CHAPTER 3: part 1 - The Shadow Returns

[tomcat]

Summer passed. Fall and Winter followed, and then another cycle of seasons came and went while the companions recovered what they had lost. Each spent his time with kin and friends, in the places they called home, trying to ease the presence of the Shadow that had touched them all. Little did they know that the that presence would only be stronger as the new years came.

Esgalwen and Bandy could not shake their fears, and soon they both began to have nightmares that would waken them in the middle of the night, their bed clothes soaked in their sweat. Even Arbogast, in his home at the Black Tarn would have queer dreams of a far off land, blackened and burned, with a terrible mountain bursting to life. But only Esgalwen and Bandy would see...the flaming eye.



With the end of the year 2950, during its long, cold winter, things began to change across Mirkwood and the Vale of Anduin. The land was frozen atop Sorcerer's Hill and Dol Guldur was draped with snow and ice, but a coldness far deeper and more foul entered the keep. He had once been a king of men, men of the east, and he had been proud and arrogant. He desired power before all things, and so when he was presented with a gift from his Master, he readily accepted it and so fell under His dominance. The wraith's name had been Khamûl the Easterling long ago, but he had forgotten that name. Now his title was Lieutenant of Dol Guldur and he was here to remain and put in motion the machinations of his Master, the Lord Sauron.

Across the forest and vale, word and rumor began to spread from the south. Travelers, in taverns and inns, now spoke softly over cups, fear and trepidation filling their words, of news that the Lord Sauron had once more returned from the abyss. Unveiled, the Dark Lord had once more taken up his residence in Mordor and Orodruin was now aflame. The Dark Tower stood again on new foundations and fell creatures were gathering to their master.

In the mountains of Mirkwood, a second wraith called to him the orcs and goblins, along with other spirits more foul. He was another servant of Mordor and to him came the terrible Werewolf of Mirkwood. The ringwraith's voice was naught but a whisper, but he spoke to the Fell-spirit, "Long have you waited for your time to unleash terror upon the forest. Long have you suffered the agony that wracks your body caused by Elven magic and the Lamps! Soon we will have this last remaining relic and we shall destroy it, ending this long torment."



In the heart of Mirkwood, another meet takes place - the third wraith enters the tangle-webbed shadows. Gifts are brought forth - five great red gems, cut and fashioned of old by Celebrimbor of Hollin. Three are immediately consumed and the remaining two are left to quarrel over, but the wraith intercedes and makes his request. "Tyulqin, long have you lay hidden among the branches and deep holes within this forest. My Master seeks an alliance, as your matrons did of old, in aiding him against these Woodmen and their allies. Weaver, you shall once more no longer fear the light and may drape the forest with your web so as to feed on all of its bounty."

Around him, three large shadows moved, which caused vibrations to traverse the many long webs that stretched to far away places. Along those webs, the children of Shelob began to stir and a hunger grew in them all.

At long last, the winter acquiesced to the coming spring and the companions were once more to find themselves together with a task to do that might stave off this encroaching darkness. It was the spring of 2951 T.A., the year that was remembered as the Return of the Shadow.

[tomcat]

I know the post above says the PC's find themselves together - which they will - but this Adventure Phase will start at the Black Tarn, so please let me know where your PC is at with the coming of spring 2951. If you are at Rhosgobel, that is fine...I will get you all together soon enough.
The morning sun broke over the treeline causing the forest to glow a bright orange. The mists of spring lay close to the ground and made for a brilliant haze over the Black Tarn. The lake chittered with the sounds of frogs and insects, newly awakened with the warmth of the new season. Long-legged herons probed the reeds and lily pads looking for the small fish that were spawning.

It was idyllic and serene...and then the scream broke the peace of dawn.

Arbogast heard the baleful cry and then the baying of the village's hounds erupted. The Woodman had been only just starting his morning, preparing a new pole for which to fish, after he had finished tying off new snares when the cacophony began. He ran out of his small house and looked to where the noise came - the south. Arbogast watched as one, then another, and another, flaming arrows flew over the palisade wall to fall onto roof and thatch. One woman screamed as she beat at flames erupting from her home with the apron that she had worn. A man lay on the ground, moaning in pain - an arrow protruding from his hip.

The folk of the Black Tarn were all coming to life, buckets of water being sought while others looked for their weapons. The cry went up and it echoed now through the morning, "RAIDERS! RAIDERS AT THE SOUTH GATE!"

