East of the Dusky

[tomcat]

The companions gathered under the stars, standing in the lamplight from one that hung on a post at the end of the dock.

The Dusky River trickled and frogs and crickets sang their songs to the night. In the light, bugs swarmed and bats and other night hunters swooped and dove towards the flying insects. Occasionally, a splash was heard as fish, too, jumped for a fat moth or other that flew close to the water's surface.

A nervous fisherman walked out onto the dock. "I heard that you were needing transport across the river. I am none to keen to be out of my bed and making such a crossing at this hour."

"It is necessary," came a reply from the companions.

"Not sure as to why, but we'll see it done. That is my skiff there." The fisherman pointed to a flat skiff with a short draught that was customary to the Woodmen that fished the Dusky. They were light, but could hold a great deal of weight and so were useful to moving up and down the river between Woodmen-town and Woodland Hall.

They piled their packs and weapons into the center of the craft and then the four companions disbursed themselves between fore and aft, sitting down and trying not to rock the boat too much. The fisherman climbed in last, a long pole in his hands. He took a standing position in the rear and had Arbogast untie them from the dock.

The crossing was quiet, save for a few claps of hand on neck or other bare skin, as biting insects tried to get a meal. Esgalwen had lived long in the woods of Ithilien, but still she did not enjoy the small critters of the night and so she prayed the boat ride would be over quickly.

And then came the sound of the hull scraping on the sandy riverbank of the eastern side that told them they were across. Grimbeorn hefted up a number of the packs, along with his axe, as he clambered onto the shore. The others splashed into the water, feeling the silty river bottom give way to their boots before they climbed onto the firmer ground of the bank.

"I wish you well," said the fisherman. He was naught but a dark shape at the end of the boat. "Fortune to you all in the slaying of this creature."

ARRROOOOOOOO!

The sudden howl that filled the night chilled all of their blood. It was distant. Perhaps a mere echo of off some far off hill, but yet still ominous and prophetic.

"T'is sorcery!" cried the fisherman as he staved off from the riverbank and made quickly back towards Woodmen-town and the safety of the light.

The companions stood in the dark of the wood. They all strapped weapons to waist, or back, and then shouldered their packs. The march would be long.

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn took to the fore, bringing his weapon to ready at hand.  His ancestors preferred the night like bear brethren.  The air felt oppressive, the earth damp and gave way to their tread, leaving a trail a cub could follow.  He breathed deeply and the environs opened up to him.  He was in his element.  With an economy of words, he urged them to set forth, led closely by Arbogast and his knowledge of the area.

[Telcontar]

The Noldo elf stepped off into the woods, the bugs and mosquitos that so plagued his companions did not come near the elf, one of the benefits of being of Arda. The stream and wood however were a more malignant and sickening effect. The woods had the feel of a person long ill, who for a time seemed to recover, but was again slipping into darkness. The stream too was turning, but this was a new come sickness. The springs of the river had avoided the taint that once possessed the wood, but now they too were sickening. He held is tongue though and made no mention of this to the Firewatcher, his new companion had cares enough.

The howl of the wolf was another matter entirely. In the first moment the howl and the wood brought him back to the Fen of Serech, and days long ago. Unbidden a cold pit was in his stomach, but quickly it was kindled to hate and then a cold revenge burned.

"Firewatcher, will your folk seek to trap it or will they make camp? Stalking a moving target will leave us to wandering, we need seek its trail or lair, baiting it should be our last resort."

[tomcat]

Paul - my posts might move you away from the moment here and leave Tom's PC's questions behind, but feel free to take us back there at the beginning of your next post so that we have continuity.

Okay... first, some mechanics:

Upon crossing the Dusky river, the PC's are entering a region of the forest that is considered Severe in difficulty (TN 18 minimum) and Shadow Land - so you all have that going for you! 

The distance you must travel to our first encounter is 20 miles - or two hexes on the LM map. But within severe terrain, the mileage is multiplied by a x3 modifier, so traveling 20 miles will take the same time equivalent that it would take to travel 60 miles.

PC's on foot are able to cover 20 miles a day, so it will take 3 days of trekking through the dense and misleading wood to get to the first encounter.

Cool?

