion. "You'd rather have one of us
raise the ire of our host?" he quips lightly. Before the knight can
protest, the elf raises his hand and whispers, "I will see if I can learn
something from him."
The
travelers enter the mansion’s main hall, a vast curricular chamber nearly
two hundred feet in diameter with many corridors cut into the walls leading off
in different directions. They pause to gaze in admiration at this great
work of the dwarves. "Is it here that, according to Dwarven legend,
Durin the First, named the Deathless by your people, first awoke"? Gilavas
asks Nurin.
"Not
his people—mine!” Biárki interjects. “Durin the
Deathless was the eldest of the Fathers of the Dwarves. He awoke alone in
the Halls of Gundabad, but surely not in this chamber. The King of
the Ironfists awoke as far east of the Iron Hills as Gundabad is from the
Nurin
nods in ready concession to Biárki’s point. “No lore survives
to say where in the mountain Durin awoke, but this mansion was cut long
after,” the dwarf-lord explains. “The Father of my house, the
Ironfists, awoke in the mountains far to the East of East, and as I have said
before most of my kin ever remained there. It is to their halls that my
forefathers fled when they were expelled from Gundabad long ago.”
"But
your people must have lived here during the time of Durin. If you would
share that tale with me, I would be honored. I had not heard of Ironfists
this far West," Biárki says.
Nurin
puts his hand on Mim’s back and gently pushes the old dwarf forward,
indicating that he should answer the query. “Ah, you ask of a tale
from the Elder Days of Middle-earth, and much lore has been lost since
then,” Mim says. “Durin awoke when even the Sea-elves were
new to the western shores. The other Fathers awoke thereafter, and when
the numbers of dwarves grew they sought for their scattered kindred.
Durin’s Folk were found in
Nurin
pats Mim’s shoulder and grumbles, “Enough of stories. Let us
explore the mansion!” He smiles broadly and boasts, “The orcs
long ago left this place, and maybe they left it undisturbed.”
But
Éogar and Gilavas are wary, for the knight thinks he hears something moving in
the shadows—and the elf senses an old and fell power haunting the
mansion. "Perhaps the orcs are not here for fear of what has
inhabited this mansion," Éogar says darkly to the dwarf-lord.
"We cannot linger. Nurin, I fear you cannot stay here in safety
either."
“I
have claimed this hall for my own, and I will not abandon it!” Nurin
thunders. “Not for fear of orcs or worse!”
"Éogar
is right: we should not tarry here," Gilavas says.
"This
is too great an opportunity to let pass!” Biárki protests.
“We must see what is here. And if there is any danger to Mim and
Nurin, we must not let them face it alone."
Rard
agrees, though he keeps his bow at the ready and nervously strokes his
arrow’s feathers. The hobbit looks to his young captain to make the
decision. When Elboron speaks, his words are not spoken with his normal
conviction: "We must explore this place first. If there is a way for
us to use this hall to attack the orcs, I would know of it." He
glances about nervously, trying in vain to spot the presence that Éogar and
Gilavas are sure they detected.
“Then
help me search this place,” Nurin says. “I will not leave
until I have claimed some sign of lordship, and only then to pay a call to the
encampment of King Elessar. For I will need to treat with him and secure
food and provisions, so that I and my followers may return to dwell
here.”
"The
other grand arch must lead to another hall that runs through the mountain to
the Eastern slope," the Rohirric warrior says, pointing to the eastern
wall. "We have no way to tell how far it might be without knowing
how it will slope and where it exits. Nurin, is there another pass cut on
the eastern side of the mountain like there was where you ambushed us? Or
might this passageway lead farther down the mountain slope?"
Nurin
winces when Éogar uses the word ambush but does not make an issue of it.
“The ancient map does not show any hidden pass on the other side of the
mountain,” he answers. “All I can make out is a low pass
through the
Elboron
consents warily, and orders the company split into two groups: Elboron, Éogar,
and Nurin in one, Gilavas, Rard, Biárki, and Mim in the other. Curiously,
Nurin seems well pleased with the proposal; he whispers something in the
dwarven tongue to Mim. Biárki, whose sight is enfeebled but not his
hearing, picks up on the words and quietly translates them for his friends:
“Nurin tells Mim to watch us, in case we dare pilfer what is rightfully
his.”
Rard
rolls his eyes and can only barely manage to suppress an angry retort.
Instead he says, "Are there torches around, so that we need not expend our
lantern oil?" Indeed, Éogar’s lantern is already flickering
and will burn out shortly. Unfortunately, no surviving torches or wood
can be found in the chamber—they all rotted and turned to dust ages
ago. The hobbit convinces Biárki to pull out a torch and light it, for
their group will need light. Rard himself pulls out one of the candles he
has been carrying in his pack for the better part of two years now, and lights
it off the torch.
The
two groups divide so that they may search the corridors branching off the main
chamber. "Try to talk to him," Elboron whispers to Gilavas
while nodding in Mim's direction.
*
* *
When
Nurin walks off in the other direction, Gilavas moves to Mim’s
side. The elderly dwarf smiles at him, sage enough to know the blessing
of sharing a High-elf’s company. Gilavas speaks to him of Nurin and
how his master sometimes seems to cut him off—is there anything of which
Mim had previously wished to speak but could not until now? [Persuade test: 9
roll + 7 = 16, complete success] Mim seems to be torn, and he keeps looking
over his shoulder as if his master will reappear at any moment. Finally,
he offers a cryptic response to the elf's gentle prompt: “It does not
matter now. You did not go to the North Gate, and we have entered this
mansion safely. My lord will have a hall of his own, and that is what is
important. I feared that we would not be able to enter this place, or
that it would be haunted. The riddle…” the shutters and will
say no more.
Gilavas
leads the group counter-clockwise around the southern side of the chamber, but
he is loath to venture into the corridors. Only when he no longer senses
the dark presence so closely does he agree to let the group explore the
passages, keeping a careful watch over the little hobbit and elderly dwarf.