[GandalfOfBorg]

  Grimbeorn is walking into Rhosgobel.

[Eclecticon]

It is testament, perhaps, to Arbogast's recent history that he spends only a moment blinking in disbelief before ducking back inside his door.  Axe and shield, iron cap on but no jerkin, he thinks, time there is no time!  He smells smoke before he crashes back outside but there is no way to tell yet whether it is his roof or another. 

In the trampled mud, Amaleoda's folk dash hither and yon, some armed and looking for raiders, others desperately seeking out loved ones or trying to fight the blazes that grow inside the palisade.   Arbogast feels their panic, but cannot allow himself to fall victim to it.  Our enemy, whoever it may be, has a plan and is following it.  We may as well slay ourselves as try to fight them piecemeal.  There are few guards by the gates.  The enemy will hit them hard, and may already be inside... 

He is seized by a sudden and terrible dispassion.  The guards at the gate, men and women with whom he has eaten, and drank, and sung, are likely already lost.  Those rushing the gate in ones and twos will fare no better.  What is needed is a firm counterattack. 

Rather than run to the gate, he climbs the small rise on which sits the Hall itself.  The new vantage point only makes the chaos look worse, and there is still no clear view of the raiders.  Arbogast's palms are sweating and his heart seems to want to shake itself out of his chest.  He wishes he had the steadfast courage of Esgalwen, or the stature of Grimbeorn, or the resolute voice of either.  But he is here, and they are not, and the son of Arbodag must carry the day or fall... though he need not do it alone. 

"RALLY, MEN OF MIRKWOOD," he calls.  "RALLY AT THE HALL!"  Amidst the noise and confusion, he begins to sing the battle songs of his people, hoping that enough will hear. 

[Eclecticon]

Forgot to actually make a roll.  Have I mentioned I'm really liking having some points in Song right about now?

Rolled 1d12 : 9, total 9
Rolled 2d6 : 1, 2, total 3

[Eclecticon]

I'll spend a point of Hope to bump that up to 14, if that will achieve anything. 

EDIT: I'll also make a Battle roll, because, y'know, it seems appropriate. 

Rolled 1d12 : 6, total 6
Rolled 2d6 : 6, 1, total 7

[disench4nted]

  Rorin is currently chilling in Rhosgobel.

[tomcat]

Smoke plumes thicker as thatch roofs and other flammables are consumed by the greedy fire. Screams of anger and pain continue to echo through the village, but Arbogast sees his folk draw to him. Some take up the song that he sings and it grows as it unites their strength and resolve to drive off the invaders. Men and women now stand about the Woodman, with axe and spear in hand, looking for his instruction. Arbogast points to the hall and says that it is there that they would hold the line, and so everyone is drawn back and the fires are left to burn as pails are exchanged for weapons.



Arbogast looks around him and sees a good thirty-plus strong-armed men and women and the group forms a line of defense. It does not take long as long-bearded men with war-paint on their faces race into the attack. The Woodman sees once more the sigil of the red moon on the shields of this enemy - much like the ones upon the orc-shields that he and his companions had faced in southern Mirkwood the year past.

Those that had bows let loose on both sides, and spears were thrown - with them came more cries of pain as the two sides engaged. Arbogast gave strength to his song and waved his axe forward, while he looked back to see if others still followed. He was happy to see that they did. He was also happy to see that Amaleoda had also come forth from her hall along with ten of her strongest warriors.

Arbogast saw nothing else as the fray commenced around him and his attention was turned solely to his own survival.
Okay - I am going to open a new series of threads for this engagement. All the other PC's in Rhosgobel may continue to post here as they greet one another after the long year and a half separation.

Paul your song will affect the combat...see the next thread.

[tomcat]

Bandobras Bracegirdle had taken to working alongside Rorin at his forge over the last winter. With all of his other companions gone, and the weather not permitting a visit to the Black Tarn and Arbogast, the Hobbit put his hands to labor. He was not a blacksmith of any means, but he helped the Dwarf with odd jobs and customer service. It kept him busy and made the days pass quicker. It also took his mind from the horrors of Dol Guldur, which still visited his dreams. The Dwarf seemed happier, too. Idle hands were the work of the Shadow, so the woodmen said, but the forge did not allow for that and so the days of winter passed.

