The East Upper Vales

[Eclecticon]

As usual, the Hobbit's suggestion is a good one.  Arbogast ties one end of the rope around his waist, then wakes Esgalwen and, as briefly as he can, explains the situation to her. 

[Telcontar]

Bandy sees the puzzled look on her face.

"The Men of Mountain hall do this when the weather turns bad. It will help us as much in this fog. And to prevent our scattering as it occured that night in Sunstead."

The Hobbit now had his pack on and a bight in the rope affixed to himself. He had one hand free and the other gripped the gem of the Millfort. The many facets of it giving off an inner light of its own.

"Twice blessed you are now stone, once by the Dwarves and now once by the Sindar. Serve this poor Hobbit in times of darkness and trouble, light of earth and stars."

[disench4nted]

Rorin called out for his raven friend who came down and perched on a limb in front of him. "We cannot see through this accursed fog and there are strange voices coming from the wood. Would you be our eyes and keep us moving in the right direction my friend?"

Magrac cawed and fluttered his wings, "Yes! I can do this thing. Follow Magrac's calls, yes?"

Rorin nodded and took his place on the rope behind Bandy. Once they were on the way again he said to the Hobbit, "About the stone Bandy, 'tis true that some of our folk know how to use ancient Dwarven words to shape and give purpose to the stone. I too, can speak to bare rock...But only as you have heard, to curse it when I hurt myself!"

The dwarf laughs to himself but sees the somber expressions of those who have heard the voices around them. The silence weighs heavily on him and so he keeps talking.

"I myself have never learned this skill, nor seen it be used. But many of the renowned Stonewrights of our past were able to wield their words as well as the sharpest chisel. The halls of Erebor are full of designs created using such techniques. As for these rocks around us, they do have a story to tell. You and I may not be able to hear what they would say, but make no mistake master Hobbit the rocks will speak to those who have the time to listen. The stone all around us has a long memory and many stories to tell of creatures such as yourself. There are not grand legends about mountains or rocks coming to life as there are about the forests, but maybe someday I can show you the heart of Erebor and while you may not hear the mountain's words, you will certainly feel his presence."

[tomcat]

I sent Matt a personal message this morning about his Anduin lore success roll, so I am waiting on him to add his input before I move the game on.

[GandalfOfBorg]

  sorry about that, didn't even notice the PM was there.

Tales of horns and hooves come to Grimbeorn upon the voices he hears in the mists and he remembers the yarns of old that come from his mother's people.  The look on his face is one of listless memory and it is a short time before he speaks.  "Mayhaps we live in legend or walk through it at least.  Gather your strength my friends, take a bite of the elf-bread, and perhaps a small draught of the cordial if you must.  We must keep moving ere our prey gains too much on us.  Fear not this mist for if I'm right, it aids us and hinders those who might espy us."

He almost looks around, over his shoulder even, and gives a private smile to himself and possibly to the one guiding their way.  "To whomever this favor comes, thank you," he thinks.

As they continue their journey, the young Beorning recalls, when pressed about his notions, the stories as he knows them about a great host of horse-lords from the northern vales of the Anduin and their journey to aid the south against barbarians of the East.  Esgalwen picks up the story from what she knows from her land of Gondar, telling of Eorl the Young, the great battle, and their sworn brothers and allies, the Rohirrim.

[tomcat]

As was his wont, Grimbeorn was vague in his telling but urgent in his message. They had to keep moving.

And so they did.

The Beorning led them forward and they continued for the rest of that day through muck and mire until the sun set at last, its feeble light casting down through leaf and branch. Arbogast was perplexed at the pace which the sun was moving - and also that he was not exhausted. Yes, his limbs ached from the long walk but vigor remained. He knew he would need but only a few hours rest and he could move on again.

The companions hungry for more information - especially the Hobbit who asked at every opportunity - turned to Esgalwen. The Ranger knew much of the old lore and Grimbeorn's recount brought the memories to her mind. As they camped the first night, she finally acquiesced to Bandy's urging.

"Grimbeorn spoke of the past days of the Éothéod who once lived in the northern reaches of the Anduin vale. These horsemen answered a call from Gondor and the Ruling Steward, Cirion, to aid against the Balchoth - savage wain-riders out of the East. Eorl led most of his warrior-folk out, even though it would be weeks for them to arrive and maybe too late.

"The tale tells that they covered the length of the vale, but when they came to the southern part of the wood a great mist arose and moved along with them. It covered them from the spying eyes of Dol Guldur. It also seemed to make the miles pass with great swiftness and no weariness to man or beast. The Éothéod made their journey in time to aid the Steward of Gondor and drive back the enemy."

She smiled, "For this they were awarded the lands now called Rohan and so all their folk left the norther vale."

Esgalwen then looked around her in the gloom of the night, "Legends say that the mists were conjured by magic and moved the Eorlingas at a great speed. Some say the magic was created by the Lady of the Wood. If the tales are true and if Grimbeorn is right, we may be under same said spell."

The companions then remembered, each in his own moment, the gifts of Lothlórien given to them by Gandalf and his words to keep moving! Fear not the path, just keep moving!