[Search tests] Alas, none of the companions is adept at searching—they
spend much of the next hour wandering up and down stone passageways that
largely look the same to them. Most corridors are fairly short, no more
than a hundred feet long with a handful of connected rooms. Most of the
chambers are ancient residences, long abandoned by the dwarves who once called
them home. In the flickering torchlight and candlelight little can be
made out. Biárki and Rard occasionally come across piles of broken
objects, but they always turn out to be disintegrated furniture or shattered
remnants of a long-ago struggle. Gilavas has more luck. He leads
the group into a chamber sealed by a broken iron cage twisted off its rusted
hinges. With minimal effort the explorers pull it ajar and slip inside,
and in the dim light they perceive what once must have been a treasury.
It was looted ages ago, ransacked roughly and quickly.
In
the corner the elf spies a dusty skeleton, the bone fragments of a small person
who had crawled in here to die. Perhaps that is why the ransackers missed
what was on his body, for he died in here after the looters had left. The
skeleton’s cold finger-bones grip a cobwebbed scepter of silver—he
must have been the last lord of this hall, or else a loyal servant who died hiding
this lordly token from the invaders. Biárki and Mim both close their eyes
and bow their heads in respect for this long-dead defender of the mansion.
“Come,
let us return to the great chamber and wait for the others,” Gilavas
says, leading the group out of the side corridors.
*
* *
As
he walks with Elboron and Nurin clockwise around the great hall to the
corridors on the north wall, Éogar asks, "Is the old armory obvious?
I would like to retrieve a spear, but I think we should press on
quickly..."
“Surely
there is a great armory, and it may be that the orcs have left it
untouched,” Nurin replies. “But we must search the corridors
to find it.”
[Search
tests] Éogar, Elboron, and Nurin spend much of the next hour walking up and
down non-descript passageways that lead to long-abandoned residences.
Much as Gilavas’s group, they mostly find broken fragments of furnishings
from long ago. Occasionally they find an old treasury or armory ransacked
and wholly looted. Éogar’s lantern burns out, and he is forced to use
another flask to keep the light going. Elboron does his best to lead the
way, but the young lord is not very perceptive and utterly unskilled at the art
of searching. He leads his group around the same series of
interconnecting hallways several times, until Nurin looses his temper.
“Confound it, Faramir’s son, you have the direction sense of an
addled duck,” he blasts. Éogar kindly steps forward to guide the
search, for he possesses some skill and also a natural intuition of direction,
and Nurin is contented.
Eventually
the knight leads the group to a deep corridor that previously was missed, and
which looks to have been untouched for many an age. It is a long, dark
tunnel with no attached rooms. Periodically they come across a decaying
skeleton of a small person gripping a worthless old weapon—a hopelessly
rusted ax or a disintegrated war-hammer. As the explorers reach the end
of the hall, they find a great mass of skeletons and broken weapons.
Nurin sighs deeply and bends down to examine them. “Many dwarves
came here to die. They must have been mortally wounded in the final
battle thousands of years ago, and they made their last stand here.”
“The
sacrifice may have been enough to keep away the orcs,” Éogar comments,
pointing to a closed door at the end of the corridor. “That door
was never forced open.” Nurin and the Knight of Arnor examine the
door and find a massive lock. Éogar bends down and picks up a heavy
bronze key resting under the boney hand of one of the skeletons. With a
nod of permission from Nurin, Éogar puts it into the lock and opens the heavy
door, groaning with the weight of millennia.
Inside
is a great armory, the last arsenal of the dwarves of this hall. The room
is perhaps twenty feet by twenty feet in size, and the walls are covered with
shelves and pegs. Many dwarf-sized coats and hauberks of mail hang from
the pegs, crafted so masterly that even after so many ages they are merely a
little rusty and still serviceable. Shelf after shelf holds battle-axes,
hand-axes, and war-hammers—though the wooden hafts are badly decayed, the
iron heads are as sturdy and serviceable as the mail armor. There are a
few small shields, too, but the wooden frames are too decayed for them to be of
any use. Rotten, crumbling barrels sit in the room corners. Most
appear to have held food and water at one point but now contain only
dust. One old barrel contains the fragments of now-useless
torches—but also dozens of clay flasks filled with pitch, inflammable oil
that will never evaporate with time.
The
wall opposite the door holds but a single weapon, a masterful work of
craftsmanship—a seven-foot thrusting spear with a broad leaf-shaped head,
made entirely of flawless steel. A great many runes are carved into the
metallic shaft.
“That
is a lordly spear!” Éogar exclaims.
Nurin’s
eyes widen and he nods in ready agreement, lifting it from its
restraints. He looks at the carved symbols on it and says, “The
runes are too ancient for me to read.”
“It
has been over an hour,” Elboron reminds his companions. “We
should return to the main chamber and find the others.”
Nurin
nods and says, “Mim probably can read the runes on this
spear.” The dwarf-lord hands the weapon to Éogar and says,
“Carry it for me. I promised you a spear to replace that which I
broke, and depending on what the runes say this may be an appropriate
gift.”
*
* *
After
somewhat more than an hour of searching, the two groups come back together in
the main chamber. Gilavas solemnly reports their sole grim discovery, and
Mim freely assures his lord that nothing else was found or taken.
Nurin’s eyes light with fire as he says, “A scepter is a noble
symbol, and you have done well to find it! You may present it to
me.”
“We
did not take it, my lord,” Mim answers nervously. “It was
still gripped in the boney hands of the dwarf who held it in death.”
Nurin
frowns and scoffs, “These ancestors are long dead, and what treasures
remain now belong to me. Never mind: guide me to it later, and I will
take it myself.” Mim is visibly angered by these words, all can
see—but even so he does not say anything to challenge his master.
The
dwarf-lord gestures for Éogar to show the beautiful steel spear that he found
to Mim. “We were not so idle on our searches,” Nurin
exclaims. “As I promised, we found a great armory which my
ancestors fought to the death to defend. This spear was kept
inside. Mim, tell us what the runes carved on its length
say.” The elderly dwarf glowers at Nurin, who is provoked nearly to
rage. “Curse you, Mim, do as I command!”
The
aged dwarven sage quails, bows his head, and scurries up to Éogar. He
looks at the spear’s metallic shaft and reads the engraved symbols.
