SCENE 1 - Return of old friends, start of new troubles

[tomcat]

Celdrahil considered himself a man of the world.

But no place was above him, or beneath his singular tastes. Good food, good beer, a song and a woman and the makings were for a good night. He was a noble Dúnadan of Gondor and after finding trouble for himself at home, made his way to the north - to Arthedain, the remaining kingdom of Arnor. The only house that still had true blood of Westernesse in its line of kings - heirs of Isildur himself.

Still, the north was backwards to what he was used to in the south. Gondor's great citadels housed libraries of ancient lore, arts, heirlooms of the Kings, and were evidence themselves of the might of Númenor. The fortress of Fornost Erain might as well be considered a thatched barn to that of Minas Anor. He had heard of the beauty of Annúminas, the former seat of the king where Elendil had taken up his place before the end of the Second Age. But it was now a ruin. The thought made Celdrahil sad.

He blew the foam off his beer and brought his mind back to where he was and why, though it was a far cry from what he was used to, he liked it here. The draft had been just poured from a keg that the innkeep had just unsealed and it was a fine brew. Celdrahil hefted his boots to the table and leaned back in his chair. It had been a long road and he was glad that he had made it to Bree before the rain had started. A lithe woman with a broad smile walked by him and her hand scooped his feet up and off the table. He teetered forward and came to rest again on all four legs of his seat as she smiled, "No muddy boots on me table and don't go breaking the crocks by falling from your seats. Ol' Hanley won't be having his furniture broke neither." She continued past him, her hips swaggering in a way that only a woman could. A different smile crossed the warrior's face.

Although his kin, the Steward of Arthedain, resided in Fornost, Celdrahil had found the countryside more to his liking. He also had made good friends with the young noble, Durgil. The two were like-minded in their acknowledgment of tradition. Durgil had taken a non-Dúnadan woman as his wife and so been precluded from the court. Yes, he was still accepted among his peers but there would be no way he or any of his line would ever take the throne. Celdrahil's own problems with his position down south made for a commonality that joined them as friends, though he never spoke of it.

The noble had been in Fornost on an errand of Durgil, to the king, regarding crop yields and what Dorthad would be able to offer in support for the kingdom. It had been a good season and Argeleb had been pleased. Celdrahil had expected to be dismissed and sent on his way only to find that the Steward would need him to perform another task - he was to command an escort for an official out of Fornost. The troop would take the great East-West Road past the ruins of Amon Sûl where they would meet up with another escort and the men of Fornost would be relieved. It was simple enough, but kept him in the saddle for another week. When they had reached Bree, Celdrahil had dismissed the soldiers of his escort and decided to remain in the small town for an evening. He wanted to take in the local flavor.

He looked around. The King's Rest Inn (what would one day become the Prancing Pony) was lit with the warm light of candles and the hearth. A crowd of people mingled about making a raucous noise of laughter and chatter. Behind it all, the gleeful music of a trio of bards jingled and clapped. Mugs and plates clattered and clinked. It was as close to perfect as the Dúnadan could expect.

Celdrahil saw a dwarf sitting alone by the hearth. He, too, looked like a traveller and the man assumed it was one of the folk from the Ered Luin. It was odd to him that the dwarf was alone. Didn't they travel in caravans of their people moving their wares from north to south? Oh well, no matter, he thought. He began to scan about the room again for the lovely young lass who had taught him his manners. The room was full and she was no where now in sight. The innkeep had to be pleased - the rain had brought in a houseful.

It was then that Celdrahil noticed a man at the bar. There was urgency in his face. He was soaked to his core from the rain and mud still spattered his face. He had been riding hard? The bartender shook his head and the man looked hurriedly about. Suddenly he called, "FORNOST! I am looking for the city of Fornost! Is it near?"

The music stopped and the chatter of the room died. All faces turned to the mudcaked rogue.

[tomcat]

Nain puffed on his pipe.

He ignored the noise of the men around him. The dwarf had been to this inn many times and enjoyed it. There was always a smattering of his kinfolk within and he also enjoyed to see the little folk - the Hobbits. They were an odd thing and it always made for a good tale along the road.

Nain cocked an eye when another lone figure looked in his direction, but then the man's eyes turned away in search for someone else within the room. Suddenly a voice broke the din, "FORNOST! I am looking for the city of Fornost! Is it near?"



Welcome back to the west side of the Misty Mountains, Nain. The last we saw your PC, he was taking up with another troop of dwarves. I need to go back to that chapter to find out where he was going to go with them, but bottom line, start working on a "what I have been up to speech" for when the other guys ask.

Again everyone, welcome back to Middle-earth!

[Stefan]

 What kind of time frame are we talking here, months, years? I have some ideas based on his original back story, basically he had to travel home and put is dead brothers affairs in order.

[tomcat]

From Telcontar... just in the wrong thread:

Cedrahil rose from the table when he heard the man make his proclamation into the common room of the tavern. He set his mug down and his hand by habit and without malice fell to the pommel of his sword on his hip. Looking at the man he recognized the garb of the south, for he had come that way and tarred for a while on his way to the home of his kinsman. The man wore no badge or symbol of a house and appeared in great haste. The Dunédan took a step towards the traveler so his voice would not travel throughout the tavern unless he needed it to.