With the spring of 2951 in full bloom, Bandy now made trips around Rhosgobel taking orders for any needed craft-work for the locals. Whether it be a new rake or hoe, shoe or horn, nail or hinge, the Hobbit would collect the orders and bring them to Rorin who would set about filling the requests. Once done, the Hobbit filled a small pony-drawn cart and delivered the fine wares to all and returned again with the coin. It was becoming a very lucrative relationship.

On one such morning, the Hobbit strolled along a length of wooded road, one which he had become very comfortable waling alone, when he heard a gruff call of greetings. He turned quickly at the sound to see the tall form of Grimbeorn walking up behind him. The Hobbit's face broke into a beaming smile at his good friend and he turned to bow, "Well met, Master Grimbeorn! It has been quite a while since we have seen you in Rhosgobel! Please tell me you have come to stay a while and to share tales of your doings!"

[tomcat]

The year had been hard for her.

After her experience upon the span crossing Dol Guldur's moat, Esgalwen had once more taken to being by herself. She had only spent a few weeks with her companions in Rhosgobel, after their return, when she begged their leave. She had much to do, she had told them, but she asked no favor in her tasks. Nor did she announce what she needed to get done, she merely disappeared in the early morning of June 2949.

Though it was a long and perilous trip, the ranger took the road south along the eaves of Mirkwood. She passed where her Ranger company had been massacred and then continued south. At her belt hung the sword of Ardil, son of Hardin, and Esgalwen had made the decision to return it to her kinsman's family. The heirloom belonged with Ardil's house and surely his father would want to know his fate.

And so summer passed into autumn, as Esgalwen carefully picked her way along the miles between Mirkwood and Minas Tirith. Her pace made the trip longer, but she was alone - any misstep would be her undoing. She traveled by day and kept a dark camp at night. The dangers of the night compounded with the terror that still lay within her memory and she began to waste away. Her body lost much weight and strength, and she developed a wracking cough that wore her out even more. She wondered if she would die - alone - upon the northern prairies of Rohan, along the western boundaries of the Emyn Muil. No one would find her here and her bones would bleach white under the scorching sun of Summer.

But she did not die.

By will alone she pushed herself on, and hungry and cold with the first crisp fall of snow, Esgalwen saw the shining ramparts of Minas Tirith. The year 2949 T.A. had almost come to an end and woe were the changes that had come.

It took some time for her to regain her strength and she was taken to the Houses of Healing. Her father was sent for and so she was reunited with her family, for all of them came from Ithilien to see her. Within the white tower, she quickly regained her health and her mind was eased of the terror that still haunted her - Orophin's dread form staring out of the fetid waters, beckoning for her to return to him. Though eased, the shade did not go entirely, but at least her mind was drawn to new things.

Esgalwen sought audience with the Steward of Gondor, Turgon - he who had sent her companions to Mirkwood, those many years past. But the Steward did not call on her - only Ecthelion II, his son, gave her audience and took her report. The Steward, it seemed, had withdrawn to himself with the declaration of Sauron and no longer saw any but his closest council. It saddened Esgalwen that her ruler had fallen so low in spirit, but then she knew how that was. The Shadow could dominate and snuff out the strongest of wills.

Ecthelion praised her return and pardoned her of any misdeed that could ever be accused of her for the loss of her company. The sword of Ardil was returned to Hardin, but it too was an ill-omen, as the Dúnadan noble had no other sons and he sat long listening to Esgalwen's tale of the journey north and how they had been waylaid by orcs. He listened quietly to her, too, as she spoke of the finding of his son and how she and her new friends had reverently laid him to rest.

Winter covered the land but finally relinquished it once more to spring, and the towers of Minas Tirith bloomed with colors. The fields turned a lush green and the city market's filled with merchants.



Esgalwen was healed. Her hurts were no longer and her spirit had returned, though the Shadow still tainted her deepest thoughts.

Once more she asked for audience of Ecthelion and was granted. To the man that would one day be Steward of Gondor, Esgalwen requested an offering to the men of Tyrant's Hill. "Simple folk, my Lord, but great of strength. They have survived, like us, on the very borders of the Shadow and I deem it would be a welcome gift, if I should return with items that might lessen their burden - be it armor and sword, axe and shield. It would not harm Gondor in any way to have an ally in the north and I believe Mogdred of Tyrant's Hill to be that ally."

Ecthelion listened long to her telling of the deeds of the men of the north and how they had struggled under the shadow of the Necromancer and the dragon, not long prior. At last, the decision was made and the son of the Steward agreed to Esgalwen's request.