“These are very ancient runes, used by dwarves at the dawn of the Second
Age,” he explains in a weak voice. “They read: I am called
Drake-Slayer, bane of the worms of Angband.”
“Drake-Slayer!”
Nurin exclaims, his voice full of surprise and joy. “A weapon
forged by my ancestors to drive back the foul dragons that sought to slip into
the mountain after the Elder Days.” The dwarf steps up to Éogar and
places his hands atop the man’s, securing the spear in the knight’s
grip. “I would like to fulfill my pledge to you, Éogar
Garbald’s son, and grant you this lordly spear. Take it, and in
return you may do me a service sometime. What say you? As I fulfill
my word to you with this gift, will I have your word to aid me with it one
day?”
The
day is late, and though the company is so far underground that they cannot
discern the time their bodies tell them that soon they will need to eat and
sleep. “Stay here this night, my friends,” Nurin
suggests. “We have searched but a portion of the mansion, and there
may yet be some treasures to find. To say nothing of the mines we passed!”
“First
let us see to the eastern arch,” Éogar insists. “We must know
whether or not it leads deeper into the mountain.” Nurin readily
agrees, and the entire company follows the Knight of Arnor across the room to
the great arch. The corridor into which it opens is wide and high and
dark, and the light of Éogar’s lantern and Biárki’s torch barely
fills the inky blackness. After perhaps fifty feet the great hallway
comes to a sudden end: the ceiling collapsed some time in the past, and the
entire passage is blocked off by a huge pile of rubble.
Elboron
looks upon the cave-in ruefully and bemoans, “Our way through the
mountain is blocked!” He looks desperately at Biárki and asks,
“Can the way be cleared?”
“It
would take at least a day to clear away the debris that we can see,”
Biárki answers. “And who can say how much more rubble there is
beyond what we can see?”
“How
can this be?” Nurin growls in angry confusion. “Dwarven halls
do not collapse on their own. They are crafted too well!”
Biárki,
who is versed in the craft of stonework and mining, looks at the ruined
passage. [Stonecraft test, complete success] “I do not think
these walls collapsed on their own,” he says, pointing to cracked
remnants of pillars that once supported the mass. “It looks to me
like the supports were pulled down with the intention of collapsing the
ceiling.”
“Maybe
this was done by the dwarven defenders, to keep out the orcs?” Nurin
guesses.
Biárki
shakes his head and replies, “Were that so, the pillars would have fallen
in pieces toward our direction. But here we see only the bases, and the
upper portions lie buried ahead beneath the rubble. Whoever collapsed the
ceiling did so from outside the mansion.”
“To
keep something trapped within…” says Gilavas in an ominous voice.
Scene 11: The Bad Neighbor
It
is late on the 22nd of April, and the Fellowship and their dwarven
associates have finished a cursory exploration of the lost dwarven
mansion. Gilavas Parmandil discovered a lordly silver scepter still in
the grip of a dwarven skeleton, but the dwarven sage Mim did not dare to take
it. Nurin recovered a glorious war-spear of ancient dwarven make called Drake-Slayer,
and he offers it to Éogar as a gift.
"I
accept your gift, Nurin,” Éogar answers, taking the masterful
weapon. “Should a drake ever infest your home, send word to the
last son of Garbald and I shall bring Drake-Slayer to do battle with the fell
wyrm."
Nurin
smiles widely, overjoyed. “I doubt not your word, Garbald’s
son!” he says. Éogar bows his head respectfully and, removing the
borrowed longsword from his belt, returns the weapon to Elboron with his
thanks. The Knight of Arnor is glad to have a spear in hand once more.
When
Nurin’s attention turns to the next matter at hand, Gilavas moves to
Éogar’s side and whispers to him, "Even when spoken by one of Fram's
people, that is a bold promise to make—especially when you intend to
honor it.” The High-elf looks into Éogar’s eyes and comments,
“A dragon is a terrible beast." The Knight of Arnor nods once,
grimly.
Nurin
is quite cross with Mim, who did reclaim for him the lordly scepter.
Éogar, hoping to assuage some of the dwarven-lord’s anger at his servant,
says to him, "Nurin, I do not know the rituals of your people, but your ancestors
clearly fought bravely in these halls to their end. Perhaps some time
could be spent giving them their last rites?"
The
dwarf-lord replies, “We do not share these things with outsiders, not
even with those whom we call friend.” He glares once more at Mim
and says, “I am rightful heir of this place, and Mim should have brought
me the scepter he found. It is an insult to my forefathers to let in lie
in the dust any longer.”
Biárki
nods thoughtfully and says, "It would be only right that the scepter be
taken by the hand of the lord of this house, Nurin. Then the dead can
pass ownership to you by their own hand."
These
words strike Nurin and Mim hard, for some reason. Mim visibly quails and
slinks into Nurin’s shadow, and Nurin swallows hard. “Very
true,” is all that he can manage to say.
"I
would be honored to carry the remains of Nurin's ancestor to a place of rest,
but we cannot stay to see all of the dead interred. There is a war to be
fought," Biárki responds in a reverent tone.
“Indeed,”
Gilavas adds. "They have lain here for thousands of years, and we
cannot afford to tarry here.”
“But
the hour is late, and all of you are weary,” Nurin says.
“Stay in my reclaimed hall tonight, and on the morrow we may decide what
course to take.”
Éogar
sighs in a low voice, aware that the company is fatigued and hungry but still
chary about the shadowy presence that he and Gilavas detected upon entering the
great chamber. "We could rest here, for one night," Éogar says
warily. "We have brought wood for a fire, and the way out would be
dangerous in our weary state. But we must be cautious here—more
signs have we seen of a greater danger here than mere orcs..."
"We
should not stay here in this hall, we should move on,” Gilavas
protests. He turns to his dwarven comrade and asks, “Biárki, can we
dig through the debris within a reasonable amount of time?"
The
dwarven warrior grunts and answers, “Many hours to move what we can see,
and many days more if the cave-in extends further down the hall.”
Rard
shudders at the thought of so much heavy lifting without any guarantee of
success, especially when food, water, fuel, and light are all in short
supply. "Let’s stay here for the night. If we post a
double watch to allay our fears, we should be all right,” the hobbit
states. “But first we should get oil flasks from the armory!