No one fell into a deep sleep that night, as each lay in their bedroll and listened to the whispered song in the mist.

The new morning came and the companions all awoke feeling refreshed and spry. They ate a quick breakfast and then were ready to move again.

Once more, the day passed slowly but quick was their passage through fen and over tangle. By mid-afternoon, much to the Company's joy, the land began to rise once more. The wet bogs were left behind and the hills rolled in a steady progression towards the north and the Grey Mountains. The Forest River was now deep within a steep-walled chasm that they could only climb down with great care. But there was little need to make the perilous climb, only to keep the river on their right - and so they marched.

When the sun fell on the second full day out of Thranduil's Hall, the sound of a roaring fall could be heard to the north. Bandy puzzled over his memory of the maps that he had studied and it defied his logic. If the falls they heard were the Roaring Falls mentioned by the king, then the Company had marched near 140 miles in two and a half days!

On the fifth day of travel, when the sun was at its zenith, the fog began to quickly dissipate.

This far north, the forest was now made up of mostly large fir trees that blanketed the region in a deep hush. The wind whooshed through the upper branches causing them to sway lazily back and forth. Bandy found the forest here rather pleasant.

When they had come to the falls, they searched the old Elven ruin there and found a trail that had led them west. Now, with the fog departing, the companions looked out through the many trunks of trees at the lush, green plains of the East Upper Vales. This was the land of the Viglundings.

This was where their search would begin in earnest.

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn vaguely recognized the area where the trail came out at for he had only been here a couple of times in his distant youth.  Realizing the lands were of the Viglundings, he was both wary and yet not surprised at the exit from what rumors had come to them.  He held close to the edge of the wood, not wishing to be spotted in the open lest being spotted by these ill-mannered and hostile people.  From there here tried to ascertain which way the trail continued, if be it to the south towards the hold of Viglund or north towards the mountains.  Time was of the essence even with the great gift of speed through the dark wood.

 

Awareness -  1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 1, 3, total 10

[Eclecticon]

The fellowship has not long to wait before Grimbeorn grunts to himself, in recognition of some sign of passage. 

"Had I a valuable captive in hand," Arbogast muses, "I would make haste for a stronghold to keep them in.  Tell me, my friend, does the trail you have found lead on towards the hall of Viglund?"

[disench4nted]

Rorin produces a small piece of jerkey and calls Magrac down and gives it to him.

"Thank you, friend, for the guidance. Have you seen a fortress to either the north or south? We cannot afford the time to begin down the wrong path."

[tomcat]

Grimbeorn studied the earth not hearing Arbogast's question. It was Esgalwen that answered, "Ruithel's captors are orcs. Would they make for a Man of the Vale's house? Does Viglund and his people truly consort with the Orcs, as has been said?"

She quickly dismissed her own observation as foolish - for she knew that answer all too well. The Men of the south - Haradrim, Umbar, and Khand - if they did not directly associate with the foul folk of Sauron, they certainly did not raise arms to stop them. Grimbeorn's grunt of impatience told Esgalwen what she had already determined. The east upper vale's inhabitants were no friends of the Woodmen of the south.

"Here," came the simple answer to Arbogast. The Beorning was low to the ground and with keen perception he picked out the trail of heavy-shod boots that had crushed over needle and fern. The Company followed it to the very eaves of the western edge of Mirkwood and the tracks led out onto the green field only to merge with a logger's path. The path ran west to a distant village of four houses. Smoke floated lazily from each of the farms chimneys.

Overhead, the sky was graying from a large mass of thunderclouds that were rolling off the Misty Mountains, west to northeast. They would pass well west of the Company's position, but rain would still fall.

And it did.

Large drops fell moments later and landed cold on head and shoulder.

Saradag was a killer. Where most beasts took down their prey for sustenance of themselves, or their pack, Saradag took life for pleasure. He especially loved to slay those that walked on two feet and even more so their children. The Men-folk of the upper east vales knew of the monster and feared him, but had never found him to slay him.

The warg was larger than all the others within the pack. Two other wargs served him along with four wolves. Saradag lay under a pine tree and sniffed at the air. Around him, two of his pack snapped at each other in a fight for dominance and the right to a haunch of meat that remained from a large buck that was killed. The wargs had all eaten and now the wolves fought over the remains.

He growled as the rain began to fall, but the warg chieftain knew it was perfect weather to hunt. The patter would stifle any sound from their movement.

There it was again, thought Saradag. The smell of men...and dwarf. Plus something new...something the warg had never smelled before. Not man... what was it? Where was it and how did it enter his territory without he, or his pack, noticing prior?

The warg lifted his great head and drew in great, deep, breaths through his nose. The smell was a certainty. Man-flesh was moving through his pack's range. Orcs had come through, too, just two night cycles passed. Saradag did not have a direct alliance with the orcs and goblins that ranged out of the mountains, but neither did he see them as prey. Not that a small orc or goblin would not do in a pinch - flesh was flesh.