"I am Sir Cedrahil," he spoke the common tongue but it was strangely accented to the common people of the tavern.

"I am a servant and officer in the service to the King at Fornost. What need drives you there, and may I be of assistance? There is no need to trouble these good folk here."

The knight was clad in mail, though he wore it easily, and tall. His hair was like that of the other men of the West and his eyes shown grey, eyes that were now peering at the new comer and assessing him.

[tomcat]

Hey Tom, just to be clear - your PC name is spelled:

Celdrahil -or- Cedrahil

Your back story write up has it as Celdrahil as does your character sheet. Let me know so I don't mistype it the whole game through.

Stefan, it has been almost a year since Nain left with the other dwarves in July 1637. Game date is now June 1638.

[Telcontar]

  thats from not playing in so long. Should be as in the character sheet.

[tomcat]

Cool - Celdrahil it is! 

[tomcat]

The man eyed Celdrahil at first with suspicion, but then changed his manner as he saw the noble bearing in the Dúnadan. "I am bearing a message given to me by an old man along the road. I am of Cardolan and though I know of the Norbury of the Kings, I have never been. The world is wide and roads can seem to go on forever. Once I made Bree I knew I was close, but the rain... the road..."

Celdrahil could see the weariness in the man's mud-spattered face. A sudden change came over his demeanor, "You are a servant of the king? So you must go to Fornost Erain? Then maybe..." something changed. "No, I must find the way to see this task done. The old man would want it that way. If you could kindly just let me know if the Greenway north is my route."



It is, just so you know.

[Stefan]

Nain sat quietly in his corner watching the men and listening to their words.   He'd heard that some of his friends had settled in the area near Fornost since he'd split with them the previous summer and thought that it might be nice to visit.  He waited for a few moments to see how their conversation played out before introducing himself.

[Telcontar]

Celdrahil listened to the man. The messeges of old men didnt concern him. He was about to wave his hand vaguely in the direction of the road and the direction of Fornost, but paused.

"To whom is the message directed, perhaps I can offer greater assistance with my directions."

[tomcat]

The rogue continued to look Celdrahil up and down, but the noble had a trusting face. "I know not the man, but I was told to make for Fornost and from there Dorthad. Dir... or Dur... something... does this help?"

[Telcontar]

Celdrahil was surprised at the mention of the name and place.

" do you mean Dirnhael of Dorthad?"

"I am well acquaintd with both the man and the place. In fact I was planning on returning there in due course. It appears that you have greater haste than that though my good traveler from Cardolan. I am Sir Celdrahil Of Ithilien here in the north visiting my kinsman. I am a good friend of Sir Dirnhael, and a concern to him is a concern to me. This maybe more than a chance meetung on the road. Where does this news come from and what can you tell me without compromising any instructions you were given or any private bussiness of my friend? For if there is trouble, which your haste implies I know doubt will share the burdan with the Lord of Dorthad."

[Stefan]

Nain, listening to the two talk, thought he'd heard a name that he'd recalled from the days shortly after the death of his brother.  One of the men that had found him, saved him from what would likely have been a cold and lonely death, and set him on his path back to his homeland.  He'd come a long way since those days, it would be nice to thank those men for their aid.  He listened more closely to the taller man as he spoke or Dirnhael and Dorthad.

[tomcat]

"That is the name!" The man was glad to hear it and to find someone that knew of whom he sought. "The old man said it was urgent that I get to him but the weather outside is no longer fit for travel and this inn calls to me. I will first have a spot of beer and a warm bowl of soup. While I eat, if you would be so kind as to tell me how I might find this Dorthad."

The rogue, Madoc, moved to signal the young woman who only recently before had been Celdrahil's attempted conquest. "A beer and some warm soup, please." The maid smiled and nodded and the bedraggled man made his way to the hearth to warm himself. He looked to see if Celdrahil had followed.

[Telcontar]

Celdrahil arched an eyebrow. His pose was no longer relaxed and a voice used to being obeyed changed from an inquisitive timber to one that wanted answers. "I am perhaps a little misunderstanding you. You arrive here calling out for a destination, immediate directions to the house of my friend in fact, a great pressing urgent need is upon you, and then dine on soup."

"You would be wise not to mistake me for but an ordinary traveler or peddler on the road. What is the nature of your errand with Dirnhael Lord of Dorthad, loyal servant of the King?"

The inn had grown quiet as the two men spoke, but now the silence was complete as the patrons inched themselves away from the Dunedan and listed for the response of the traveler. The people of Bree appreciated peace, due greatly to the fact that they knew that it was fragile and the enemy was not so far away that the tips of his fingers or his deepest plots couldn't find their way into the heart of Bree itself. With the knights words some looked on with apprehension, while others knowing that Cardolan was a ruined kingdom eyed the strangers with suspicion now due to the knights posture.

The serving girl paused in mid glide towards the traveler and her tray became upright pressed against her breast marveling at the change that had just come over the armed and armoured knight. Short moments before he had been upon the verge of laughter and song, perhaps even one in the language of the elder. Now, and not due to changing humors from drink, his somber tone was deadly serious.