Then on the morrow we should return to the pass and head to the North
Gate."
Elboron
smiles wryly at the hobbit and replies, "And who will be carrying all
those oil flasks? You?"
Rard
looks back at Elboron sheepishly and says, “Éogar is down to his last
flask, that’s all I meant to say. We will need more than an hour of
light.”
Nurin
says, “Bring the barrel out here, and use whatever oil you need!”
When
all eyes fall upon him for a decision, Elboron runs a hand through his matted
hair and says, "I say we should camp here in the great hall.”
“I
am willing to take the first watch, if Gilavas will relieve me after his brief
meditation,” Éogar offers.
Gilavas
closes his eyes, perhaps to conceal his disappointment at the decision to
remain the night in this ancient mansion. He nods in response to the
knight’s request and says, "It will not be under the light of
Elbereth Gilthoniel's jewels, but it will have to do."
Elboron
turns his thoughts to the fellowship’s next course of action.
"I would try to clear the passageway in the morning, unless we wish to
make for the North Gate. My friends, what is your counsel?"
Éogar
says, "If we spend a day digging only to find more rock we have wasted
time and energy. If we find a pass, then we will have saved time, but
perhaps released something into the mountain worse than orcs." He
adds in a darker tone, "That is to say nothing of the danger we may be in
staying here."
Rard
finds himself sweating, his mind torn about what to do. Loath as he is to
waste day after day moving heavy rocks, he cannot forget Mim’s strange
reaction to Gilavas’s questions. The hobbit tugs at the elf-magician’s
sleeve and quietly reminds him of the old dwarf’s cryptic warning about
the North Gate. Gilavas nods imperceptibly and steps closer to
Nurin. The elf says, “Before we decide our course, I would know
more about our choices. Lord Nurin, what do you know of the North
Gate?”
The
dwarf-lord stares long and hard at Gilavas, as if gauging the measure of this
elf. The dwarf’s eyes shift over to Mim, then back to
Gilavas. Finally Nurin answers, “I know it is rightly my hall,
too. Surely the goblin wolf-riders that assaulted your army passed
through it, and the citadel certainly is still occupied. My
company’s pack mules disappeared at the North Gate’s entrance,
probably captured. We were too few in number and strength to force an
entrance—but I daresay this fellowship could manage it. King
Elessar has chosen five skillful champions to undertake the
mission.” Nurin passes his proud gaze over each of the companions
and adds, “If you were to help me reclaim the North Gate too, you would
strike a great blow against the Enemy.”
"Just
your mules were taken?" Éogar inquires. "Were you
attacked, how did they disappear? Did you lose any men?"
“When
our company attempted to enter the North Gate, our mules became frightened and
ran off,” Nurin responds. “I lost none of my men. We
retreated and hid in the trench outside. If your fellowship were to
accompany us back to the North Gate, you could make better sense of the
situation and see it with your own eyes.”
Gilavas
considers the dwarf-lord’s words carefully, but wise as he is he cannot
discern whether Nurin is concealing any information from him. “And
that is all you know about the North Gate?” he asks.
“It
is all that is worth our speech while we stand here,” Nurin
answers. The dwarf gestures at the rock pile and says, “I can only
guess that beyond these rocks is a passage to the Assembly Hall, and beyond
that a passage to the East Gate.” He turns toward the passage
leading out to the mines and the secret entrance and continues, “But the
North Gate without question leads out to the frozen heath beyond the mountain,
and our ancient map shows a low pass through the
Gilavas,
not satisfied, asks for more information: "Does the map show, or do you
know of, another route to the eastern gate under the mountain? Perhaps
through one of the corridors we explored? Or is this blockaded hallway
the only way under the mountain?"
The
dwarf-lord holds his hand out to Mim, who obediently surrenders the map.
Nurin extends the map to Gilavas and says, “See for yourself. The
map shows only the exterior of
Meanwhile,
Rard observes Mim’s reaction while Gilavas and Nurin discuss the North
Gate. Alas the little hobbit is neither wise nor possessed of great
insight, and he cannot guess what the elderly dwarf his thinking. Mim as
always hangs his head low, avoiding the gaze of his lord or any other.
Elboron
remains unsure, and he looks to Biárki for counsel. The bold dwarf
pensively rubs his cheek beneath the patch covering his ruined eye. He
says, "I would see the meeting place at the center of the mountain, but we
must also consider that if we dig through the rubble we could be opening a way
for the orcs to assault this mansion.” Biárki pauses for a moment
and then nods his head to the dwarf-lord. “Nurin should
decide."
“Very
well,” Nurin replies immediately. “If the fate of my hall is
in question, I will give you my will on the morrow. Perhaps we shall all
think on the matter in the different light after a good meal and rest.”
*
* *
Elboron
realizes that the hour is late and agrees to decide the matter in the
morning. He orders camp to be set in the center of the great chamber,
where they can keep an eye on all passages and keep some distance apart from
the dark shadows. Rard and Éogar return to the armory to fetch the barrel
containing the oil flasks. Nurin insists that Mim lead him to the silver
scepter, and Biárki goes with them. They return shortly—Nurin
proudly displaying the lordly scepter for all to see, and Biárki carrying a
bundle of wood salvaged from destroyed furniture that had not yet wholly
disintegrated. Biárki stacks the wood in the middle of the camp site and
gets a solid fire going, enough to cast a dim light perhaps forty feet in each
direction. It is also enough for Rard to cook up a dinner of hot seasoned
bread and dried meats.
When
the meal is finished and the fire refreshed with the remaining salvaged wood,
the companions lay out their bedrolls and cloaks to slumber the night away in
this vast subterranean chamber. Nurin and Mim lay side by side and soon
are sleeping, for living underground holds no hardship for them, and Biárki too
is quickly asleep. Rard drifts off from sheer tiredness shortly
thereafter, and Elboron gives in to sleep at the demand of his lingering
injuries. Gilavas Parmandil rests fitfully, sleeping as best he can like
one of the Elves of old in Menegroth, even though his heart yearns for the
night sky.