The warg chieftain stood up and growled out a command. The wolves around him barked and yipped, but heeded his call. The other two wargs slinked out from other pine boughs that hung close to the ground and took up a position on Saradag's left and right. Guttural growls contained commands for his pack and they all followed as their leader loped forward to find the group of men-folk that wandered into his territory.

Tear. Gnash. Rip. Eat.

These were the thoughts of the beasts as they began to hunt the Company.


pronounced Sar-RA-dag

[Eclecticon]

Arbogast nods toward the hamlet as he tugs his hood over his head.  "Though these folk be enemies of yours, I'll wager they know you not to look upon you.  If we hold our tongues well, we could learn of comings and goings, and the lay of the land ahead." 

[Telcontar]

Bandy gazed about him and frowned at the rain. He pulled his cloak tigher about him.

"Men may pass unnoticed in the lands of men, but I am afraid that Rorin and I will not pass unheeded quite so easily. Myself most of all will leave stories in my wake and our whereabouts will spread. Esgalwen too in her own way is out of place here.  If that is the plan then I suggest we remain hidden while you two parley with the big folk."

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn smelled the rain the air before it even fell.  These were lands he was familiar which, too, included its weather.  As the air turned from musty dust to something pungently pine and wet grass, he contemplated the situation.  He did not relish the idea of splitting up but the words were wise for this weather itself will hinder their following the orcs, muddying or even erasing sign of their passage.  "We must find a place for you to hide and defend if need be while Arbogast and I away," was all he said.  When that was done, the Beorning covered himself and anything that might distinguish who and what he is.

[Telcontar]

"If we come upon a homestead we can but wait awhile as you go forward for news."

[tomcat]

They made their way from the trees and out onto the green field that stretched towards the mountains, which were plain in the distance, and to the north where they met white, chalky hills. Patches of scrub and small thickets of trees were scattered over the vale and so there were plenty of places where the companions could shelter while Arbogast and Grimbeorn made their way to the small village. The land itself had gentle rolls that went steadily downward towards the river for which the vale was named.

The two men were quite sodden from the light rain when they came to the logger's trail that ran to the village. They followed it moving cautiously, but also with a purpose as if they belonged. If they acted like spies entering a land, they would be received as such. Behind them, the remaining three companions waited a time before they would move out. The day was only half over, and though rainy, visibility was good.

Arbogast saw the first Viglunding - as these people were known by the lord that ruled this land - working his plow that was being pulled by two oxen. The young man appeared to be in his late teens or early tweens, about the same number of summers of Grimbeorn. They continued their approach but not wanting to startle the farmer, hailed him with a kind call. Though intentions were good, the young man did look up with a start and stared at the oncoming two. Not knowing who they were, but seeing they came up the logger's trail, the farmer boy ran towards his home, crying out as he did.

"PA! PA! Strangers approach from the wood!"

Grimbeorn and Arbogast looked at each other with a mutual grim look and wondered as to what they should now do. They needed news and both were certain that no one would recognize them as anything other than settlers of the region, and so they shrugged and kept their pace towards the house.

It didn't take long for the cry to be answered and they were there - five strong men of varied ages. Beards grew thick and their clothes were that common to most Woodmen. Axes were in their hands, but none were poised to fight. The apparent leader, and most likely father of the settlement stepped forward towards the two companions.

"Who are you?!" He yelled out to them in challenge. "And where you be coming from? There is naught in that direction save the darkness of Mirkwood."

Even as Arbogast and Grimbeorn were confronted by the villagers, the remaining three had advanced to a small rise that was topped with scrub plants. Shrubs most of it, but Bandy learned the hard way that there was also Thistletyne within. The cruel plant had thorns the length of his fingers and his palm was pricked three times when he he pushed the other evergreen shrubbery out of his way to better his view. Immediately a burn spread across his hand as the plant's sting injected its poison. It was not deadly, but the discomfort was real.

From where they hid, the companions could see down towards the four houses and farmland that stretched about. The logger trail passed between the houses and met up with two other trails - the largest heading south. It was a crossroads of sorts. One path continued west and north while the other going south was clearly rutted by wagon wheels and hooves of burdened beasts. Arbogast and Grimbeorn stood a mere thirty yards from the first farm house, still on the logger's trail. The Viglundings stood between.

"We must be ready to close the distance rapidly if there is trouble," said Esgalwen. "But by their look, I believe these folk - though capable of defending themselves - do not wish to fight. You can tell by their stance...they are more cautious than aggressive."

Saradag loped quickly through the pine woods until he brought his pack to a halt. He lowered his head to the ground and snorted at the pine needles that poked at his muzzle. Their quarry had been here not long ago - they had stopped here. The scent was strong. He followed it towards the old man-trail that exited the woods. The warg growled low and deep, mostly to himself, but also to his followers - they must be cautious. They had lost members of the pack to the two-legs, even as the pack had brought down their young.

The scent of orc was strong, too, and Saradag slavered at the mouth. Man or orc - he did not care. They would feast on whatever they could find. What intrigued him most was the new smell. What would that taste like? he wondered.

Saradag led his pack from the shelter of the forest and followed along the lowlands where the hills rose. He would use the terrain to shield him for he knew their prey was not far.