I will need the following tests from each PC based on their role in the journey:

1) The Scout PC must make a TN 18 Explore test to ascertain the path that the Woodmen hunters took. I will include the Huntsman in this roll, allowing a Hunting test TN 18 - the better result may be used, but the result used is the only one that will award an AP.

The Degree of Success or failure will determine the length of the search:
Failed by 5 or more - add two additional days to the traveling and require an additional TN 18 Travel test as bullet #3.
Failed by TN -4 or less - add one additional day to the traveling
Succeed by the TN +4 or less - the company finds the encounter location in the standard amount of time
Succeed by the TN +5 or more - reduce the travel time by one day

2) All PC's may make a TN 18 Lore test to gain bonus Success dice. These may be applied to the Travel tests below, or the Explore/Hunting test above.

3) All PC's must make a TN 18 Travel test as normal to avert Fatigue/Hazards.

PC test rolls - rolled by me to condense time, as requested. If anyone is REALLY unhappy with their results, you may request to personally re-roll your tests, but the new results (even if worse) will be used.

Lore tests
TN 18 lore by PC

Arbogast 0d 1d12 : 7, total 7

Esgalwen 1d 1d12 : 4, total 4
Rolled 1d6 : 2, total 2

Grimbeorn 2d 1d12 : 4, total 4
Rolled 2d6 : 3, 4, total 7

Morirúsë 3d 1d12 : 9, total 9
Rolled 3d6 : 1, 4, 2, total 7

Scout [Arbogast] Explore test
TN 18 explore 3d

1d12 : 8, total 8
Rolled 3d6 : 1, 6, 6, total 13

Huntsman [Grimbeorn] Hunting test
TN 18 explore 3d

1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 3d6 : 2, 1, 3, total 6

Travel tests
TN 18 travel by PC

Arbogast 3d 1d12 : 10, total 10
Rolled 3d6 : 1, 2, 1, total 4

Esgalwen 3d 1d12 : 1, total 1
Rolled 3d6 : 1, 1, 6, total 8

Grimbeorn 4d 1d12 : 6, total 6
Rolled 4d6 : 1, 6, 2, 1, total 10

Morirúsë 3d 1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 3d6 : 4, 2, 1, total 7

[tomcat]

[EDIT] Lore tests should have been TN 14

[tomcat]

Results:

Lore tests
• Arbogast failed roll, but may call on Mirkwood Lore for 1 bonus Success die
• Esgalwen failed roll
• Grimbeorn failed roll
• Morirúsë succeeded, has 1 bonus Success die

Explore / Hunting tests
• Arbogast rolled an extraordinary success - I am still reducing travel time by 1 day due to the nice roll
• Grimbeorn rolled an , so the better roll is taken; no ill-effects come from this roll

Travel tests
• Arbogast failed his roll and suffers 2 points fatigue
• Esgalwen failed her roll and suffers 2 points of fatigue
• Grimbeorn failed his roll and suffers 2 points of fatigue
• Morirúsë failed his roll and suffers 2 points of fatigue

[tomcat]

The company set off leaving the gurgling river behind. The darkness of the forest required them to light torches, so the Men-folk could properly see. Morirúsë moved a few paces outside of the flare, so as to maintain his Elven-sight, which was attuned to the twilight.

Mirkwood Forest seemed more oppressive than Arbogast remembered - at least here, across the river. The western eaves, where men had lived for generations, was actually quite pleasant. Still dangerous at a pinch, but the region was maintained by the men who lived there. The trees were cut back, underbrush was cleared, and trails remained in good use.

Across the Dusky, things were quite different.

This region was called the Heart of Mirkwood and it was immediately threatening to Men and Elf alike. As they marched, the branches above seemed to bend down towards them, snagging at their packs or scraping flesh and pulling hair. With each turn of their path they made, dense stands of trees and gnarled roots barred their way, or thick underbrush denied them passage. The air seemed thick and hot, and biting insects buzzed under the canopy of leaves.

Shadows from the torchlight quivered and moved, as if cast from some towering monster that was ever on the edges of dark and light. But even the light from the torch was diffused and weak, like the forest did not want them to see what it hid. Arbogast looked left and right, leading the company onward, but each glance revealed a new threat only to have it dissipate upon closer examination and slowly the man was losing his ability to discern truth from imagination.

Eyes stared back at him. Clawed hands on weathered and gnarled arms reached out towards them. Maws with sharp teeth were within each knotted bole of every tree they passed, until the light of the torch was able to truly shine upon the horror - and then they just faded as shadows.