Éogar
keeps watch for the first several hours, walking quietly around the
fire’s glow. He holds in his hand his newly gained spear,
Drake-Slayer, and finds it marvelous in his eyes. Though it is somewhat shorter
than the spears of Men typically are, for this weapon may have been crafted for
dwarven hands, it is still taller than he is and very stout. Its shaft is
made entirely of tempered steel, strong and balanced—the spear for all
its metallic strength weighs only six pounds. Its head is broad, heavy,
and sharp, made entirely of a silvery-grey metal that remains polished like
glass after all these centuries. His eyes are drawn to the silvery
scepter that Nurin grips tightly against his chest while he sleeps, and he
notices that the spearhead is made of the same beautiful material.
[Observe
test, disastrous failure] After an hour or so, Éogar’s attention begins
to wander despite his wariness. Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck
stands up on end, and he knows without doubt that the dark presence he and
Gilavas detected earlier is behind him. The very breath is knocked from
his lungs as a black shadowy form flies at him from the darkness and seeps
through his body. Reeling from surprise, Éogar has not even a moment to
react before the black shade suddenly becomes solid—a figure dark as
pitch, very much like a dwarf in size and aspect but with burning red
eyes. [Extraordinary success on the enemy surprise attack] In the creature’s
hand is a black ax that, too, has become solid; it strikes at the knight with
great speed and force, knocking the spear from his hands! Drake-Slayer
sings from the blow, struck but undamaged, and clatters onto the ground into
the shadows at the edge of the firelight perhaps fourteen feet away. As
quickly as it struck, the dwarf-like figure and its axe fade again into
wavering, intangible shadow. The black shade bores its fiery gaze into
Éogar and hisses strange words in a hateful, ethereal voice. It advances
on him once more with a most violent intention.
[Observe
(Hear) tests, TN 10, to wake up: Biárki, failure; Elboron, marginal success;
Gilavas, superior success; Rard, superior success] Éogar's cry of surprise and
the sound of Drake-Slayer clattering onto the ground is enough to rouse some of
the sleeping heroes. Rard and Gilavas immediately wake up, fully alert;
they reflexively grab their weapons at their side, though both remain lying on
the ground. Elboron barely comes back into consciousness; he needs
another moment to fully wake up [he loses 1 action in the next round],
and remains lying on the ground without any weapon in hand. Biárki
is still sound asleep.
Nurin,
too, remains in a deep sleep, clutching his treasured scepter to his breast.
Mim, however, rouses from the commotion. The old dwarf sits up and stares
at the dark shade assailing Éogar. Mim lets out a cry, “It is
here! The Bad Neighbor! Doom is upon us!”
Scene 12: The
Fearsome Shadow
A
malevolent dwarf-like shade with a fiery gaze has appeared suddenly from the
shadows to assail Éogar. Gilavas and Rard sleep lightly and quickly
respond to the commotion, but Elboron wakens slowly and Biárki remains
asleep. The High-elf magician is the first to respond, rushing over to
Biárki’s pack and pulling out one of the torches; he quickly thrusts the
brand into the smoldering campfire and sets it ablaze. Meanwhile, Elboron
slowly rises to his feet and pushes all thoughts of sleep from his mind.
Rard
is already on his feet with his bow in his hand. He notices Mim shrieking
in panic and calls out to the elderly dwarf, ““Mim, stop yelling
and wake up Nurin and Biárki!” [Persuade test, complete success]
Old Mim looks at the hobbit and nods weakly. Rard then quick-draws an
arrow and shoots at the shadowy foe, a mighty shot that ignores the cover
provided to the shadow by Éogar’s closeness; the hobbit is confused when
the shaft seems to sail right through the shade’s opaque form.
Éogar
stands against the black shade with only his great shield in hand.
"Awake, darkness is upon us!" he cries out. The knight stands
at the ready as the foe attacks. The black form suddenly congeals and the
swirling axe in its hand becomes hard as cold obsidian. Without a weapon
in hand to parry Éogar can only try to shelter behind his shield, but the black
ax skillfully sweeps around the frame and lands an extraordinary blow on the
side of the knight’s mail coat [damage total = 23, Dazed]. The
shadow lifts the ax and chops again, but this time the knight swings his shield
about and blocks the stroke. When the congealed shade’s momentum
passes, the swift-striking Éogar suddenly brawls into the foe with the flat of
his shield. The dark enemy fails to parry the shield-bash and suffers the
full brunt of the blow—yet even when the enemy is solid,
the attack looks to do little damage to the unliving form. In the blink
of an eye, the enemy is once more an opaque shadow.
[Observe
(Hear) test, failure] Biárki, wrapped up in his cloak
and bedroll, snores loudly on the floor by the fire, sleeping through the
action. It is only when Mim scurries over to him and shakes him violently
that he opens his eyes. Nurin, too, gradually wakes up when Mim grabs
him. The dwarf-lord mumbles in confusion, still gripping his silvery
scepter to his chest.
Gilavas
rushes to Éogar’s side, sword and fiery torch in hand. Unskilled
with hafted cudgels, the elf ineffectually swings the burning
brand over the shadow's form. Nonetheless, he espies that the
creature recoils from the torch and knows that it fears the purity of
flame. Elboron draws his longsword and, seeing Éogar unarmed against the
specter, jogs over to his spear and picks Drake-Slayer up from the
ground. Rard, meanwhile, quick-draws a second arrow and takes careful
aim. The hobbit lets fly a mighty shot that ignores the cover provided by
his comrades and strikes into the heart of the shade, but it too sails through
the form without effect. "What is this?” he gasps in
alarm. “My arrows pass through it!"
Biárki
finally awakens, sitting up and clearing the fog of sleep from his mind.
Nurin, too, rouses himself, and the two dwarves perceive the shadowy figure
battling against Éogar and Gilavas. Mim, panicking again, grabs his
master’s arm and tries vainly to pull him away. “I warned
you, Lord Nurin! The bad neighbor is here! The Stiffbeards’
curse is upon us!”