"From the armories of Minas Tirith will be sent north with you, gifts of great make. A boon they will be to these simple people and you shall go with them. Esgalwen, you shall be my ambassador to these Wood-folk, and you will speak with my voice. Only together can the Men of the North and of Gondor stand against the shadow of Sauron. You must make them realize this and tell them that they shall forever be in Gondor's favor if they keep strong our northern reaches."

Esgalwen smiled and nodded. She had achieved that for which she come so far south.

Her journey north was not like the one that had brought her home to Gondor - she now rode at the head of a van of merchant wains with a strong guard of fifty Gondorian knights. Esgalwen would end the year of 2950 T.A. within the bounds of Tyrant's Hill where her offering was made and gladly received.

With the spring of 2951, her desire to know the status of her companions gained a greater hold on her and so she bid Mogdred and his folk goodbye. The ranger made her way north to Rhosgobel and laughed to see Rorin hard at work, when she entered the pleasant fastness.

[GandalfOfBorg]

A smile came a little easier to Grimbeorn seeing his friend, tired though he was.  "Aye, I have returned.  And yes there are tales to tell and all of them true I'm afraid.  It is best they are shared with Radagast as well.  Any word of the others? Have they returned?"

[disench4nted]

"Where is that damned Hobbit?" Rorin asked himself, he was sure that Bandy had stopped at each of the customers he was meant to see today to have tea or some other Hobbity meal (Who can keep track? Those creatures seem to have a meal every 2 hours!). Rorin was more than grateful for the help, and while Bandobras's exceedingly cordial nature was extremely helpful in dealing with the people of Rhosgobel, Rorin struggled to understand it, he typically preferred the company of steel, iron, and stone to that of other people. But he had to admit, it was entertaining to watch Bandy fret about the delicacies of his social interactions during the day, he was lucky he had a thick dwarven beard behind which to hide his smirks and grins.

Much to Rorin's surprise however, Bandy shortly returned with Grimbeorn in tow! Rorin dropped his tools and exclaimed, "Ah! Grimbeorn! How fared your travels? It is a pleasure to see you again."

[tomcat]

Bandy smirked and answered before Grimbeorn had the chance, "Wouldn't know by asking him - seems he wishes to share only when the Brown Wizard is present." The Hobbit laughed at his joke and then laid a leather bag on the Dwarf's bench. "That is all of it. I think only the two brothers - Bran and Brün - are left to pay for their spades and pitches."

Bandy looked very accomplished, like he had smelted the ore, hammered it to shape, and then did the fine work - as well as selling it and delivering it. He patted his brow with a small handkerchief and climbed up to sit on the counter that Rorin conducted his business.

A new voice was heard and Bandy clapped his hands, "ESGALWEN! You, too!"

"Yes, Master Bandobras! I have returned. My homeland to the south, though beautiful and pleasing to my heart, missed your cheer and I deemed I must return!" She laughed. "It is good to see you, too, Master Dwarf, and you, Master Grimbeorn. Much time has passed and I wish to know of how your seasons were spent."

They all could see that she had healed, though there was a hint - maybe it was in the corner of her eyes, maybe within the eyes themselves - that the Shadow did not completely relinquish his grasp. She was as beautiful as ever, though, and Bandy hopped down once more to trot over to where she dismounted. "Oh, my lady! It gladdens my heart to see you back. These lands, though full of good men and women, was bereft of your wisdom and beauty!"

"You're a charmer, my young Hobbit!" She allowed for one of Rorin's stable-hands to take away her horse and they walked back to where the other two were standing. "I see four of our company. Where is Arbogast? Does he still keep residence at the Black Tarn? Have you seen him in recent days?"

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn merely shrugged at the query of Arbogast.  "I have only arrived myself."

[Telcontar]

Bandy and Rorin both frowned at the mention of the wizard Radagast's name. He had been seen less and less frequently as the month had rolled by and their return from Dol Guldur. The woodfolk attempted to speak to him less and less as their trips into the woods resulted in being lost and turned around, smoke also came seldom from where they guessed his house to be in the copse of trees.

When he was seen it was usually in the woods wringing his hands, or in glimpses as his long strides carried him to and fro in the eaves of Mirkwood. Even the hopeful attempts at calling the forest Greenwood failed, and when the forest was mentioned by name it was again called Mirkwood. Though some whispered a new name, and dubbed it instead Howl wood for all the sounds that came from it at night.