There was a malevolence to the forest. One that the company could feel. One that told them they were being closely watched and would not be allowed to leave, if the forest had its way.

The companions knew that other things watched them as well. On occasion, someone would trip on what seemed a leaf-covered vine, only to find it was instead a thick strand of webbing. With each twitch of these lines, signals were sent deep into the Heart of Mirkwood that something living moved among the trees - something that strode on two feet.

The wind would blow above and the treetops would rustle, but no fresh air reached them below. Instead, the creaking and rattling of leaves and branches made as if crackling voices called to each of the companions, to lure them off alone. It became hypnotic and there were times that Esgalwen believed she walked in her sleep with nightmares on the periphery of her awareness.

Lastly, there was a darker feeling to the shadows that were all around. There was a malevolence all its own that was foreign to this world, but now made it its home. It was filled with hatred and hunger and it slowly leeched their will to continue.

Through it all, Arbogast led them. He was dour but resolute in his purpose. Night held on as long as it could, but the darkness faded and what light that could permeate the canopy above revealed to them a gloomy forest. The Company stopped for a time to rest, but still fatigue was in their arms and legs. The packs they bore bit deep with the straps and made their shoulders ache. Even Morirúsë was affected, and his mood became gloomy and spiteful.

With the light of day, Arbogast became aware of the telltale signs of Woodmen passing. The trunks of trees were marred with great scratches, deep so as not to be covered or closed before their return. At times, there were patches or strips of cloth tied in branches. It was this trail that encouraged the Company and so they now pursued it in haste.

Esgalwen was certain that they had covered most of twenty miles by sunset of the next day. Rain had fallen and the forest was steamy with moisture. Wisps of fog emanated from the ground and drips of water fell from above. It was hard to breathe.

Spirits were fraying once more and the companions snapped at one another when they talked. Another torch was lit, but it hissed and sputtered - the thick, damp air not wanting to let the fire take hold.

"Damn this heat and moisture," spat Esgalwen. "I would rather face spiders, or orcs, than to be scraped by another branch or trip on another root!"

"Silence," came an exasperated whisper from a companion. The complaints and frustrations were common from each of them and they were becoming tiresome.

"Aiiii..."

She shook the torch, "Catch, damn you!"

Clang! Clang!

"Give it to me," said Grimbeorn with a growl. The large man reached to grab the torch only to have Esgalwen angrily pull it away, as she turned her rage towards him. "I have it!"

"Kill it! Quickly! Aiiii...no!"

"You don't woman! Hand it to me now and I will see the torch lit proper!"

"So you say I cannot light a torch?"

Clang. Shring!

"Quiet." Arbogast's voice was hoarse, as he spoke the muted command. He had not drank from his waterskin in a while, and the fetid smells from the forest had made his throat raw.

Crunch! Thump!

"Yes...quiet," it was Morirúsë. The Elf was not so affected by the environment, save in his mood alone. "Stop the arguing...it serves no purpose."

Both Arbogast and the Elf stared off into the misty darkness of the wood. Somewhere out there was the sound of conflict. Men cried in battle and weapons sang.

[GandalfOfBorg]

  Grimbeorn sheesh, the guy just can't catch a break.

[tomcat]

The companions ran in the direction of the sounds, but the forest played with their perception.

At first the clangor of battle was in front of them, only to be coming from their right...or left.

They tripped on roots that suddenly cropped up from nowhere, and Esgalwen dropped the torch. The area around them darkened to pitch black, as she scrambled to retrieve the light and it sputtered to reconstitute itself.

And then there was light again, and sound. They turned in the new direction.

They panted in the choking heaviness under the leaves. Their arms and legs screamed with aching pain and everything was a burden to hold or carry.

The world was against them.

And then they were there.

A bowl in the earth opened before them. It was filled with white mist that moved of its own accord. It was a clearing within the breadth of Mirkwood where no tree grew within and the stars could be seen above. The moon shone brightly and cast a light down, causing the mist within the bowl to faintly glow.

It was haunting.

In the center of the clearing, five shadowy shapes could be seen - four surrounding the fifth. It was the Woodmen. It was Arbogast's father and uncle.

They yelled at things that moved in the mist, or to one another - crying out the appearance of a threat.