Then,
the dark shadow confronts those who stand in opposition, its fiery eyes burning
with hate. It speaks in an other-worldly voice,
full of death and loathing. Gilavas recognizes the Sindarin words, the
language used across Beleriand in the Elder Days by Elves, Men, and
Dwarves. “Thieves in my hall, here you will taste death!” the
shade roars at Éogar. [Fear opposed tests, extraordinary success for the
enemy] The Knight of Arnor is a bold and hardy warrior, but his wits and will
are not as steeled as his body. Here in the shadow of
Gilavas
does not know with certainty what this creature is, but in his mind he
perceives that it is a lost soul captured and polluted by the Shadow of the
Enemy. Even after the downfall of the Black Enemy and his Dark
Lieutenant, works of their evil linger in Middle-earth. This foe is such
a lingering evil, an accursed dwarf bound to his hall even in death. The
Elf-sage’s eyes catch the glint of Drake-Slayer’s spearhead and a
thought enters his mind. “The dwarven spear and scepter are made
with mithril!” he calls out. “Use them against the
shadow—sacred mithril may burn it like fire.”
* * *
Éogar,
unmanned by the malevolence of the dwarven shade called the “bad
neighbor” by Mim, flees behind the campfire and drops to his knees,
cowering fearfully in the glow of the flames. Rard is shaken to see his
brave friend undone, but the hobbit grimly steps forward next to the campfire,
quick-draws an arrow from his quiver, and holds his shot until the shade once
again takes solid form.
Meanwhile,
Biárki Barrelheart rises to his feet and reaches into his pack on the ground,
pulling out a torch. "You're late for dinner, neighbor!" he
calls out mockingly. Setting the torch alight in the campfire, he
brandishes the flame about and says, "But I think we can find you a warm
bite to eat!"
“Éogar! To me!” cries Elboron to his friend
cowering behind the fire. "You need not fear this shadow, son of
Garbald! Drake Slayer calls for your hand to thrust it into the shadow's
dead heart!" [Inspire test, complete success] The young lord knows
well how to inspire the hearts of fighting men, and through his fear Éogar
hears his words. [Fear, opposed by Willpower +1 bonus from
Elboron’s test, superior success for the shade] The Knight of Arnor
regains a portion of his wits and finds the will to act despite the present
terror, but he remains badly unnerved. Seeing Éogar’s gaze meet his
own, Elboron rushes to his side and holds out the spear to him.
”Take it, my friend,” he says firmly.
Gilavas
Parmandil stands alone in front of the squat black specter, torch in one hand
and sword in the other. Though frightened in his heart, the elf speaks
words of magic and creates a sheath of light surrounding the blade. He
knows that it is yet another mark of his elvish presence in this foul land, but
he hopes the light may drive back the evil foe. "A
Elbereth Gilthoniel!” he shouts, waving the torch and glowing sword
in front of the shade. “Go back to the Darkness from whence you
came—there is nothing left for you here!" [Intimidate
(Majesty) skill test, +3 bonus for light and words of power, opposed by
shade’s Willpower + 3 Courage spent, failure] The shadow writhes and
hisses in pain as Gilavas confronts it with elvish light and words of power,
and for a moment it falters fearfully: but then, drawing boldness from the
ancient hate that lies at its core, the shade holds its ground.
“Your command holds no sway here, elf!” its hollow voice roars
defiantly.
The
specter raises its black ax to strike at Gilavas, and then Rard looses his held
arrow at it. The hobbit archer’s mighty shot soars past Gilavas and
sinks into the solidifying shade; the creature twists from the impact but the
arrow stays in the shadow-form only briefly before sinking to the ground.
Rard reaches for another arrow and fits it on the string, ready to strike again
if the creature remains solid. Barely impeded, the specter chops at
Gilavas, who is already over-exerted and cannot parry the stroke, and grazes
the elf’s arm; a second blow from the ax clips his shoulder, leaving the
elf dazed and lightly bleeding [17 damage total, Dazed -1]. A moment
later the shade’s form once more fades into translucence.
Nurin
now rises to his feet, shaking Mim’s grip from his arm. He holds
out the lordly scepter and gazes at it, wondering if Gilavas speaks truly that
it is made of mithril. The dwarf-lord turns on his cowering
elderly advisor and growls, “Nurin Thurin’s son will not leave his
newly won hall!” Old Mim whimpers incomprehensibly and falls onto
the ground behind the campfire next to Éogar. Nurin takes a few steps
toward the dark shade and lifts high the scepter. “The Lord of the
Ironfists in the West claims this mansion in the name of his
forefathers,” he shouts, “and no lingering shadow from the ancient
past will deter him.” The shadowy foe stares at the raised scepter
with its fiery gaze, and a terrible rage shakes its entire form. “Thief! Thief!” it seethes in anger.
Éogar,
still unnerved by terror, takes Drake-Slayer from Elboron’s hand.
Swallowing hard, the Knight of Arnor rushes forward to stand at the side of his
elvish comrade; he raises the mithril spearhead and holds the blow,
waiting for the enemy to strike again. Rariadoc cheers in his heart to
see his friend Éogar rejoin the fray, and he too holds his shot to wait for the
shadow to become tangible once more. Biárki, too, joins the line standing
against the shadow; he lifts the blazing torch above his head, waiting to
thrust the flame into the enemy should it retake solid form. Elboron
looks pityingly at old Mim weeping on the ground but steps past him, fishing a
torch from Biárki’s pack and setting it ablaze in the campfire. The
young lord holds the light aloft, ready to join the fray when needed.
Gilavas
Parmandil once again lifts his fair voice in words of magic, taxing his
strength to bolster the hearts of his friends. “Have hope and
resist your fear, my friends!” he cries. He and his companions are
emboldened against the shadow’s terror. Then, the elf lashes out in
a precise attack with the torch, but the elf is too dazed and frightened to
land an untrained blow. Yet the shadow turns from the flame even when
intangible, and this moves Biárki to swing his torch at the foe. Very
skilled with hafted weapons, the swift-striking dwarf lands a solid hit and
follows up with an amazing lucky strike, an extraordinary blow! Portions
of the shadow appear to burn off in billowing smoke, and the creature shrieks
in an otherworldly voice. Éogar and Rard continue to hold their readied
weapons, unsure if they can harm the creature while it remains insubstantial.
The
shade roars dreadfully, its fiery eyes burning with hate. “Thief
and traitor, your life will end here!” it bellows at Biárki. [Fear
test, opposed by Willpower test with +5 from Resist Fear, marginal success] The
dwarf-warrior is frightened in his heart, but he knows that he is one of
Durin’s Folk, the first to walk in
Now
Nurin wades into the battle, charging to the front of the line with the mithril
scepter gripped in both hands. He clubs the shadow and, even though it is
incorporeal, the mere touch of the sacred metal pains the creature and burns
away a portion of its substance. “Hah!” he shouts.
“Know the strength of a right Lord of Gundabad!”
The
shadow writhes and wavers in front of the line of heroes, its fiery gaze much
dimmer than before. “You will know my curse ere you leave this
place!” it hisses in a baleful voice beyond death.
Elboron
strides forward past the campfire to stand behind his comrades. He holds
aloft his torch and urges in his noble voice, "The light of the Free
Peoples shall drive away this shadow!" [Inspire test, complete
success] His friends harken to his words; their hearts are cheered, and the
terror of the enemy holds less sway. Éogar remains gravely unnerved, but
he does not abandon his friends. The knight holds the dwarven-made spear
poised to strike the moment the shade takes tangible form. Gilavas, too,
stands his ground and holds the shadow at bay with his flaming torch and
brilliant sword. Biárki, however, eschews any caution and applies his
smoldering brand to the intangible shade. It howls in a voice from beyond
the grave and twists in rhythm with the flames that scorch it.
"Burn
it, that's it!" shouts Rard. Deciding that his arrows have little
chance of finding any purchase, he conserves his count and instead rushes to
the side of the elderly dwarf cowering behind the campfire. The kindly
hobbit puts his arm about the pitiful sage and says, "Do not fear, Mister
Mim. Look, they are burning it." The old dwarf looks up
fearfully. "Whatever it is, it will soon be gone!" Rard
assures him.
Most
of the enemy’s shadowy form has been burned away, so that little more
remains than a faint silhouette and a pair of twilight-color eyes.
Remaining insubstantial, the shade fixes his malice on the two living
dwarves. “Thieves! Traitors!
Murderers!” it berates Biárki and Nurin in Khuzdul, so that only they
understand. “I am the last lord of the Stiffbeards in the West, and
this hall is mine, mine alone, mine forever!” it rages. Then, its
ghostly voice trembling with hate it pronounces, “While you remain in the
shadow of
Nurin,
too, seems stricken by the doomful curse. He holds up the mithril
scepter weakly, as if it may somehow ward him against the curses of the dark
shadow. Instead, with its last portion of strength left to it under the
girdle of Arda, it assumes tangible form again and grasps the scepter,
struggling to pull it away from Nurin. “Mine! Mine!” it
hisses over and over. Éogar swallows his fear and takes advantage of the
opportunity, plunging Drake-Slayer into the middle of its wavering black
figure. It shrieks in rage and pain; the last wisps of its dark existence
burn away to nothingness, and the shade of the ancient dwarf-lord is no more.
Scene 13: Relevations
The
companions of the Fellowship stand in the great chamber of the dwarven hall for
several moments in stunned silence, unsure of what may come after the
destruction of the evil spirit that haunted the mansion for so many thousands
of years. Gradually, as it become apparent that no other threat has
emerged, the comrades fall back to the light of the
campfire. Gilavas’s shining sword extinguishes, and the friends
toss their torches into the bonfire to renew its flames for the rest of the
night.
Rard
asks in a weak voice, "Do we expect more of those, or was that the
only one?”
Nurin,
as if he has been struck mute, shoots a panicked look to Mim. The old
dwarf sage, clutching Rard’s arm for comfort, shakes his head.
“Who can know how many of the Stiffbeards of old guard their ancient hall
in a form beyond death? I shudder to ponder whether that fell lord would
have inflicted such a curse on his followers as well as himself!”
Elboron
says to Mim and Nurin, “You called that shadow the Bad Neighbor.
Will you tell us what you know of it?” Mim looks nervously at
Nurin, who sits in stony silence.
"I
think perhaps a small explanation is in order!" Rard
protests. As Nurin remains impassive, he rises to his full
little height and glowers down upon the dwarf-lord. "We risked our
lives here for you! The least you can do is to tell us when you know
something of the enemies we face.”
Nurin
looks into the hobbit’s face, visibly ashamed. Finally he nods to
Mim. The aged dwarf stares at the cold ground and recounts in a faint
voice, “This is not the hall of the Ironfists. It was the hall of
the Stiffbeards. The Stiffbeards ever were a stubborn
and wrathful kindred. The ancient legends say that in the final
years that the dwarves were in
Gilavas
says, “Aulë let him be held to his oath, even though it meant that his
whole essence was consumed by the Shadow.”
Biárki
moves his one good eye among the carved pillars holding up the high ceiling,
inscribed with runes and decorated with long-forgotten figures. Now that
he spares a moment to study them and read the runes, he sees that the figures
are all labeled as Stiffbeard lords of the mansion and the runes proclaim this
hall forever the home of the Stiffbeards.
“Then
that scepter,” Rard says, looking at the relic in Nurin’s grasp,
“really belonged to that shadow…”
Nurin
comes out of his shock at those words and glares at the hobbit, clutching the
scepter to his breast. “No!” he snaps. “It is
mine, for I have claimed it in the name of my forefathers. The
Stiffbeards of the West perished to the last, and never were heard of again by
any dwarf from the
Before
Rard can answer the dwarf’s angry glare, Elboron touches his arm and
says, “Let us not quarrel now. Some of us received wounds from
the Bad Neighbor, and we all need to rest. Dare we stay here?”
“I
suggest we post a double watch and try and get back to sleep,” Rard
says. “Even though our bodies are energized, we should rest while
we can." He adds, "In the morrow we can head to the North Gate
and make our way out of this place."
“We
shall decide our course in the morning,” Elboron replies, noncommittal.