Weapons flashed as they were swung towards the shapes, occasionally striking something with a terrible thud.

But the men were failing in their defense.
Okay, feel free to give me some narrative and dialogue that you want from the last two days of travel. Keep the heavy, dangerous theme of the forest in your descriptions. Also give me any narrative/dialogue leading into this conflict.

I will be starting combat threads later tonight or tomorrow.

[Eclecticon]

• Arbogast failed roll, but may call on Mirkwood Lore for 1 bonus Success die.

I will do so.  

1d6 : 4, total 4

[Eclecticon]

Arbogast leads the companions along a trail widely-known among the Men of Woodmen-Town, where generations have harried wolves, lest they breed to such numbers that the Dusky River no longer proves a sufficient barrier.  But there is no spoor of wolf to be found - the hollows and nooks that might house a pack are long empty, or have vanished into a forest changed and warped by the deepening Shadow.  Arbogast marks the growing frustration of his kin in the deepening of the gashes in the trees, the growing lack of care in their carving and the haphazard placement of what should be regular marks.  He sees the signs of campsites - more than the Fellowship leave in their own passage.  Lafdag is slowing them more than they reckoned, and resentment is eating into all of them.

By the end of the second day, the Fire-watcher's mind is playing tricks, and he finds himself lost in memories of a similar journey towards Dol Guldur.  What ill fortune shall befall us here, he thinks, before the faintest sounds of battle reach his ears.  Along with Morirúsë, he stares into the darkness long enough to be sure.  

Then he is away, running as fast as wood-sense will allow.  

[Telcontar]

Morirúsë watched as Arbogast sprinted ahead, "Caution Arbogast! Make sure it is a foe they fight and not a dweomer mist that has them fighting each other."

The Noldo elf threw back the moisture sodden cloak, the stars and moonlight caused an oily reflection to come from his mysterious black mail while the mist swirled at his feet as if he walked on air. His hand came to his sword's hilt, but he did not yet draw it and he placed his feet one after the other making sure of his footing as he scanned the area.

[GandalfOfBorg]

This part of Mirkwood was worse than Grimbeorn might have suspected.  The noises, the smells.. they all were disorienting the further the group travelled into it.  At night it was worse for him and they kept interrupting his sleep.  The dour man's surliness only increased as time went on.  The worst part about it that he realized what was going on but was nigh impossible for him to control his reactions, especially when it came to Esgalwen.  When Arbogast ran off in search of the source of the sounds of battle, Grimbeorn could bear it no longer and ran off after him, axe in hand and ready to do battle.

[tomcat]

The men standing in a circle saw the shapes of the companions rushing in and turned defensively to face a new threat. Weapons were hefted and threats were cried out in the ancient tongue of these warriors.

But then, Lafdag saw the shield carried before his nephew and he called, "Hold your weapons!"

There was a hesitation but then the men within the ring did as ordered and returned their cautious stance against whatever it was that prowled the mists. There was a putrid smell within the air and it choked the back of their throats, and eyes teared up.

"Beware Arbogast! Fágwyrm attack us! They have taken three already, and I fear your father is poisoned."

The Fire-watcher could see the man within the center of the ring now, holding his wounded arm and trying to keep himself upright. It was his father, Arbodag. The moonlight glistened upon the sheen of perspiration that soaked his forehead. Why were they out here? Why were the younger men not sent? Why his crippled uncle? Did they believe that they could find and slay the beast of Mirkwood? The questions raged in the young man's mind.

Arbogast also recognized the name of the creatures which threatened them all - basilisks! Lizards as large as boars, but much more deadly for their bite and breath.

The Company looked around them and could now see hulking shapes moving through the mist. The scaled backs like great fish breaching the river water. There were at least four shapes that Morirúsë could see circling about the hollow in the forest floor.

[Telcontar]

Morirúsë sighed as the Beorning too ran past him. It amazes me that there are still any of the second born alive thought the elf.

He moved to the rim of the dell and looked into it, seeing the spines of the beasts that broke the plane of the mist like sea serpents, or eels in the great river. His hand still dwelt upon the hilt of his sword, His grip sure, but blade as yet un barred.

"Four, there are four of the beasts within the fog." He spoke loudly enough to be heard, but not such that his voice would carry passed those he intended to hear it.