Mim and Nurin lay back down to sleep, the latter
holding the scepter closer to him than ever. Rard quickly
rushes into the shadows to try to recover his spent arrows. He finds most
of them, but they are all rotted and polluted as if even contact with the foul
shadow ruined them. Gilavas, meanwhile, takes up the healing kit and
begins to tend to the wounds of the others. He looks first to Éogar and
brushes clean his cuts and bruises. The knight glumly accepts the aid and
murmurs to himself, "The ax was so cold: It did more damage than you can
know." He sinks into silent despair and says no more. [Healing
test, complete success; Éogar’s remaining damage total = 12]
Rard,
seeing the despair of his friends, comes to sit at his side when Gilavas moves
on to tend to Biárki. The hobbit pats Éogar’s arm in
congratulations and says, “You slew the shadow, and that was a job well
done! It must have been quite fearsome, and you were wise to regroup with
Elboron before charging it again.”
Eogar
grunts in disgust at himself. "I am no elf-lord, nor from a noble
house, nor even a respected Rohirric warrior,” he mutters. “I
cannot stand against such evil with my weakness.” His head sinks
low as he moans, "I had thought I found my worth, but it was an
illusion. My true bloodline has shown through today, and it is
weak."
“No!”
Rard replies to his friend, “Don’t talk that way.”
Éogar
shakes his head. Elboron now comes to his other side. The knight
looks to the young lord and says, "If you wish me to return to the King,
then I will go. I have been shamed once more by the weakness of my blood
and cannot know when it will fail me again.” His eyes fall to the
ground and he says, "A captain must be able to rely on a true protector:
clearly I have failed my duty."
"You
will go nowhere but further on this quest, if I have anything to say about it,
Éogar," Elboron answers sternly. "You stood before the shadow,
alone and weaponless, and its dark power overwhelmed you. Then you
mastered your fear, returned to the fray and struck the decisive blow which
turned the tide. There is naught for you to be ashamed of."
Éogar looks into the young man kind and noble gaze and nods once, but has no
heart for further words.
Gilavas
all the while tends to Biárki’s minor scrape. [Healing test,
superior success] After a time the cut is cleaned and patted closed, but the
High-elf is surprised by the difficulty. “Such a little hurt should
not bleed so,” he comments to the dwarf. “The graze is
cleaned and closed, but it required more time and effort than I would have
guessed.” Biárki stares silently at Gilavas but says nothing; yet
in his heart he thinks on the curse of the Bad Neighbor and shudders in
dread.
The
elvish magician turns next to his own hurts, and with some added difficulty
manages to dress the cuts that have dazed him [Healing test, marginal success,
damage remaining = 8].
The
rest of the night passes uneventfully. A double watch is kept, and after
some few hours of rest Gilavas is able to stand as the second. Sometime
after the rising of the sun, though so deep beneath the earth the Fellowship
only can guess at it, the companions awaken and strike their makeshift
camp. Rard prepares breakfast breads over the smoking ashes of the
previous night’s fire and covers them with dried fruit; it is a tasty and
filling meal that gives strength to their bodies.
“So,
shall we head off to the North Gate?” Rard pipes up as he finishes
packing away his cooking gear.
Elboron
rises to his feet and shakes his head. “No, I still wish to spend
this day trying to dig out the collapsed hallway,” he says.
“If there is any way that we may find a path through the mountain, we owe
it to King Elessar to try.”
“I
cannot allow it,” Nurin says suddenly. When all eyes fall on him
in surprise, the dwarf-lord address the others:
“Biárki Barrelheart spoke truthfully last night when he said that
clearing the collapsed passage might open a way for the orcs to assault this
mansion. I have claimed it for my own, and I must see it safe. The
black shadow that kept out the orcs for so long is no more, destroyed by fire
and the very relics over which it stood guard. If the passage is cleared,
the orcs surely will come. Biárki said that it was for me to decide, and
I have decided that the hallway must remain sealed.”
Elboron
frowns at the dwarf’s words and replies, “You gave us leave in your
realm, and brought us here with a promise that we might find a passage through
the mountain. Now you refuse?”
“I
do,” Nurin answers. “I have fulfilled my promise as best that
I could have known. I had no knowledge that the passage was collapsed and
that opening it anew would invite the orcs to attack. What is more, the
noise of last night’s battle might have carried beyond the rubble.
Already the enemy may be alerted to our presence.”
“I
was compelled to work feats of magic against the shadow of the Stiffbeard
lord,” Gilavas admits. “So deep under
“Even
so!” states Nurin. “I am well within my right to demand that
the collapsed hallway remain sealed, for there is no other way to safeguard
this mansion from the enemy.”
“Then
what will you have us do?” asks Elboron. “Our duty requires
us to find a way through or around this mountain. We cannot stay here
forever.”
“Of
course,” replies Nurin. “We shall go to the North Gate
next. It is the ancient mansion of the Ironfists, and I can assure you
that no deathly specter haunts it. Unlike the foolish Stiffbeards, the
Ironfist ancestors wisely departed before it was too late.”
Rard
smirks, not liking the thought of agreeing with Nurin, but says nonetheless,
“Going to the North Gate is better than digging through heavy rocks in
the dark, with no guarantee that the way can be cleared safely.”
“True,”
Nurin says. He then looks to Mim, who is staring at him intently.
The dwarf-lord adds more hesitantly, “Though I recommend that you stay
here for some days longer, until your wounds are fully recovered.”
“Why?”
asks Elboron, concerned. “Every day that we stay here delays our
mission, and our supplies are limited. There is likely not any more
wood anywhere in this mansion to burn. We have only fuel enough for four
more campfires, and only three torches remain in
Biárki’s pack. Our waterskins are already half empty, and each
share of rations will last only five more days after this one.”
Elboron rubs his sore ribs and adds darkly, “It will take many more days
for me to recover from my injuries, inflicted by your slingers at your
command!”
“Perhaps,
but spending the time may be wise nonetheless,” Nurin answers.
“I think you should be at your fullest strength when you essay the North
Gate,” he adds. As all eyes are fixed on him, the dwarf-lord folds
his arms about his chest, scepter in hand. He pauses for a long moment
and then offers a terse explanation:
“You
see—there may be a dragon in the North Gate.”
The story
continues in Part III (click here)